“You got it,” I said. I doubted I’d find anything newspaper worthy, unless I happened upon the killer, which would be big news long before it could be printed in the Monson Gazette.
But he seemed just as pleased as I was to have found a potential new source.
Fifteen
It was only three o’clock. I didn’t have anywhere I needed to be, but I had plenty of places I could go. I could track down Ian, I could visit my parents, I could find Allison, I could grab a computer and research arsenic and cyanide.
Instead of all of those viable and good ideas, I decided instead to visit my sister’s old boyfriend. The note I found in the desk at Bistro said, “Jake: No; Manny: Yes.” Those comments were the same as the ones marked on the master list, a list that I hadn’t looked at closely enough yet because it didn’t seem to mean much of anything, except that Betsy acted as though Ian and I shouldn’t see it.
I decided I’d just have to ask more questions. I didn’t know Manny Moretti, but I did know Jake Bidford. Would our past friendship make it easier to ask him questions that would give away the fact that I’d acquired something that wasn’t supposed to be in my possession? I didn’t know.
I decided to wing it.
The inside of Jake’s sandwich shop was decorated simply with green walls and posters identifying the different parts of a sandwich. The anatomical take on “The Sandwich and Its Parts” was cute and made the posters fun to read.
There were ten tables, each with four chairs, in the seating area. Customers traveled down the deli counter as Jake or one of his employees sliced meats and cheeses and then dressed the sandwiches with more toppings than I knew existed.
Jake’s sandwiches were delicious and reason enough to visit the restaurant, but he also served some homemade potato and macaroni salads that were yummy in their own rights.
I didn’t expect it to be too busy and I was right. There was only one person in the restaurant when I got there. Viola, Jake’s aunt, was sitting at a table and reading a paperback. She wasn’t wearing her hat, and her hair was pulled back in a neat gray bun. She looked up and smiled as I walked in.
“Becca, how delightful!” Viola said when she saw me. “Are you here for more garden work, or are you hungry again?”
“I can head back out to the garden if you need me to, but I’m not hungry,” I said, still full from all the cookies I’d eaten at Miriam’s. “I came by to see if Jake had a minute. I’d like to talk to him.”
“I’m sure he does. He’s just in the back. I’m his bell—I’m supposed to let him know if customers come in.” She turned in her chair and put her hand next to her mouth. “Jake! Becca’s here. Come on out! Have a seat—oh, unless you don’t want me listening to the conversation. If that’s the case, sit over there.”
“No, you should be in on the conversation. You might have some information I could use.”
“Very good. Did you visit Miriam? Did she tell you about Nobel?”
“I did visit Miriam and she mentioned the potential poisoning. Apparently, it was a false alarm, though. The ‘victim’ was fine.” I didn’t tell Viola about my visit with my new source, Elliot.
“Shoot,” Viola said. “I thought there might be something good there. Keep looking, Becca.”
“I will.”
“Okay, how can I help?” she said.
Jake came out from the back regions of the store just as I sat across from Viola.
“Hi, Becca, what can I get for you?” he asked.
“Some information, Jakey. Becca’s here to get some information. Come sit,” Viola said.
Jake’s expression didn’t make me think he was interested in sharing information.
“I know you’re busy, Jake,” I said. “I promise I won’t take long.”
He hesitated but joined us shortly. “It’s okay, I have a few minutes.” He smiled as he sat next to his aunt and extended his long legs out to the side of the table. I could tell he was just being nice. He didn’t have time, but he’d make it.
“Thanks.”
Viola and Jake looked at me expectantly. It wasn’t easy to begin, so I started with something easy.
“Jake, Viola, would either of you know of anyone who hated Joan enough to want her dead?”
They both seemed momentarily startled by the question, but then they seemed to really think about it.
“I don’t think I do,” Viola said. “We didn’t run in the same circles. I don’t know who her enemies, or friends for that matter, were. I’m sorry, Becca.”
Jake shook his head. “Me either. The association doesn’t have meetings. Everything is communicated by email. I was asked to be on the board, but I have no idea why. I think they just wanted to make me feel welcome when I joined. Joan and Nobel made all the contacts and set everything up. They sent out emails notifying us of events or new vendors. The group has had some social events, but I’ve never attended one of them. That’s not really my thing.”
Knowing Jake, even as little as I did, his comment made sense. He wasn’t a shy teenager anymore, but some of that shyness had remained. He wasn’t a group person.
“Jakey, tell Becca the other part,” Viola said as she nudged his shoulder.
“What other . . . ? Oh, that. Well, that doesn’t have anything to do with anything.” Jake’s face reddened immediately.
“No, it doesn’t, but you should let her know. Why not?”
“I’ve had a couple dates with Betsy Francis, who was Joan’s assistant,” he said almost sheepishly. “Trust me, even though we talk about the restaurant business, Betsy was loyal to Joan. She’s never said one derogatory word about her boss.”
“I think that’s great, Jake. She seems . . .” I didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t been all that great to me, but she had apologized.
Jake laughed. “It’s okay, Becca. You don’t need to give your approval.”
“I’m sorry. I should have reacted better. It’s just been stressful.”
