Tarte Tatin Murder

by Sandi Scott

  She thought for a minute and then suggested, “Can you remotely access Charlie’s phone to figure out where it is and then use GPS history to see where he was between the seventh hole and the clubhouse? If he wasn't with Green, we have to figure out where he was and if someone saw him there. He may not be able to remember any time soon, and I think it's going to be very important.”

  “I'm already on it. I should have it mapped out before too long.”

  Patty stepped into the kitchen, setting a box of kitchen gadgets on the stainless steel prep table, so Ashley said, “Listen, Patty just got here, I need to run. How about if we meet for breakfast tomorrow to compare notes? About nine, at the diner? That should give me enough time to snoop around the clubhouse a little, and maybe you'll hear from Charlie or his lawyer by then.”

  Ryan agreed, and Ashley ended the call. She turned uneasily to the other woman, unsure of whether Patty would be her usual, friendly self or the cool, distant near-stranger she'd seemed lately. She really wished she knew what was going on with her friend, but now was probably not the best time to explore that path. Besides, between her early morning, the hot sun, and the drama of Charlie's arrest, she was too tired for a long, emotional conversation.

  “Hey, girl! How was the fundraiser?” Patty seemed genuinely interested.

  “It was murder,” Ashley replied, grimacing.

  “That bad, huh? What happened—run out of mini eclairs?” Patty laughed.

  “No,” Ashley said, “I mean it really was murder—on the seventh hole.”

  “What? What are you talking about? Someone was killed? Who? How? Why?” Patty sputtered in disbelief.

  “Yes, Oliver Green, the primary CURE researcher, was bludgeoned on the golf course and left half-buried in leaves. And Charlie Brady has been arrested for the murder. I can't believe you haven't heard at least five versions of the story through the Seagrass grapevine by now.”

  Patty blushed. “I was—um, I didn't—I haven't seen or talked to anyone yet today.” Waving that off, she continued, “Charlie Brady? Ryan's Uncle Charlie? Uh-uh. No way. There's no way that man would hurt a flea, never mind killing someone. He's a teddy bear! Why on earth does the sheriff think he had anything to do with it?”

  “Well, they were golfing partners for the day. Charlie was pretty tipsy before they left for the game, and he was so crocked when he came back inside, I'm not sure he even knew where he was! And I didn't tell the sheriff or Ryan, but he also said something about being ready to kill his partner for being such a nasty winner. It really doesn't look good.”

  “You're not going to get involved in this one, are you? I know you've helped the police in the past, but it's so dangerous. This isn't a creep stealing from a distance, through a computer; this person didn't mind killing someone 'up close and personal,' as they say, and I bet he or she wouldn't hesitate to kill again if you seemed like a threat to his or her freedom. Please tell me you're going to stay out of it this time!”

  “No, no; I'm going to let the police handle this one,” Ashley assured her friend. “I told Ryan I'd snoop around when I pick up some things at the clubhouse, but that was really just to help him feel better. This time, it's all on the sheriff's department to figure it out. I'm too busy for detective work right now, anyway,” she added, not quite believing her own words.

  Patty nodded, clearly relieved.

  “On the bright side,” Ashley added, “your private dining experience donation brought one of the highest bids in the silent auction. The last bid I saw, just before the auction closed, it was up to $1300. That should be great advertising for the business!”

  “I know—the auction chair already contacted me to tell me that the winner is hoping I’m available this weekend, on Sunday evening. It's his thirtieth wedding anniversary, and he'd like to make the catered dinner part of his gift to his wife. Can you imagine spending that much for a part of a gift? Anyway, that's really, really short notice—just three days—and I don't think I can pull it off on my own that soon. Could you help me? Between the two of us, I think we can make it work.”

  “Sure, I'd love to help! How about we get together tomorrow afternoon to make plans?” This might be the perfect chance to try to reconnect with her friend and figure out why they had been drifting apart. She worried that Patty didn't approve of her sleuthing, that maybe she felt like Ashley wasn't taking her catering business seriously enough and leaving her partner to handle more than her fair share of the work. “My event tomorrow doesn't start until four, and I can finish up the last-minute prep while we talk.”

