Murder on the Rocks

by Allyson K. Abbott

  “Thanks, Frank.”

  “Tell them to look at the insurance angle,” Joe said. “After thirty-five years in the business Frank and I have seen it all. And I can tell you, insurance is a huge motive for killings.”

  “I’ll be sure to mention that to them,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Would you guys like to cash in on that free drink and meal I promised you earlier?”

  “Nah, maybe tomorrow,” Frank said, waving away the suggestion. “We’ll be regular paying customers tonight.”

  “Okay then, what can I get you?”

  They both decided on ham and Swiss cheese sandwiches on rye, and being lifetime Milwaukeeans, they also ordered Pabst beers, the namesake brew for the Pabst Brewing Company, which was founded and once enjoyed its “blue ribbon” heyday in Milwaukee. The company left the state in the mid-nineties and now contracts out its brewing rights to other breweries. Their abandoned warehouses have been a blight on the city ever since, though rumor has it they have been earmarked for some unknown urban renewal plan that has yet to be revealed to the public. But the brewery’s departure did little to deter the likes of the Signoriellos, who were diehard fans of both the beer and one of my appetizers. “Bring us some of them cheese curds for a starter,” Joe said as I turned to leave.

  Frank rolled his eyes. “That’s going to raise your cholesterol fifty points,” he chastised. “You know what your doctor said.”

  “My doctor is an idiot.”

  “The lab tests don’t lie, Joe. You gotta watch what you eat. We ain’t spring chickens anymore, you know.”

  “All the more reason to enjoy whatever life we got left,” Joe said irritably.

  Duncan and I walked away while the brothers argued on. After taking drink and BLT orders from three other tables with patrons I had seen once or twice before but didn’t know well, we dropped the food orders off to Helmut, had Billy make all the drinks, and delivered them. Cora gave Duncan the eye when he set down her wine, and the Signoriello brothers were still arguing when we gave them their beers. Two of the other tables made initial inquiries about the murder, acted appropriately appalled by the crime, and then went on to discuss lesser events. I only recognized the male half of the couple at the third table and from their demeanor and what little conversation I overheard, I deduced they were on a first date, an occasion that probably didn’t mix well with a murder discussion. Once all the drinks were dispersed, I led Duncan into the kitchen to help Helmut with the food prep.

  “Well, Cora is interesting,” Duncan said totally deadpan as soon as we were behind closed doors.

  “That woman is a man-eater!” Helmut said over his shoulder. He was busy assembling sandwiches and when I heard the timer on the deep fryer ding, I went over and pulled out some waffle fries and cheese curds. “Cora is harmless, but yes, she is interesting,” I said to Duncan. “Unlike some of my customers, she doesn’t come for the alcohol; she’s a lightweight drinker and she’ll nurse that glass of chardonnay for an hour or two.”

  “Can’t make much profit off a customer like that,” Duncan said.

  “She makes up for her sipping habit by ordering food every time she comes in. But even if she didn’t, I’d love having her here for no other reason than the entertainment value she provides. She doesn’t come in here for the food or the drink. Her primary objective has always been to find a man.”

  “I take it she hasn’t found one yet?”

  “Oh, she’s found plenty of them,” I said with a chuckle. “But none that she’s kept around for long. She has yet to find what she calls The One. But trust me; it’s not from lack of trying. She’s a shameless flirt.”

  “So I noticed.” Duncan glanced at Helmut, whose back was to us, and then waved me into a back corner of the kitchen where we could talk more privately. “Did she ever make a play for your father?”

  “As a matter of fact, she did. She had a hard crush on him. She owns a computer troubleshooting company and while Dad wasn’t above accepting her free help when he wanted to set up wi-fi here for our customers, he always ignored her advances. Cora kept trying, though, at least until Ginny came onto the scene. There was bit of brief competition, but Cora backed off pretty quickly, either unwilling to compete with Ginny or because she saw it was hopeless.”

  “That gives Cora potential motive for both crimes.”

  I shot him a skeptical look. “You think Cora might have killed my father and Ginny?”

