Murder on the Menu

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Murder on the Menu Page 12

by Miranda Bliss


  I couldn’t say no to Eve. In fact, I suggested that after we dropped off Doc, we cut loose and treat ourselves to lunch at some place where neither one of us was responsible for seating anyone or balancing the books.

  When she pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building, I was waiting for her. I waved, and when she stopped, I slid into the passenger seat and glanced into the backseat where the dog carrier was strapped in and the dog’s tiny black nose was pressed against the door.

  “Good morning, Doc,” I said.

  Eve pulled out of the lot and swung out into traffic. Both her hands were on the wheel. Her knuckles were white. “He’s a little nervous,” she said, though since the dog looked the way he always looked, I wondered how she knew. We stopped at a red light, and she drummed her hot-pink nails against the steering wheel. Her voice was breathy. “He’s never been to the groomer before.”

  “And except for when you’re working, you haven’t been away from Doc all day since you got him.” I patted Eve’s arm. “Don’t worry. You said you checked out the groomer. You got recommendations. These folks know what they’re doing. They’ll take great care of Doc.”

  They did. From the moment we walked into Salon de Chien, Doc was treated like a furry little king. The woman behind the reception desk scooped him out of his carrier and cooed about how cute he was.

  Eve’s rough breathing calmed.

  The high school–aged girl in pink scrubs who took Doc out of the receptionist’s arms and escorted us back to Doc’s private “spa room” made little squeaky noises in the dog’s ear.

  Eve beamed.

  By the time we were settled in and waiting for Doc’s “personal stylist and masseuse,” Eve was actually looking forward to lunch. Before we could decide where we’d eat, a stick-thin, middle-aged woman with a store-bought tan and a huge diamond on the ring finger of her left hand came in and introduced herself as Minette.

  “He doesn’t need much.” Minette was short, her skin was leathery. Her hair was spiked and unnaturally blond. She looked Doc over and nodded. “We don’t see many of these Japanese terriers. I’m thrilled to have the chance to work with one.” She unfastened Doc’s collar. “You really like this little guy, don’t you?”

  “He’s the cutest little thing on the planet.” Eve accepted the collar when Minette handed it to her.

  The groomer laughed. “I know he’s cute. That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean that.” With her chin, she indicated the sparkling collar. “Usually, I ask folks to leave the dog’s collar here so we can put it right back on when the session is done. No way I’m going to take responsibility for that one. We don’t have that kind of insurance.”

  Eve looked confused. And who could blame her? Because she didn’t know what to say, I stepped forward. I plucked the collar out of her hands. “Why would you need insurance for rhinestones?”

  Minette winked. “If that’s what you want to call them, honey, I understand. I wouldn’t want word to get around that my dog’s collar was worth ten or twenty grand, either.”

  “Ten?”

  “Twenty?”

  Both our voices broke, and Eve and I exchanged looks. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth opened and closed over words that refused to come out. Knowing that I had to take over, I shook aside my surprise and skimmed my finger over the collar. It was less than an inch wide and completely covered with the small, sparkling stones.

  “You don’t think these are real, do you?” I asked Minette.

  “You don’t think they aren’t?” She tipped her head, considering the possibility, then dismissed it with a wave of one hand. “Come on, you two. Stop putting me on! Let me tell you something. I’m older than both of you, and I’ve learned a couple things from three husbands…no, wait, it’s four now. Anyway, I’ve learned a whole lot about diamonds.” She held up her left hand and turned it back and forth, and the overhead florescents sparked against her ring. “Believe me, I know the real thing when I see it. You can be sure I checked to see if this one was real before I accepted it.”

  I knew right then and there why diamonds were sometimes called ice, because that’s exactly the sensation that shot through me. Icy water rushed through my veins and hardened in my stomach. I swear, it felt as big as the burg that did in the Titanic. While I tried to come to grips with what Minette had to say, I turned the collar over in my hands and saw Doc’s initials inside it.