  “That would be great! I have to meet someone now, but I'll see you about one o'clock tomorrow, if that's okay. In the meantime, if there's anything I can do to help you or Ryan with this mystery, let me know. You aren't fooling me in the least; I know you too well to believe you're going to step back and leave it to the police.” Patty gathered her things and waved good-bye as she scooted through the kitchen's back door.

  CHAPTER 5

  The sun was peeking around the edges of the frilly eyelet curtains when Ashley woke up the next morning. She was about to check the clock to see if she had time for a little more sleep when something wet and cold hit her exposed back where her shortie PJs had a little gap.

  “DIZZY!” she shrieked. Her dog gave her a “Who, me?” look.” Dizzy, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you did that on purpose so you could laugh at me! You just took 5 years off my life, you silly mutt!”

  Dizzy cocked her head to one side as if she was considering what Ashley said. She barked and then, taking the hem of Ashley's tee in her teeth, she tugged to tell her mistress that time was wasting and that Ashley needed to get moving.

  “You are a tyrant, Miss Dizzy! Okay, okay—I'm getting up. What time is it, anyway?” Ashley groused as she headed to the kitchen to start the coffee and let the dog outside. “Ugh! It's only 6:30, Dizzy; I don't have to be anywhere until nine, but you couldn't let me have one single day to sleep in, could you?” The feisty rescue dog, a lab-hound dog mix, didn't react to her mistress' voice as she trotted through the bedroom door and toward the kitchen, toenails clicking on the hallway's wood floors. She was clearly on a mission to find breakfast, and she wasn't going to be distracted from it.

  Following the dog into the light-filled kitchen, Ashley measured rich, dark-roast coffee and filtered water into the coffeemaker on the counter, then filled Dizzy's bowl with kibble before grabbing her phone. “Up early, thanks to Dizzy. Meet at diner in a half hour?” she texted Ryan, figuring they might as well get an earlier start to their day.

  She made it all the way into the bathroom and had turned on the shower before she heard the ding of Ryan's reply. “Your dog is a menace! But yeah, I'm awake now so c u there.” She could just imagine Ryan's tousled bedhead as he pecked at the keys with one eye still closed.

  Not sure of what her day held in terms of any investigation, she slid into a sundress that was polished enough for professional meetings but cool enough for the hot summer day, knowing that her afternoon client wouldn't mind that she wasn't wearing her standard chef's uniform, and stuffed a pair of shorts, a tee, and her kitchen clogs into a beach bag. She could change into the work clothes when she finally got to the kitchen and then back into the dress and some pretty summer sandals for the afternoon's tea event.

  “Dizzy Doll, I'm leaving. Your water and food dishes are full, so stay out of the garbage can today, and stay off the furniture!” Ashley was sure that Dizzy was doing the doggy equivalent of rolling her eyes, and that she would be comfortably ensconced on the bed before Ashley got out of the driveway.

  As she walked to the car, she noticed her neighbor, Elena Montez, who was picking up her newspaper. The elderly woman waved and called out, “Good morning, Ashley! You're out early!”

  “Yes, ma'am; I'm meeting Ryan for breakfast at the diner.” She caught herself before she said anything more. Mrs. Montez was a sweetheart, but she did have a tendency to gossip if she got hold of a hot tidbit.
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  “Oh, that sounds good! Give him a hug for me, won't you?” She turned to go back indoors, then stopped, apparently remembering something. “I almost forgot! Dear, I noticed that the begonias on your porch need a bit of deadheading. Would you mind if I clip them back for you and get a few cuttings at the same time? Your flowers have such unusual colors, and I would love to root some for my great-niece; she loves flowers, and she could use a little cheering up these days.”

  Ashley knew that the niece had been ill for several weeks following a bout of appendicitis. “Of course; help yourself, and tell Malena hello for me. I hope she's feeling better!” Glancing at her watch, she exclaimed, “Uh-oh! I'm going to be late. I'll talk to you later, Mrs. Montez. Have a great day!” She hurried down the drive to her fire-engine red VW Beetle hatchback and headed out toward the town's main drag.

