Murder at Le Bijou Bistro: Northwest Cozy Mystery Series (Northwest Cozy Mysteries Book 5)

by Dianne Harman

  Buy boat for Cassie. Small un’.

  He hadn’t been expecting Kitten Knight to be on time for their 11:30 a.m. meeting, but over an hour had passed, and the nearby tables had started to fill up when he heard the sound of her voice as she approached his table. Engaged in friendly conversation with Doug, the sound of Kitten’s soft lilt was mesmerizing. Fixing his gaze firmly on the horizon, Al willed himself not to turn around. This was going to be harder than he’d expected.

  “Like what you see?”

  “Yep,” Al said, without turning his head.

  Kitten appeared opposite him, and wriggled into a chair, her revealing skin-tight top and jeans limiting her movement. “I wasn’t talking about that view, Al. I’m talking about this view,” she said, as she arched her back and pushed out her chest.

  Al felt his heartbeat quicken. Kitten had made a special effort with her appearance, as he knew she would. Her platinum hair was in a casual updo that was just a little undone. Carefully applied no-makeup makeup made her skin look flawless, except for the smudged eyeliner and bee-stung lips. If Kitten was going for the just-got-out-of-bed look, she’d achieved it with a perfect ten.

  “Ya’ look like a million bucks, tax-free,” he said, before turning to Doug. “A blanket fer the lady, please. She forgot to finish gettin’ dressed.”

  Kitten raised an eyebrow. “You never had any complaints about that before.”

  Al took a swig of his beer. “That was different.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Al looked at Kitten, and felt a pang of…he wasn’t sure what. Before he met Cassie, Kitten was one of his favorite people. For years, off and on, they’d enjoyed one another’s company, both inside and outside the bedroom. Fun to be with, Kitten was a witty and intelligent conversationalist who was always up on current events, as well as being easy on the eye and providing a warm body to cuddle up to after dark. But she wasn’t Cassie.

  “Cat got your tongue, Al? It’s not like you to be so shy.” Kitten turned her megawatt smile toward the waiter who was approaching the table. He was holding a glass of white wine on a tray. “Thank you,” she said to the server, in a voice as sweet as honey, before sultrily sipping her drink, as she maintained eye contact with the waiter. The young man’s face flushed as he stumbled away.

  Remorse. Al realized he hadn’t handled the Kitten situation well.

  “Kitty, Ima sorry. I shoulda’ tol’ ya’ straight ‘bout me an’ Cassie. I never meant to hurt ya’.”

  “Bit late for that, I think.” Kitten’s tone became hard. She scrolled through the screen on her phone on the table. “How many times did I try to call you, Al, to get closure? And what did I get? I’ll tell you what I got, one crummy voice message with instructions never to contact you again. What did you expect, that I’d just crawl away without a fight? I warned you that no good would come of how you treated me.”

  Al’s thoughts of remorse disappeared. The cold look in Kitten’s eyes was enough to make him remember why they were there. “Yeah, ya’ did. Never had ya’ as a killer, though. Who did ya’ get to do it?” He removed his sunglasses, and stared Kitten down, eyeball to eyeball.

  Kitten looked away first. “I don’t know what you mean,” she mumbled, waving to the waiter. “Are we going to eat, or are you sticking to humble pie?”

  Al smiled, despite himself. “I always admired yer’ spirit, Kitty.”

  Kitten’s face softened. “The usual?”

  Al nodded.

  Even though Kitten had a strict policy of sleeping late and only eating one meal a day, dinner, she had been known to break the habit if an attractive man was involved.

  “Two cups of Ray’s Clam Chowder and a Classic Caesar to share,” Kitten said to the waiter, handing him back the menus. “Thank you.” She turned to Al. “What was that you were saying about murder?”

  “I never mentioned murder, you did.”

  Kitten shrugged. “If you thought I might have considered killing you or your new wife, you’d be right.”

  “So did ya’ act on it, or not?”

  Kitten wrapped the blanket Doug had brought out around her shoulders. “Believe me, I thought plenty about it.”

