Getting Rich (A Chef Landry Mystery)

by Domovitch, Monique

  “I told you. He was pleasant and courteous, as usual. Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions here?”

  She scowled. “Sometimes I swear, I must have photogenic memory.”

  “You mean photographic memory.”

  “No,” she insisted. “I mean photogenic. I seem to remember the past as being much nicer than it actually was.”

  I chuckled. “That’s a good term you just coined.” And then seeing her expression I realized she was being serious. “But why would you say that?”

  She shrugged. “While we were apart, I used to fantasize that if we ever got back together things would be just the same, as if they were ever great to begin with. I’m not saying I’m unhappy with him. It’s just that I’m not as happy as I thought I’d be.” She cocked a hip, planting a hand on it. “You know, maybe it’s true that sometimes we fake orgasms, but men can fake whole relationships.”

  I held back from laughing. “I doubt he’s faking anything. I know he loves you.”

  “Or maybe he doesn’t love me the way he used to. And if he doesn’t, then why would he have wanted to reconcile—unless it’s for my money?”

  “Toni, you’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “Of course it’s him. Who else could it be? He’s the only one with a motive. He thinks he’s going to inherit everything.” Grim-faced, she placed mugs on the table and went to the fridge for milk. “Turns out you were right. I was the intended victim all along. And that even explains the hit-and-run.”

  “What do you mean?” I had a bad feeling I knew just what she was about to say.

  “When he asked me who my beneficiary was, I told him. I bet he tried to kill you just in case I was still leaving you an important amount. Well, he’s got another surprise coming. If he kills both of us, all my money goes to charity. He won’t get a dime.”

  That didn’t make me feel one iota better. I swallowed hard. “I still think Steven has nothing to do with it,” I said, hoping this was true.

  She poured milk into a creamer and set it next to my cup. “Who else could it be?’

  “There are probably a dozen other possibilities we haven’t considered yet.”

  “Name me one.” She leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. Behind that stubborn stare, I knew, was a scared little girl, praying I would convince her otherwise. Toni loved Steven. If Steven really was planning to kill her, I wasn’t sure she would ever recover.

  “There’s still Jennifer’s brother.” I repeated the conversation I’d had with Jake earlier. “You might not have been the intended victim after all. Now that we know Jennifer also had money, the same motive you’re so intent on applying to Steven, also works for her brother. He could have wanted to get rid of her before she changed her will and named Charles as her beneficiary.”

  Hope flickered in her eyes and then died. “There is no way Jennifer’s brother could have predicted that the hit-and-run would send you to the hospital.” Great, now Toni was using my own argument against me.

  She was quiet, looking into her cup as if it was a crystal ball. “I have no idea what I should do.” She looked so miserable my heart went out to her.

  “Toni,” I said softly. “You can’t say or do anything until we know for sure what’s going on. If you accuse Steven and he turns out to be innocent, which I’m sure he is, you won’t be able to just smile prettily and say, ‘Oops, my bad.’ There won’t be any going back. Steven will never speak to you again.”

  She looked dazed. “You’re right. There’s only one thing I can do. I have to find out who killed Jennifer. That’s the only way I can prove Steven is innocent—or guilty,” she added. She looked at me. “Got any bright ideas how I can do that?”

  I was all out of bright ideas.

  The coffeemaker beeped. “Thank goodness I talked you into reopening the restaurant,” she said pouring the coffee.

  “Thank goodness,” I said with a crooked smile. My sarcasm went ten feet over her head.

  “If I didn’t have that project to keep me busy, I’d go out of my mind.” Taking a seat across from me, she announced, “By the way, I’ve decided we should take the place on Avenue Road.”

  Talking about her plans for the new restaurant lifted her out of her foul mood. She picked up the phone and handed it to me. “Call the agent and tell him we want to see it at his earliest convenience.”

  *

  An hour later we were standing in front of what might soon be our new restaurant. The real estate agent—a tall thin man with a mouthful of large and overly bleached teeth—introduced himself as Barry Peters. He walked around, leather folder under one arm, pointing out all the special features.

  “This used to be a combination bakery and coffee shop, so the kitchen area in the back is perfect for your needs,” he said eagerly.

  I stepped through a swinging stainless-steel door and stood in the middle of the kitchen area, gasping. The spacious room had counters all around, an old-fashioned professional stove and a row of wall ovens—too many for our needs. In the center of the room was a long baker’s table with a ceiling rack crying out for a few dozen pots and pans. I looked around, mentally checking off all the items we could strike off our shopping list. The only expensive piece missing was a walk-in refrigerator.

  Toni strolled around, running her hand along the stainless steel counter. “How come all the equipment is still here?”

  “The landlord insisted the previous tenants put up their equipment as guarantee.” He shrugged. “Turns out he was right. When they went belly-up six months later, they were already four months behind in their rent. Everything reverted to him. If you’re interested in purchasing it, why don’t you make him an offer?”

  I looked around again, this time trying to determine the value of the equipment. “Do you have any idea how much he wants for the lot?”

  He furrowed his brows, thinking.

  Before he quoted a price I said, “What if we gave him the equivalent of the four months’ rent he lost?”

