Peter licked his lips and pressed them together. He shook his head affirmatively. “We’d like to keep their clothing for processing. You know I can have them wait around while I get a warrant.”
Harlan glanced at Emily and Sarah and then back at Peter. “That won’t be necessary. I doubt there’s anyone we can find to bring them a change of clothing, so why don’t you give them something to change into so we can get out of here.”
Sarah knew Richard’s blood was on their clothing, but she didn’t relish the idea of going home in a prison jumpsuit. She couldn’t see how agreeing to have their clothes examined was going to do anything but put them in a worse position than they already were in.
Harlan leaned toward Sarah. “We know both of your outfits are stained with Richard’s blood. I also know no matter how much I rant and rave, any judge they approach will grant them a warrant. Better to be cooperative now than appear obstructive.”
Sarah nodded but her stomach twisted. She was glad they’d be getting out of here quickly, but she still felt Harlan should do more to protect Emily than pat her hand.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emily stepped over the orange jumpsuit on Sarah’s floor. Standing outside Sarah’s walk-in closet with a towel wrapped tightly around her, she shivered. “Aren’t you freezing? I thought you were going to put the heat up while I was in the shower.”
“I did. It’s not that cold in here.” Still wearing her orange jumpsuit, Sarah sat on the floor with RahRah in her lap.
With her free hand, Emily opened the underwear drawer in Sarah’s dresser. She made a face as she rummaged around and pulled out a pink thong. “Saving this for anyone special?”
“I only wish. But that’s not important now. Considering everything that has happened this morning with poor Richard, the Civic Center is the last place I want to be.” Sarah shook her head. “I can’t believe you. You don’t make sense to me. Even though Harlan told us to stay put, you’re insisting on being back there before one.”
Emily threw the thong back into the drawer and grabbed a pair of beige underpants, with the tag still on it. “We can’t figure out why Richard was killed staying here.”
“That’s not our job. It’s Peter’s.”
“Look, Sarah, I don’t know if Richard’s murder has a connection to Bill’s death or to the sabotage of Southwind’s refrigerator, but how hard do you think Peter will look for another suspect when he has me as the only person at the scene with both dead bodies?”
“You’re selling him short. Maybe you were too upset to hear Peter and the chief of security talking. Grace told me the same thing. Richard hung around with a bad crowd and still has some of those guys as his friends. Surely Peter will investigate whether he had any enemies or shady connections that might be involved in what’s been happening.” Including attacking me last night, Sarah silently thought as RahRah fled her grasp and jumped onto her bed.
No longer balancing RahRah, she rose and walked into her closet. She quickly came back out clutching a black blouse and pair of black jeans. She handed them to Emily. “Try these. You’ll have to roll the jeans up, but they’re the shortest pair I own.”
“Thanks.” Emily pulled the shirt over her head. “You know, it really is cold in here.”
Sarah went to the thermostat and adjusted it. “It’s on seventy-two, but I turned the heat up to seventy-four. Em, I think your body is reacting to the shock it had. Maybe we should stay here and talk instead of running back to the Civic Center.”
Emily slipped her feet into a pair of Sarah’s black rubber-soled loafers and held one foot up. “As always, a perfect fit.”
No surprise. Although opposites in terms of height, coloring, personality, and talents, when it came to shoes, both had inherited their mother’s size six triple A foot.
“You don’t need to come with me.” Emily looked at her watch. “But, if you are, please hurry and take your shower. I really have to be back by one.”
“Why one? I’m coming with you but, for Pete’s sake, remember this is a cooking competition at a mini–food expo in Wheaton, Alabama. You’re acting like it’s life or death.”
“For me, it might be. It’s Marcus’s rule that the only way any of us can cook in tomorrow’s competition is to make a recipe presentation onstage today at two. I still have some things to prep.”
“That’s stupid. Surely, under the circumstances, Marcus can change or break his rule.”
