I turned to Mike and said, “Why don’t you tell us exactly what happened?”
“Well, Pixie used to stay in the café. Uncle Tim had her for a month—she’s four months old now. Anyway, he used to take her home after closing shop, but one night he left her behind by mistake, so he drove back to pick her up. He got there around ten, when all the nearby shops had closed up. Except, someone else had walked into the café just before him.”
“Who?”
“Some guy in a ski mask. Anyway, the security cam just shows the entrance. So you see the masked guy walk in, then Uncle Tim. Then the masked guy runs off.”
“Hmm.”
“They found Uncle Tim lying on the floor between two café tables. Hit on the head with something heavy. The masked guy was carrying a sledgehammer.”
“That’s odd,” I said. “Sounds like a burglary gone wrong.”
“Yeah, well, we never kept much cash in the till. And you don’t need a sledgehammer to open it. The cops found a few broken chairs near Uncle Tim’s body, so the masked man had probably started vandalizing the place.”
“Hmm.” Pixie looked up, clearly tired of my scratches, and raced up my arm to my shoulder, where she began nibbling my ear. I laughed and moved away, and peered down at her. She stared back at me, as if to say, “What? I need to preen your ear,” and then she began preening the feathers under her wing.
Beth looked at Mike thoughtfully. “So the cops suspect you? You don’t have an alibi?”
“Well, I was home without an alibi. But I wouldn’t kill the guy just because I didn’t like working for him. I had no idea he’d leave me the café.”
“What else did he leave behind?” Beth asked.
“Aunt Wendy—his wife—got a life insurance policy, and he left her some cash. That’s about it.”
“And where was Wendy that night?”
“Home,” said Mike. “No alibi, either. But do the cops blame her? Nooo.”
I looked at Mike skeptically. “You’d throw your aunt under the bus like that?”
“Hey, if she killed him, why should I take the rap?”
“He’s got a point,” Beth said. “It’s all about who did it.”
“Well, why would she kill him?” I asked. The more I talked to Mike, the less I liked him. Not only was he an absent father, he clearly wasn’t the world’s greatest nephew, either.
“They never got along,” Mike said. “I wonder why they never got divorced. It’s not like they had kids to protect.”
“You’re clearly a believer in love,” I said.
“Oh, I believe in love,” Mike said. “But those two were definitely not in love. If anything, Aunt Wendy always made jabs about him being with other women. He’d had an affair once. The woman came over to his house, after he broke up with her, and ratted him out to Aunt Wendy.”
“Are you still in touch with anyone from high school?” Beth asked, out of the blue, sounding slightly jealous. “Veronica? Or Trina?”
“Um.” Mike glanced at me, looking rather shifty. “Yeah, a few people.”
I wasn’t in the mood to hear about high school reunions, and how the “cool crowd” still hung out with each other, so I tried to steer the conversation back to Grumpy. “Was there someone else who might’ve wanted to hurt Uncle Tim?”
Mike thought back. “Yeah, the chef who worked in the kitchen, Kandy. He wasn’t nice to her either, though he didn’t yell at her as much as he yelled at me. They had some argument or other, every now and then. And there’s his former girlfriend, the one who stopped by his house to yell at him. She came by the café a month ago and said that Uncle Tim had stolen her macaron recipe and he owed her.”
I put Pixie back in her cage, the way Mike had shown me, and found some nuts to give her as treats. I didn’t want to admit it in public, but I thought Pixie and I would probably have a fun time together.
“Was there anyone else who might’ve wanted to hurt Tim?” Beth asked.
“There was his former business partner,” Mike said. “The guy was having money problems a few months back, so Uncle Tim bought out his share of the café for pennies on the dollar.”
“Wow,” said Beth. “That doesn’t sound nice.”
Mike shrugged. “Uncle Tim told us it was just business, that he didn’t owe anything to Rex, his partner. That he was doing what everyone tried to do.”
“Which is?”
“Grab a bargain.”
Beth said, “I’m sure Rex didn’t feel the same way.”
