The Trouble with Murder

by Kathy Krevat

  I could tell he really liked being one of the “principals.”

  “Seems like you’re making friends already,” I said.

  “Yeah. It was weird at first not knowing everyone, but then it was okay.” He paused. “Maybe when I’m done, it might be weird going back to my old group.”

  Shoot. I hadn’t thought about that. “Well, now you’ll know even more people in theater.” I tried for cheerful but went a little overboard.

  He nodded, picking at a small tear in the edge of the seat. “We are moving back, right?”

  I couldn’t tell what he was trying to ask me. “Do you want to stay?”

  He looked at me and then out the window. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know. I like seeing Grandpa all the time. And I like having a whole house. And yard. And I like Annie, and Joss, and the chicks. But I miss my friends.”

  “What about school in the fall?” I kept my voice noncommittal, not at all sure what I wanted myself.

  “Yeah, a new school would be really weird,” he said. “But that other guy who tried out for Horton said the middle school uses the real theater at the high school for their plays, and had all the same sets and stuff. It could be cool.”

  I didn’t push it any further. I couldn’t think beyond my big meeting the next day with the business consultant, my potential deal with Twomey’s, and my dad getting healthy again, not in that order. Then I’d deal with all of these decisions.

  * * * *

  After dinner, Elliott got another guitar lesson and I called Lani to get a boost of self-confidence her enthusiasm always gave me.

  “Hey, future business mogul,” she said. “Ready for your big day?”

  I could hear hissing in the background. “What’s that noise?”

  “I’m spray painting about a mile of silk. It’s a special order. A bride’s dress.” She sounded a little distracted.

  “Really?” I imagined the adorable, but cartoon quality of her regular designs. “Who is it? What are you painting on it?”

  “I can’t tell you her name, but an actress wants her twin toddlers to be her attendants and wants their skirts to match the skirt of her wedding dress. I think the little girls picked this smiling sun design from an outfit I made last year.”

  “I guess the tangerine giraffes were too much for a wedding,” I said.

  “It’s not my job to judge,” Lani said. “Especially with the amount she’s paying me.”

  “Whoa,” I said, thinking what yards of Lani’s work went for. “Didn’t think about that.”

  “You okay?” she asked.

  I told her about the new SDHelp reviews and what my dad had figured out. “What if it affects Twomey’s decision?”

  The hissing stopped. “That’s terrible. Can you contact SDHelp and ask to have them taken down?”

  “There’s no way to contact anyone,” I said. “They just post guidelines on how to handle negative reviews.”

  “Can you see who posted it?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “It just says ‘G. Verde’ in Encinitas. And that’s after ‘J. Greene’ last week.” I told her about the use of colors in most of the names.

  “Hold on,” she said. “I want to look at it online.”

  I waited for her to find her laptop and check out the review, while Trouble sat in my lap, purring.

  “The first bad review was posted right before Twila’s murder,” she said. “And this one mentions that you’re a suspect. Why would someone be that awful?” she said. “Uh-oh. What if this G. Verde guy killed Twila?”

  “Lani,” I said. “How long have you been working with that spray paint?”

  “Since six,” she said.

  “This morning?” I asked. “Where’s Piper?”

  “At that conference in Anaheim I told you about,” she said. “And I’m fine. I’m just sitting here.”

  “Turn off that machine and go outside for some fresh air,” I said in my mom tone. “Call me in the morning and we’ll talk about this then.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Get away from those paint fumes now or I’m calling Piper,” I said, only slightly kidding.

  “You wouldn’t,” she said.

  “You know I would,” I said. “Now get going.”

  “Okay,” she said like a sulky child. “But only because I can’t see straight.”

  * * * *

  I forced myself to go to sleep at midnight, my eyes feeling sticky from going over my proposal, sure that all the spreadsheets and marketing ideas were pipe dreams.

  Zoey was handling all the Meowio Batali cooking this morning so I could focus on the meeting with Quincy Powell, businessman extraordinaire, according to Lani. I printed out the entire document, fighting my dad’s printer when it jammed, but finally getting a nice copy and putting it in a thin binder.

  I dressed in my most business-like outfit, black pants that made me sweat as soon as I put them on, and a light blue button-down shirt. I tossed a black suit jacket over my arm, but couldn’t bear the thought of wearing it in this heat. Maybe if I got to air conditioning.

  My dad wished me good luck, and I was on my way. I followed my GPS to an industrial area of Kearny Mesa and pulled into the parking lot of the El Cajon Rental Kitchen.

  Quincy Powell was pacing back and forth in front of the building talking emphatically into a cell phone and gesturing with his other arm. He was a tall African-American man with gray hair and a gray goatee, wearing a silk short-sleeved shirt over charcoal gray jeans and red boat shoes.

  As soon as he saw me drive in, he stopped his conversation, tucked his phone in his pants pocket, and walked over to meet me. “Colbie, I presume,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

  I almost dropped the shoulder bag holding my laptop and the proposal as I got out of the car. “Thanks so much for taking the time to meet with me.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Lani has told me so much about you.”