  “But…” While I was still thinking through everything Minette said, Eve found her voice. “But if the diamonds are real, that means Sarah—”

  I didn’t let her get any further. Before she could say another word, I latched on to her arm and dragged her toward the door. The collar clutched in my hand, I told Minette we’d be back for Doc by three and hurried Eve out of Salon de Chien and into the car.

  I looked all around to make sure no one was watching before I handed the collar over to Eve. I made sure the car doors were locked.

  “You don’t think she was right, do you?” Eve asked. I looked where she was looking, at the collar she held in a death grip. In the sunshine, it sparkled like a million supernovas. “I mean, if she is—”

  “If she is, we’ve got another reason to believe that Sarah didn’t commit suicide.”

  “Because nobody who has that kind of money can possibly be depressed?”

  It was one theory, but I didn’t think it was the right one. “Because somebody who has that kind of money has to get it from somewhere.”

  “Which means—”

  I sighed. I hated when I didn’t have all the pieces to a puzzle, and this one was definitely minus a few. “I don’t know what it means,” I confessed. “And I’m sorry I dragged you out of there like that, but I didn’t think we could risk the chance of talking about Sarah and where the money might have come from. Not in front of strangers.”

  Eve gave me one of her gotcha! looks. “I get it. Until we know what really happened—”

  “Lips sealed.” I trusted Eve. Honest, I did. But I knew her well enough to know that it wouldn’t hurt to remind her that we might be dealing with murder. “We can’t tell anyone. Not about the collar and not about where Sarah got the money.”

  “We couldn’t even if we wanted to, Annie. We don’t know where Sarah got all the money.”

  “No, we don’t. But we’re going to find out. Remember that old saying: follow the money. Well, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  Eve didn’t dispute this. But as she started up the car, she did ask the logical question. “How?”

  “Remember that day we were at Sarah’s? The night we found the body?” Like I had to ask. Like either of us would ever forget. “Well, I saw a letter in her office. A letter from my bank. If she had an account with us, I just might be able to do a little sleuthing.”

  A slow smile inched up the corners of Eve’s mouth. She didn’t have to ask any more questions. She pulled into traffic.

  Ten

  LET’S FACE IT, I’M FAR TOO PRACTICAL TO HAVE BAGGED the idea of lunch completely. We might be women on a mission, but we weren’t completely without priorities. And we were hungry.

  First things first. We went through the drive-through at the local greasy burger joint and discussed what we’d discovered and what it might mean over French fries, double cheeseburgers, and so-thick-you-could-eat-them-with-a-spoon chocolate shakes. By the time we were done slurping up the last of our milk shakes, we had a plan all worked out.

  We had a couple hours before we had to pick up Doc, and we planned to use part of that time to hit the bank. Before that, though, we took a quick detour around Arlington and headed back in the direction of Bellywasher’s and Old Town Alexandria.

  As I might have mentioned before, Arlington, where I live, is a mix of old neighborhoods and new, funky and fabulous, ordinary and out-of-this-world. Old Town Alexandria, where Bellywasher’s is located, is something else altogether. The area was first settled way back before the American Revolution, and the streets are
narrow and lined with skinny buildings that stand slap up against each other. Once upon a long time ago, they were the shops and homes of the early settlers. Today, they house everything from fusion restaurants to antique galleries, wig shops to clothing stores.

  King Street is the main thoroughfare through the heart of Old Town, and Bellywashers’s is located on the not-so-fashionable end of it. In the other direction, closer to the river, the real estate is pricier, the shops are more exclusive, and the clientele is a mixture of tourists and the area’s upper crust.

  As is true of the entire region, parking in Alexandria is horrendous even on good days. On Saturdays, horrendous morphs straight into impossible.

  Which is why I sat up, surprised, when Eve found an empty space not far from where we were headed. Within minutes, we were parked and walking toward an unassuming shop with a plain-Jane facade, a nondescript display window, and prices that I knew for a fact were beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.

