Val recognized his name from the byline on this morning’s article. “Mind if I ask you about your sources?”
He ignored her. “I understand you’ve been helping the police with their inquiries into the murder, Mrs. Mott.”
Monique turned rigid and pale.
Val stepped between her and the reporter. “I’m sure everyone in Bayport is helping the police any way they can.”
“But some people might be able to help more than others.” He maneuvered around her and addressed Monique. “Were you and, uh, your husband close to the deceased?”
Monique stared down the reporter. “Not really.”
Val took her by the elbow. “Let’s grab Maverick and leave.”
In the van Monique twisted toward the backseat where Val sat. “We’ll drive you to the boatyard to pick up the hatchback, but then Maverick and I are going home. I can’t face the luncheon at Althea’s. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. Don’t even try.”
Ten minutes later Val climbed into a canary yellow hatchback parked in Maverick’s boatyard. Ugly car, but it ran. She tested the brakes on the road back to town. No problem there.
The problem was in the rearview mirror. A midnight blue sedan kept pace with Val’s car, braked when she did, and made the same turns she made.
Chapter 19
Val slowed down, hoping for a better look at the car tailing her. The sedan kept its distance, too far away for her to read the license plate or see the driver through its tinted glass. How long had the car followed her? She hadn’t noticed it on the way to Maverick’s boatyard, but why would she? She’d spent the time talking with Monique, not looking out the back window.
A pickup truck pulled out of a side road behind her car. She could no longer see the sedan in her mirror. She steered into the housing development where Althea lived, the pickup still behind her. When she turned into Althea’s cul-de-sac, the pickup and the dark sedan went straight. Val released a deep breath. Maybe the sedan hadn’t followed her after all. Gunnar had made her jittery with his warnings. She parked the hatchback, grabbed the cooler containing the luncheon food, and hurried up the steps to Althea’s house.
Althea answered the door. “Come on in. Drinks are in the kitchen.”
Val held up the cooler. “I have my contributions to the buffet and Monique’s. Where do you want the food?”
“Dining room table. I know whatever you made will be great. What did Monique prepare for us?”
“Deviled eggs with a twist. She added puréed beets to the egg yolks, which turned them pink. Then she topped them with Gorgonzola cheese and pickled carrots. That’s her version of comfort food.”
Althea groaned. “Luckily we also have real comfort food. Chatty baked bread, and Bethany made a potato salad. Luke is bringing sandwich ingredients. All I had to supply were the drinks and the veggie platter.”
Val put her arm around Althea’s shoulder. “Nadia would have appreciated all this. And you gave a wonderful tribute to her during the memorial service.”
Althea looked down. “It’s the least I could do for her.”
“This may seem like a strange question, but did she ever borrow your car?”
Althea’s head whipped up. “How did you know? She wanted my station wagon last month. She said she had to pick up something that wouldn’t fit in her trunk.” Althea turned away to greet the next person at the door. “Talk to you later.”
Maybe Nadia borrowed cars to haul things around or maybe that was just an excuse. Either way, it was odd behavior in the weeks, or possibly months, before her murder. The police should look into it.
Val put her salad and Monique’s eggs on the dining room table. She set the macaroons on a sideboard with other desserts.
Chatty motioned to her from the kitchen and tugged her out the back door. “I don’t want anyone listening. Did you see the article in this morning’s Gazette about the arson and murder? Wasn’t it great? That reporter was putty in my hands. He wrote exactly what I wanted him to.” Chatty grinned broadly enough to give herself the laugh lines she seldom permitted her face to display.
Val stared at her. “You told him all that stuff?”
Chatty’s eyes, outlined in black to match her lacy sheath, opened wide. “I planted disinformation to take the heat off Monique. The Gazette reporter who cornered me at the club Thursday night asked me to confirm that Nadia had an affair with the husband of a tennis teammate. Instead, I confused the issue. I said it wasn’t a husband, but a brother of a teammate, and it wasn’t an affair, but a fizzled romance. Then I needed to divert his attention with something even more sensational. That’s why I told him about the racket burning.”
