Out of the Dying Pan

by Linda Reilly

  Ria must have remembered where she’d left those childhood sketches, Talia surmised. Was she thinking about retrieving them from the old apartment?

  Talia blinked away tears and looked around at her eatery. She loved this place more than she ever imagined she would. Was this the last time she would ever see it?

  “At that point I kind of panicked,” Scott admitted. “I asked her if we could go somewhere and talk quietly about it, so I could convince her she was wrong. I told her I knew who the real killer was, but that I needed her help before I went to the police.”

  “And she fell for it?”

  “She looked confused at first, but then I gave her one of my most sincere smiles. I’m such a pro at that.” Scott laughed. “You know that yourself, right?”

  Ugh, what a narcissist, Talia thought.

  When Talia didn’t respond, his face darkened. “I could tell she was going for it. She wanted to believe me. I told her I’d volunteered to dismantle Santa’s village after everyone cleared out, so maybe we could talk there. Amazingly, she agreed. She told me she’d pack up the rest of her things and meet me in Santa’s village in fifteen minutes. After that she raced into the building ahead of me.”

  Because she thought she’d be safe there, Talia thought grimly. Oh, Ria, how could you have been so trusting? How did you let him trick you so easily?

  “I followed her back inside. I wanted to keep an eye on her so she wouldn’t do anything dumb. I noticed her talking to an older woman and figured it was her mother. Luckily, the dame didn’t hang around long. Then I saw Ria pack up the rest of her junk, so I wasn’t too worried.”

  Talia thought back. She remembered seeing Ria stuff the rest of her things into her wheeled suitcase and storm off. “But I saw her leave!”

  “She didn’t really leave. She brought that suitcase out to her car, but then she came back inside and waited for me.”

  Somehow Talia had missed that, probably because she was busy packing up her own things.

  “So after I helped you pack up and you finally left,” Scott went on, “I went back inside the building. By then the gym was empty. Andy had vanished inside his office. Sure enough, Ria was sitting in Santa’s chair, waiting for me, like the dumb cluck she was.”

  “How did you lure her into that supply closet?”

  Scott grabbed his coffee mug and slugged back the cooling liquid. “I pulled her in there so fast she didn’t know what hit her. I sure was glad she had that blue scarf around her neck.” He laughed cruelly. “Ditzy chick made it so easy for me.”

  “That was my grandmother’s scarf!” Talia cried. “You are despicable.” A lightbulb snapped to life in her head. “You’re the one who broke into Anita’s duplex, aren’t you? You knew that if the authorities searched her room and found those drawings, someone might recognize the crocodile tat on your arm.”

  He shrugged. “Couple of the local cops are on my softball team. They’re not the brightest bulbs in the pack, but if Ria’s mother ever found the drawings and turned them in, even they might notice the similarity. I didn’t want to take the risk.” His gaze turned granite hard, and his nostrils flared. “But wherever she hid those things, I couldn’t find them. I looked everywhere.” He pounded his fist on the table. “Where did you get them?”

  Another low grumble off in the distance made Talia’s ears perk. Whatever it was, Scott didn’t seem to notice. Ignoring his question, she said, “Andy saw you that day, didn’t he?” Her voice shook, but she went on. “That’s why you were so desperate to find him. He was the one witness who could pin you at the scene.”

  “Yeah, the poor SOB.” Scott twisted his mouth into a malicious smirk. “After I took care of Ria, I shoved aside the Santa’s village crap and pushed the divider wall in front of the door. I didn’t know a piece of that scarf was sticking out from underneath. Anyway, Andy must’ve walked past the gym to use the men’s room. He saw me moving that divider wall. I knew the light would dawn on him later, after Ria’s body was found. Funny thing was, I was sure he’d get blamed for killing her. I was counting on it, in fact.”

  Talia shivered. “You were going to kill him, too, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I was going to take care of him the moment I realized he saw me. I had an idea for making it look like a suicide. Then you came trotting back in for some stupid thing you left in the kitchen, and I lost my chance.” He glared at her, and in that moment she saw pure reptilian eyes. “You’re just like all the other broads, aren’t you? Disorganized. Messy. Brainless.”

