Murder on the Menu

by Miranda Bliss

  Each.

  “Do they have any idea how much a cup of coffee costs?” I had been minding my own business, bringing some extra pens up to the bar, when I saw what was going on, and I stood frozen—not to mention incensed—in my tracks. Jim was mixing a martini for a woman in a black hoodie, hot pants, and flip-flops who sat alone at the end of the bar. He poured the drink, delivered it with a smile, and returned to my side.

  “It’s coffee, Annie,” he said, in that oh-so-reasonable tone of voice that told me I was being anything but. “Just coffee. Don’t worry about it. They’ll order lunch sooner or later. That will make up the difference.”

  “They haven’t even ordered lunch?” I did some quick mental calculations and cringed. If these guys were regulars, and if regulars came in on average four times a week…if there are fifty-two weeks in a year…and if on each of their visits they drank this much coffee and never ordered another thing…

  Before I could stop myself, I was reaching for a stack of menus with one hand and a Sharpie with the other. “We need to make a note. That’s what we need to do. ‘First two coffee refills free.’ How does that sound? Or maybe we should be more subtle. How about, ‘We’ll be happy to refill your coffee cup two times’? That’s a little more politically correct, don’t you think?”

  “I think you forgot what I said about taking deep breaths.” Jim plucked the menus out of my hand. He grabbed and pocketed the Sharpie, too, just to be sure I didn’t decide to go do anything like scrawl my new coffee edict on the wall. “It’s coffee, Annie. Just coffee. Let them drink all they want. They’ll be back. They’ll tell their friends. You’ll see. It’s good PR.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed. Reluctantly, but I agreed. I glanced around at the other full tables. There were only two, so it didn’t take long.

  I sent a laser look to where a man in a navy suit sat across from a woman in a mink coat, and another at the table where three teenagers were sharing a pitcher of Coke. “They ordered, didn’t they?” I asked. “They’re not just sitting there drinking and getting free refills, are they?”

  “They’re not just drinking.” Jim wound an arm through mine and turned me around so that I was facing the kitchen and not our customers. “The man and woman are waiting for their orders, two bowls of sweet potato bisque, crab cakes, quiche. The kids are here to apply for jobs. I know, I know…” He stopped me before I could comment. “We don’t need anyone right now. I told them that. But let’s face it, this is the restaurant business, and it’s not known for stability or for people who like to stick around long. I told them that we might someday need to do more hiring. And I let them know that when it comes to employees, you make the final decisions. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have them fill out applications.”

  “And the Coke?”

  “They ordered it. They paid for it. Happy?”

  I was. Sort of. I’d be happier if more of our tables were filled. As if a second look might change things, I flipped around and took another quick inventory. I was just in time to see the front door open and a young woman rush inside.

  She was about thirty, an attractive strawberry blonde in a Burberry raincoat. When she caught sight of Eve, she smiled and waved.

  “Well, aren’t you the sweetest thing, ever?” Eve folded the woman in a hug. “You said you’d be here today—”

  “And here I am!” The woman laughed. “I can’t stay, though,” she added. “I’ve got a meeting at two and a ton to do to prepare for it. You have a takeaway menu, don’t you?”

  Eve assured her we did and led her to a table. She didn’t bother calling Heidi over. Eve took the woman’s order herself, scampered to the kitchen with it, and waved me over on her way back.

  “Annie, you remember Sarah, don’t you?”

  I didn’t, and maybe my expression said it all. Eve propped her hands on her hips. “Oh, come on! It wasn’t that long ago. Sarah Whittaker? Charlene’s sister? They look so much alike, they could practically be twins. I know you remember Charlene. She was—”

  “In our home room in high school. Of course!” The lightbulb went on. “You were a couple years behind us in school if I remember correctly. How’s your sister?”

  When I offered my hand, Sarah stripped off her buttery leather gloves. She clutched them in her left hand as she shook mine firmly with her right. “Charlene is fine,” she told us. Her smile was wide and genuine. “She’s in the Peace Corps, you know. In Ukraine. I don’t see her or talk to her often, but we’ve been able to e-mail pretty regularly.”