Thereby drawing the reporter’s attention to the incident incriminating Monique, but Chatty didn’t know she’d done that. “And the part about the arson and murder being connected. Did you tell him that too?”
“The icing on the cake. You agreed that Bigby must have set the racket on fire.”
“I did not.” Val’s words came out louder than she intended. Two women looking at Althea’s flowers near the back fence turned toward her.
“Well, you didn’t disagree with it. You said he made a good suspect in the murder. I decided to smoke him out.”
“You’re the one who’s smoking something, if you think that Bigby—”
“Did you see him at church? He’s breaking down already. He’s afraid the police are on to him.” Chatty gestured toward the house. “Notice he’s not showing his face here. He’s probably at the station confessing right now.”
“I doubt it.” Val couldn’t convince Chatty of the harm she’d done without telling her that Monique had burned the racket. “Let’s go back inside.”
Chatty followed her. “You’re too pessimistic, Val. Wait and see how this plays out before you criticize. By the way, I saw the announcement about your grandfather. Who knew he was an expert cook?”
Not a soul. Val returned to the dining room as Luke arrived with a huge platter.
“Here comes more food.” Chatty made space on the table for Luke’s platter.
He set it down with a flourish and removed the plastic wrap. “There you go, ladies. Sandwich meat and cheese straight from the diner. The bread’s coming up.” He left the room, clutching a wad of clear plastic.
Chatty wrinkled her nose. “Hmm. I thought everything at the diner came from the fat vat or the greasy grill. Not that this stuff’s any more healthy.” Chatty’s citrus cologne fought a losing battle with the scent of garlicky smoked meat.
Val took a pickle from the edge of the meat platter. “Nadia ate there sometimes. She must have ordered a salad, nothing from the vat or the grill.”
“I wonder if vintage French fries still decorate the floor.”
“It was clean yesterday when I ate there. Sweeping is Jeremy Pritchard’s job, and he takes it seriously.”
Chatty popped an olive in her mouth. “Nadia was trying to coax that kid into getting a GED. That’s asking a lot of him. He’s great with mechanical things, but not reading and math.”
“People overcome learning difficulties. What’s the source of his problem?”
“Lack of oxygen during birth. That’s what I heard. He—” Chatty’s eyes widened as she glanced toward the living room on the other side of the hall. “Irene’s beaming daggers this way. She couldn’t have heard us talking about Jeremy. I wonder what’s eating her.”
“Those daggers have my name on them.” Val wanted to apologize to Irene for Granddad’s ruse, but as his accomplice and enabler, she couldn’t do it without feeling hypocritical. She’d better just stay out of Irene’s way. “I hope the memorial service didn’t upset Jeremy. He was there with Irene and Roger, but I don’t see him here.”
Luke bustled back into the dining room with plastic baskets of bread and rolls. “Jeremy’s at the restaurant helping with lunch. Should I tell him you were looking for him, Val?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll catch him some other time.
”
“We’re shorthanded right now. I’ve got to get back there myself.”
As he left by the front door, Chatty headed to the living room. “I’ll let everyone know lunch is served and start herding them in here.”
Bethany joined Val and surveyed the table. “Isn’t this gorgeous?”
Val handed her a plate. “Dig in. Someone has to be first.”
“You take a plate too. I don’t want to be the only one eating.” Bethany piled her plate with ham rolls, salami slices, and pickles. “You know, I feel I’m finally at peace with Nadia. She did me a favor.”
“What do you mean?”
“Now that I have a different partner, I see what I missed. Yumiko and I are equals on the court. When I played with Nadia, she was always in charge. We were in a rut from playing together too long.” Bethany studied the vegetable platter. Skipping over the celery canoes, she culled a radish rose. She pointed at the cheese cubes and carrot sticks on Val’s plate. “That’s all you’re going to eat?”