  When she got to the restaurant, Ashley sat in her car for a minute to appreciate the old-style sign over the door, with its stylized coffee cup and simple font, and the crisp gingham curtains in the windows. The Seagrass Diner had opened in 1923, and the same family owners had fed the generations of the town without a break ever since. It was homey and comfortable, even if it was a bit old-fashioned. The menu was filled with old-style comfort foods, and her mouth was practically watering as she thought about the diner’s renowned hot, fresh-made biscuits.

  She stepped inside and looked around for Ryan. Nearly all of the red leatherette-covered booths and counter stools were full, but she finally spotted Ryan near the kitchen doors. He looked tired, but he smiled when he saw her come into the diner and waved her over.

  “Good morning, Ms. Ashley! And how are you this beautiful morning?” She turned to find an older man smiling at her.

  “Good morning, Mr. Kelsom, I'm just fine, thank you. How is the hardware business going?” Smiling back, she signaled Ryan that she'd just be a minute.

  “Oh, as long as I attend to the nuts and bolts of the business, we do just fine,” he replied, eyes twinkling. The hardware store owner was well-known and loved for his puns and his dry wit. She enjoyed talking with him; he always made her laugh, no matter how her day might be going.

  Playing along, Ashley groaned before giving him a quick hug, then headed back to the booth where Ryan sat, looking decidedly less cheerful than the hardware store owner.

  “Coffee, please, Mags,” she told the waitress. “And I'll figure out breakfast by the time you get back!”

  “You mean you'll figure out that you want biscuits and gravy, with a side of bacon and grits, like you do every time you come in for breakfast,” the waitress teased. “We both know you aren't going to order the oatmeal and fruit that you always say you should eat!”

  Laughing, Ashley handed over the menu. “Okay, Maggie, you've got me. Bring me the usual! I hate to be so predictable, but not enough to miss out on those biscuits. Just for fun, how about a glass of orange juice this morning, too?”

  After the waitress walked away, Ashley asked, “What's up? Have you talked to Charlie this morning? Have the detectives told you anything more?”

  Ryan shook his head without looking up. “No. I haven't talked to him yet, and the deputies aren't talking to me. They couldn't question him about the murder because he was drunk; apparently someone who is drunk or drugged up can't legally waive his Miranda rights. They just charged him with public intoxication so they could hold him overnight. I think part of the reason Mueller let them charge him was so they could keep an eye on him, just in case he needed to go back to the hospital. The last I heard was that he would be arraigned sometime this afternoon. But this morning enough time should have passed for him to sober up enough that they can interrogate him. They'll probably charge him for the murder before the hearing.”

  “I just can’t believe they would charge him on such flimsy evidence. I’m sure he'll be bonded out today. There's no reason the judge shouldn't set bail at the hearing. Charlie's a life-long resident with family and a business in the community. And he's got the money for the bond; you'll have him home tonight, I'm sure.”

  “Maybe,” Ryan grumped, “but I'm not so sure he should be home. I know he didn't murder anyone, but he was so drunk. He's a danger to himself; at least in jail, he can't get to the booze! And, the way things are going, he's going to be railroaded straight into prison for someone else's crime.”

  “C'mon, Ryan, don't give up yet. Sheriff Mueller won't let them send Charlie away without evidence, and we know there's no evidence because Charlie didn't do it. And we're going to find out as much as we can to help figure this thing out. You've got to hold on; I can't do this one by myself.”

  “Yeah, I know. Mueller's fair, but he's convinced that Charlie killed Green, and I'm not sure the department is even looking for anyone else; they think they have a slam-dunk case all wrapped up. I'm going to try to talk to the detective in charge of the investigation later, but I doubt it will do any good. Where do we even start on this?”

  “Were you able to get anything from the GPS check?”

  “Not yet; I worked for a while last night, but I fell asleep before I got the info.” He looked a little sheepish.