Sarah grabbed a towel and headed for the shower but paused near the sink when Emily followed her into the bathroom.
“I don’t want him to. I need to win this cook-off by the book so no one can question the results.”
Emily’s somber tone scared Sarah. “Does this have anything to do with the monkey business with Southwind Jane accused you of?”
Emily put the toilet seat cover down and sat on it. She played with the toilet paper. “Marcus is an excellent chef, but he isn’t a great businessman.”
Sarah hung her towel and clean clothing on the shower rack and proceeded to take her shower. She waited for Emily to fill the silence. When she didn’t, Sarah shouted over the running water, “So, how do you play into this?” Not hearing anything, Sarah repeated her question louder.
This time, Emily called back an answer. “When Southwind became available, Chef Marcus took it over on a shoestring. We never thought it would be so hard to get folks to drive here from Birmingham proper. Marcus was barely holding it together, despite working around the clock, when I accepted his job offer.”
Sarah turned the water off and reached for her towel. Dried, Sarah threw the towel onto the floor and put a foot on it. She dressed while Emily, still seated on the toilet, leaned her arm against the porcelain sink. “Well?”
Emily cocked her head toward Sarah. “Marcus and I have known each other since he was an adjunct teacher at CIA. He already was working under some of the finest chefs in the country and teaching on the side. Starting a restaurant costs money. Money Marcus had yet to save. That’s why, when some investors approached him with the opportunity to be a part of Southwind, using his cooking and everyday management skills in exchange for his interest, he asked my opinion because he knew I was familiar with Wheaton. With all the foodies in Birmingham, I thought it would be a no-brainer to open another excellent restaurant for the same clientele. Driving fifteen minutes from the City Center to a fine dining restaurant is no big deal in San Francisco, but that didn’t turn out to be the case in Birmingham.” Emily twisted her mouth into a smile. “Marcus relied on my opinion. That’s why I feel guilty he’s had such a hard time with Southwind.”
Sarah ignored the guilt, opting to go right for the jugular. “So you’ve been in on Southwind since the beginning?”
“Not exactly. Back then, all I did was assure Marcus Wheaton was a nice town. It wasn’t until I came home for the Fourth of July last year and mentioned things in San Francisco were souring that Marcus suggested I work for him at Southwind. He said he was juggling everything and felt like he was being pulled in too many directions so this could be a win-win situation for both of us: I could come home to get my head together and ease his responsibilities, while adding a respectable credential to my résumé.”
“This is the first time you’ve said there was trouble in San Francisco. I thought you simply wanted to work for Chef Marcus.”
“It wasn’t a big enough deal to mention to you. Personalities. Like I’ve told you before, it was the opportunity to train under Chef Marcus that attracted me home.”
Because of Emily’s closed body posture, Sarah was certain there was more to Emily’s return home, but she didn’t interrupt when Emily resumed talking.
“Everything was great until I found out about Bill’s involvement.”
“And when was that?”
Emily ignored the question. “Before I managed to move to town, someone brought Bill to Southwind. He must have recognized how much talent Marcus has because he started coming into the restaurant t
hree to four nights a week for dinner, staying until closing and chatting up Marcus. Their conversations about Marcus’s dream to move the restaurant into one of the old houses on Main Street somehow evolved into Bill giving Marcus financial advice. Eventually, Bill made Marcus an offer that seemed like the answer to his prayers.”
“That sounds like Bill. He could take the shirt off your back and make you believe you’d given it to him. What was Bill’s good-hearted offer?”
“Bill would buy out the partners and assume all of Marcus’s debts. He’d also provide him with a six-month infusion in exchange for being a silent fifty-one percent partner. Marcus would have total control of the day-to-day operations, plus the opportunity to buy back the controlling percentage if the restaurant was a success.”
“Those aren’t great terms.”