“I’ll have some nibbles now and make a sandwich later. Is Bigby here?”
“He has to work this afternoon. Construction’s running late.”
A more plausible explanation for his absence than Chatty had given. “He looked really upset at the service.”
“Bigby’s got a gruff exterior, but he’s a softie inside. He gets very emotional at family reunions. Let’s see, what have I missed here?” Bethany mounded potato salad and Val’s avocado salad on her plate. She circled the dining table again. “I have to bulk up because I’m starting the cabbage soup diet tomorrow. It lasts seven days. People shed pounds like crazy on it.”
“I believe it. Eating cabbage in water for a week would kill my appetite.” Val took her plate into the living room.
The young real estate agent she’d met in Nadia’s office broke away from her colleagues. “Hey, Val. I was hoping I’d see you here.”
“Hey, Kimberly.”
“I wanted to thank you for the referral to Mrs. Z. She listed her house with me. In case you’re interested, her name ends in ‘a.’ You added an extra letter to it.”
Val might have mixed up some of the interior vowels, but not the consonant at the end. Maybe Nadia had made a mistake in her notes. “The last thing Mrs. Z needs is another letter in her name.”
Kimberly giggled. “I also tracked down the Wilsons, the couple Nadia saw in her office on Monday. They wanted to buy a big old house in town. I met with them this morning.”
“You have another new client then. Congratulations.”
“Nadia gave them some addresses, so they could like drive by and take a look. And guess what? One of those addresses was 175 Grace Street. Isn’t that where you live?”
“Yes.” Val drew out the syllable. “But I don’t know why Nadia would have given them my address. The house isn’t for sale.”
Kimberly looked stricken. “That’s too bad. The Wilsons told me Nadia tried to call you while they were in her office, to find out when you might sell, but you weren’t home. They decided to drive by anyway, and they loved your place.”
“Ah. That’s why Nadia called me Monday.” Nothing to do with the murder. Just real estate business as usual. Val felt as if one of the clouds hanging over her had floated away.
“If you change your mind about selling—”
“The house belongs to my grandfather. I’ll let you know if he decides to sell.”
Kimberly went into the dining room with her colleagues. Val set her plate on an end table.
Irene approached her, gripping a sweating glass of water or maybe gin on the rocks. She looked as if she might use it to give Val an ice-cold facial. “You lied to me about that contest.”
Val tensed, ready to duck liquid and verbal missiles. “I wasn’t lying. I didn’t know my grandfather entered it until the paper announced the result.”
“I don’t believe you. He knows nothing about cooking. He’s fronting for you.”
Val was glad to see most of the guests clustered in the dining room. The three women talking at the far end of the living room couldn’t overhear this conversation as long as she and Irene didn’t raise their voices. “Why would I do that?”
“What else are you lying about?” Irene spoke through teeth tight as a vise grip. “You were up to something at Nadia’s house the morning she was found dead. The police chief’s protecting you because he’s your grandfather’s buddy.”
Val stopped breathing, taken aback by the wild accusation. Two heartbeats later, she gulped air. Was Irene accusing her of destroying evidence or even of murder? “What are you suggest—?” She broke off as Irene marched away and joined the group of three women.
Val resisted the urge to follow Irene and demand an explanation, counting her blessings instead: no ice water on her face or clothes. She needed a moment to calm down. She went out the kitchen door and walked toward the back fence.
Irene had a lot of nerve to make accusations based on nothing. At least Val looked for a motive before viewing people as suspects. Only yesterday she’d toyed with the idea of Irene as the murderer, but without accusing her to her face. Maybe Irene believed in a good offense as the best defense.
Val smelled tobacco smoke. Irene’s husband, Roger, stood under a tree, puffing on a cigarette. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. If she didn’t talk to him now, she might not get another chance. She’d have to take the risk that he would lash out at her as Irene had.
“Hi, Roger. Sad day, isn’t it?”
