Grilled for Murder

by Maddie Day

  She thanked me, but she was watching Tiffany the whole time. And because I was at least as busy as a two-armed proprietor-chef with a restaurant full of hungry customers, I didn’t wait around to see what happened next. Which didn’t mean I turned my radar off.

  I was carrying a round tray full of drinks and salads to a table of four right beyond Tiffany’s when she wiped the corners of her mouth and stood. She left the change I’d brought her on the table.

  “Thanks, Robbie. A perfect lunch.” She slipped into her jacket, sliding her bag over her shoulder. When she turned toward the door, I watched as her gaze passed over Wanda. And it stayed there as Tiffany froze in place.

  My own gaze zipped to Wanda, who gave Tiffany a little pretend salute. I looked back at Tiffany, like I was watching a tennis match, except slower. Her lips pressed together in a grimace, the kind where your molars are clamped shut so tight they ache. As Wanda rose to standing, Tiffany rushed out the door. The bell tolled after her.

  Chapter 23

  As soon as I closed up and stuck the till in the safe, I changed into clean jeans and a sweater and headed out to Adele’s in my van. I’d made sure Danna would check with her doctor if the burn seemed to get worse during the rest of the day. I hoped she wouldn’t have to take the next day off, but if she had to, she had to. I’d cope.

  Adele had sent along the email from Samuel with his nephew’s contact info. She’d added a note: How’s about coming over this afternoon after the store closes and doing some digging with me? Digging on the Internet, not in the garden.

  Of course, I typed in return. Not only did I want to dig, I also wanted the kind of comfort only Adele could provide. A kitchen table, open ears, and plentiful hugs awaited me. Maybe I’d grab another Christmas tree on the way back, or maybe I wouldn’t. I wasn’t exactly feeling in the holiday spirit right now. I dutifully forwarded the private investigator’s contact info to Jim, but didn’t include a personal message.

  I climbed into the van, remembering lunchtime. Wanda clearly had been interested in Tiffany. But why? She hadn’t followed Tiffany out the door, so it wasn’t like she was tailing her. Maybe Octavia had asked Wanda to keep tabs on Tiffany’s whereabouts, which would mean the detective was still thinking of Tiffany as a suspect in the murder. I shook my head. Didn’t make sense to me, but this week nothing much did.

  After I stopped at the bank to deposit the take from the last two days, I aimed the van out of town. I didn’t drive by Jim’s condo on purpose. It simply lay on the most direct route to Adele’s and I was busy thinking about Tiffany and Wanda. I instantly wished I’d gone the long way around. In front of his building, Jim and Octavia strolled hand in hand on the sidewalk, which sent an icicle into my gut. As I passed, they turned into a doorway flanked on one side by the bicycle shop and on the other by my favorite consignment store, both at ground level. It was the doorway leading to Jim’s condo upstairs. Watching them, I wasn’t watching the road. My right front wheel crashed through a pothole and the entire ratty old frame of the van clunked. I swore, steering out of the hole. When I glanced back, Jim looked over his shoulder directly at me.

  I stared straight ahead and drove. Why did that have to happen, right here, right now? He probably thought I was stalking him or something. I pounded the steering wheel. Even with my doubts about us, I guess I liked him more than I realized. The sun, already beginning its descent toward the horizon at barely three o’clock, glared in my eyes as I turned west. These were the darkest days of the year in more ways than one. Why had I ever thought I could trust a man again? Now I wished I hadn’t mentioned dinner to Abe. It wasn’t fair to him, at all. But canceling at this hour wasn’t exactly fair, either. Too late now.

  Fifteen minutes later I pulled into Adele’s drive. I didn’t see Samuel’s little red car. Good. As much as I liked Samuel, I really wanted to have Adele to myself for a bit. Sloopy ran up to greet me, so I reached back into the van for one of the dog biscuits I kept on hand for him.

  “Come on, Sloops. Let’s go see Mom.” I handed him the biscuit.

  He grabbed the treat in his jaws and trotted to the house, pausing once to make sure I was coming. Her door was unlocked, even with a murderer on the loose. Adele probably thought she was safe out here in the country. She did own a gun, after all, and knew how to use it. I called to her and went in. Sloopy plopped down on the old linoleum floor in the kitchen and started crunching.

