I wouldn’t have recognized the unusual activity on Blue’s bank and credit card statements if I hadn’t started with the winery’s accounts. Blue’s trips to New York to meet with her cookbook editor showed up on the winery’s credit card. Her trips to visit her parents in Florida appeared on her personal credit card. She was diligent about keeping her personal spending separate from her business spending. The unusual activity came in the form of gasoline purchases in Dallas on the weekends. Along with occasional charges for a hotel room, usually in one of the more expensive hotels near downtown. I printed the spreadsheet when the numbers started to run together.
I took a half hour for some yoga, then grabbed my spreadsheet. By late afternoon, my balcony is in shade. I slipped on a pair of over-sized sunglasses and studied the people around the pool from behind the French doors. Everyone was dozing under umbrellas except for five kids who were engaged in a furious battle of cannon balls. No strangers were lurking, so I settled into a lounger and got back to work.
Kay’s belief in the power of spending patterns was spot on. Bret was, or had been, involved with more than one woman. That’s the only logical explanation for the variations in clothing sizes. As I looked closer, the patterns became clearer. Bret never bought different size clothes on the same weekend. He’d been with a size fourteen woman at the same time he was buying clothes for a size ten, but always purchased their clothes on different weekends. The purchases of tens stopped and those of a size sixteen picked up, and still the size fourteen purchases remained, always on weekends when the other sizes weren’t purchased. The bra sizes showed a similar pattern, with a 36DD showing up regardless of the other sizes purchased.
And then I connected the hotel room charges, and lack thereof. Bret only used hotels on weekends when he wasn’t buying clothes for his size fourteen / 36DD mystery woman.
Which meant the big-bottomed floozy lived in Dallas and he usually stayed with her. The fourteens and 36DDs showed up on more weekends than not on the card statements.
Which meant as long as Bret’s dining and shopping patterns remained the same, there was a very good chance I could catch him this weekend at Northpark Mall.
Which meant unless I was totally off my rocker, I had a plan that might actually work.
IN MOTION
HE TOOK A DRAG on his cigarette and was about to press the ‘call’ button on his phone when his ears perked. He was standing the requisite twenty feet from the building to smoke, but the door hadn’t fully closed behind him. She was issuing orders, which was a good sign. Her voice faded as she moved deeper into the structure, and he tapped the ‘call’ button.
“Come on,” he whispered. He wiped his sweaty hands on his white trousers while his orange tennis shoe beat an erratic tempo on the scorched earth. “Answer, you idiot.”
On the fourth ring, he did. “Hello?”
“Where were you?”
“In the bathroom.”
“Take the phone with you next time. The house is empty.”
“How long will she be out?”
“Until ten, at least.”
“Are you -”
He snapped the phone shut and slipped it into his pocket, enjoying the rest of his smoke before returning to work.
PARANOIA
THE NIGHT WAS UTTERLY stifling, and I was glad I’d worn linen to dinner. I beat Cass and Kado to the winery and enjoyed following the studly host to our table. In contrast to the relaxing atmosphere I’d experienced at lunch yesterday and today, the winery was heaving with people and energy. Conversations were loud and punctuated with laughter. Servers wove through tightly packed tables carrying trays laden with great smelling food and carrying bottles of wine. A three piece jazz band played on a slightly raised stage in the main room. Several couples danced to “Summer Samba” while the guitar player glanced up and smiled, sending me a nice charge. Small lights twinkled in wine bottles strung in a tight weave from the ceiling, creating a swath of night sky near enough to touch.
I spotted familiar faces, including Forney County’s Sheriff, Bill Hoffner, seated a few tables from mine, and it was only as I sat that I got a look at his companion. She was a beautiful blonde, probably in her early fifties and carrying it extremely well. It made me wonder what Hoffner had to offer that would entice a woman like that to have dinner with him. From what Cass had told me and the little I’d experienced of him, the man was a flaming ego on legs. As Blue had predicted, a bottle of wine was chilling in a bucket beside his table.