  “Hey, you know how the saying goes. Hell hath no fury and all that.” He shrugged.

  Debra came into the kitchen with orders of her own. “How’s it going, Duncan? Are you catching on?” she asked.

  “I’m getting there,” he said as Debra turned and hurried back out front.

  “We’re pretty busy tonight,” I said to Duncan, walking over and grabbing the finished sandwiches Helmut had just made. “You’re going to get a trial-by-fire orientation.”

  “So I see. I also see that your BLTs seem to be a popular choice.”

  “They are, and for good reason. I make them with sourdough bread, the freshest heirloom tomatoes I can find, and Nueske’s bacon cooked up with a bit of ground pepper. Plus I mix a pinch of basil and garlic into the mayonnaise. It’s quite good.”

  “It looks good. Smells good, too.”

  “I’ll make you one later if you like.”

  “I would.”

  I grabbed a leftover slice of bacon and offered it to him. “Here’s a little something to tide you over.”

  I watched as he bit off a chunk in true heathen man style. He closed his eyes for a few seconds as he chewed and when he opened them and looked at me, I was sucking the flavor off the ends of my own fingers one at a time. His gaze shifted to my mouth as I pulled a finger out of it and licked my lips. Then his gaze slowly drifted upward and our eyes locked for several intense seconds. The flavor of the bacon on my fingers had triggered a faint tinkling sound for me, but as Duncan and I stared at one another, that sound was replaced by a loud swishing noise, like the agitator cycle in a washing machine.

  “I like,” Duncan said in a low, husky voice.

  Helmut let out a “Hmph” and arched a brow at me.

  I had no idea if Duncan was referring to the bacon or something else entirely, and frankly I couldn’t have asked even if I’d wanted to. My throat felt like it was held in a vise and the swooshing sound in my ears was making me dizzy. I realized then that the sound wasn’t one of my synesthetic creations, but rather the mad pounding of my own blood in my ears. Sensing Duncan was the cause, I turned toward the sink and busied myself by washing my hands. Then I instructed Duncan on how to help me deliver the various food items, taking care as I did so to avoid engaging those eyes again.

  Chapter 9

  Turns out, Duncan was right about curiosity driving in the patrons. Not only was the place filling up, everyone was talking about the body found in the alley. We hustled tables, filled drink orders, answered questions, and observed people. And despite his misgivings, Duncan Albright proved to be a quick study when it came to waiting tables.

  I filled Duncan in on what I knew of the customers who were familiar to me, sticking to basic facts. I knew a lot more than I told, but unless I felt there was a compelling reason to reveal some of the more private things I knew, I saw no reason to betray those confidences.

  It wasn’t long before Duncan zeroed in on another of my regulars, Tad Amundsen, a forty-something CPA and financial manager who owned a nearby accounting and investment firm. Aside from the fact that he wore glasses, Tad looked more like a model than a CPA. He was extremely handsome, with dark hair long at the collar, blue eyes, a tall, nicely muscular frame, and a squared-off jaw. He turned heads whenever he came into the bar, and he was well-liked and popular. He enjoyed socializing and many of my patrons—both men and women—have tried hitting on him from time to time, though always without success as far as I knew.

  Tad was married to Suzanne Collier, a woman eleven years his senior who was wealthy,
controlling, and—if Tad was to be believed—a bitch. I’d never met the woman, but I had seen pictures of her. She had a pinched mouth, a narrow face, and bulgy eyes, all of which were made to look their best with expensive, professionally applied makeup, and perfectly coiffed hair. Despite her somewhat homely face, Suzanne had a model’s figure—tall and lithe—and she was typically seen wearing the latest and greatest of fashions.

  Tad was Suzanne’s trophy husband, a stud to court her around to all the various social functions she attended. I’m not sure how the two of them hooked up, but given Tad’s non-thoroughbred family tree and his lack of riches, I suspect Suzanne fell hard for him at one time and had truly loved him. Whether or not she still did was anyone’s guess. And I can only speculate on Tad’s motive for marrying because he never discussed it, though I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that money played a significant role in his decision. If it had, it wasn’t enough to satisfy him anymore. He and Suzanne lived in the penthouse of a ritzy condo development that wasn’t too far away, and Tad’s office was just around the corner from my bar. To his credit, Tad had established and owned his own business before he ever met Suzanne. But her influence brought him a whole new brand of client, people who came from a much higher financial and social echelon than what Tad had been used to. From what I’d heard, his business was very successful, but how much of that was due to Suzanne’s influence and how much of it was Tad’s own doing, I didn’t know.

