Getting Skinny (A Chef Landry Mystery)

by Domovitch, Monique

  “That’s great,” I said, unenthusiastically. At the same time, I noticed that Toni’s plate now had a large mound of preserves to which she continued to add spoonful after spoonful. “Does that mean they got all the evidence they need to…to…” I wasn’t sure how I should end that sentence—to clear me? Or to arrest me?

  “I have no other information.” He hesitated. “I don’t want you getting your hopes up. This murder won’t be solved overnight. It’ll take the time it takes.”

  Uh-oh. Steven didn’t sound confident anymore.

  “Now that I don’t have an alibi for the time he was killed, that means—”

  “—that the police are looking at you more seriously.” He confirmed my worst fear. My appetite turned into nausea.

  “I should warn you,” Steven continued. “I don’t know what your place will look like. The police sometimes leave a mess.”

  I couldn’t care less if my place looked like a tornado went through it. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go home. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  “No problem.” Instead of hanging up, he lowered his voice. “Tell me, can Toni hear any of what I’m saying right now?”

  I hesitated. “Uh, no.”

  “Just answer with a yes or no,” he said. “Is Toni involved romantically with anyone?”

  I held on to the phone, contemplating how best to answer this question. Knowing Toni, I knew she’d want me to say that yes, as a matter of fact she was now dating some multi-millionaire and that—by the way—he’d just given her a ten-carat diamond engagement ring. But I was convinced my friend still carried a torch for her ex, and the wrong answer could ruin any chance at her future happiness.

  “Uh, um, not at the moment,” I replied as vaguely as I could. My eyes darted to Toni, who was now putting enormous concentration into buttering a small piece of her croissant.

  “Thanks. That’s all I wanted to know.”

  “Thank you for calling, Steven.”

  I handed Toni the phone. “So you’re going home,” she said nonchalantly, leaving the table to replace the phone to its cradle. “You must be relieved.”

  I wasn’t, but there was no point is talking about it. I’d invaded Toni’s space long enough. Besides, how long would I be able to keep Jackie out of trouble? “It isn’t that I don’t love being here. I just want to take Jackie home and clean up any mess the police left. I’ll be at work as soon as I’m done.”

  She sat back down. “No offense taken. If I were you I’d feel exactly the same way.” She passed me the jam jar. “Would you like some of this?” She noticed the portion she’d taken and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, my. Here, have some of mine. I took way too much.” It did look good, but I just shook my head.

  While Toni concentrated on her croissant, I wondered how I would feel being in my house again. The image of Rob’s dead body was imprinted in my mind. I didn’t feel near ready to go back. Toni interrupted my thoughts and asked casually, “So did Steven have anything else to say?”

  “No, nothing. Why?”

  “No reason. No reason at all,” she replied, rebuttering that same little piece of croissant for the umpteenth time. “By the way, Kim called while you were out. She heard about Rob on the radio and wanted to know how you’re doing.”

  “How did she know to call here?”

  “She called the restaurant and the guys gave her my number. Anyhow, I mentioned that the police suspect you and she offered to canvas the neighborhood for possible witnesses.”

  I was too stunned for words.

  Toni’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t look at me like that. She wants to help. We can use all the help we can get.”

  “You told her everything, didn’t you? Damn, I wish you hadn’t.”

  “Sorry,” she said, and popped the bit of croissant into her mouth.

  There was no point in arguing about it. I had worse problems to worry about than Kim muscling her way closer into my life.

  Breakfast might have been lovely, had it been under other circumstances. I gathered Jackie’s things and my clothes, gave Toni a kiss on both cheeks and headed home. To my relief, when the cab approached my house, I noted that all the cop cars were gone. Even better, so was the yellow crime-scene tape across my front door. Still, my fear mounted. Would I ever feel safe here again? I took a deep breath, slid the key in the front door lock and, with Jackie in my arms, walked in.

  Half a dozen black skulls stared down at me—Rob’s treasured collection of African tribal masks. I charged over and tore them off the wall. Damn, I hated these monstrosities, and how I’d tried to talk him out of them.