  “In here,” she responded. “Dining room.”

  As often happened when I visited, the house broadcast the yeasty aroma of freshly baked bread. The loaf, already cut into, sat on a board shaped like a sheep, with butter in a dish and a hunk of cheese nearby.

  “I’m going to grab a piece of bread first, okay?” I’d eaten lunch, but I’d been so busy on my feet I knew I’d burned up all those calories and then some.

  “Of course,” she called back.

  I cut and buttered a thick slice, and added a wedge of cheese for good measure before I walked through the arched doorway. Adele sat at a laptop computer at the dining table. I’d only ever eaten in here at Thanksgiving or Easter, since we normally made do with the table in the warm, sunny kitchen. I kissed her cheek.

  “Whatcha got?” I asked. I took a bite of bread, savoring the texture, chewing the crusty outer layer, before setting my plate on the table. The burnish of its rich red tone in the sunlight from the windows warmed the room, as did the colorful Caribbean paintings Adele had brought back from a trip to Haiti.

  “Watch the finish.” Adele pushed a cork mat toward me, which I dutifully slipped under my plate.

  “Pull up a chair, honey,” she said. “This is pretty dang interesting.”

  I sat next to her. “What is?”

  “I read the article. The one Danna told you about.” She pointed to the screen. “It’s right here.”

  “I read it last night.” The headline read, GOOD COP? OR BAD? I scanned the first couple of paragraphs again. “This reads more like an opinion piece, or something out of a gossip rag, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure does. But the writer’s byline says investigative reporter.”

  “Maybe he hadn’t finished his investigation when he wrote it, but he wanted people to start questioning the cop.”

  “Could be.” She shoved the computer toward me. “Here, you do the searching. I know enough about the computer to do my email and check the few sites and blogs I read every day. But you young folks are better at it.”

  I laughed and set my fingers on the keyboard. “Let me finish rereading the article first.” I focused on the screen, reading and scrolling down until I came to the end. “Not much of substance beyond the cop’s name, Bart Daniel. The reporter makes some provocative suggestions, though.”

  “What’s the date on the story?”

  I scrolled back to the beginning. “Hmm. Last June. Half a year ago.”

  “Try to find something more recent.”

  I searched on Bart Daniel. Nothing. Bart Daniel Chicago. Zip. Bart Daniel police. Strike out. “What’s Bart short for?”

  “Bartholomew.”

  I typed the full name and hit Enter. “Whoa. Look at this.” I pointed to the screen. “Guess who’s in jail?”

  Adele’s eyes widened as she read the article I’d unearthed. “Looks like the intrepid reporter accomplished his goal. Old Bart Daniel didn’t kill Erica. He’s been locked up for all kinds of offenses since October.”

  I sat back and regarded her. “So he’s not Erica’s murderer. Wonder who is?”

  “It was kind of tempting to want some stranger from away to be the one who did Erica in, wasn’t it.” Adele tapped the table with a gnarled finger.

  “There’s still a stranger from away who’s a possibility, this guy Vincent Pytzynska. He said he was from Chicago, a law classmate of Jim’s brother Jon. Vince came all the way down here to pay his respects to the Berrys, but I found out he’s really from Nashville. He easily could have known Erica in high school.”

 
“But why kill her?” Adele asked. “Why now?”

  “I don’t know. And now Octavia is going to think I’m nuts. I told her about that Daniel guy this morning. She’s probably already found out it couldn’t have been him, after all. Except she’s the last person I ever want to see again.”

  “Why in heaven’s name would you say something like that, Roberta?” Adele cocked her head and watched me.

  I finished off another mouthful of bread before I spoke. “Jim told me something last night after we did the dishes.” I again felt the thickness in my throat meaning tears were on their way.

  Adele pushed the computer into the middle of the table and covered my hand with hers. “About Octavia?”

  “Yes. They’d been very much in love about a decade ago, but she decided to go back to her older husband, who was sick. Now she shows up in town. Her husband has passed away. And Jim wants another chance with her.” A sob escaped my control. “On my way over, I saw them on the sidewalk holding hands.”

