“I’ll swing by our place, so be ready at seven. By the way, I ran over to the university and spoke to Colin. He drives a black Lexus SUV. He’s not our man for the hit-and-run unless he borrowed a vehicle. And he was teaching class then so his alibi checks out.”
“What did he say about the plagiarism? Did Francine know about it?”
“Yes, Alyce had told her. Francine wanted nothing more to do with him. He wasn’t upset about it. She hadn’t really shared his beliefs, and those are more important to him.”
“That means he wouldn’t have been mad enough at Alyce to do her in.”
“I agree. I’m eliminating him from my list.”
“Who does that leave? Wait, never mind. We’ll talk about it later.”
She didn’t broach the subject again until the three of them were seated in the restaurant that night and had placed their orders. Chitchat centered on Brianna’s school day and Marla’s activities at the salon.
The Green Lizard had a Caribbean ambiance with tropical plants adding splotches of greenery, bamboo partitions, and colorful paintings depicting jungle scenes on the walls. Steel drum music in the background added to the atmosphere. Marla and Brianna each ordered raspberry lemonade, while Dalton got a craft ale.
“Did you contact the farm and determine if they have a lost-and-found department?” Marla asked in a hushed voice after they’d given their food orders. As usual, they were seated by a wall where Dalton could face the entry to observe the new arrivals.
“Yes, and they don’t have the camera you described. The lady there said she’d look in a few other places and get back to me if she finds it.”
“I meant to search YouTube for videos but haven’t had the time.”
“What’s this about YouTube?” Brianna asked. She wore her dark brown hair curled at the ends and a light application of makeup that made her appear more grown up.
Marla felt a pang of loss at the thought of her leaving for college. She hadn’t even begun dating yet, at least not in the sense that Marla knew. Come to think of it, Brianna hadn’t mentioned Jason’s name beyond that one time when she was meeting friends at a jazz club. Was the young man merely an acquaintance from school or something more? Would Brianna even tell them if she liked a boy?
Probably not. She’d be leery of her dad’s reaction, and rightly so.
“We had the idea to check for videos or photos posted online from the harvest festival,” Marla said, keeping her thoughts to herself. Nonetheless, she resolved to be more aware of cues from the girl when she talked about her friends. “Someone might have uploaded a picture that pertains to the case.”
“I could help,” Brianna offered.
“That would be great. It’s more up your alley, and it would free your dad for other things.”
“Awesome. This will be fun. Who are your lead suspects? Bring me up to date.”
“Francine’s boyfriend has alibis for both Alyce’s and Francine’s deaths,” Dalton replied, helping himself to the platter of conch fritters they’d ordered as an appetizer. “She didn’t have any other relatives except for a distant aunt who claimed her remains. Or so we thought.”
He got busy chewing, so Marla picked up the thread. “Then we learned Francine had been adopted, and she had siblings. Her half-sister was none other than Alyce Greene. This meant she was also related to Alyce’s brother, Steve, and by marriage to the husband, Jon Greene. Moreover, Francine left her estate to Alyce.”
“Are those men still persons of interest?”
Dalton exchanged a glance with Marla. “Not so much Mr. Greene. Francine’s estate wasn’t large enough to kill someone over. He seems to be genuinely mourning his wife, plus I’ve verified he was consulting with food suppliers during the window of her death.”
“The brother has more to hide,” Marla inserted, anxious to sort out the suspects in her mind. “His firm, Viadome, handles the accounts for Amalfi Consolidated. They also own Eat Well Now magazine.”
“That’s where Francine was publisher, right?” Brianna responded, her brows raised.
“Yes, and it’s where I met the magazine photographer. This woman said she’d loaned Francine her camera to take photos for their publication. The camera wasn’t in Francine’s purse and hasn’t been turned in by anyone.”
“Do you believe the killer kept it?”
“It’s possible. The pictures Francine took could be useful to the case.”
“I’ll check online for other photos later.”