  After he’d begun spending more time at my place, I’d emptied one of my drawers for him, and before I knew it, he’d made an office out of the guest room. By then, he’d taken over not only my drawer and my guest room, but also half the living room. Medical journals were strewn all over the place, and piles of books were stacked in every corner. When the piles grew high enough, I used them as side tables. But when he put up his African masks without asking, I’d drawn the line, or rather, tried to. Rob had looked at me with puppy-dog eyes and said, “I’m only trying to feel at home in your house. Of course, if you don’t want…”

  No, no, I’d thought. I want. I want. I’d been so flattered that I’d insisted he bring whatever he needed to increase his comfort. My secret hope, of course, had been that he’d soon move in officially. That never happened.

  Unlike me, Jackie didn’t seem one bit frazzled. She ran up and down the hall yapping joyfully, giving her best impression of a cheerleader.

  “Yes, I’m happy to be home, too,” I told her unconvincingly. In the living room I picked up the phone and checked my messages. “You have seven new messages,” said the machine.

  “Hi, Nicky, this is Kim. I heard the awful news. If there’s—” I sighed and pressed the delete button. “Nicky, this is Kim—” Again I deleted the message.

  “Nicky? Kim—” Three messages. What the heck?

  I erased all remaining messages without bothering to listen.

  In the kitchen, vomit still blemished the floor. Yuck. I really couldn’t expect the cops to have cleaned that up. I retrieved a bucket and floor mop, and set to work. That done, I walked around the house inspecting the windows and door locks.

  After assuring my safety, I had to shake my discomfort. I fluffed up a cushion here, straightened a picture there, but no matter what I did, I felt spooked. I kept expecting something to jump out at me. Everywhere I looked, I saw him. Rob in the living room, head thrown back and laughing, Rob in bed sleeping, his handsome face peaceful and calm, and of course, Rob lifeless, his dead eyes staring blindly at me. I forced the images from my mind and strode purposefully to the kitchen, my steps firm in an effort to banish my unrest.

  A cup of coffee, that was what I needed. I ground the beans and measured two full scoops into my coffeemaker, poured in the water and turned it on. While it brewed, I forced myself to move. There was no big clutter to clean up, no black fingerprint powder anywhere. The police, it seemed, had not been untidy. Now, I realized I would have welcomed a mess to clean. Anything to keep me busy.

  I plodded upstairs and changed into a pair of jeans. Five minutes later, I was about to take my first sip when the phone rang, startling me out of my skin.

  I followed the ring to the phone’s base and there it was, exactly where it was supposed to be. More than anything else, this made Rob’s absence real.

  “Hello,” I answered.

  It was Toni. “I found out that Rob’s memorial service is Friday at Jerome’s Funeral Home on Bayview,” she informed me in a subdued tone.

  My heart almost stopped. “I—I didn’t think it would be so soon,” I mumbled. “Did they already release the body?”

  “No. From what I understand, Mrs. Grant insisted a memorial service now. I suppose it’s her way of paying tribute to her son’s life. The service will be held in the chapel at two.” She paused and continued gently, “Under the circum
stances, I’m sure everyone will understand if you don’t feel up to going, but if you want to, I’ll go with you.”

  “Of course I’ll go. How could I not? And thank you for the offer. I’d much prefer not going alone.”

  “I’ll pick you up at one, all right? Or would you rather go earlier?”

  “One o’clock is fine.”

  “Oh, and before I forget, Kim called,” she said. “She went door-to-door yesterday and questioned all the neighbors.”

  “She did?” I said, and holding my breath I asked, “What did she find out?”

  “Nobody heard or saw a thing.” She paused. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  My heart sank. “That’s okay. Finding a witness would have just been too easy. Thanks, Toni,” I said and hung up.