  “Only the good stuff, I assume,” I said, and he laughed good-naturedly.

  “Let’s take a look inside and then we can go over your numbers,” he said, twirling the set of keys around on his finger. I got the impression that he was rarely still.

  “Sounds great,” I said as I fell into step beside him. “Lani says you’ve helped her a lot.”

  “Aw shucks,” he said, making fun of himself. “She’s a real go-getter. She didn’t really need me.” He unlocked the door. “I’ll give you the five dollar tour,” he said and then stuck out his foot. “As soon as you tell me what you think of these shoes.” The impish look in his eyes made him look younger.

  “Um,” I said. “Cool?”

  “You sure?” He turned his foot sideways as if checking them out. “I took my granddaughter shopping and she insisted I try them on. They were so comfortable that I bought them, but the color is a bit much for me.” He shook his head.

  “They’re not you?” I asked. “I think Lani would approve though.”

  “That she would.” He opened the door and gestured for me to go in.

  We entered a wide hall that led to two doors. The smell of baked goods hung in the air. “Yum,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “The bakers are here all night.” He paused outside a set of double doors. “Lani said you were outgrowing your other current workspace, so I thought you’d want to check this out.”

  He opened one of the doors, and the sounds of a busy kitchen hit us.

  “Yo, Quincy,” said a burly man using a wooden spoon as big as a paddle to mix a cauldron-sized pot. A baker’s staff was putting sprinkles on chocolate cups that would probably hold something delicious like mousse, and another group had a complicated sandwich assembly line going.

  The room was huge, with four double-ovens, four stove tops holding six burners each, four sinks, one of which could hold all m
y pans at one time and more, refrigerators, freezers, and an acre of stainless steel tables in the center of the room. Only a quarter of it was being used.

  “Wow,” I said.

  He opened the closest refrigerator, each shelf labeled with the owner of the food. It was so big, I could practically live in it.

  “There’s also a store room through there for dry goods,” he said.

  “It’s pretty amazing,” I said. “How much?”

  “Less than you might imagine,” he said. “How about we go over some numbers?” He showed me to an office in the back.

  “You work here?” I asked. It didn’t look like a business tycoon’s office with its ancient desk and beat up metal file cabinet. We sat down at a small table. At least the chairs were comfortable.

  “Once in a while,” he said. He reached for the proposal I’d pulled out of my bag. “Nice.” He put on reading glasses and read quickly.

  I pulled out my laptop, and he asked, “Can you bring up the spreadsheets?”

  He peered at the first one and then asked, “May I?”

  At my nod, he started clicking back and forth between the accompanying spreadsheets, deep in concentration.

  I sat quietly, my hands shaking.

  “This organic seafood is significantly more expensive than regular,” he said, without looking up from the numbers. “Is that necessary? Maybe you could sell one or two products that aren’t organic.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” I said. “My whole brand is organic. And human grade. I’m not going to change that to save money.”

  He nodded. “How did you build your supply chain? Will they be able to handle an increase in demand from you?”

  I’d wondered the same thing. “I looked into that. Only about half said they’d be able to double my demand. I’d have to find new suppliers.”

  “You use specialty products, so it’s not so easy.” He frowned at the computer. “Is it okay if I start a new spreadsheet and work some numbers?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  He started typing away, copying numbers from my spreadsheet and putting them into his.

  He turned the laptop to face me and pointed to a figure. “Here,” he said. “That could be your profit if you get the Twomey’s deal and expand.”

  The number was four times what I cleared in a year. And that was just year one.

  Chapter 13

  I arrived at home, energized by my meeting with Quincy, who had not only helped to rework my business proposal for Twomey’s but also recommended I look into a small business loan to pay for the additional staff and other expenses. He’d offered discounted use of his kitchen, just one of the businesses he ran that were incubators for new companies, and access to his food supply chain, which offered bulk discounts I couldn’t get on my own. The savings would be significant.

  I’d come very close to agreeing to a deal with him for Powell Ventures to become a minority investor. An investor. During tough times, I’d dreamed of having an angel investor shower me with money so I could grow my business with less worry. Why was I balking now?

  My dad had texted me that he was going out to lunch with Annie, and Lani had sent me several texts asking how the meeting went. But I wanted to go over Quincy’s numbers and gather my thoughts before calling her back.

  He’d asked me some questions that were similar to Fawn’s life coach questions. What kind of success was I looking for? What was the next step beyond selling my products at Twomey’s?

  I’d never even considered what happened after. A regular contract with Twomey’s would mean a steady income that wasn’t at the mercy of farmers’ market attendance, or weather, or website orders. It meant stability. And growth, where I’d be able to hire more people to help me cook and handle some of the business aspects.

  But deep inside was the smallest hint of a dream. Meowio products in pet stores across the country.

  Then Quincy had asked me the killer question. If I had all the resources I could imagine, what did I truly want my business to be?

  I wasn’t one for introspection. I didn’t have the time or energy. But in two days, I’d been forced to think about all kinds of things.