  As I remembered, Charlene Whittaker was a quiet, studious girl, and in spite of Eve’s glowing assurance, she and Sarah could not be mistaken as twins. Charlene was short and chunky, with a face rounder than Sarah’s and skin that wasn’t nearly as porcelain clear. Plain though she may have been, Charlene had a good head on her shoulders and a good grasp of politics. Back in school, she’d been involved in Greenpeace and Habitat for Humanity. I wasn’t surprised to hear she was following through with her convictions.

  “Sarah and I haven’t seen each other for a couple months. Then we ran into each other at the grocery store last week. She lives right in Arlington, not far from you, Annie. I told her about this place, and she said she’d stop in. Isn’t that just sweet? And you know, she’s going to pooh-pooh this, but I’ll mention it, anyway. She’s no slouch herself.” Eve provided the information and, as if on cue, Sarah blushed. “She’s on the staff of Douglas Mercy. You know, the senator.”

  I knew, all right. Who didn’t? Senator Mercy was being talked about as a vice presidential candidate in the next election.

  “Being a staffer isn’t as impressive as it sounds.” Sarah slipped out of her coat. She was dressed to perfection in a dark suit and a white blouse, and though I was more the sales rack type myself, I knew expensive clothing when I saw it. Her blouse was silk, and I’d bet an entire carafe of coffee that the emerald-and-diamond ring on her right hand had not come from the costume jewelry counter. “Senators have lots of staffers.”

  “Especially senators with the chops of Douglas Mercy.” Eve made herself right at home, flopping down in the chair next to Sarah’s. I didn’t object. She was Bellywasher’s one and only hostess, sure, but it wasn’t exactly like we had lines outside the door. “So, tell me, honey, is Douglas Mercy as gorgeous in person as he is on TV?”

  Sarah tipped her head as if she’d never really considered the question. “Well, he is in his sixties, but I suppose he’s nice-looking anyway.” An idea occurred to her, and her eyes widened. “He’s single, too, you know. A widower. What do you say, Eve, want me to arrange a blind date?”

  “Dates! Men!” Eve tossed her golden girls. She didn’t have to elaborate. I knew exactly what she meant. Eve wasn’t thinking men. She was thinking man. One man. Tyler Cooper.

  Tyler is an Arlington homicide detective and the thorn in Eve’s romantic side. Here’s the scoop:

  Eve and Tyler were engaged once upon a time, but then, that’s not unusual. Eve’s been engaged—and unengaged—more times than I can count. What qualifies Tyler for Eve’s special contempt is that before him, she was the one who ended every single one of the engagements. Yup, that’s right. Tyler is the only man who ever broke up with Eve.

  That in itself is nasty enough. Unfortunately, the nastiness swelled (past animosity and all the way to I-can’t-stand-the-sight-of-him territory) when Eve and I found the body in the parking lot of the gourmet shop where we took our cooking lessons.

  And our urgent call for help was answered by a patrol officer named Kaitlin Sands, Tyler’s current fiancée.

  Bad enough, yes? But wait! As they say in those hokey commercials, there’s plenty more.

  After it was determined that the man was murdered and didn’t die of natural causes, Tyler himself—in all his egotistical glory—showed up at Très Bonne Cuisine and looked down his roman nose at us when Eve and I told him we thought we knew who’d done it.

  Then there was the little matter of how he took
it when he found out we’d been right (at least about some things) all along.

  Do I need to point out that Tyler was not a happy camper when we solved a case he couldn’t?

  The fact that he held Eve and me in the highest possible professional disdain paled in comparison (at least in Eve’s eyes) to the fact that throughout our investigation and the (unfortunate) amount of times we bumped into him because of it, Tyler never so much as gave Eve a second glance.

  Hell hath no fury, and Eve wasn’t just a woman scorned. She’d been rejected, spurned, and told right to her face that she wasn’t as smart/pretty/young/clever as Kaitlin. That had to hurt. I knew it for a fact, because I’d been told pretty much the same thing about Mandy (or Mindy, I never could remember) by Peter.

  It was certainly ammunition enough to account for the fact that Eve’s top lip curled before she said any more about a date with Senator Mercy.