  Rob’s memorial service—how in the world was I going to get through that? I hurried upstairs. In the bedroom, I pulled open his drawer. Sure enough, his socks and T-shirts were still there. I walked over to the closet, and yes, his suit was still hanging there. I ran down the hall to the bathroom and looked in the medicine cabinet. None of Rob’s toiletries were missing. I went downstairs, confused. In the living room, aside from his African art, piles of medical books remained stacked in the corners of the living room. I closed my eyes and opened them again. Everything was exactly as it had been, almost as if he was still here—almost as if he still lived.

  I wish…oh, how I wish. Stop it right now, I told myself sharply. Now was not the time to fall apart.

  I went back to the kitchen, to my now cold cup of coffee and poured myself a fresh one. Then I sat down to think. For some reason Rob must have only packed a few of his things in that suitcase. The suitcase! I sprinted to the entrance hall. Sure enough it was gone. Police evidence, I guess. But why had he packed so little? I had made it perfectly clear that I wanted him and his stuff out immediately. Had this been a deliberate decision on his part? Or had that bitch killed him before he finished?

  That’s when I realized that if I’d come home earlier that night, Rob might still be alive. On the other hand—oh my God—I could have been killed. If not for Toni stopping by with her martinis…if not for me falling asleep on the floor…

  My mind whirled. What if the murderer came after me? The hairs on the back of my neck stood. Don’t be stupid, I chided myself. What was I trying to do, scare myself to death? I had to keep busy. Otherwise I would go crazy.

  If Rob’s things weren’t around, surely I’d feel better. I’d forget how much I’d loved him, how much I’d hoped.

  In the basement, I found a stack of cardboard boxes. For the next few hours I packed, and by early afternoon Rob’s items were ready to go. I’d cleaned out the last vestiges of his life with me.

  I only wished it were that easy to erase him from my heart.

  in time this too shall pass

  I opened cupboards and rummaged through the fridge in search of culinary diversion. All I came up with was a container of sour cream and a bag of wrinkled apples, definitely not appealing enough to eat raw, but for pies, they’d be fine. I peeled and chopped, all the while wondering how exactly I was going to catch the killer. It was all fine and well to decide to investigate, but I had no idea where to start.

  By the end of the afternoon, I had three sour cream-apple pies to take to the restaurant cooling on my counter and I hadn’t even had one bite. In fact, I was feeling slightly queasy again. Smells that I normally loved now turned my stomach, but I wasn’t about to let that keep me away from the restaurant. I wrapped my pies carefully, set them side by side in the back of my smart car, keeping them safely in place between folded dishcloths, and set off.

  I came in through the back entrance and stood there for a few seconds, taking in the scene. Jake and Scott were running in and out of the dining room, carrying stacks of dishes and cutlery. Marley was peeling vegetables. Only Charles seemed subdued. In fact, he didn’t look well at all.

  “Everything okay, Charles?” I asked.

  He looked up. “Oh, Nicky, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Coming closer, I noticed his flush and the beads of moisture on his forehead. “Are you feeling all right?”

  He gave me a sickly smile. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

  I came to a decision. “Go home, Charles, and get into bed. You look terrible. There’s no point in you staying and making everyone around you sick too. I can handle things on my own for tonight. It’s not as if we’re booked solid.” I didn’t add that I didn’t think he’d accomplish anything today except be in everybody’s way, or that being busy would actually be good for me.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, looking hopeful. “I really don’t feel good.”

  “I’m sure. Now go.” I shooed him out and he scampered, tearing off his apron as he rushed out. Jake came back in just as he was leaving.

  “Hey, where’s Charles off to?” he asked.

  “I sent him home. He isn’t feeling well.”

  He looked at me with concern. “You’re the one who should have stayed home today. Toni said you’d take a few days off. Are you sure you should be here?”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry. We have a business to grow, remember?” I said determinedly. And then I added a smile for good measure.

  Jake came over and put his arms around me. “I’m so sorry about Rob.”

  “Thanks,” I said, my voice quivering. I took a deep breath and pulled on my chef’s jacket. “Okay, now let’s get to work. What’s on the menu for tonight?”