“S’okay.”
“Jake, I have something else to ask. It might be strange, but I really need to know about something.”
“I’m intrigued,” he said.
“Joan dropped something at the market that morning. I picked it up and under normal circumstances would have given it back to her. But I was distracted and forgot. I put it in my pocket and forgot about it until this afternoon,” I lied.
“What?” he asked. Viola sat forward, putting her elbows on the table and her chin into her hands.
“A note, a piece of paper. It was simple. It just read, “Jake: No; Manny: Yes.”
Jake’s face reddened again, more deeply this time, but all he said was, “Huh. Interesting.”
“Do you have any idea what that means? Can you think of something you said no to that Manny said yes to?”
“We never voted on anything. Like I said, the board wasn’t like a real board of any group.” His face got redder still.
“So, any other reason you can think of?”
“No, not one,” he lied. He was so bad at lying that I was suddenly impressed with my own skills at the craft. “But Joan was always writing notes. I never paid attention to what they were about.” And that was another lie, ringing so false I wondered why his nose didn’t grow.
“Viola, you?”
“No,” she lied, too.
They didn’t look at each other but instead kept their gazes fixed on me. They knew exactly what the note meant, and either they didn’t like the meaning attached to it or they just didn’t want me to know.
“You sure?” I eyed them both.
“Of course,” Viola said.
“Sure,” Jake said.
I blinked. My relationship with them didn’t give me the flexibility to call them on their lies.
“Good to know,” I said. “Anything else you want to tell me? Anything?”
“I need to get back to work. Paperwork, you know.” Jake stood and excused himself.
“Nothing else about Joan, but
I’d love to talk about the garden. How do you think it has gone this year? What should we do next year? I think we should get an elementary school involved, don’t you?” Viola said.
It would have been impolite to tell Viola I wasn’t in the mood to talk about the garden, so we chatted a little longer before I told her I had things on my to-do list I had to attend to. I thought about calling my parents to see if they wanted me to bring them some sandwiches, but I was irritated at Jake and Viola just enough for their lies that I decided not to.
I left Jake’s with more questions, but I did know one thing for certain: that note meant something, something important.
How important? was now one of my new questions.
Sixteen
The next morning, my phone rang at 6 A.M. It took me a minute to gain my bearings.
I’d picked up Hobbit from George’s and we’d gone home. Though Ian didn’t want us to be apart overnight, with his schedule it only made sense that he stay at his place. I promised him I’d lock and alarm everything. Just as soon as I secured the premises, my dog and I fell into an exhausted sleep.
“’lo?” I answered. Hobbit propped her chin on my leg and peered at me. Her eyes glimmered in the semidarkness.
Allison’s voice came through the line. “You need to get up and meet me at the police station. The hypnotist is on her way, and I need to show you some things I found out about Joan.”
“I thought the hypnotist wasn’t until later.”
“She has someplace she has to be. We had to reschedule, make it a little earlier. Then we’ve got the bail hearing.”
“I’m up and almost out the door,” I lied. “I’m bringing Hobbit.” I was going to drop her off with George again, but I’d told him I’d be there at about seven thirty, not six thirty. Hobbit would have to join me with the rest of my family, at the pokey.
I got ready quickly, hurrying Hobbit through her morning routine, and we jumped in the truck.
I wondered what my mom’s bail would be, if there would be a bail at all. My parents were financially comfortable, but I didn’t know how comfortable. Allison and I had enough money to cover a decent-sized amount, but considering she was suspected of murder, the bail might be set way too high.
My stomach knotted at the thought. Hobbit sensed my anxiety and put her paw next to my leg. She was lying on the passenger side of the truck’s bench seat. She peered up at me, and her eyebrows took turns raising and lowering.
“I know, it’ll be okay eventually, but I’d like for it to be fine right now.” I patted her head. I was again grateful Hobbit was okay. If something had happened to her, I’m not sure I could have coped. It would be some time before I could leave her at home alone. But I’d have to leave her home eventually. I couldn’t have her with me at the market all day, and she wouldn’t want to be there. For now, though, she was still going to be with me or with someone I knew and trusted.
More than once since the murder I’d wished she could talk. She’d seen the killer. She’d been manhandled by him or her—the thought made me cringe. If she’d been hurt . . . I couldn’t allow myself to think about it.
She sighed.
At six fifty-five, I pulled into a parking spot in front of the county municipal building, which housed the police station and jail, as well as other government offices. Allison was sitting alone on the middle of the front steps. Her car, my truck, and two police cruisers were the only vehicles in sight.
“Morning,” I said as Hobbit and I got out of the truck.
“You were speedy. Good job. Thanks for getting here. I wanted us to talk before everyone else arrived.” She handed me the biggest cup of coffee that the Maytabee’s Coffee Shop sold.
“Thanks. So the hypnotist isn’t on her way? That was a ruse?”
“She’ll be here in about half an hour. So will Sam and the attorney. Half an hour is perfect for us to catch up. Hey, girl.” She scratched Hobbit’s back.
I would have come no matter what Allison had said, but telling me the hypnotist was on her way had probably gotten me there a few minutes sooner.