A muted crash sounded from the kitchen and I winced, wondering if Emily had shattered another stack of Blue’s plates. I heard raised voices and then spotted a curvaceous young woman in a ruby blouse bearing the winery’s logo headed my way. She hooked a healthy hip into my table as she blew past, fury on her face.
At a set of French doors, she turned and shouted, “This isn’t over, you bitch.”
The hum of conversation dulled and heads swiveled as she stepped into the darkening evening. But it was barely a moment before the musicians picked up their tune and conversation resumed as if nothing had happened.
The hunky host caught my glance and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
I waved, telling him not to worry, but watched with pleasure as he brought me a glass and a bottle of something pink.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Our drama queen. Daphne’s a waste of good air, as far as I’m concerned.” He poured. “See what you think.”
I sipped. “Nice. Fruity.”
“Glad to see you again. Are you here alone?”
I thought he was flirting and desperately wanted to slip into Maxine Man-eater mode, but stopped myself. This was business, after all. “I’m meeting some friends, but came a little early. I was hoping to chat with Blue. Is she around?”
“She’s in the kitchen. The expediter didn’t come in today, and now Daphne’s run off.”
“Expediter?” I asked.
“The person who keeps the kitchen activities flowing so customers get their food quickly and while it’s hot. The expediter’s an important role.” He glanced at the French doors. A scowl crossed his handsome face and then within a heartbeat, Will smiled at me. “It’s going to be a busy night, but I’ll let Blue know you’re here. Maxine, right?”
I sipped the wine and was idly scanning the room when my heart dropped. Babby and Kay were at a table on the far side of the winery. Kay wiggled her fingers, smiling widely. Babby lifted a wine bottle and motioned me over. I worked my way across the room, wondering why they were here. Didn’t they think I was capable of handling Blue Ivey’s case? Had they decided to take over? Maybe this was revenge for my lie.
Stop with the paranoia, I told myself, straightening my shoulders. I am a professional member of the Lost and Found team. I welcome their support and can cope with any sort of involvement or oversight from my aunts. I am a professional member of the -
Babby poured wine into a fresh glass and my poise shattered. “Don’t you trust me?”
Kay held her hand out and Babby slapped a five dollar bill into her palm. “You’re costing me money, toots,” Babby said.
“How?” I demanded.
“Kay thought you’d be worried that we decided to have dinner here tonight, but I thought you’d cope.” She grimaced and slid the glass to me. “Thank goodness it was only five bucks. Sit down.”
I sank into a chair. “Well, why are you here?”
“Having dinner, doodle-bug,” Kay said. “We want Mrs. Ivey to know she has the full support of the agency.” She leaned close. “It makes clients feel special if they think everyone in the business is working for them.”
“You’re not here because you think I’ll screw up?”
Kay patted my hand. “Only for support.”
“And to eat. The flat iron steak is scrumptious,” Babby said. “As are these dishes. The waitress told me Blue made them. She’s a talented woman.” She nodded at my untouched glass. “It’s good.”
She
was right. It was a deep red and drier than the pink wine the hunky host had brought. I struggled to decide which I liked better.
Babby glanced over my shoulder and her exquisitely lined eyebrow lifted a notch. “My, my. Bruce Elliot looks downright edible.”
I followed her glance and nearly melted at the sight. In a dark blue shirt with French cuffs and fawn-colored trousers, Bruce was quite handsome. He startled when he saw me, but then smiled. My stomach flip-flopped.
“We’ll see you in a bit,” Babby said.
“Hmm?”
“Maxine.” Kay poked me. “We’ll drop by your table later. You can introduce us to Mrs. Ivey.”
“And the new and improved Bruce,” Babby said. “For such a weird looking teenager, he turned out very nice. He’s not that much younger than me. If you want him, Maxine, you’d better claim him.”
It was my turn to lift an eyebrow.
“Barbara,” Kay scolded. “Let the girl have her fun. Run along, Maxine, before your aunt gets her claws out.”
WHAT OTHER KIND WOULD HE BE?