Marla laid a hand on her arm. “You’ll be going to sleep to get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow after school will be time enough.”
Brianna compressed her lips but didn’t protest. “Did anyone at the magazine seem to hold a grudge against Francine?”
Marla shook her head. “They miss her being there. If anyone had a reason to resent both Alyce and Francine, I’d put my finger on Carlton Paige. The food critic wasn’t happy with either one of them. His wife, Sally, could be considered in the running as well. She has her own secrets to keep. Or she could wish to preserve her lifestyle by boosting her husband’s ratings.”
Dalton agreed. “I’m not finished with either one of them. But back to Steve Madison. He knows something fishy is going down with Amalfi Consolidated. That puts Tony Winters, VP of the firm, in our crosshairs. Whether or not he’s complicit, he still has the most to lose.”
“Do you suppose both victims got wind of his company’s wrongdoings?” Brianna asked.
“It’s my working theory at the moment. Alyce told her husband she meant to get proof, and she wound up dead. Francine had been planning to publish an exposé, and the same thing happened to her. It’s the strongest motive.”
“But not the only one,” Marla reminded him. She bit into a crunchy fritter, savoring the warm texture and the mustardy sauce.
“What about the farm family? Have you eliminated them?” Brianna said.
“Zach had been worried about losing the farm,” Marla replied, “and Francine could have learned about his questionable ownership. But he seems to have things under control. I don’t believe that’s the topic she meant to address in her article, although she may have asked him about it.”
“Here come our meals.” Dalton pointed to the waitress headed their way. “Let’s put a hold on this discussion until after dinner.”
“Our thanks to the kitchen staff,” Marla said once they’d finished their entrées. Her grilled grouper with a mango-coconut sauce had been divine. “May we speak to your executive chef? We have a message for him from someone he worked with at The Royal Palate.”
“Sure, ma’am, I’ll go see if he’s available,” the woman replied.
Ten minutes later, a stocky fellow in chef whites with a toque on his head, approached their table. “I’m Jeffrey Tobias. You wanted to see me?”
Dalton rose to shake his hand. “Our compliments on an excellent meal. Tristan Marsh sends his greetings from The Royal Palate and wishes you were still there.”
The ruddy-faced fellow swept his arm in an expansive gesture. “I’m happier here. I’ve partnered with an old school friend of mine who owns the place, and we’re doing great. It’s a much better environment.” At Dalton’s insistence, he took the empty chair at their table for four.
“Tristan was upset when you left suddenly. He said you’d told him things that may have gotten you in trouble.”
The chef’s face reddened. “Tristan talks too much. Why do you care?”
Dalton showed his badge. “We’re investigating two potential murders. The first one occurred at Kinsdale Farms during the fall harvest festival. You may have seen it on the news. Chef Marsh was there as judge for the bake-off contest, which my wife participated in. She found one of the contestants dead in the strawberry field. The woman had been hit on the head from behind.”
The chef sucked at his lower lip. “I’m sorry for the lady, but what does it have to do with me?”
“The dead woman was publisher for Eat Well Now
magazine. You are familiar with this periodical?”
“Sure, it’s a respected publication in the industry. Do you mean Francine Dodger? We’d met before.”
“I saw her speaking to the farm’s owner that day,” Marla cut in. “Are you aware Amalfi Consolidated sells their imported products at the marketplace?”
The chef frowned. “What of it?”
“Tristan gave me a taste of the extra virgin olive oil in his restaurant kitchen. It made me sick. Could the oil have been tainted? Or perhaps mislabeled, in that it contains seed oils that people with allergies should avoid?”
A sudden thought struck her. What if Francine hadn’t been talking to Zach about his farm’s ownership problems that day but about the import firm instead?
What had Zach said when they’d interviewed him last? Marla had told him about Francine’s proposed article and asked if his farm was the subject. Oh, she knew about it all right, but her interests lay elsewhere, he’d replied. Maybe Francine had been confronting him with her findings about the import company.