  “Quit dodgin’ the question, Kitten. Someone put a hit on my wife two nights ago, and it seems like they mighta’ been after me too. Somethin’ tells me that person coulda’ been you.”

  Kitten tapped her lip with her finger. “You mean the unfortunate death that occurred at Le Bijou Bistro? You know I’d never be so dumb as to get my hands dirty like that,” she said, reaching for a bread roll. “I was busy Wednesday night, as it happens. I trust you know that you weren’t the only man in my life.”

  “I do,” Al said. “And that’s why I’m surprised yer’ takin’ this all so personal. I thought me an’ you had an understandin’. No strings. Went both ways.”

  “Maybe I wanted more, Al. Except I never knew it was an option.”

  Al let out an exasperated sigh. “Neither did I. Kitty, I’m tellin’ ya’, it just happened. Minute I met Cassie was the first I’d thought about settlin’ down, ever.”

  Kitten jutted her chin out. “You sure know how to make a woman feel special.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Kitty. Somethin’ just clicked. Cassie makes me complete, that’s jes’ how it is. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt ya’, but I’m not sorry ‘bout bein’ with Cassie.” He waited while the waiter placed their soups and salad on the table before continuing. “Here’s how it is. Anyone messes with my wife, they got me to answer to.” He lifted his knife, and pointed it at Kitten.

  “Don’t I know it,” Kitten said, tasting her soup. “Delicious.” She smiled. “What’s done is done. I should thank you, Al, for helping me see the error in my ways. From now on, I’m a one-man woman. And that man most certainly isn’t you.”

  Al chuckled. “Kitty, Ima glad yer’ heart healed so quick. Who’s the lucky feller?”

  “It’s not official,” Kitten said, tilting her head to one side. “But I’ve been thinking it over the past few days. There’s plenty of worse places to live than Waterfront Palace, don’t you think? I’ve met with the designer, and she’s sent me some fabulous design boards for the interior, so I thought to myself, why spoil a good thing?”

  “With somethin’ nasty like murder, you mean?”

  “Exactly,” Kitten nodded. “We had some good times, didn’t we?” She caught Al’s eye, and he reached for his sunglasses, putting them back on.

  “Sure we did,” he muttered. The conversation was in danger of going places he didn’t want to revisit. The past was in the past, where it belonged.

  Kitten glanced at his ring finger. “If it weren’t for that,” she said pointedly, “we could almost forget you were married, and who knows where the rest of the day might lead.”

  Al choked on his soup. “Keep talkin’ like that and Ima leavin’.” Gazing at Kitten, a thought occurred to him. “The Waterfront Palace is one of Mario Carlucci’s developments, am I right?”

  Kitten, picked at a salad leaf, pretending not to hear.

  “Kitty, ya’ sure know how to hit a man where it hurts.” Al couldn’t help the blow to his pride resulting from Kitten’s revelation. The fact she’d obviously joined Team Mario rankled him, even if Al didn’t want her for himself. Judging from the upward turn at the sides of Kitten’s mouth, his comment pleased her. “Is that who you were with Wednesday night?”

  “Al, jealousy doesn’t suit you. Like I said, nothing’s been finalized. I haven’t seen Mario for a little while, but that’s irrelevant. We have the rest of our lives together, so no hurry. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “It does.” Al raised his beer glass to Kitten. “Here’s to happy futures. For both of us, jes’ not together.”

  Kitten clicked her glass against his. “Happy futures. I guess we can’t be friends?”

  “That’d be a stretch.” Al set down his glass, relaxing back in the chair.

  “What’
s she like, your wife?” Kitten asked, pushing away her soup cup and dabbing her lips with a napkin.

  “Cassie? Smart, beautiful, and funny, for starters. Softer, yet stronger than anyone I ever met. I’d go on, but then you really would want to kill her.”

  “It’s okay,” Kitten said softly. “I’m glad. Happy looks good on you, Al.”

  “Thanks,” Al said, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun. “Will ya’ have another glass of wine?”

  Kitten shrugged the blanket off her shoulders and shook her head, standing up. She held his gaze just long enough for her face to crumple. “No, I’d better go. Be seeing you, Al.”