  Tad’s trips to my bar—always alone and, according to him, often under the guise of working late—were becoming more frequent, and his complaints about his marital “prison�� were growing both in number and ferocity. From things he’d said and little hints he’d dropped, I’d gathered that Suzanne was holding a tighter rein on the family money, and I knew that some recent investments Tad had made with his own money hadn’t panned out the way he’d hoped.

  I walked up to Tad’s table as soon as he sat down and instantly felt a slight push on my shoulders that I recognized as a synesthetic cue. It meant something about Tad was different and it only took a second to figure out what it was. Tad typically wore eyeglasses with a large, tortoiseshell frame, a pair his wife picked out for him claiming they were retro and therefore “in.” I hated the way they looked on him and the sight of them always triggered a sour smell that started like a whiff of wine and then shifted to vinegar. Tonight there was no smell and I saw that Tad was wearing new, wire-framed specs that looked much better on him.

  “New glasses,” I said with a smile. “I like them. I never much cared for those tortoiseshell things.”

  “Thanks,” he said. I then introduced Duncan using the agreed-upon story. Tad gave him a quick nod of acknowledgment before turning back to me and getting straight down to business. “I heard about the dead body. How horrible for you, Mack.”

  “Yes, it’s been a very scary thing,” I agreed.

  “Was it anyone we know?”

  I nodded. “Ginny Rifkin.”

  Tad immediately paled and started tearing at the cocktail napkin I’d set down on the table. “Ginny? Really?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Any idea who did it?”

  “Not yet, but the police are looking into it. I should warn you, I gave them your name since you were in the bar last night. So don’t be surprised if you hear from them.”

  Tad’s eyes darted between me and Duncan. “Why would they want to talk to me?”

  “I think they’re talking to everyone who was in the vicinity. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. What can I get you tonight?”

  My attempt to distract him seemed to work, at least temporarily. He dropped the tiny remnant of napkin he was holding and pushed the pieces together into a pile. “Sorry,” he said with an awkward smile.

  “No problem.” I gave him another napkin and swept the torn pieces off the table into my hand.

  “I think I’ll start with a whiskey sour, and let me have an order of cheese curds.”

  “Coming right up,” I said, and then Duncan and I hit up several other tables for orders before heading for the bar.

  After dropping off the food orders and delivering all the drinks, I rendezvoused with Duncan in my office.

  “So this Tad guy has new glasses?” Duncan said. I nodded. “Since when?”

  “Since yesterday when I saw him,” I said, giving him a puzzled look. “Why are you so interested in Tad’s glasses?”

  “Can you describe his old ones?”

  “They were heavy framed, rectangular things with a brown and yellow tortoiseshell pattern. Why do you want to know?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “Right now I want to ask you something else about Cora. I noticed you seemed a bit . . . out of sorts when we first got to her table. What was that about?”

  I cursed under my breath, angry that Duncan has been astute enough to pick up on my reaction, though a good portion of that anger was also due to him brushing off my questions about Tad’s glasses. “I had one of my synesthetic experiences, a sound.”

  “What kind of sound?”

  “Chiming bells, in a specific pattern. Almost but not quite a song.”

  “And that bothered you?”

  I shrugged and after a moment’s thought I decided to come clean. “It did a little, because I heard the same exact sound when I was in the alley this morning, when I found Ginny’s body.”

  “Does that mean something?”

  “It means there is some kind of connection between the two women, something they have in common.” I saw him open his mouth and anticipated his next question. “But I don’t know what it is,” I said, holding up my hand in a halt gesture. “So don’t ask.”

  “Tad seemed pretty nervous, don’t you think?” Duncan said, shifting subjects.