Chef Tobias leaned forward. “I knew there was something wrong at The Royal Palate. The oil tasted bland to me, and I am an expert. At first, I didn’t say anything to the owner, Mr. Romano. But when I did, he shrugged it off. I had a bottle tested. My instincts were correct. The oil originated from the Middle East, not from Italy as claimed, and it contained a blend of plain oils with a trace of EVOO. That’s extra virgin olive oil.”
“What did you do?” Marla asked.
“I confided in Tristan, since he also had doubts. Then I asked our boss where he bought these supplies. When I questioned his source, he got angry and dismissed me. Later, I learned that Damon—Mr. Romano—is friends with Tony Winters.”
“It’s no surprise he fired you,” Dalton commented in his wry tone. “The two of them must have been colluding together. Perhaps your boss gets a kickback for ordering supplies from Tony’s company.”
“That’s what Tristan thinks. I told him to keep his mouth shut. Damon, and hence this Mr. Winters, already suspect he knows.”
“Is Tony just following orders from his higher-ups in Italy, do you suppose, or is he complicit in the fraud scheme?” Dalton queried.
Chef Tobias shrugged. “I washed my hands of their business when I left the restaurant. Here we order from suppliers whom we know personally and whose products we have vetted.”
“I see. Well, thanks for the information. Is there anything else you can add that might be relevant?”
“I heard those boys from Italy are coming for a visit. I’d steer clear of them if I were you. Last time they came, Damon acted petrified that they might stop by. He’d heard bad things happened to people who didn’t play their game.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Excuse me, I have to get back to work,” Chef Tobias said as he stood to take his departure. He waved to a guy who signaled him from the rear. Clearly he was needed in the kitchen.
“Wait, one more thing. Do you know Raquel Hayes, the TV chef?” Marla asked. “She was another judge at the bake-off contest.”
To her surprise, he laughed. “Her audience loves her, but what she does is mostly showmanship. Sure, she offers useful cooking tips and keeps her audience entertained. But she isn’t someone I’d want in my kitchen.”
“Why is that?”
“Sorry, I’ve said enough.”
He turned to go but stopped when Marla said, “Has Carlton Paige reviewed your new place yet?”
Chef Tobias rounded on her with a snarl. “That snake had better keep his head outta here.”
“Oh, my. I gather you’ve had problems with him?”
“I’m unwilling to provide perks for a good review, so I don’t expect much from his quarter. Readers know his reviews have gone downhill. It won’t be long before his column is shut down.”
“Mr. Paige must have achieved his reputation somehow.”
“In the early days, you could rely upon his integrity. But then his head got stuffed with his own importance. Nowadays he expects special treatment.”
“How was his relationship to Francine Dodger?” Dalton asked as he rose.
“They knew each other. I saw them talking at industry events,” Chef Tobias said.
“And Alyce Greene, the food blogger?”
A sorrowful look came over the chef’s face. “I was saddened by her loss. Alyce Greene did the world a service. She promoted healthy eating and sustainable food sources. We need more folks like her on our planet. If we don’t monitor our agricultural methods and fishing techniques, our food supply won’t keep up with the population’s demands.”
Dalton, as though sensing a lecture coming on, offered a nugget of news. “What if I told you we suspect Alyce’s accident may have been deliberate? That both she and Francine might have been onto something that got both of them killed?”
The chef’s face paled. “That would be horrible. Look, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention to anyone that we’ve had this little chat. Thanks for dining at my restaurant. Spread a good word about the food if you will.”
Marla watched him vanish into the kitchen. Dalton resumed his seat with a thoughtful expression. Brianna slurped her drink, her cell phone face up on the table.
“Did we learn anything?” Marla asked.
“He’s scared,” Dalton replied in his stern tone. “He respected Alyce Greene, didn’t have much to say about Francine, and came down on Raquel Hayes. As for The Royal Palate, I might have a talk with the owner. Meanwhile, I should contact the FDA to see if they have anything on Amalfi Consolidated.”