“They got worse after Marcus signed the legal paperwork. Bill insisted on expanding Southwind’s outside business by taking on the Civic Center contract and increasing their catering. He also stuck his nose into adding staff until, after a few hires like Jane, Marcus put his foot down. Bill agreed choosing cooks had to be Marcus’s domain, but—”
“He tied Marcus’s hands on everything else because the legal contract gave Bill fifty-one percent ownership,” Sarah finished for her.
Emily nodded in agreement.
“Not surprising.” Sarah walked into the kitchen area and picked up RahRah’s water bowl.
Emily followed.
“If I’ve learned anything working for Harlan, it’s that you’d be amazed at the predicaments people get into by simply trusting other people to live by the Golden Rule.” Sarah put fresh water into RahRah’s bowl and returned it to the floor. She wiped her wet fingers on her pants and positioned herself so she could see Emily’s face. “Come clean. What predicament did you get yourself into with Bill?”
Emily looked away, but Sarah kept her eyes focused on Emily’s face. “What was Jane talking about the other night?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. “You froze at the police station when Jane mentioned whatever it is and you’re avoiding making eye contact with me now. I may not have gone to CIA or any other college and my life got a little messy with Bill, but I know when someone isn’t shooting straight, especially you.”
“It wasn’t a big deal. I told you part of my job was the business side of things.” Emily fixated on a spot on the floor. “Once I started working with Marcus, I knew exactly what our food and labor costs were. I took over scheduling everyone and handling the purchasing and distribution of all inventory used in the restaurant, Civic Center, and catering jobs. After a few weeks, I realized the profit and loss numbers were off. Either supplies were going out the back door or someone was playing with the books.”
“Marcus?”
“Definitely not.”
Sarah noticed how fast Emily came to Chef Marcus’s defense. “Maybe you missed something. After all, you’ve said Marcus was under a lot of stress this past year.”
Emily shook her head. “The only people having access to the supply areas where inventory was off were Marcus and me, who I knew weren’t involved, and Bill and Jane. Despite Bill’s history, he was handling the final accounting. I didn’t want to accuse him outright. Consequently, I bluffed. I told Bill my first thought was Jane and maybe one of the cooks were playing with the supplies and numbers.”
“What did he say?”
“Instead of saying he’d look into it, he got mad and accused me of being a troublemaker. He told me if I wanted to keep my job, I should mind my own business and leave the finances to him and the cooking to Marcus.”
“What a bastard to threaten you like that. That had to be like throwing down a gauntlet in front of you. I bet you saw red.”
“I did. I took my suspicions to Marcus. When he wouldn’t hear of Bill cheating him, I decided I needed concrete proof to show Marcus. That’s what I was looking for the night Jane caught me.”
“What were they doing there?”
“That’s the same thing I asked Jane and Richard. Jane gladly told me they were meeting Marcus and Bill to discuss a new contract Southwind was signing. She gloated she and Richard were in charge of the new deal.”
“I can picture her now.”
“Magnify whatever you’re picturing. The minute Marcus and Bill got there, she took great joy in tattling on me. Bill blew up, but I defended myself by explaining I was going through the books for the good of the business. I explained I was trying to figure out why the numbers weren’t adding up, but Bill wanted to fire me on the spot.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Because Marcus latched onto the fact I was only trying to protect him and Southwind. He argued, even if I had gone about it in the wrong way, I really hadn’t done anything wrong. After all, my job allowed me access to the inventory numbers. Besides, Marcus noted, between the Expo, restaurant, and catering jobs, Southwind needed all hands on deck during the next week.”
“Bill gave in? That doesn’t sound like the old Bill I knew.”
Emily snorted. “Bill relented, but the first time he got me alone, he suggested I start looking for another position because he couldn’t guarantee how much longer they could afford to keep me around.”
“And now?”
“Now?” Emily’s gaze wandered from the spot on the floor to a plant sitting on the window ledge above the sink.
“With Bill dead?”
“Except for Jane’s involvement, the world is right again. Marcus is in charge of Southwind and his debts are paid off.”