  This was the shop where not one, but two of Eve’s former fiancés had bought her engagement rings. Edgar, the clerk behind the long glass counter, knew Eve on sight, and since I had accompanied her on a couple of buy-gifts-for-the-bridal-party jaunts, he probably recognized me, too. The moment we came through the door, his eyes brightened and, believe me, I knew it had nothing to do with the way I looked. Or with Eve’s outfit, for that matter.

  Aside from the fact that I was clad in black pants and bundled in my winter coat and that Eve was wearing a thigh-high pink dress and a fake fur that I knew cost nearly as much as the real thing, ol’ Edgar immediately pictured another happily-ever-after. Yup, his ear-to-ear smile could mean only one thing: he was thinking of the commission check that would result from the too-expensive ring he knew Eve was about to choose.

  I hated to burst Edgar’s bubble, and I told him so.

  Right before I showed him Doc’s collar.

  I guess the fact that he practically dropped his teeth proved that when it came to diamonds, Minette knew what she was talking about.

  The good news was that they had a safe at the store, and after filling out the proper paperwork and getting a receipt, we left the collar with Edgar for safekeeping.

  The bad news?

  What with stopping to eat and driving all the way to Alexandria, we didn’t have much time left before we had to collect Doc, drop him at Eve’s apartment, and get back to Bellywasher’s for what we hoped would be a blockbuster Saturday night crowd. I took full responsibility and blamed it on the milk shakes. Eve, as befits her beauty queen background, wasn’t one to point fingers. She accepted her part of the responsibility and drove like a bat out of hell all the way back to Arlington. She got us to Pioneer Savings just before closing.

  I rushed through the front door and waved a quick hello to Cheryl Starks, the part-timer who filled in on weekends, and because I didn’t want to have to explain what I was doing there on my day off, I headed right for the employee break room and the computer that sat in one corner.

  A couple minutes later, I was back in the car, where Eve was waiting for me.

  “Well?” She looked at me expectantly, and when she saw that I wasn’t carrying anything, her expression fell. “Don’t tell me you were wrong? Sarah didn’t bank here?”

  “Sarah banked here, all right. Not this branch. The one over in Clarendon.” I glanced around at the cars parked on either side of us and the bank at the other end of the parking lot. “That’s all I’m willing to say. At least while I’m sitting where my branch manager can see me.”

  Eve got the message.

  It wasn’t until we were back in the lot at Salon de Chien that I pulled out the computer printout I had folded and tucked under my gray sweater.

  I skimmed my finger down the columns of numbers that laid Sarah’s financial history out before us. “Regular deposits, twice a month,” I told Eve. Even though she was looking over my shoulder at the numbers, I knew she wasn’t understanding them the way I was. “The first and the fifteenth. Those have to be her paychecks. And her paychecks…” I glanced at Eve, just to make sure she was paying attention. “They’re not nearly big enough to account for Sarah’s lifestyle. They’re sure not big enough for her to be able to afford a diamond collar for Doc.”

  “So someone had to be buying her all those fancy things: the expensive cocktail dress and the apartment and the collar and the rest of it.”

  “Or giving her the money to buy those things herself. Look. Here.” I pointed at another set of numbers. “A deposit. Once a month. Nine thousand nine hundred dollars. Just enough to squeak under the radar.”

  “From who?”

  Did I care that Eve’s grammar was off? At a time like this, who and whom weren’t nearly as important as why and how were we ever going to find out.

  I checked the report again. “Cash deposits,” I told Eve. “Every one of them. No way to trace where they came from.”

  Eve checked her watch. It was time to get Doc, and I knew she wouldn’t wait an extra minute. She opened the car door and got out, leaning down to look at me right before she closed the door. “All this means we’re at another dead end, right?”

  She didn’t wait for me to answer, and it was just as well. At that particular moment, I didn’t have an answer.

  By the time Eve came back with Doc in the carrier, though, I was feeling a little more sure of myself. I waited for her to stow Doc in the backseat and slide behind the wheel. I noticed he had a new collar, and I suspected it came from the extravaganza of doggy attire elegantly displayed across from the receptionist’s desk. More sparkles, but this time, I could breathe easy. I knew they weren’t real.