“First,” she said, “tell me about your dinner at Bistro.”
“How about I first tell you what Sam and I found behind the barn?”
“What?”
I told Allison about the piece of glass and about the dinner at Bistro. She wasn’t sure whether my leap regarding Betsy’s glasses made sense or not, but she was willing to agree that no stone should be left unturned.
“Did you bring the list?” she asked.
I got it out of my truck and showed it to her along with the note I’d torn out of the notebook.
“This could mean anything, maybe something unimportant, maybe just Joan marking whether or not she liked someone. Yes, no, maybe. I don’t know. Same with the note.”
“I also talked to Jake about the note. I didn’t mention the full list,” I said.
“Well? What did he say?”
“He and his aunt claimed to know nothing about it. They lied, I know.”
Allison looked at the note again. “I agree that it’s weird they lied, but it still might not mean anything. It’s pretty ambiguous. Plus, remember, Joan was murdered. There was a no by Jake’s. Even if it doesn’t have something to do with the murder, Jake might not want to be seen as uncooperative in any way at this moment in time. I just don’t know.”
I nodded absently. “I’d love some of Manny’s Chicago-style pizza. Want to go with me tonight?”
“I wish I could, Bec, but I have a meeting with the market owners. I can’t miss it. Maybe we could go tomorrow night, or you and Ian could go out again tonight?”
“I’ll talk to him,” I said.
We looked through the list again but had no strong theories regarding it or the note.
“What did you find?” I asked.
“A little, mostly through Google and a quick call to the Smithfield Market manager. He’s had some dealings with Joan.” Allison reached for a bright green file folder that was on the ground next to her. She held it on her lap.
“And?” I said.
“And, he really liked her,” Allison said.
“That’s too bad,” I said. “She bought stuff from that market for the restaurant?”
“Not for the restaurant, but for herself. Everyone at the Smithfield Market knew who she was, and they always hoped she’d try something that would prompt her to get the association restaurants to shop there, but she never did. However, when she shopped the market, she was friendly to everyone. She and the gentleman who sells fish, I guess you’d call him the fishmonger, were friends, so she spent a lot of time chatting with him. Jack, the market manager, isn’t one for gossip, but he was under the impression that Joan flirted with the fishmonger—Lyle Shum is his name—but Lyle wasn’t interested.”
“Was Joan married?”
“Was, yes. She was a widow. Her husband died twenty years ago, and from what I could find it looks like she hasn’t been in a serious relationship since, unless she and Lyle were seeing each other. I do know that she was devoted to her son Nobel. One story, from a Charleston-based restaurant gossipy newsletter—it’s somewhere in here—said that the restaurant was all for Nobel. It was his childhood love of food and cooking that prompted her to get into the restaurant business. She’s owned Bistro ever since he was about thirteen.”
“I’ve heard he’s a food guy but not interested in the business end of the business.”
“Here’s a picture of Joan and Nobel from about a year ago.” Allison handed me a photo.
Joan was dressed in red taffeta and smiled for the camera. Nobel didn’t look quite as happy, but he was handsome even with his extra-pale skin tone and puppy-dog eyes.
“He looks uncomfortable or unhappy,” I said.
“That could be for any number of reasons. Maybe his shoes were too tight. He’s mentioned a lot in the articles I found. There are a number of South Carolina restaurant periodicals. It was fun to look through some of them.” Alli
son tapped the stack of papers in the folder. “That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. I’m going to do some more calling around, but there doesn’t seem to be anything extraordinary, either good or bad, about Joan. She was a businesswoman, successful but not obnoxious about it. I’ve yet to find one bad review of Bistro.”
“She did something to make someone mad,” I said. “Something other than insult my products, I mean.”
“Here, this is yours. I made copies of everything.” She handed me the folder.
Even though she hadn’t ever thrown herself into a murder investigation, she was already more organized about it than I’d ever been.
“Thanks.”
I took the file back to my truck and put it in the glove box. I didn’t think the file was top secret, but just to be safe, I rolled up both windows and locked the doors, double- and triple-checking them.
As I turned to rejoin Hobbit and Allison back on the steps, a sound rang from up the street. It reminded me of a bicycle bell, which is exactly what it turned out to be.
I squinted at the approaching stranger on the old-fashioned style but modernly built light blue bicycle. He was dressed in a suit to match the bike, and his short, dark hair was slicked to his head. He had a leather satchel over his shoulder, and he smiled as he pedaled.
“Is Pee-wee Herman in town for a show or something?” I said to Allison.
She stood and brushed herself off. “I have no idea who that is, but he looks like he’s headed our way.”
“Hellooo,” the man on the bike said as he waved at us.
I expected his voice to be high-pitched, but it wasn’t; it was a nice, smooth baritone, rich and southern.
Allison and I waved. Hobbit moved to sit in front of the two of us, cautiously eyeing the stranger on the bike.
The bike came to an easy halt at the bottom of the steps. The man dismounted and hurried toward us. The way he moved reminded me of a ballerina, not in a feminine way, but in an athletic, precise way.
“Aldous Astaire, attorney-at-law,” he said enthusiastically as he extended a hand.
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