  “So long, Kitty.”

  It was Al who turned as Kitten walked away, and Kitten who didn’t look back. Al finished his beer in quiet contemplation, and noticed that the pang he’d felt earlier in his chest was gone. Glancing down at the sound of the ringtone of his cell phone, he picked it up when Cassie’s name flashed across the screen.

  “Yo,” he answered with a lazy smile, as he debated whether or not to order another beer. He leaned back as Cassie’s voice came on the line. Her high-pitched delivery of the news about Briana sent shivers up his back. “Ima comin’ right now,” he shouted, scrambling to his feet, and throwing a handful of cash on the table.

  He ran into the parking lot, where Kitten was just leaving in a sleek Mercedes sports car. Jumping into his Maserati and switching on the ignition, he floored the accelerator and sped away, tires screeching.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Tell me about Megan,” Jake said to Luke, who was driving. “Were you two together long?”

  They were on their way to Frogities to talk to Jules Moreau. The Luke who had met Jake at the same place at the Seattle Waterfront Marriott the previous day was unshaven and looked as if he hadn’t slept. Jake hoped that talking about Megan would keep the younger man calm, since Luke’s erratic driving suggested his temper was frayed. He’d already flashed his police badge twice in order to get through the downtown traffic, and was muttering comments about other drivers under his breath. The last thing Jake wanted was for Luke to get involved in some type of incident that would increase his current problems.

  The mention of Megan caused Luke to loosen his grip on the steering wheel enough for his arm to relax instead of being rigid. Jake smiled at him encouragingly.

  “We met at my sister’s birthday party almost three years ago. Megan and my sister, Hannah, went to nursing school together. There were a lot of pretty women there that night, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Megan. Her smile lit up the room.”

  “Did Megan work in Seattle?” Jake asked.

  “Yep. Seattle Children’s Hospital, in the ICU Department. The stories Megan came home with would break your heart. It was hard for her to get work out of her head at the end of the day. In some cases, the hospital was the only home those children ever knew.”

  “That’s a tough job,” Jake said. “It takes a special kind of person to do it.”

  “That’s right.” Luke roughly wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “Jake, would you mind driving? I’m having trouble concentrating.”

  “Of course.”

  Luke pulled the car over to the side of the street and got out, and Jake moved over to the driver’s seat. As soon as Luke had fastened his seat belt, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Thanks, Jake. Tell me when we get to Bellevue.”

  Jake pulled the Honda into the flow of traffic, got on the freeway and within a short while they were in Bellevue. Jake drove past the quirky brick restaurant front that was Frogities and found a parking space a little further down the street beside a row of stores. He glanced over at Luke and realized he was sound asleep. He decided Luke could do with a little more shut-eye time, so he quietly got out of the car and stretched his legs.

  Several trucks had pulled up in front of Frogities. Jake assumed the daily deliveries were still being made, so he walked in the opposite direction, towards a coffee shop on the corner. He ordered a cup of coffee and sat down at the counter by the window. He took a sip as he pulled out his phone and made a call.

  “Hi, Rob. Were you able to come up with anything else on Jessica Simmons?”

  “Just a moment, Jake, I’m on another call.”

  Jake sipped his coffee as he waited for Rob. A woman pushing a toddler in a stroller walked by with an older child riding on the back of it on a stand-on platform. All three of them were singing the Itsy-Bitsy Spider song, with an out-of-tune gusto.

  Rob came back on the line. “Sorry about that. Our friend Jessica Simmons seems to have gone offline. Her blog is still there, but she hasn’t posted anything since the beginning of the week. I’ve been looking back at some of her posts, and there’s one ominous recipe that’s jumping out at me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Killer Chocolate Cake,” Rob said, pausing for effect. “She uploaded the recipe about a week ago along with a video of her making the cake. She said it’s a Simmons family favorite, and no one has ever died from it yet.”

  “I’m assuming that was a joke, right?”

  “Maybe Jessica’s, but not mine. She really said it.”

  “Good work,” Jake said. “I think it’s about time I paid Jessica a visit. I need you to call the Police Department and give them that cake recipe, see if the ingredients match the cake that killed Jessica. Apart from the cyanide, of course.”