  He nodded slowly. “That might work. Let me give him a call.”

  I put up a hand. “Before you do that, maybe you should confirm the rent.”

  He quoted us a price per square foot, adding that this was net-net-net, which in commercial real estate leases, meant the tenant paid for all services, every single one of them—property taxes, electricity, taxes, maintenance and insurance—the list goes on. The total of those extra charges could amount to as much as double the rent.

  I almost choked. “You can’t be serious.”

  He shrugged. “This location is prime. That’s what places around here cost.”

  “I was under the impression the price quoted in the ad was gross,” I said. “If it isn’t, that changes everything. Will you give us a minute?”

  “Sure. I’ll just step outside and let you ladies talk.”

  Toni and I followed him back to the dining area, and he continued on outside. I circled the room, assessing the advantages of this location. “This is a good location, and, true, we wouldn’t need to spend much on decorating.”

  “We can probably fit twenty tables in this place,” she added. “And with dress shops on both sides, that means we’ll get lots of foot traffic. Those tables will be full all the time.”

  As much as I loved this place, I worried Toni might want it at any price. “We have to be firm on this,” I said. “There is no way we can afford the price he quoted unless it’s a gross lease.” I looked her firmly in the eye. “You’re with me on this, right?”

  Toni kept glancing at the agent, who was having a whispered conversation on his cell phone—probably conferring with his client. He had turned his back on the building, making it impossible for us to read his expression.

  She dropped her stare and looked around again. “Double the number of tables means double the number of customers and double the income.”

  “And double the amount of work, double the number of employees and double the cost of ingredients.”
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  She rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t you dare agree on that price,” I insisted.

  “We can find a restaurant supply place and get everything we need in one fell swoop.”

  At that moment I noticed the agent slip his cell phone into his pocket. “He looks about ready to come back in. Whatever I say, you agree with me,” I said.

  He came back in and flashed his pearly whites. “The owner is open to selling the equipment. He said to make him an offer. So, regarding the space, do we have a deal?” He looked so full of suppressed excitement he was probably itching to rub his hands in anticipation.

  “We can’t seem to agree on this place,” Toni said, much to my relief. “I like it, but my partner thinks it’s too expensive.”

  I nodded. “There another place we saw that could also work for us, and the rent is considerably lower.” I headed toward the door. “We’ll get back to you.”

  I had my hand on the handle when the agent called, “Wait,” just as I’d hoped. “Maybe we can come to some agreement.”

  “If you can give my partner what she wants, I’ll be happy to sign on the dotted line.” Toni opened her purse and pulled out a checkbook. “And you’ll have a five-year deal before the end of the day.”

  And, again, just as I’d expected, he opened his folder and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Why don’t we put together an offer? I’ll present it to my client and put in a good word for you.”

  Forty-five minutes later, we were on our way back to my place. The day had turned from cloudy to sunny. I took it as a good omen. Toni grabbed her sunglasses from the pocket above the visor and slipped them on.

  She threw me a glance. “Do you really think we can get it for so little?”

  “In the present economy and with the number of places available out there, I bet we’ll get a great deal.”

  “I hope you’re right.” She didn’t seem convinced, which only made me appreciate all the more how cooperative she’d been.

  We’d actually made two separate leasing offers for the same place. On the first one we’d asked for a three-year lease at a slightly lower amount per square foot than the asking price. For the second offer, we asked for a five-year lease at an even lower price, hoping that the longer lease would make that deal seem sweeter. We had also made a stand-alone offer to purchase the kitchen equipment. If we didn’t get the store, we would at least have the equipment, which would be great no matter where we set up.

  She glanced at me with admiration. “You could give lessons in strategy. I thought I was good, but you’re a master. I can’t believe you asked for the place to be repainted.” I’d also asked for a few minor things like a month’s free rent, new light fixtures and outdoor lighting.

  “It’s always a good idea to ask for a few things we don’t really want. It gives us room for negotiating. For every demand we drop, they have to make a concession.”

  “Smart,” she said.

  Minutes later we pulled up in front of my house. At the same time, the blonde I’d seen two days earlier stepped out of Mitchell’s place.

  “There she is,” I exclaimed, just as Toni said, “That’s her.”

  The girl dashed across the street to a gray Audi and hopped in. A moment later she was roaring up the street.

  “What do you suppose she’s doing in his place?” Toni asked, staring at the house. “It doesn’t look like there’s any filming going on. If there was, there’d be trucks and RVs parked all the way up and down the street. There’d be cables running in and out of the house, equipment...”

  “Funny, that’s exactly what I was telling Mitchell last night.”

  She frowned, looking at me. “What the hell is that girl doing in there?”

  “I think it’s high time we find out.” I pushed open the passenger door. “Come.” I shuffled up to my front door, handed my key to Toni and she did the honors. I led the way down the hall, ignoring Jackie’s enthusiastic greeting, and went right back out again through the mudroom entrance.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I told you. We’re going to find out what the hell is going on.”

  Moments later we were in Mitchell’s backyard and I was turning over rocks in his planter.

  Toni watched, horrified. “Sweetheart, I have nothing against breaking into his house.” She whispered, glancing around, “But, please don’t smash a window, at least not in broad daylight.”