  A wormlike thread of fear wrapped around Talia’s insides. She was none of those things, but it was obvious he’d painted all women with the same brush. Scott wasn’t only a sociopath—he was a misogynist.

  “You know, Scott, you really have no choice,” she said to him. “Turn yourself in and beg for lenience. You didn’t plan to kill Ria … or the other woman. Maybe the DA will go easy on you. You have rage issues. You need help.”

  She knew it was a useless plea, but she was stalling for time. He shot his hand out and grasped the folds of her ladybug scarf, jerking her toward him. “Do you remember what they called the crocodile in Peter Pan?”

  Paralyzed by fear, Talia shook her head. She felt the scarf tighten around her neck.

  “Tick-tock,” Scott said, and gave a bone-chilling laugh. “It’s fitting, don’t you think? Because you, my little pixie, don’t have much time left. And I guess I’m even smarter than I thought, because I parked in the alley behind your kitchen.”

  “Only delivery vehicles are supposed to park there,” Talia said, wanting to spit in his face.

  “Yeah, that’s your worst problem right now. Get up.”

  Her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it, she rose slowly. Scott pulled her arms roughly behind her, holding her wrists in a viselike grip with one large hand. From the cobblestone plaza came a loud noise, a beastlike roll of thunder. Talia screamed as loud as she could, but Scott slapped his hand over her mouth. He jammed his knee into the small of her back and then shoved her toward the kitchen.

  Think think think.

  An article she’d read recently in a women’s magazine suddenly popped into her head—quick self-defense tips for women. What were they? Think.

  Jab your fingers in his eyes!

  She couldn’t. Not with her hands held fast behind her.

  Box his ears! Give him a karate chop to the throat!

  Also not an option. Come on, think. There was something else …

  Scott’s hand was still clamped over her mouth. Her head swam, and her breathing grew labored. What was that other self-defense tip?

  Stomp on the foot.

  Oh, Lord, why had she changed into her soft-soled Keds? But it was too late for regrets. Using every ounce of power she could summon, she lifted her right knee and brought her foot down hard on Scott’s suede loafer.

  Scott cursed viciously. He pulled his hand away from her mouth and cuffed her on the back of the head.

  It was a tiny window of opportunity, but Talia took it. She sucked in a deep breath, and then gave out a scream so ear-splitting it was a miracle the lights didn’t shatter.

  “You stupid little bi—”

  The door to the dining area flew open with a bang, and Talia issued another deafening scream. She managed to twist her head around, just in time to see Lucas stumble around one of the captain’s chairs and crash to the floor on his skateboard. A bubble of hysteria burst from Talia. His new skateboard wheels were the size of platters!

  Instantaneous panic rode Scott’s features. Fight or flee? She could see the decision wavering in his eyes as his gaze skittered all around the kitchen.

  Recovering quickly, Lucas popped up his skateboard with one sneakered foot and snatched it in both hands. Scott shoved Talia hard toward the fryers and then turned and fled in the direction of the back door.

  “No way, dude,” Lucas said. “No one hurts my boss and gets away with it.”

  Blond tuft
s sticking out from his head at all angles, Lucas slammed Scott in the back with his skateboard. Scott hit the floor with a thump, smacking his forehead on the tile. He groaned and tried to crawl away, but Lucas plunked the skateboard on his back and sat on it.

  Scott realized he was trapped. He began spewing obscenities as he tried to wriggle out from under the skateboard. He might have been strong, but Lucas was younger and far taller. No amount of cursing and jiggling could dislodge her employee.

  “Are you all right, Ms. Marby?” Lucas said, concern written all over his face.

  “I’m fine, Lucas,” she said, choking back tears. She reached for the land line.

  “Good. Oh, um, I already called nine-one-one,” he said, patting the cell phone in his zippered shirt pocket. He looked down at Scott’s struggling form and chuckled. “I guess maybe we should tie him up till the cops get here.”

  Talia scurried over to the back door and whipped Martha’s scarf off the hook. “I have the perfect thing!”