  “Well, that's not surprising; you had a long, stressful day, so, of course, you were exhausted. Besides, you'll be more useful after a little rest, and those few hours won't set us back that far. What's on your schedule for today? How much time can you spare from business?”

  “I don't have any client meetings today, so my time's pretty much my own. What should I do first?” He started to look a little more hopeful as they continued to talk.

  “Why don't you keep working on the GPS thing? I think I'll head to Victoria to check out Green's lab at the U of H campus. I should be able to talk to someone at the lab, do a little snooping at the clubhouse and still be back to the shop in time for the tea party. Everything is baked and prepped; I just have to set things on the trays, set the tables and make the tea, so I'm fine as long as I get to the kitchen by three. I'll call Patty and tell her I'll meet with her after the tea.”

  They finished breakfast, paid the bill and headed out, agreeing to talk again that evening.

  “Oh, Ryan,” Ashley stopped him as another idea hit her. “If you have time, see what you can dig up about Oliver Green. The books and mystery shows always start by getting to know the victim. Maybe there's something in his past to explain what happened.”

  He nodded. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  They waved good-bye and headed off to complete their tasks.

  CHAPTER 6

  Ashley considered how to get someone at the lab to talk to her and what she wanted to ask as she made the short drive to Victoria. When she could only think of the classics from her favorite mystery stories, like “Did Dr. Green have any enemies,” and “Who might want to hurt him,” she decided to just go with the flow, to improvise as things unfolded. She hoped that there would be an opening in the conversation that would lead her to what to pursue next. She found a parking spot in a visitors' lot and walked to the science building. Inside, she stopped a couple of backpack carrying students who were vigorously discussing a soccer game they'd watched the night before, accompanied by a lot of head-shaking and wide, emphatic arm and hand gestures.

  “Excuse me—can you tell me where Dr. Oliver Green's lab is located? He's the head of the CURE project, I think.” She hoped they wouldn't ask why she wanted to know, given the death of the researcher.

  “Sure, it's on the second floor—the whole floor. But I don't think anyone is up there today; Dr. Green died yesterday, so I think they closed down the lab for a few days.” The student pointed to a staircase at the end of the hall, not showing any curiosity about who she was or why she was asking.

  “Thank you. I guess I'll take a chance that someone might be there.” Ashley hurried away before the two young people could realize that her presence was a little odd and decide to ask any questions, but she had nothing to worry about. They had already gone back to arguing about the officials for the game and we
ren't paying any attention to her at all.

  When she stepped off the staircase, she was facing a double door with a small white plaque on the wall, labeling the room simply “Lab.” She stepped inside with the plate of beignets she'd brought to express her condolences. After all, people always seemed more talkative when presented with a plate of desserts, and that was exactly what she needed. There was only one person in the lab, and Ashley began to relax. It couldn't be too hard to convince just one person to talk, could it?

  “May I help you?” The young man walked over to the short wall dividing the lab from the entrance. “I'm afraid I'm the only one here. We've had a death on the team, so the lab is closed today.” He eyed the French doughnuts hungrily, so Ashley offered him the plate. He set it on the counter, stuffing one beignet into his mouth while grabbing another to hold in reserve.

  “Hello, my name is Ashley, and I'm working with the sheriff's department, investigating Dr. Oliver Green's death. I wonder if you could answer a few questions for me?” She crossed her fingers, hoping he wouldn't ask for any kind of official identification.

  “ I guess. I'm not sure how helpful I can be; I was in Corpus yesterday, surfing, so I don't know anything about what happened except what the others told me last night. Oh, and I'm Blake.” He brushed the powdered sugar off his hand and stuck it out to shake hers.

  “Thanks, Blake. I'm hoping you can help me understand a bit more about Dr. Green and his colleagues. How well did you know him?”

  “I'm an intern on the project; he was my boss. He was in charge of the lab, so we all worked for him, really. Of course, lowly interns don't spend much face time with the boss, but there are only six or seven of us working here most of the time, so we do get to know each other pretty well, at least professionally.”