  “Oh, hon.” Adele pulled me in for an embrace.

  In the warmth of her arms, I let a few tears bubble up and out. She didn’t say a word as she stroked my hair. When my sorrow was spent, I sat up straight and wiped my eyes with both hands.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

  “No sorries around here. You feel what you feel. And right now I feel like a cup of tea with some of that sorghum. It’s just wasting space in the cupboard. Come on into the kitchen.”

  I followed her in and sat, watching as she put the kettle on, brought the bread and fixings to the table, and drew two small glasses out from a cabinet. I knew she and Samuel were fond of this drink, spirits distilled from an Amish farmer’s sorghum.

  “Too sweet for me. It’s almost like molasses,” I said. “But I’ll bet in tea it’s good.”

  “Yup.” She poured an inch into both glasses and handed me one.

  When she held hers up, I did too. After we clinked, I took a small sip and set it down. “It’s a tough week for me. I want to tell you about something I found in my bedroom yesterday, totally by accident.”

  Adele tilted her head, but she waited for me to go on.

  “I accidentally knocked over a picture frame, one with a photo of me and Mom in Sequoia when I was about ten, and the glass broke. When I picked it up, I found a letter from her to me between the frame and the photograph.”

  “My sweet Lord.” Adele set her elbow on the table and covered her mouth with her fingers, her gaze full of concern.

  I took a deep breath and blew it out. “She told me all about Roberto. I know about him now, of course. But what she didn’t tell me was why—”

  “Why she never told you.” Adele waggled her head back and forth. “She never told me, either.”

  “But you knew he was my father.”

  “I did. Honey, I think she simply wanted you to be happy. The two of you were so close, and it didn’t seem to matter to you not having a dad in your life.”

  I swirled the liqueur in my glass, watching how it clung to the sides, slowly sliding back down. “I guess it doesn’t matter why. I don’t have her to ask, but I have a father, and he cares about me.”

  “That’s right. You go ahead and hang onto that, now.”

  I sat without speaking for another few moments. “You know, it’s funny. Earlier this week I was starting to wonder if Jim was really right for me. But now he’s decided I’m not right for him, or not as right as the charming detective, it smarts like a bee sting. Or more like a heartache.”

  “Of course it does. And, for the record, he’s an idiot to choose anybody over Robbie Jordan.” Adele took a good swallow of the sorghum. “Whoo-ee. That goes down just perfect.”

  I had to smile at her. She could be gruff at times, and was the most no-nonsense and competent woman I’d ever known. But she did like her little nip now and then, and didn’t try to hide her appreciation for it. I sipped the drink again, rolling it on my tongue, the sweet liquid punctuated by the sharpness of alcohol.

  “I think it grows on you.” I sipped again.

  “So don’t I.” When the kettle whistled, she jumped up and a moment later brought cups of herbal tea to the table. “How are we going to get you past this bump in the road called Idiotic Jim Shermer?”

  “Well, I happen to have a dinner date with Abe in a couple of hours.” I smiled and cleared my throat.

  “The younger O’Neill boy? The cute one?”

  “The very one.” I doused my tea with the rest of my sorghum.

  “Way to jump right back in the saddle, honey.” She reached over and patted my hand. “If I were forty years younger, I might could go after that boy myself.”

  Chapter 24

  Before I left Adele’s, we’d talked more about Erica and the cop, and as I drove home I couldn’t get the thought of them out of my mind. There had to be more to the story as far as Erica was concerned. But how could I find out? I could shoot the reporter an email. I could turn it all over to the lovely and passionate Octavia. Now, Robbie, spite isn’t an attractive trait, I could hear my mother saying. I wrinkled my nose. I sure couldn’t talk to Jim about it. I . . .

  I slammed on the brakes, pulling to the side of the road across from the Beanblossom covered bridge. One person in South Lick might know all about it. I pressed the Berrys’ number and said hello to Sue when she picked up.

  “Hey there, Robbie.”

  “How’s it going today, Sue?”

  She didn’t speak for a moment. “It’s only about the hardest thing we’ve ever had to go through. But we’ll be fine. It’ll be all right.”