I SAT ALONE DRINKING great wine and listening to surprisingly good jazz. East Texas has produced many excellent musicians, but not many of the jazz variety. The trio was guitar, double bass, and drums, and the guitarist crooned a few tunes now and again. Eating alone isn’t as hard as most people think and most of the time, I enjoy it. Bruce was within eye-shot and also sitting alone, casting the occasional glance and smile my way. I was chewing my lip and wondering if I should invite him to join me when a sultry brunette entered the winery, scanned the room, and wove through the tables to Bruce. I actually felt my heart drop, and realized he’d probably had this date with the brunette on the books for a while.
Besides, I consoled myself, I had plans with Harvey later. But I still felt hollow inside.
My waitress brought a basket of warm bread and I gave in, buttering a fresh slice of baguette. Cass came through the winery’s front door, spotted me, and wove between the tables, bypassing Sheriff Hoffner but stopping to speak to her brother and the stunning brunette.
Cass settled at our table with a sigh.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Fine.” She yawned. “I won’t make it very long tonight. After last night, I’m tuckered.” She opened a menu. “What’s good?”
“Everything, I think.” I yawned in reply. “Who’s Bruce’s date? I don’t recognize her.”
“She’s not a date. He’s her adviser.”
“College adviser?”
“What other kind would he be?”
I looked more closely at the brunette. She was probably in her early twenties. The third finger on her left hand trailed sparkles as she gestured. A smile threatened my lips and I picked up my glass to sip and hide my joy. “Where’s Kado?”
“He’s working on the stolen pickup.”
I topped off my glass and poured pink wine into Cass’s glass. She held up a hand.
I stopped and looked at her. “You’re not your father.”
“I know I’m not. But look what happened the last time I drank.”
I reached across the table and took her hand. “That wasn’t your fault. You got roofied and raped, like me. And it wasn’t my fault, either. You don’t have to drink to have a good time, but sometimes it’s fun to sip a little wine or have a margarita. Look, there’s barely a dribble in the glass. Drink that, we’ll have some food, and if you want more you can try another dribble.”
She lifted the glass, sniffed, and then took a minuscule sip. “Kind of like Kool-Aid.” She sipped again and settled in her chair. “Now, tell me what you found in the financial data.”
__________
ONE OF THE MUSICIANS picked up a banjo and started playing “Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue.” His voice was good, but the banjo? Must be an acquired taste. Despite my doubts, my foot tapped in time to the music while I told Cass about my research. She listened with that amazing intensity that makes you believe your stupid ideas are really quite plausible.
When I finished, she sat back and stared at the room’s reflection in the darkened French doors. “Go to Dallas tomorrow. I think it’ll work.”
I beamed. “Want to come with me?”
“I’d love to, but I’m wiped. I don’t think I’d be much help. If you make it home tomorrow night -”
I straightened. “I beg your pardon?”
Cass grinned. “There’s always a possibility that you’ll pick up a man and get distracted, Max. But I meant that if you find Bret Ivey and don’t have to stay in Dallas until Sunday, come to the house for supper. Bruce is cooking.”
My heart leapt, annoying thing, and I pushed it back into place. “Bruce always cooks.”
“Only because he’s set up booby traps in the kitchen.”
“Maybe because you caught that skillet of scrambled eggs on fire.”
“That was years ago.” She sipped a bit of wine.
“So, is Bruce inviting company for supper?” Yes, I was fishing. So sue me.
“Only Mitch and Darla. Harry’s girls will be there and Kado will come if he finishes working on whatever drama Saturday brings.”
The music switched from live to piped in, and I looked up as the guitarist and drummer slowly crossed the winery in our direction, stopping at several tables to chat. They finally made it to our table and asked if they could join us.
“Of course,” I answered, offering a hand. “I’m Maxine Leverman and this is Cass Elliot.”
They chatted with us for the duration of their brief break, then asked for our numbers. Both were attractive and articulate, and I had no qualms about passing my card to the guitarist, wondering briefly if I should cancel this evening’s appointment with Harvey. I watched with interest as Cass handed the drummer a card. They thanked us and headed for the stage.