“I’ll look online for photos or video from the harvest festival,” Brianna said, reiterating her plan.
Both Dalton and Brianna glanced at Marla. She shrugged at their inquiring looks. “I have to work tomorrow. There isn’t much I can do.”
“How are the plans for the bad hair day clinic coming?” Brianna asked with a bright grin. “I love the idea. Some of my friends are coming with their mothers.”
“That’s great. I appreciate your help handing out flyers.”
“It’s a cool idea. Dad, we still have to go to the history museum to see their new exhibit.”
He wore a chagrined expression. “That’s right, I keep forgetting. I’d met the curator briefly when I interviewed her, but I didn’t have time to tour the place.”
“Did you ever ask Becky how long she’s known Raquel? They seem to be tight together,” Marla said.
“That’s because Raquel greases Becky’s wheel each time she has a new cookbook out,” Dalton reminded her. He signaled to the waitress for their check. “There’s still a gap in the TV chef’s history, however. Maybe Becky knows what Raquel did in those early days.”
“If she’d lied on her application to culinary school, Francine might have caught onto her.” Something niggled in Marla’s brain about Francine, but it wouldn’t surface.
“Her work experience checked out, so I can’t imagine what it would be,” Dalton replied.
“Did you speak to the producer of her show? I believe it was Alyce who implied Raquel had slept with the man to land her gig. It might be useful to talk to the guy. He may know more about Raquel’s background.”
“True, I can add him to my list.”
The waitress headed their way and smiled at Dalton. “Chef Tobias thanks you for joining us tonight and says your meals are on the house.”
“That’s very generous of him.” Dalton pulled out his wallet. “Can we at least pay for the drinks?”
“No sir, it’s all covered. Have a lovely evening.” She turned away toward another customer.
“Well, that was unexpected. I’ll leave a good tip,” Dalton said, calculating what they would owe and how much gratuity he should give.
****
Over the next couple of days, Marla wavered between wanting to tell Dalton about her personal news and holding off until she got confirmation from the doctor’s office. When Thursday morning rolled around, she
put in a call to the gynecologist asking about her results. Enough time had passed that they should be ready.
Waiting for the return call made her pace the house, so she went into the salon earlier than her usual one o’clock arrival. She greeted her staff, tossed her purse into a drawer, and plugged in the implements at her station.
“How did your dinner with Kevin’s parents go?” she asked Nicole, when the other stylist had a moment free. They hadn’t had a chance to chat since the work week began.
Nicole grinned. “They’re nice people. I think they liked me. His mom is a good cook.”
“That’s great. Has he said anything else about a trip to the Bahamas?”
“We have to coordinate our calendars first.”
“Take off any time that you need. Robyn can adjust your schedule.” Her cell phone rang, and she snatched it so fast that her fingers almost dropped it. A glance at the caller ID told her it was the doctor’s office.
Marla hastened toward the back storeroom, glad to find the place empty so she could have some privacy.
“Marla? It’s Doctor Bernstein. I have good news. The tests have confirmed that you’re pregnant. Congratulations.”
“Omigod. It’s true.” She put a hand on the counter to steady herself. “What do I have to do next?”
“Make another appointment, and come in with your husband. We’ll go over things together.”
Marla hung up, stuck the phone in a pocket, and rubbed her belly. A tiny life was growing inside her. She had to share the news with Dalton, despite her reservations about his reaction. He’d be ecstatic and only concerned for her welfare.
“Marla, why do you have that look on your face?” Nicole said, accosting her when she reappeared by their stations. “Who was that on the phone?”
“My doctor’s office. The gynecologist confirmed my pregnancy test.”
“Fantastic! Have you told Dalton?”
“Not yet, but I’ll spill the beans this evening. I promise.”
The day passed slowly until she and Dalton were finally alone in bed that night. Marla rolled on her side to face him. “I have some news to share.”
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