  Business was slow as usual, so I decided to give the kitchen a complete scrub-clean. I pulled out the bucket, filled it with soapy water and tackled the shelves with a sudsy brush. By the time I left for home hours later, we had served only two tables, but the kitchen was spotless and I’d never worked so hard in my life.

  The next morning I tackled my home. Again, I armed myself with a bucket of sudsy water and set to work scrubbing. From the corner of the bedroom, Jackie watched nervously. By early afternoon, I’d washed everything—everything except Jackie.

  “Come here, Jackie. I have a surprise for you.” But she was hiding under the bed and wouldn’t come out no matter how much I cajoled her. I was on my hands and knees. “Liver treats, Jackie. Come.” For some reason, she didn’t trust me. Maybe it was the bottle of doggie shampoo she’d seen me pull out from under the sink. “It’s good, Jackie. See? I’m eating it. Yum, yum.” I pretended to put a piece in my mouth, not an easy task with my head under the box spring. I twisted myself around to give Jackie a full view of me chewing with relish. “See, Jackie? I’m eating your treats.” I took a handful of liver kibble and just as I held them above my open mouth, ready to fake an enthusiastic chew, I knocked my elbow on the bedrail and dropped the kibble in my mouth. Yuck, gross! Spit, spit!

  When I looked back at her, I could swear Jackie was laughing.

  *

  On the morning of the service, I woke up feeling angry rather than grief-stricken. I was angry at Rob for cheating on me, angry at that bitch he’d had the affair with. I was even furious at myself for being so blind. I lay in bed analyzing my emotions, not an easy thing to do when they kept bouncing all over the place. I was going from being tearful and wondering why he’d cheated—was it my fault?—to raging at the unfairness of it all. At any other time, I’d have thought I was going nuts. But I remembered reading somewhere that anger was one of the stages of grief. Normal, I told myself, and healthy. Come to think of it, anger was one of the later stages, so that must have meant I was getting over the grieving. Then, as quickly as that thought crossed my mind, a wave of misery engulfed me. So much for that theory.

  After a cup of coffee and some toast, of which I managed no more than a nibble, I rummaged through my wardrobe for something to wear. Was I supposed to wear black? When Rob died, we’d already broken up, albeit barely. Did I even own a black dress that fit?

  I pulled out a navy suit I hadn’t worn in eons. By some miracle, and with the help of a few strategically
placed safety pins, I managed to fit into it. With my shirt worn over the waistband, nobody would see the pins. As for the jacket, I’d just have to keep it open. I pulled my hair back into a twist. With a bit of makeup, I’d look respectable enough. As for the circles under my eyes, there was nothing I could do. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the night of the party. I’d tried wet tea bags, cucumber slices and vanishing cream, and nothing helped.

  At twelve-thirty Toni pulled up. She didn’t usually wear somber clothes, but with her perfect figure and her blond hair falling loosely on her shoulders, she could have stepped out of a fashion magazine. I wished my figure was as nice. The sentiment brought me immediate shame. How could I even think such a shallow thought, today of all days?

  “Are you up to this?” she asked as I stepped out.

  “I’m fine,” I replied, double-checking that the door was locked. “I haven’t spoken to Rob’s mother since his murder. I have to see her.” What I didn’t add was that I’d read somewhere that killers often made an appearance at the funeral of their victim. I suspected that the same thing applied to memorials. And I planned to keep my eyes open for anything that seemed out of the usual.

  She waited for me to put on my seat belt, and we took off. We drove in silence up the street, both lost in our own thoughts. She cleared her throat.

  “I have to tell you, I’m worried about you, and I’m not the only one. The guys at work are worried too. You’re putting on a good front. When anybody asks, you say you’re fine. You went right back to work. I know you’ve been cooking up a storm, scrubbing like mad and I expect you’ve been spit-polishing your house too. You’ve kept yourself so busy I bet you haven’t had a good cry.”

  “I’ve fit in my share of crying.”

  “I doubt it,” she said. “Knowing you, you’ve kept everything inside, and that’s not a good thing. Take advice from someone a year or two older than you.” More like a decade. “You need to cry. You need to mourn him. And you need to rage at him.”