Mike shook his head. “Rex stopped by the café a month or so ago, ranting and raving about how he helped Uncle Tim out when he was having money problems and Uncle Tim should’ve done the same for him.”
“Hmm.” Beth looked at me thoughtfully. “What’s your take on this?”
“Lots of people seem to really dislike Tim,” I said. “And that’s not even counting all the customers he was rude to.”
“Customers thought it added to the café’s charm,” said Mike. “You know, the quaint old café run by the quaint grumpy old man.”
I nodded. “That makes sense. But why would someone try to vandalize the place?”
“They probably wanted to get back at Tim by destroying the café. The cops found two broken chairs near Uncle Tim’s body. The chairs were fine when we’d left, so they must’ve been broken by the masked man.”
“Sounds like someone’s really angry at Tim. Although breaking chairs is a strange way to let off steam. Maybe it’s a macho thing I don’t understand.”
“The chairs weren’t worth much,” Mike said, “and we had extras piled up in the back.”
I looked at Mike skeptically. “I guess we should go check the place out.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Uncle Tim kept a bag of Pixie’s pellets and a book on parrot care in the café, which you’ll need.”
I glanced at Pixie, and she squawked at me softly. And then I looked back at Mike. Something about the story wasn’t adding up.
Chapter Four
Crime scene tape stretched across the front of the café, but Mike, Beth and I stepped over it blithely.
“It’s not a crime scene anymore,” Mike said. “But I keep the tape up in case someone wants to steal the chairs or the coffee machine. And I don’t want the place to get bad reviews on Yelp just because someone couldn’t have brunch here.”
“Why don’t you reopen the place?” I said. “It’s yours, now.”
The small shopping strip where Tim’s café was located was lined with shops, restaurants and cafés. The street wasn’t as popular as the main shopping zone on Main Street, but it was reasonably popular with Santa Verona locals who wanted to go someplace less crowded and touristy.
Mike shook his head. “I want to sell it. Uncle Tim was trying to sell it, too. Before he died.”
Beth said, “If he’d sold it, you wouldn’t have gotten the place. The cash would’ve gone to his wife.”
Mike shrugged. “We don’t know that.”
Beth and I exchanged a yeah, right glance. It was obvious to me that the cops had pretty good reason to suspect Mike.
He unlocked the door and the three of us trooped inside. Once inside, I realized it was one of the larger cafés on this side of town, west of the pier. There was a large counter to the right of the entrance, which normally would’ve displayed fresh paninis, salads, cakes and muffins. A large automatic coffee machine sat on one side of the counter with a juice station on the other side.
The café was ghostly quiet, and the empty tables and chairs mocked us through the doorway to the main seating area. The cops had obviously taken the two broken chairs in as evidence, and nothing really stood out in the place.
Mike stepped out to take a call on his cell phone, and then he came back a minute later. “I gotta go,” he said. “Why don’t you guys finish looking around, and then take Pixie’s bag of pellets from the kitchen storage area. You can lock up, right?”
I nodded, and Mike left us to our own devices.
“This is creepy, right?” Beth said.
“Yeah. Let’s go check out the kitchen, and then we’re leaving.”
The small kitchen area behind the counter was just a bit larger than the one in Beth’s apartment. A huge grill station, sandwich presses, stovetops, sinks and ovens circled the room. Nothing jumped out at us, so we opened one of the cupboards to find a large parrot play stand, a book on parrot care, and a big bag of pellets. Beth and I wasted no time in grabbing the things and heading out.
As Beth locked the door behind us, I looked around. The street was typical of Santa Verona shopping areas, with well-maintained palms lining the sidewalks and ample street parking. The charming weather had continued into the afternoon, and only a few passersby strolled down the street. I guessed the place would be busier on the weekends.
I noticed a tall, scraggly man strolling down the street, and he smiled when our eyes met.
“Hi there,” he said. “Are you ladies the new owners of this place?”