  “I’m so sorry. I lost my mom last winter, and—”

  “Oh, hon. I didn’t know about that. My heart just goes out to you.”

  “Thank you. The pain does get a little less sharp with time. A little.” I cleared my throat. “Say, you know your friend Vince?”

  “Of course. It was so dear of him to come down and offer his condolences in person.”

  “Absolutely. I wondered if I could speak with him, please. If he’s staying with you.”

  “He’s not here.”

  Rats. Had he already left town? I watched a bald eagle beat its wide wings toward Lake Lemon, and then glide under a sky that had turned to a steely gray in the last hour.

  “He’s staying at the Lamplighter Motel,” Sue continued. “But he told me he’s in town doing a few things.”

  Whew. “In South Lick?”

  “No, he went up to Nashville. Let me give you his cell, okay? You might could catch him or figure out a place to meet.”

  “Thanks, Sue. Perfect.” Was it? Abe was picking me up at six and it was already after four.

  She rattled off the number after I found a pencil stub and an old receipt among the detritus strewn about my van. I thanked her again, disconnected, and pressed Vince’s number.

  After I greeted him, I said, “Remember me? I came by with some food on Monday.”

  “Sure. How’s it going?” His voice, scratchy on the cell phone, sounded less jittery than before.

  “I learned about something that happened in Chicago, and I wondered if I could ask you a couple of questions.”

  “What about?”

  “It’s kind of complicated. Could we meet in person?” I asked. “Maybe for coffee in Nashville?”

  “I guess. But I’m at Brown County State Park checking out some birds. I’m not done yet.”

  I looked toward the west. Shadows were lengthening, but it was still an hour until sunset. It would take me fifteen or twenty minutes to get there. The talking wouldn’t take long. I should be able to swing it and still get home in time to get cleaned up for dinner.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can, but it’ll be at least fifteen minutes.” Would he wait for me?

  “That’ll give me enough time. If I’m not already in the parking lot, I’ll be heading that way on Trail One.”

  “Thanks so much. I’ll see you there as soon as I can.” The phone wen
t dark. I had a sudden pang, questioning the wisdom of meeting someone who might be a murderer on a trail in the woods. But no, the park was always packed with nature lovers, hikers, birders, not to mention rangers. I’d stay in the parking lot and wait. I’d be fine.

  * * *

  At the state park entrance, I drove through the double covered bridge, the only one in the state, showed the ranger in the booth my yearly pass, and headed into the parking lot. Where was everybody? I saw exactly two vehicles, plus the state park vehicle near the booth. Must be the difference between early October and late November. The last time I was here, when I thought someone was using me as target practice, there’d been barely an empty parking spot. I glanced over at the Abe Martin Lodge, which looked distinctly unoccupied. I thought they were normally open year-round, but maybe they were closed for renovations.

  I definitely wasn’t going to head out Trail One to meet Vince. I climbed out of the van. Leaning against the driver’s side door, I pulled up the collar of my thigh-length coat and snugged my scarf more tightly around my neck. The sun had sunk below the tree line and the temperature was dropping fast. Slate-colored clouds scudded by and the air smelled of pine with an overlay of wood smoke. Where was Vince?

  Laughter came from the opening to the trail and I watched it closely. Maybe Vince had been birdwatching with friends. Instead, two middle-aged women trudged out, hardy in fleece sweatshirts, hiking shorts, and boots, with gloved hands holding pairs of walking sticks. They climbed into a small SUV and drove off, leaving only a tan sedan with Illinois plates in the lot.

  I paced circles around my van, glancing occasionally at the trailhead. No Vince. I checked my phone. No message, and now it was quarter to five. Should I call him again? I didn’t want to scare him off by being too persistent. I’d give him five more minutes and then I was leaving. If I didn’t, I’d be late to meet Abe. I pulled down my e-mail account on my phone, but saw nothing important in my inbox. The scratchy, piercing cry of a raptor made me glance up to see one soaring overhead. It beat its wings to stay in place, and then swooped to the ground in the open field at the end of the lot. When it took to the air again, a field mouse struggled in its powerful talons. My hair prickled, and not from the cold.