The wiry man with thinning gray hair gave a single nod that she took as both a greeting and a response to her question.
Undaunted by carrying on a one-sided conversation, she forged ahead. “I talked to Jeremy yesterday. He’s really taking Nadia’s death hard.”
Roger exhaled smoke. “He would do most anything to please Nadia. It’s weighing on him that he couldn’t make her happy lately.” He took another puff on his cigarette.
Val hoped he’d say more once he exhaled, but he didn’t. “Nadia could be hard to please sometimes.”
“That’s the truth. She kept at Jeremy to get a better job. Why should he change jobs when he likes what he’s doing?” He looked at Val as if she could explain Nadia’s behavior.
“I don’t know.” It didn’t make sense that Nadia had pushed Jeremy into the diner job and then urged him to leave it. “Maybe she heard about a job with more prospects.”
“Change ain’t always good.” Roger dropped the butt of his cigarette and stepped on it. “I hope it’s good for your granddaddy. I wish him luck. Irene says he can’t cook. She thinks only women can, but I make a darn good barbecue myself.”
“Most famous chefs are men. I’ll tell my grandfather what you said.”
Roger ambled back to the house. Val followed a minute later, still unsure whether to trust his explanation of the disagreement between Nadia and Jeremy.
Once inside, she cornered Joe Westrin, Nadia’s ex.
He pumped her hand vigorously. “It’s good to see you, Val. Sorry I didn’t return your call, but things have been hectic. You wanted some information about Nadia for the club newsletter?”
“I don’t want to take up your time now. Any chance we can get together later?”
“I’ll be at our—I mean Nadia’s house to gather papers this afternoon. I’m her executor. You want to come by the house around three-thirty?”
“Um . . . okay.” Though she didn’t care to return to the place where she’d found Nadia dead, she’d rather not wait any longer to talk to Joe.
Granddad wouldn’t approve of her meeting alone with anyone, especially one of his five suspects. The police, though, had eliminated Joe as a suspect. That was good enough for Val. She hit the buffet and indulged in foods she didn’t stock at home for fear of tempting her grandfather: soft cheese, salami, chocolate truffles.
Chapter 20
Val climbed the steps to Nadia’s front porch and tried not to think about the last tim
e she rang the bell here.
Joe opened the door. “Come on in. I just made coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“Not for me, thanks.” The rich food she’d eaten at Althea’s house had left her slightly queasy. The acid in coffee would make her feel worse.
“I’ll grab a cup. Have a seat in the living room. I’ll be right with you.”
At least Val didn’t have to make a return visit to the kitchen. She went through the archway into the living room, sat on the overstuffed sofa, and looked in her handbag for a pen and paper. If she concentrated on recording Joe’s words, she might forget where she was. The only paper she found was the small spiral book with Nadia’s tennis team notes that Kimberly had given her. She turned it to the first blank page as Joe settled into an easy chair.
She jotted notes while he talked about his first encounter with Nadia on the Virginia Beach boardwalk, her enthusiasm for living on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, and their shared enjoyment of tennis.
Joe clutched his coffee mug and shook his head. “Hard to believe she’s gone. I called her at the office Monday. I never thought that would be the last time I’d talk to her.”
“Did she tell you what happened the night before?”
“About the burning racket? Yeah. She should have contacted the police. She never liked dealing with them on account of what happened when she was a kid.”
Val couldn’t imagine Nadia in trouble with the law. “She had problems with the police?”
“Her father called them about a noisy party next door. The cops overreacted and arrested some people for disorderly conduct. The neighbors blamed Nadia’s folks and harassed them.”
“Harassed them, how?”
“Phoning in the middle of the night. Letting their Dobermans loose when Nadia was playing outside. Her family had to move to get away from it.”
That explained Nadia’s reluctance to tell the police about the racket burning and a possible stalker. Had she confided in her ex about the stalking? “I think something was bothering Nadia, even before the racket fire.”
By Cook or by Crook Page 18