I shook my head. “We’re just here getting some bird stuff.” I indicated the play stand and bag of pellets, intent on hiding our real purpose. “I’m Mindy.”
“Simon,” he said, shaking my hand. “I’m thinking of buying the place. D’you know if Tim still wants to sell?”
Beth and I exchanged a glance. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,” I said.
Chapter Five
Simon frowned. “What do you mean, Tim’s dead?”
We filled him in on the murder. It had been in the press; hadn’t he read about it?
“No,” he said, crossing the road with us and helping me carry the large play stand. “I didn’t. I can’t believe I missed this. Do the cops know who did it?”
As Simon walked with us to the car, Beth and I exchanged a glance. “We’re not sure,” I said. That much was true. I wasn’t sure if Mike being identified as the prime suspect had hit the news yet, and I didn’t want to leak a story that wasn’t public.
We packed the play stand into the trunk of Beth’s gray Mazda hatchback, and Simon stepped back, wide-eyed. “Hang on! I know you—you’re the celebrity investigator! You’re the one who solved all those cases after moving back from Hollywood. Are you working on Tim’s murder now?”
I looked at Beth again, and she gave me a small shrug. It might come out anyway. Besides, this man might know something. “Yeah,” I admitted.
“With the cops?”
“Not quite. We’re working in a private capacity.”
Simon frowned, looking confused, and then he nodded. “Right. Well. Good luck.”
“So, you met Tim a few days ago?”
Simon nodded again. “I wanted to take this place off his hands, but I thought he was asking far too much. I wanted some time to think things through, hopefully negotiate the price down. Who owns the place now?”
“Tim’s nephew, Mike.”
Simon peered at me hopefully. “Does he want to sell?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess so.”
“Maybe I’ve still got a shot.”
“Maybe.”
Beth said, “Did you notice anything strange about Tim Broker when you spoke to him?”
Simon looked off to one side thoughtfully, and then he shook his head. “He was a bit brusque, but I’ve been told that he’s a rather grumpy old man. I didn’t take it personally.”
We asked him a few more questions—did he know if Tim had any enemies, had he seen or heard anything suspicious when he did his due diligence to buy the place—but Simon couldn’t tell us anything new. Tim had seemed normal; nothing suspicious had jumped out at him.
Beth and I thanked him for his time, and I gave him one of my freshly printed business cards before we drove back to Mike’s apartment to give back the café keys and pick up Pixie.
Mike opened the door a few seconds after we rang the doorbell, and when I stepped in, I took one look at the woman sitting on the sofa and blanched.
“Hello, Mindy,” said Neve. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Chapter Six
I narrowed my eyes and took a deep breath. This was a coincidence, nothing more, I told myself.
Neve Henley had been my high school nemesis. You’d think she’d overlook a mousy, daydreaming nerd like me, considering that she was a popular cheerleader. But instead, I was the brunt of many of her unkind jokes. She and her posse had giggled about my uncool outfits, my lack of social life, and the way I liked to read thick literary tomes.
Neve had always been beautiful, with gray-blue eyes and chemically enhanced blond hair. The nose job she had gotten for her eighteenth birthday had pushed her towards “movie star gorgeous,” something she’d need to achieve her dreams. In high school, she’d bragged about making it on the big screen, and her wealthy parents had supported her for a few years while she’d lived in LA and attended casting calls.
Neve had moved back to Santa Verona at about the time I’d landed my first paying gig with a long-running TV crime show. As I celebrated my newfound career, Neve reconciled herself to being a receptionist at her dad’s friend’s law firm.
I learned all this soon after I moved back to Santa Verona. Neve kept running into us, when Beth and I went out for drinks and dinner, and after the first newspaper article about our “celebrity investigations” appeared, Neve made a point of sending me a congratulatory basket of muffins. The note said, “Glad you were able to make something of your Hollywood failure.”
I forced myself to smile politely at Neve. “What fun, running into you.”
Beth was looking at Neve like she’d just seen a cockroach in her pudding. “How do you know Mike?” she asked, her voice cold as a winter’s night.