  “It does tell us something,” I said and caught Eve up on my thought processes. “I mean, the cash payments to Sarah every month. They tell us that someone was supporting her. Pretty lavishly, too. Did anyone we talked to at the funeral luncheon mention anything like that?”

  Eve shook her head. “I’d remember that for sure. Some of her coworkers complained about the quality of Sarah’s work. And some people, like Senator Mercy, talked about her like she was Mother Teresa with a Coach bag and an MBA. But nobody mentioned a boyfriend.”

  “Nobody had to mention Dylan. He was right there.”

  We drove along in silence, each of us considering the implications of what I’d said.

  “Dylan was in Afghanistan the day Sarah died.” I knew this, of course, but I let Eve go right on talking. Hearing it helped solidify everything we’d discovered. “He didn’t get back until the day before the funeral. Isn’t that what he told you at the luncheon? There’s no way he could have killed her. And besides, he said they broke up, remember. He dumped her. So why would he be mad enough to kill her?”

  “Unless the reason he dumped her was why he was mad in the first place.”

  We went back and forth like this all the way to Eve’s apartment, where she left Doc in the care of the dog walker. We were both on the Bellywasher’s schedule that night, and though I would have preferred a night at home in front of mindless DVDs, I knew it was just as well. If the crowds the night before were any indication, it was going to be a mob scene at the restaurant that night.

  And that, I reminded myself, was a very good thing.

  “NO, NO. IT’S BAD! IT’S A VERY BAD THING.”

  Something told me those weren’t the first words Jim expected to hear come out of my mouth. He was behind the bar checking out our liquor inventory, and he looked at me from between the bottle of tequila he held in one hand and the fifth of vodka he balanced in the other.

  “Tequila and vodka? Of course, they’re bad together.” He set the bottles down. “Don’t worry, I’m not developing some crazy new drink.”

  “I’m not talking about drinks. I’m talking about that.”

  My eyes remained fixed on the object that had attracted my attention the moment I walked into the restaurant.

  Granny’s picture. The one of the Scottish cottage. In all its glory.

  It
was hanging on the wall behind the bar.

  “Oh, that!” Jim had the kind of grin that was infectious. Unless the person who should have been infected was too busy being horrified.

  Which I was.

  Horrified.

  “I hung it this afternoon,” Jim said, his smile wider than ever. “As a sort of celebration. You know, in honor of the good review.”

  “Isn’t the review what you’re supposed to hang?”

  “Oh, did that, as well.” Jim motioned over to the copy of Michael O’Keefe’s review that had been cut out of the latest copy of DC Nights, framed, and hung on the wall near the door. “People will notice the review when they come in, and that’s all well and good. But this…” He turned around and looked at Granny’s picture, and I swear, his face glowed. “A few of the regulars were in this afternoon,” he said. “You know, Larry, Hank, Charlie, and the rest of them. They were thrilled to see the picture. Says it shows we’re a restaurant with heart.”

  Whatever. Big points for me. I thought it, but I didn’t say it.

  What good would it have done me, anyway? There was nothing I could say that didn’t start with Are you nuts? and end with Get that thing off the wall before someone notices.

  Who was it that said discretion was the better part of valor? I’m not exactly sure it applied in this situation, but I understood exactly what it meant. Rather than point out the obvious and risk hurting Jim’s feelings and defiling the sacred memory of Granny, I headed into my office and closed the door. It was nearly dinnertime, and with any luck, in another few minutes, I’d hear the sounds of the crowds gathering. With just a little more luck, maybe our high-flying customers wouldn’t notice the picture.

  I shuffled through the charge receipts that had accumulated since the day before, but I didn’t fill out the bank deposit as usual. I couldn’t concentrate. Every time I tried, I got sidetracked by thoughts of Sarah’s bank transactions.

  The monthly cash payments she’d deposited into her account had started four months before, about the same time, so we heard, that Dylan had broken up with Sarah. Who had given her nearly ten thousand dollars in cash each month? And why?

 

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