  I pulled into the driveway and saw a familiar feathered friend on the porch. Charlie. He came to the edge of the porch and peeked around the railing, and then went back to pushing the doorbell.

  I walked up the stairs to the sound of “Yankee Doodle” clamoring inside the house. “Hey, Charlie.”

  Trouble sat on the kitchen windowsill, her growl coming through the window with her eyes fixated on the bird. Charlie must have figured out that she couldn’t get to him, because he ignored her, pushing the button and tilting his head as if listening to the tune.

  “Time to go home, kid,” I said and shooed him off the porch with my hands.

  Charlie went without protest, seeming quite happy to be heading home. I followed him as he puttered along the sidewalk and hopped right up on the front porch. I even let him ring the doorbell.

  Joss opened the door and smiled. “I think my bird has a thing for you.”

  I caught my breath. That was definitely flirting. “Maybe I have a thing for…” I paused, “Him.”

  His face flushed a little. “Um.”

  “Um.” I smiled. “How are the chicks doing?”

  He blew out a breath. “Good. Want to see them?”

  “Sure.”

  He held out his hand, inviting me to go down the steps first. “You’re all dressed up.”

  “I had a meeting with a potential investor,” I said, just as Charlie dove in front of me. I stopped short and Joss almost ran into me, grabbing my arms right above my elbows.

  We both stood there for a second, before he realized how close he was. He cleared his throat and took a step back. “How did that go?”

  If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Charlie was totally matchmaking. “It was… really interesting.” I gave him some highlights of the meeting while he held the gate for me and we walked into the pen. I stopped, remembering my flip flop disaster. “Maybe I should put my rain boots on.”

  He laughed. “Afraid of some dirt?”

  “Just chicken poop,” I said but followed him through the coop and into the small incubator room.

  The chicks gave a chorus of chirps. “They’ve grown already,” I said, surprised.

  “It happens fast,” Joss agreed. He picked one up and put it in my hand. This time his hand brushed mine, and I looked up at him.

  I felt a zing. And from the look in his eyes, he did too.

  It had been a long time but I knew what to do. I leaned forward at the same time he did and we kissed.

  It was light and sweet but definitely a kiss. He stepped back, looking a bit dazed.

  “Whoa,” I said, smiling.

  “Whoa,” he agreed, but his smile became strained.

  He did not seem happy about the kiss. What the heck? I struggled not to feel hurt and acted cool. “So, what are you going to do with these chicks?”

  “Sell them as soon as they’re old enough.” He sounded regretful.

  “Who buys them?”

  “Some will go as pets but most will be egg layers,” he said. “All but two are female. Their blue eggs go for more money.”

  “That’s something our businesses have in common,” I said. “We have specialty items that customers are willing to pay more money for.”

  “True,” he said. “I thought my organic subscription service would be doing better. Right now I’m filling about forty boxes a month.”

  “Have you tried the farmers’ markets?” I asked.

  “Not here,” he said. “Maybe when I can hire someone to handle it for me.”

  I raised the chick to my face. “Will it be hard to let these little guys go?”

  “A little,” he admitted.
“I’ve been a farmer most of my life, so I know the deal.” He picked up another chick and petted its head with one gentle finger.

  “Elliott said you moved here from Alaska because of your daughter,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound nosy.

  He frowned. “Yeah. It’s kind of messy right now. My ex got some judge to say it was too dangerous for Kai, that’s my daughter’s name, to come and visit my farm in Alaska. So I called her bluff and moved down here. Still fighting to share custody.”

  “That’s too bad.” I thought about Elliott hoping to meet his biological dad and felt a twinge of regret. Maybe I should’ve encouraged it earlier.

  “Kai and I used to have a great time on the farm. She’d come for a month in the summer,” he said. “She’s barely been here.”

  “That’s a shame,” I said. “She must love these little guys.”

  He nodded, putting the chick back.

  “I really hope it works out,” I said. “I better get back. I know my dad wants to hear about my appointment.” I tipped the chick into his hands. “Thanks for letting me see the chicks again.”

  “You’re welcome anytime.” He held the door, but kept back far enough that I didn’t brush up against him.

  Which totally made me want to, but I held myself back. I wasn’t going to throw myself at the man, for heaven’s sake. He walked me out of the pen in silence.

  “Okay, well, bye,” I said at the gate.

  “Bye.” He closed the gate, with him on the other side. “Good luck with that business dude.”

  “Thanks.” I went over the kiss the whole way back. Obviously, he didn’t feel the same way I did about it. Or maybe I shouldn’t have brought up his daughter. “Okay, I can deal with that. What’s a little awkwardness between neighbors?” I said out loud.

  * * * *

  Trouble had calmed down by the time I got home, purring and winding around my ankles as if thanking me for getting rid of the intruder on her porch. My dad texted me that Annie was taking him to his favorite Irish pub after lunch, where a bunch of his Boston buddies liked to hang out. I was happy that he was feeling well enough to be out and about.