  Lucas kept Scott pinned to the floor while Talia secured his ankles with the smelly scarf. Less than a minute later, the cavalry arrived, Sergeant Liam O’Donnell of the Massachusetts State Police leading the charge. Detective Patti Prescott was right on his heels.

  “I see you didn’t have the patience to wait for us,” Prescott said curtly. She waved Talia and Lucas into adjoining chairs, and they both quickly obeyed.

  “Actually,” Prescott said in a softer tone, “are you okay? Right now you’re looking a little worse for the wear.”

  Talia choked out a giggle of sheer relief. “I’m okay. We both are.” She beamed at Lucas. “My knight on shining skateboard wheels here came to my rescue. What more could a boss—no, a friend—ask for?”

  Lucas grinned. “I spent half the night putting those wheels on. I’m glad I did. When I heard Ms. Marby scream, I practically flew over the cobblestone.”

  Two uniformed officers hauled a dazed Scott to his feet and pushed him toward the door. Scott looked at Talia with hatred in his eyes. If his hands weren’t in cuffs, she was sure he would try to strangle her, too.

  “By the way, Scott,” Talia said, “Lucas is nineteen—the same age you were when you killed Lainie Johnson. You could take lessons from him on how real men treat women.”

  Lucas blushed bright red to the tips of his ears. “Yeah, dude. It’s not cool to hurt a lady. Not cool at all.”

  Prescott frowned. “Who’s Lainie Johnson?”

  Talia sighed. She was in for a long day.

  After what seemed like hours of questioning, Talia and Lucas were finally allowed to leave. Lucas’s mom had arrived to collect him, tears springing in her eyes. “My brave little boy,” she kept saying, much to her son’s chagrin.

  Hands crossed over his chest, Sergeant O’Donnell strode over to Talia. “Well, it seems you cracked the case again, Ms. Marby. But the next time, may I suggest—”

  “—that I leave the investigating to the police,” she said, finishing the sentence for him. “And to that I say … gladly.”

  With a doubtful look, O’Donnell tipped his hat and left.

  Detective Prescott dropped into one of the captain’s chairs. She looked tired. Her gaze roamed the room appreciatively, and then she smiled at Talia. “So, anyone for fish and chips?” she said, mischief twinkling in her nutmeg-colored eyes.

  Talia laughed. “All in good time, Detective Patience Prescott. All in good time.”

  The detective winked at her. “Touché. Now, since I’m officially off duty, let’s whip up some grub.”

  20

  Exactly one week later, Talia removed an experimental batch of batter-coated Brussels sprouts from the fryer. She’d already set the deep-fried broccoli florets on a platter, and her aunts were happily doing the official taste testing.

  Instead of a peanut sauce for the sprouts, she’d come up with a creamy garlic dip recipe she was reasonably happy with. Laced with finely minced garlic, the buttermilk-based mixture turned out even better than she’d hoped.

  “Here you go!” Talia said, delivering the fried goodies to their table.

  Aunt Josie, one perfectly styled brunette strand bobbing in her face, tried the broccoli first, and then moved on to the Brussels sprout. She wrinkled her nose. “Okay, the broccoli is a yes and the Brussels sprouts are a no,” she said. She dropped the offensive fried sprout onto her plate.

  Her sister, Jennie, snatched it up and popped it into her mouth. “You’re such a fussbudget, Josie. These are scrumptious!”

  Talia leaned over their chairs from behind and hugged both her aunts. They were so different, and yet so maddeningly the same, she thought. Josie with her stunning makeup and dazzling manicure looked ready for a night on the town. Jennie, her graying hair framing her freshly scrubbed face, reminded Talia of a youngish Miss Marple.

  The aunts had arrived as planned that prior Sunday evening, just in time to hear all the hullaballoo about Talia and Lucas’s triumphant encounter with a killer. Since Talia was now a restaurateur, she couldn’t afford to close for more than a day or so. She’d opened the following morning to a waiting crowd.