Neve crossed one leg over the other and leaned back. Mike sat down on the other side of the sofa, and Beth and I took the chairs. “Mike and I go way back,” said Neve, her voice sultry and smooth.
“Of course,” said Beth. I could tell that she was trying hard not to sound jealous, but Neve and Mike were smiling at each other like they enjoyed thinking about the past. “You were a cheerleader, and Mike was on the team.”
Impatience suddenly came over me, and I stood up. “Here’s the key to the café,” I said, handing it over to Mike. I turned to Neve and said, “It was nice seeing you, but Beth and I need to get going. Back to the grind.”
Beth followed my lead and stood up, but Neve said, “Oh, this isn’t a social visit. I’m here to help Mike with the investigation.”
Her voice dripped with faux naivety, and I looked at her and glared. “What investigation?”
“Oh, you know.” She tilted her head to one side, and her perfectly plumped lips formed a tiny smile. “The murder investigation of Timothy Broker. I’m here to help Mikey clear his name.”
I turned my glare onto Mike. “What the hell is she talking about?”
Mike threw his hands into the air. Don’t get mad at me, his expression said. Out loud, he said, “We were just discussing the possibility. Neve wants to help out.”
Help out? With verbal barbs, constant put-downs, and an inability to stop flirting with every man she saw? Speaking of which, Neve brushed her hand lightly against Mike’s thigh. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Beth stiffen slightly.
“I’m not working with Neve,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Oh, honey,” said Neve. “I’d never want to work with amateurs. You guys are amateurs, right? You don’t have a license?”
“And you do?”
“I’m a PI in training.” Neve flipped her hair. “I’m more qualified than you are. I’ll have my license within a few months.”
I looked at her, incredulous. Was she doing this whole thing just to spite me?
Beth said, “Doesn’t working as a receptionist keep you busy enough?”
Neve threw her head back. Her tinkling laughter filled the air and set my nerves on edge.
“Oh, that job’s really flexible. Dave’s a friend of Daddy’s, after all. And I reckon I�
��d be a good PI. My photo’ll look great in the Santa Verona Sun.”
Beth and I stared at her in disbelief. I found my voice and managed to say, “You’re becoming a PI to get your photo in the papers?”
“Oh, of course not.” Neve’s voice was saccharine sweet. “I’m doing all this to help people. People just like Mike.”
She turned her sultry smile onto him, and I saw him fidget. “Thanks,” he said.
“And how do you intend to help him?” I asked Neve.
“By finding out who killed old Tim, of course.” She raised one shoulder in a half-shrug, as though nothing could be simpler.
I looked at Mike steadily. “I’m not working if she is.”
He looked at me pleadingly, and Neve laughed. She said, “Why, are you scared of being showed up as a faker?”
She was the “faker,” I thought, narrowing my eyes to slits. Out loud, I said, “Too many cooks spoil the broth.”
“She’ll stay out of your hair,” Mike said. “I know you two have a, um, history. But I need all the help I can get.”
“So you’re going to pay for two PIs?”
“You’re not really a PI,” Neve reminded me sweetly.
“Neve says she’ll work for free,” Mike said.
“And for old times’ sake,” Neve added, her voice laced with innuendo, her hand back on Mike’s thigh.
I glanced at Beth, who was slowly turning pink.
“And you signed a contract,” Mike reminded me. “Look, I do need help. Please. If you solve this case, the SVPD will be really eager to hire you as a consultant.”
I looked from Mike to Neve thoughtfully. He did have a point. Plus, I was supposed to take Pixie with me, and I’d already gotten quite attached to her. I glanced at the bird, and she looked back at me and purred loudly, as if to remind me that I now belonged to her.
When I looked at Beth questioningly, she shrugged. “I guess we should help Mike,” she said. “If we leave him to Neve, he’ll definitely go to jail for this.”
Neve scoffed. “Yeah, sure. You’ve got no idea how good I am.”
Dessert, Diamonds and Deadly Secrets Page 3