  “He did,” I admitted. “I suppose the knowledge that someone you know was brutally murdered nearby would do that to a person.”

  “You seem defensive.”

  I folded my arms over my chest and sighed. “I suppose I am,” I said. “But with my father gone and no other nearby relatives, these people are like family to me. They’re all I have. I suppose that probably seems pathetic to you, but that’s the way I feel. I’m trying to be objective, but I’m finding it hard to believe that any of these people could be a killer.”

  He walked over and put his hands on my shoulders, and his touch triggered a vision of radiating blue light. “It’s not pathetic,” he said. “It’s actually rather sweet. But the fact remains that in all likelihood Ginny Rifkin’s killer is someone you know. I just don’t want to see you turn a blind eye to the potential danger here.”

  I nodded reluctantly. “You’re right. I guess you’re not the only one who needs to keep an open mind.”

  “Atta girl.” He dropped his hands and then said, “So tell me about Tad.”

  I told him what I knew about Tad’s marital situation while I had a little internal debate with myself about whether I should share some other information that was a bit more damning. It wasn’t an easy decision. Debra wasn’t the only one who heard about people’s problems; such commiserating was a common event. Bartenders often joke about being society’s cheap alternative to a shrink, and while there is no such thing as bartender privilege when it comes to shared confidences, I felt a certain sense of duty about the secrets that had been entrusted to me.

  Still, this was an extraordinary situation and I convinced myself that it called for extraordinary actions. So I told Duncan what I knew.

  “A year or so ago, Tad invested heavily in a piece of rundown commercial real estate—an abandoned dry cleaners—because someone gave him an insider tip that an investor was interested in the area for a future condo project. Tad hoped that the income from the sale of the property, which he bought under a convoluted corporate structure he set up to hide the purchase from his wife, would give him enough money to finally escape his marriage. Unfortunately some of the other properties in the area refused to sell and the condo projec
t fell through, leaving Tad’s little corporation struggling on the edge of bankruptcy.”

  “I don’t suppose Ginny was his Realtor?”

  “To be honest, I don’t know. But I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she was because Tad never seemed very friendly toward her.” I glanced at my watch. “Food should be ready.” I headed for the kitchen and discovered Helmut shuffling orders like a Las Vegas croupier. My orders weren’t quite ready yet so I chipped in to help by managing the fryers while Helmut tended to the sandwich and pizza orders. Duncan, who had followed me into the kitchen, took out his cell phone, wandered off to a far corner, and made a call. As I set about lining the baskets the curds would go in, I tried to eavesdrop. I couldn’t hear everything that was said, but I did hear Duncan mention Tad’s name.

  Missy came into the kitchen just as Duncan was disconnecting his call. “We’re getting busy out there,” she said, tossing her long bangs to one side and tossing more orders at Helmut. Her face was red and damp with sweat. “Everyone seems to be ordering food. I think they’re all curious about the murder and they want to hang out longer to see what they might see or hear.”

  I divvied up the cheese curds among the baskets and when I turned to get a tray to put them on, Duncan bent down and whispered in my ear, “I’ve got some guys at Ginny Rifkin’s apartment as we speak. They’re looking through some papers and computer files to get a list of her clients. We’ll see if Tad’s name pops up.”

  Missy, seeing Duncan whispering in my ear, gave me a sly wink. Then, since Duncan’s back was to her, she pointed at me, thumped an open hand over her heart a couple of times, and wiggled her eyebrows. I rolled my eyes at her and frowned. Helmut, fortunately, was too busy to notice this little exchange.

  Duncan and I served Tad, who had already finished off his first drink and ordered a second, and then we served the rest of the tables. Over the next hour or so, we continued to chat with customers and run back and forth filling drink and food orders. The place was abuzz with the news of Ginny’s murder, and several times I caught Duncan eavesdropping on conversations. Tad drifted to the bar once he was done eating so he could listen and participate in the ongoing buzz about Ginny. Cora, never one to let an opportunity pass her by, wandered into the pool room, where a group of business types wearing dress shirts with rolled-up sleeves were playing a game.