  Talia had also scrambled to put up some seasonal decorations in the eatery. Garlands of faux evergreen festooned the walls along the ceiling. Holding them in place were bright red velvet bows. A fake blue spruce about four feet tall sat in the far corner of the dining room. Among the cream-colored papier-mâché snowflakes that hung from its branches were the six gold and blue vintage angels someone had left in a bag near the restroom.

  Three days after Scott’s arrest, Vivian Lavoie had come into the eatery. “I feel so awful for stealing those ornaments,” she’d told Talia, a guilty expression on her plump face. “But I never intended to keep them. I was going to sneak them back to that redheaded girl after the fund-raiser was over. And then—” Tears flooded her eyes, and she swiped a hankie over them. “And then she was murdered so horribly …”

  Talia had let her cry, and then said gently, “You were afraid they were prettier than yours, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Vivian blubbered, “and I had so much competition already. Everyone had made such lovely things. I was afraid no one would buy mine. I left them near your restroom that day. I figured if someone found them and turned them in, you’d know what to do.”

  Talia had tried to return the ornaments to Anita Butterforth, but the woman had insisted Talia keep them. Anita had also come to the realization that owning a cat was not for her. She’d looked hugely relieved when Talia and Kelsey stopped by to pick up Princess. She had even given Kelsey an awkward hug. Kelsey and her mom spent the next few days buying up a whirlwind of accessories for their darling new kitty.

  Over the past week, the eatery’s customer base had blossomed. The sign was up—FRY ME A SLIVER—but everyone seemed to be calling it Fry Me. That was fine with Talia. She had to admit, she sort of liked the shortened moniker.

  Lucas had been excited to learn that he was now the eatery’s official delivery person between the hours of eleven thirty and one thirty, but only to downtown addresses within a half-mile radius or so of Fry Me. In between classes at the community college and his part-time job at the eatery, he was honing his skateboarding skills with his new oversized wheels. “Those new wheels cream the cobblestone!” he’d told her, his blue eyes dancing with sheepish pride.

  The desserts were next. Talia headed back into the kitchen. She’d already cut up squares of fruitcake, along with slivers of orange pound cake from Peggy’s Bakery. There were so many more things she wanted to experiment with. She found herself awakening each morning with ideas for new deep-fry recipes hopping around like frogs in her brain.

  The kitchen was still too small, but for now she and Martha were learning to live with it. Renovations would come later, probably sometime in the spring. When the time was right, Talia planned to talk to Will Claiborne about setting out some weatherproof benches and tables on the plaza. That way, people could enjoy nibbling at their fried goodies
and watch the downtown goings-on at the same time.

  Liliana, Talia had learned, had agreed not to fight the divorce any longer. No doubt Will had been relieved to hear that, but moving past his insurmountable loss was not going to be easy. It still broke Talia’s heart to think of how much he’d loved Ria.

  The door opened and someone called, “Knock knock.” Ryan stepped inside, his arm looped through that of a tall, gray-haired man with whose resemblance to Ryan was startling. He grinned. “Are we too early?”

  “Never,” Talia said, accepting a warm but brief hug from Ryan. She wanted a bigger hug, but with her lovably nosy aunts watching, she was happy to settle for a tiny one. For now.

  “Talia, my dear,” Arthur Collins said, “I am so pleased to see you.” He wagged a finger at her. “You scared me, you know, confronting another killer the way you did. I must caution you against ever doing so again.” The kindness in his tone belied his sternness.

  What a sweet man he was, Talia thought. Arthur’s diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer’s had been a blow to Ryan, but lately Arthur seemed to be enjoying more good days than bad. Ryan gave her a meaningful look. Today is a good one, it said.

  “I will try never to do it again, Arthur,” Talia promised. She kissed his cheek lightly and then squeezed his hand. “Now come in and meet my two favorite aunts.”

  Josie zoomed off her chair and grabbed the elderly man’s other hand. “Pay no attention to that favorite aunt stuff,” she piped in. “We’re her only aunts so she has no choice but to worship us.”

  Jennie rolled her eyes, while Ryan and Arthur sat down between the aunts. It was a sight that made Talia’s heart swell. They made their own introductions, and Talia excused herself and returned to the kitchen.