  “Men,” Eve said, “are disposable. Even rich, powerful, handsome men like that senator of yours. No thanks, sugar. I’m not interested.”

  Sarah didn’t know Eve as well as I did. She took the statement at face value. I, who had been Eve’s best friend since the day in first grade when we were assigned to be each other’s bathroom buddy, knew that sooner or later, she’d change her mind and be back in the hunt.

  I knew it would be sooner.

  I prayed it would be later.

  I already had six unreturnable matron of honor gowns—never worn—hanging in the deepest, darkest recesses of my closet. I didn’t need another one.

  “Well…” Sarah sat up a little straighter. She had eyes as brown as acorns, and they sparkled with excitement. “I’m glad I had a chance to stop in. I didn’t have these pictures with me when I saw you at the grocery store the other day.” She reached into her Coach bag and held a small stack of photos to her heart. “I have something really exciting to tell you about: Doctor Masakazu.”

  News of the romantic sort is usually greeted with interest by Eve. But this time, I watched as her brow furrowed. In a pretty way, of course.

  “Doctor? What happened to that hunky news anchor you were dating? Dylan What’s-His-Name? You know, the one with the great hair and the really white teeth? You didn’t—”

  “Break up with him? You bet I did. But this isn’t about a new boyfriend.” Sarah’s grin was as bright as the sunshine that played hide-and-seek with the November clouds outside. “It’s about him. Doctor Masakazu.”

  She flipped the photos around and proudly held them in our direction. Because Eve was still staring, widemouthed, I sat down and took the pictures from Sarah’s hand.

  “It’s a dog,” I said, stating the obvious since I was looking at a picture of a tiny puppy with a thin brown face and dark eyes. “This is Doctor Masa…”

  “Doctor Masakazu.” Sarah laughed. “I don’t know what it means for sure, but it sounds right, doesn’t it? His breed originated in Japan and it’s a Japanese name, at least the Masakazu part. We had a trade delegation visit from Japan a couple months ago, and one of the men in it was named Masakazu. I put the doctor in front of it for no reason at all except that it sounds so cute. I got him from the breeder a week ago. Is he adorable, or what?”

  Adorable? I wasn’t so sure, though I was willing to go as far as cute. Not that I’m not an animal lover. Furry and cuddly are very good things. But the very good things that are furry and cuddly can also be very bad things, and they often do even worse things to furniture, not to mention carpeting. My hunger for predictability precluded me from ever letting a creature into my life. After all, I’d already had one cuddly thing to call my own—Peter—and at the same time he proved himself a dirty dog, he also proved that my theory was right. No matter how cute, no matter how cuddly, they can be unpredictable, uncontrolled, and unrepentant when they’re bad.

  Eve, on the other hand, had no such reservations. About men or animals. But then, Eve has a heart as big as a Texas ranch. “He’s the sweetest little thing I’ve seen in a month of Sundays,” she said, snatching the pictures out of my hands for a better look. “My goodness, Sarah, is that a diamond bracelet he’s wearing for a collar?”

  I leaned in close for a better look at the picture. The puppy was wearing what looked like diamonds, all right, two rows of them stacked one on top of each other and mounted on a thin band of black leather.

  “Diamonds?” Sarah laughed like she was embarrassed, and I couldn’t blame her. Leave it to Eve to think of pampering a pooch she’d never even met. “Don’t be silly, Eve. Though believe me, if he wanted diamonds, I’d buy him diamonds. He’s my little sweetie pie.”

  The last sentence was delivered in the kind of high-pitched, singsong voice women use when they’re talking to babies. I didn’t begrudge Sarah this eccentricity, but I have to admit, I didn’t fully understand it. Not that I don’t love babies. My biological clock was ticking as loud as any other mid-thirties single woman’s. I guess I just found it hard to understand translating that kind of affection to a dog.

  “Sorry!” As if Sarah could read my mind, she made a face. “I know I sound like a complete nutcase, but I’m head over heels in love with the little guy. I had to wait just about forever for him. The breeder had a waiting list a mile long. But now that I’ve got him…” Her bosom heaved beneath her silk blouse. “He’s so tiny and so affectionate! He’s my best buddy.”