  “Relax. I am not breaking in. Mitchell once told me he keeps a spare key back here. Ah, here it is.” I located the fake rock and palmed the key.

  She planted a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow. “If we’re not breaking in, then, why are we whispering?”

  She had a point. Even though Mitchell was my boyfriend, he had not given me permission. Also, as long as his house was rented, it was not his to use. So technically, no matter how I looked at it, I was trespassing. I kept this to myself.

  I climbed the back steps, unlocked the door and walked in.

  “It’s dark in here. Turn on the light,” Toni said in a low voice.

  “Give yourself a minute and your eyes will adjust.” Sure enough, after a few seconds, it didn’t seem so dim anymore. I made my way as silently as my crutches allowed, crossing the mudroom into the kitchen. I looked around, surprised at how tidy everything was. The floor was scrubbed clean. The counters were spotless. Even the refrigerator and stove had been polished until they shined. I couldn’t help but notice that all the decals had been removed from the decades-old fridge. Was this the work of Mitchell or of the production crew? Maybe something was going on in here after all.

  Toni stood in the middle of the charmless kitchen, her mouth hanging open. “You mean to tell me a production company wants to use this dump for a set? What are they filming, a horror movie?”

  Funny, I’d had the same thought. “Be quiet. There might be somebody here.”

  “Don’t you think we’ll look even guiltier if we skulk around? We should act naturally. If we run into anyone, we’ll just tell them the truth—that you’re Mitchell’s girlfriend and that you’re just checking on his place.”

  I paused. “You’re right,” I whispered. And then said it in a normal tone, repeated, “You’re right.”

  We continued on through the dining room and then to the living room. “What’s that?” Toni asked.

  I followed her finger to where she was pointing. There, against the common wall that divided Mitchell’s home from mine, was something that looked like an audio system. There was a rectangular black box—a receiver—with dozens of blinking lights.

  “That’s not usually here,” I said, coming closer. A number of wires were running from the receiver down to the floor. One continued along the baseboard, until it split, one part disappearing into the wall. Underneath was a fine dusting of white powder—plaster dust? The other part ran along the floor into the dining room. Others continued up the staircase to the second floor. I stepped closer and reached over to touch it. Toni slapped my hand away.

  “Ouch! Why—”

  She placed a finger to her lips and leaned in close. “That’s surveillance equipment.”

  I gasped, turned and stared at the contraption again, taking new notice of the dozens of buttons and flashing lights. “How can you be sure? Maybe it’s just movie-making stuff,” I whispered.

  “Believe me. I know what I’m talking about.”

  All at once I remembered the drilling sound I’d heard a few nights ago. Surveillance? Who was spying on who?—surely not on me. But even as I was trying to come up with some other possibility, I knew that was it. Somebody had been listening in on all my conversations. A wave of nausea washed over me. Toni tapped me on the shoulder and gestured for me to follow. She tiptoed up the stairs.

  I crept up behind her as quietly as I could, which wasn’t very. Crutches were not made for tiptoeing. Reaching the landing, I noticed one wire going off toward the front bedroom. We followed it until it stopped in the middle of the room, where
it once again disappeared into the wall above a small pile of plaster dust.

  Why in the world would somebody want to spy on me? Toni nudged me, taking my mind off the questions whirling in my mind. “Let’s get out of here,” she mouthed.

  I nodded. We were just about to walk out, when, from downstairs came the sound of a door opening and closing.

  “She’s back!” I glanced at Toni. “We have to get out of here.”

  All color drained from her face. She looked around frantically, and crept to the closet, swinging open the door. The inside was jam packed with boxes and piles of clothes. So that was how Mitchell had cleaned up. He’d just stashed everything in closets. Toni shut the door, her eyes darting from one possible hiding place to another.

  “Toni, do something.”

  “I am. I am.” In a nanosecond she’d scooted and disappeared behind the bed’s dust ruffle, leaving me in the middle of the room.

  What if the blonde’s toting a gun? Oh my God, I’m dead! I went from panicked to terrified.

  The footsteps reached the bottom stair and I swung into action. I dropped to all fours, hoping whoever was on the stairs hadn’t heard the thump of my knees as it hit the floor. I pushed my crutches under the bed, lay flat on my back and—damned cast—began to worm my way under the bed, sliding and undulating as fast as I could, and making a lot of scratching noises in the process. Dear God, please don’t let her hear me. The footsteps reached the landing, no more than fifteen feet from the bedroom. I wiggled faster. Half my body was still in full view. The footsteps were getting closer. Another few seconds and she would see me. Beads of perspiration moistened my forehead. I was so fucked. At just that moment, Toni grabbed my arm and pulled hard. In the next instant I was behind the bed skirt. Not a moment too soon.

  The footsteps marched into the bedroom, coming within inches of where I had been a second ago. Now I was panting so hard I was certain she could hear me. Suddenly the theme song for Sex in the City began to play—Toni’s cell phone—and my heart nearly exploded. All she had to do was lift the dust ruffle and she would catch us. And then, as suddenly as it started, the phone stopped ringing.