“I thought you and Kado were an item,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow. “There’s no risk to whatever relationship Kado and I have, Maxine. My card says I’m a Forney County Detective. He’s a musician. There’s zero chance he’ll call.”
CATCHING HIM MYSELF
CASS AND I WERE debating whether the cowboys who chased Bret’s Corvette last night were really cowboys when Blue Ivey emerged from the kitchen. She wore a sparkling white chef’s tunic over jeans and looked utterly composed, even when she stopped at Sheriff Hoffner’s table. He gestured at his steak. Blue nodded, spoke to his companion who shook her head. Blue took Hoffner’s plate and disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a fresh dinner. She placed it in front of him and waited while he cut the steak. He nodded and turned to his date, as if dismissing Blue. Hoffner’s companion flashed a sardonic smile at Blue, who smiled graciously in reply.
Blue joined us and a waitress placed a platter of cheese, grapes, sliced meats, and dipping sauces on the table. Will, the hunky host, handed Blue a glass of dark red wine and asked if we needed anything else.
“We’re fine. Tell Chef I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Blue said. She yawned and turned to us. “Forgive me for taking so long to get out here. The white grapes are in the tanks and we’ll harvest the reds next week. Emily massacred another stack of plates and I had to go dig more out of storage. It’s exhausting.” Blue sat back in her chair and took a long sip of wine. “I’m sorry if either of you heard the shouting match from earlier.”
I waved her off. “Will said one of your cooks didn’t show up?”
“My expediter, Annie. She’s a star at keeping everything coordinated in the kitchen. This is totally unlike her, but I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.” She held her hand out. “Blue Ivey. Cass Elliot, right? You’re even more gorgeous in person than you are in the papers. I love your red hair.”
Cass smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Not bad.”
“Are you back at work?”
“I know I’m ready to be back, but my physical therapist disagrees.”
Blue di
pped a slice of baguette into a sauce heavy with chunks of garlic. “You’re seeing Chad?”
“How did you know?”
“I hurt my ankle about a year ago. He’s a beast, but very good.” Blue glanced at me. “The update on Bret. Is it bad enough that we need to involve the police?”
I laughed. “No, not yet, anyway. Cass and I have been friends for ages, and she joined me for some surveillance last night, off the record.”
“How’d it go?”
We nibbled and I gave her the short version, telling her we’d found Bret’s Corvette, but lost him. “Do you know who would steal a pickup and chase him?” I asked.
“A spurned lover?” Blue answered with a smile. “Maybe not if it was two guys. Seriously, I have no idea who’d be interested in chasing him. If the truck was stolen, it makes sense that they’d run after blowing a tire.” She ate a bite of cheese. “If Bret is cheating, could it be an angry spouse or boyfriend?”
“It’s possible. The forensic guy is going over the pickup tonight, looking for fingerprints and other evidence. We’ll have to see what he turns up.”
Blue lifted her glass. “I should thank whoever it was, because at least it sent Bret home. And I might have a chance of catching him myself.”
WRECK IT ALL
THE THIRD STEP FROM the top creaked and the blond cringed. The dark-haired man shot him a look, then started opening doors.
The blond hesitated at the music room’s threshold. It was packed with instruments and equipment. “I don’t know about this.”
The dark-haired man carefully took a guitar from its rack and placed it on the floor, and then jumped on it with all his might. It cracked with a discordant twang. He wrenched a piece of wood from the broken top and then peered inside the body cavity. “Why not?”
The blond stepped forward and studied the instruments. “These are old. Lookit. That’s a Super 400. I saw one on Antiques Roadshow. And that. That’s an old Epiphone Emperor. They must be from the nineteen-thirties or forties.” He shook his head. “It’s bad luck to destroy stuff like this.”
A Case of Sour Grapes: A Cass Elliot Companion Novel (Cass Elliot Crime Series Book 3) Page 7