  “I thought cake was just eggs, butter, flour, and sugar. Jessica’s cake had all those things, with added chocolate. Not exactly incriminating, Jake, if you know what I mean.”

  Jake rubbed his chin. “True, but there’s no harm running it past them anyway. Luke and I are at Moreau’s restaurant now. We’ll head over to Jessica’s after we finish here. Would you send me her address?”

  “Sure. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thanks, Rob. Keep checking on Jessica.” Jake got a refill for his coffee and bought another one to take out to the car for Luke. He tapped gently on the car window, and grinned when Luke jumped. Like any police officer, Luke’s instinct was to reach for his gun when he was startled, and his hand instinctively had reached inside his leather jacket. When he saw Jake, he smiled, and his gesture changed into a stretch.

  “Let’s go,” Jake said, when Luke got out of the car and he’d handed him the coffee. “I’m not sure what’s going on at Frogities, but there sure seems to be a lot of people milling around.”

  They walked down the street to where two white trucks were still parked in front of it. The back door of one of the trucks was open, revealing several large pieces of recording equipment. Jake pushed through a group of people which included a cameraman and a woman with a long furry boom microphone, motioning to Luke to follow him. Luke had a puzzled expression on his face. Once they were inside the restaurant, they both raised their hands to shield their eyes. The glaring studio lights were blinding.

  “Do you think we’ve made a mistake and walked onto a television set instead of a restaurant?” a confused Jake asked Luke, who shrugged, and tapped a nearby woman on the shoulder.

  “Ssh,” she hissed at him, turning around. “Can’t you see we’re filming?”

  “Police,” Luke said, flashing his badge in her face. “Can you tell us where we can find Mr. Moreau, please?”

  “Are you in this scene?” The woman looked them over and smiled. “Because if you’re not, two hot guys like you should be. Makeup is over there, at the counter. Tell them you’re extras, and that Victoria sent you.”

  “I’m not an actor,” Luke said, putting his badge back in his pocket. “I really am a police officer.”

  The woman’s mouth fell open. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her face turned crimson. “Mr. Moreau is in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks,” Luke said, nodding. Jake followed him through the small restaurant, past the bar area, through double doors at the back, and into the kitchen. They were met with more lights and cameras, and the sound of a Frenchman hurling i
nsults at the chef.

  “You cannot be serious,” he screamed. “This sauce is disgusting. Deeees-gust-eeeng. If you want to keep your Michelin star, as well as your job, you need to make it again. Do you understand?”

  The chef, dressed in starched whites and wearing a towering white hat, lifted a boiling pan from the stove and poured its contents down the sink. “You don’t like it?” the chef taunted Moreau. “Then why don’t you make it?”

  The chef tore off his hat and threw it on the floor, stomping past Moreau with a glare.

  “CUT!” called a man in jeans holding a clipboard. There was some cheering, and Moreau approached the chef and gave him a huge grin and a high-five. “Great, guys, that’s a wrap,” said the clipboard man. “We’ll take five.”

  Jake approached the man with the French accent, who was wearing a very expensive looking suit. “Mr. Moreau?”

  Jules Moreau turned and nodded. “That’s me.” He glanced from Jake to Luke, who was holding his police badge, and his eyes narrowed.

  “If we could have a few moments of your time, sir,” Luke said.

  “Follow me,” Jules said in a clipped tone, heading for the double doors. When they were back inside the restaurant, he led Jake and Luke to a table away from the lights. “How can I help you, gentlemen?” he asked, when they were seated. “As you heard, I only have five minutes, so please make it quick.”

  Luke took the lead. “Mr. Moreau, we’re investigating the murder of a woman at Le Bijou Bistro two nights ago. I assume you’re aware of what happened?”

  Moreau shrugged. “I might have heard something, but I haven’t given it much attention. I’ve been too busy filming my new television show all week. It’s going to be called Jules’ Kitchen.”

  “Well I’ve been giving it a lot of attention, Mr. Moreau, since the murder victim was my fiancée,” Luke said calmly.