  Eve patted her hand. “I think it’s adorable. You’ll have to bring him in to meet us one of these days real soon.”

  “I don’t think so.” I disabused her of the notion before she allowed it to take on a life of its own, as Eve’s ideas often do. “Something tells me the health department wouldn’t be happy about us having a dog in here. Even a dog as cute as Doctor Masa…”

  “Masakazu.” Sarah grinned. “Don’t worry about not remembering his name. It’s my fault. I should have named him Rover or something easy to remember, but he’s just so special, I wanted him to have a special name.”

  Heidi appeared, take-out bag with Sarah’s order of orange and fennel salad in hand. After Sarah paid and left a generous tip, she slipped into her raincoat and popped out of her seat. “I’d better get moving. Like I said, I’ve got that meeting. I’ll tell you what…” She pulled on her gloves. “Why don’t you two come over and meet Doctor Masakazu sometime? I know the little darling would love company, and you just won’t believe how adorable he is.”

  I was about to say no, for no other reason than I couldn’t imagine where I’d find the time. But Eve, of course, had already said yes.

  “How about Wednesday?” Eve suggested before I could blurt out the fact that I had a meeting at work on Thursday (my other work) and I knew I had to be at the bank early. When I knew I had to be up early, I never allowed myself to stay out late the night before. “We’ll bring dessert. Jim makes a flourless chocolate cake with hazelnuts that is to die for.”

  We set a time, and Eve scratched Sarah’s address on the back of one of the business cards we kept in a stack on a table near the front door.

  She was ready for me even before she turned around after escorting Sarah to the door.

  “You need to take an evening off sometime in this century,” she said. “You’re tired and stressed out. And don’t tell me that’s not true.”

  “It is true, but—”

  “And you don’t have to be here every minute when you’re not at the bank, Annie. You can handle the business end of things and walk away. Jim knows what he’s doing when it comes to everything else. The staff is great, and besides, Wednesday is my night off.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “But nothing. It will be fun.” The front door opened, and two men in suits walked in. “Come on, Annie,” Eve said right before she went over to welcome them. “You could use a little R & R, and I can’t wait to meet that sweet little dog. You’re such a worrywart. What can possibly go wrong?”

  It was the second time that day that I’d heard the question.

  I tried not
to think about it, but even as I did, I saw Heidi take another carafe of coffee over to Larry, Hank, and Charlie.

  Three

  SARAH LIVED IN ARLINGTON. JUST LIKE I DID. TRUTH BE told, though, it wasn’t exactly the same Arlington.

  I live in a modest apartment in a building that was erected the same year I was born. Don’t try to do the math. Let’s just say it makes my apartment building older than I care to say.

  Age aside, it’s a nice place. My neighbors are (for the most part) quiet, the building is always clean, and the landscaping, though it isn’t inspired, is neat, trimmed, and brightened with minimal displays of seasonal flowers and Santas/ menorahs/Kwanzaa candles when appropriate.

  But though it is where I live, my apartment will never really be home. Like millions of other little girls, I grew up dreaming of a house with a picket fence and a wide expanse of grass where my children (always clean, well-behaved, and—it goes without saying—in the gifted program at school) could play to their little hearts’ content with their equally spotless friends.

  For the first years of our marriage, it was Peter’s dream, too. At least the part about the house and the yard. (He was a high school chemistry teacher, after all, and so, a little more down-to-earth when it came to the well-behaved and spotless parts.) Real estate prices in the D.C. area are out of this world, but Peter was determined. Or maybe he was just trying to humor me. We were actually looking at (very small) houses when he was overcome with dry cleaning fumes and the perfume of the girl behind the counter. That’s when he came to the realization that my dreams weren’t his dreams. None of them.

  Our marriage wasn’t the only thing split in two. So was our savings account. And there went any hopes I had of owning a home of my own. At least any time before I was so old, I couldn’t make it up the front steps without help.

  Still, dreams die hard. Some nights I lie in bed and imagine how I’ll decorate my very own house, what shades of beige I’ll use in each of the rooms, which flowers will edge the path that leads from the sidewalk to my front door.