“Isn’t that convenient?” Sarah opened a can of tuna cat food and put it in RahRah’s bowl. The cat crawled out from under the bed and nosed around his food. Sarah rubbed his back but he shook her away in favor of his bowl. “I would think that would mean you could stay home and forget today’s cooking demonstration and tomorrow’s competition.”
“No. The Expo has attracted chef entries from Birmingham and other nearby cities so there are going to be plenty of Birmingham foodies in attendance.”
Sarah threw Emily a quizzical look.
“This is a chance for Southwind to have a new start. Once the foodies taste our food, we hope they’re going to realize it’s no big deal to drive an extra fifteen minutes for a great meal.”
Sarah put her hand on her chin and wrinkled her brow. “We? Our? I thought this is Marcus’s restaurant.”
“It is, but I still feel obligated to help him make a success of it.”
Sarah held her tongue. As Emily hastened to defend her position, Sarah tried to hold her face in a neutral position. From experience, Sarah knew Emily could usually tell from a glance at Sarah’s face what she was thinking.
“The Expo gives us a chance for more people to sample our food.”
“Too bad Jane’s involved.” Sarah had previously tasted Jane’s food at Southwind. Even to her simple palate, it lacked the complexity and layers of Emily’s dishes.
“No kidding. Chef Marcus got around that problem. He’s letting Jane offer her samples from one end of the Southwind booth, but she’s entered in tomorrow’s competition under her own name. I’m the Southwind entry. That’s one of the reasons Bill and Jane were gunning for me. Jane wanted to be the Southwind entry.”
“And to be named sous chef?”
“Yes. But without Bill, Marcus is back in control. He can do what’s right for Southwind.”
“Like promoting you?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“You’re back?” Jane stared at Emily but didn’t acknowledge Sarah’s presence. “I didn’t expect you to be here this afternoon.”
“When you’re innocent, the police make it a practice not to detain you.”
Jacob, who had started in their direction from his end of the booth, stopped. Jane cleared her throat but refocused her attention on the food she was preparing. Emily snatched a napkin from Jane’s table and dabbed her face as she slipped i
nto her own part of the booth.
Emily threw the napkin into the nearby trash can and removed her jacket. She stowed it under her table. “I wonder where Grace is.”
Sarah glanced up and down the Southwind booth. Although Jane and Jacob had samples ready for the next wave of tasters, there were only a few cold samples remaining at Emily’s station. “Grace was here earlier. She had both of your tables covered with tasting cups. From the looks of what’s left, your food was a big hit during the lunch hour. Maybe she’s in the back room checking the employee’s table.”
“I don’t know.” Emily threw out the remaining samples. She wiped the plastic tablecloths and put out small plates with new tastes from a quiche Grace had left warming in the oven. As she moved her well-filled bowl of red chips to a more prominent position, she checked her watch and frowned. “We’ll wait a little while to heat anything else up. I’m sure Grace will be back for the next rush, but, in case she’s not, let me show you what to do if you have to handle things while I’m doing the demonstration.”
“Sure.” Sarah stared at her sister. “Em, are you certain you’re okay? You look flushed and you’re sweating.”
“I just told you, it’s warm in here.”
“Not that warm. And you were freezing at my apartment.” Sarah touched her sister’s forehead, but Emily squirmed away. She sat on a folding chair in front of Sarah.
Jane leaned over from her side of the booth and said loudly, “Emily, are you sure you’re not sick? You know you shouldn’t handle food if you’re ill. Grace went to the nurse’s station a little while ago because she was feeling sick to her stomach. She started by sweating, too. You were working together. Maybe you’ve both got a bug.”
“I’m fine, but thanks for your concern.”
Sarah watched a person who held one of the plates from Emily’s station eye it and put it back down. The person continued to where Jacob was handing out tastes of his Super Duper Seven Layer Salad. After a swallow, she left a red chip in the basket in front of Jacob.
One Taste Too Many Page 11