Genuinely concerned, Sarah made her way back to the main entrance to meet Peter. As she reached the door, it opened and Jane burst through it carrying the animal carrier and a chef’s jacket. Jane thrust the carrier at her and Sarah instinctively grabbed its handle. She peeked down to see what she now held. RahRah’s scared little face peered through the wired end.
Sarah found her tongue. “Jane, where have you been? We’ve been worried about you.”
“I got delayed by this little monster. Will you be a dear and hold on to him for me until I’m done? It’s only for an hour or so.”
“But—”
“I’ve got to go. Unless we’re moving, he goes berserk in his carrier and I couldn’t leave him roaming the house. It isn’t cat-proof.”
Jane glared at the carrier with such a flinty cold stare, Sarah pulled RahRah’s cage closer to her body.
“He was a bad boy. Not only did he make mincemeat of the pants I laid on my bed to wear today, but he shredded the living room curtains trying to perch on the curtain rod.” Jane hurried away, throwing a “Thanks a bunch, dear” back over her shoulder.
Sarah hoped Jane didn’t turn around and notice her Cheshire cat grin. She carried RahRah out of the traffic pattern, set his cage on the floor, and bent to his level.
“You are so good. You certainly listened to me this morning.” She continued a low-voiced commentary to comfort RahRah as she opened his cage. Carefully, she lifted him out of the carrier. He curled his body against hers, his little heart pounding.
She held him close, still whispering to him, hoping the firm grasp of her hands would let him know she would protect him. It angered her that RahRah had only been with Jane for a few hours and already was so agitated.
“There you are.”
Sarah and RahRah both stirred at the unexpected sound of Peter’s voice.
“I see Jane was found.” Peter pointed at the stage before gently running his fingers through RahRah’s soft fur. “What’s RahRah doing here?”
“I’m not quite sure.” Sarah rearranged her features into a more serious mode before she raised her head to meet Peter’s glance. “If I understood Jane right, RahRah has been making her life miserable in the few hours she’s had him.”
“That’s a good boy. I’m so proud of you.” Peter stroked the tender area behind RahRah’s ears. “She doesn’t deserve him.”
Sarah took a step back, forcing Peter to dislodge his hand from RahRah. “Where did that come from? That’s what I’ve told you all along, but you made me give him to her.”
Peter rested his now-freed hand on the back of his neck. “I didn’t have a choice. My job requires me to enforce the law. Jane had the documents to prove Bill wanted her to have possession of RahRah.” He ran his hand through his neatly combed hair. “I looked for a loophole, but even your own attorney agreed that the bequests, codicil, and custodial transfers were valid.”
Sarah stared at Peter. “What do you mean Harlan agreed they were valid?”
“The day you stomped out of my office, Harlan stayed behind. It gave us a chance to talk off the record about whether there was anything else we could do to prevent Jane from taking RahRah away from you. I showed him the documents she provided me and he assured me the animal trust was specific in its intent and operation.”
Although Peter only moved his hand through his hair, his expression made her think of a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I’m sorry we talked about you behind your back, but I hope your ears were burning because I said you were the right person to care for RahRah. Harlan said that might be the case, but he was adamant we had to honor the terms of the animal trust.”
“I had no idea.” Sarah relaxed her grip slightly as RahRah raised his head to peek toward Peter. “Looks like you’ve made a friend in RahRah.”
Peter reached over and stroked RahRah again. “That’s because he knows I was willing to go to the mat for him. I honestly wanted to keep the two of you together.”
Sarah focused her eyes on his now-still hand. Hands intrigued her. His were strong and solid. She believed hands reflected the soul of a person.
“I’m no lawyer,” Peter said, “but Harlan is one of the best. Once he looked at all the documents and explained the legal ramifications of the Alabama animal trust statutes, including Bill’s right to designate his successor, I understood my hands were tied. There simply wasn’t any other option, in the face of the law, except to give Jane possession of RahRah in accordance with Bill’s instructions.”
Sarah felt a tingle as he brushed his fingers against hers.
He let them linger. “I’m really sorry how everything turned out.”
He resumed petting RahRah.
Sarah bent over RahRah and brought her face closer to Peter’s. “What if we could prove Jane’s papers are phony? Would I have a chance of getting RahRah back?”
“Do you have any reason to think the codicil is a fake?”
“Maybe.” Sarah debated whether to tell Peter about the documents she saw on Harlan’s desk or if she should wait to hash them over with Emily first. “Or, at least I hope it is. If the documents are phony, would I get RahRah back?”
“Of course, but that’s a big if. From what Harlan explained, I don’t see any way for you to challenge the trust.”
Sarah looked around. Most of the people were checking out the various booths or had moved closer to the stage, where Marcus was explaining the judging process and introducing the contestants. She listened to see where he was in his remarks so she could judge how much time Peter and she had. She knew from Emily that once Marcus finished his introductory remarks, the contestants would pop their already prepped dishes into the ovens. While their entries cooked, each would have the opportunity to explain his or her recipe before the judges tasted their food and voted.
Sarah wished there had been time to bounce what she’d seen off Emily before she involved anyone else. Then again, Peter was the local law enforcer.
“Peter . . .” Sarah spoke so quietly he needed to lean forward to catch each word. “I learned something today that I think might make a big difference for a lot of things.”
“I told you to leave investigating to the professionals.”
“You did, but when you didn’t seem to be getting any further than zeroing in on Emily, I had to do something.”
“And what did your sleuthing discover?”
“You’ve got to promise you’ll keep me out of it if you talk to Harlan. I don’t know if he’s involved in this or what, but if he’s not and he thinks I squealed on him, he’ll never trust me again. My job will be on the line if it gets out I’m telling you about this. So, you need to promise.” She stood up straight, holding RahRah as a barrier between Peter and her.
“I can’t make you any promises until you tell me what this is all about.” He rested his hand on the top of his gun.
The phrase “Macho Man” went through her mind but, for the good of Emily, she swallowed the retort she was ready to zing him with. She tried to focus on the reality that unless Peter found a reason to take a different approach to this case, winning the cooking competition wouldn’t help Emily in the long run. No matter what the consequences, she couldn’t bear risking Emily’s future simply to maintain her own job. Sarah took a deep breath and looked around one last time to make sure no one except Peter was listening to what she said.
“I saw something today that led me to believe someone is trying to acquire properties to develop the old part of Main Street, near where Bill’s house is. Maybe economic development instead of food is the reason Bill and Richard were murdered.”
Peter rubbed his chin. “That isn’t something that’s been on my radar. But you might have a point. A few of those properties have changed hands recently. I knew Bill hoped the area would be developed, but I’m not familiar with any actual plans or proposed projects. What did you see?”
He peered at her, his dark eyes holding her gaze. Sarah hesitated before she cons
ciously broke the link between them and darted her eyes around the room. She lowered her voice to a whisper, but Peter interrupted her after a few words because RahRah’s raised head blocked her mouth. Shifting RahRah to a more comfortable position in the bend of her arm, but still holding him firmly, she began again. This time she made it through her narrative.
Peter let out a low whistle. “Interesting Harlan has all these documents. He never said anything about them.”
“Maybe there was attorney-client confidentiality involved. I probably shouldn’t have told you about any of this because the deeds, drawings, and draft papers were in Harlan’s office and are probably confidential work products or something like that, but what if Bill was killed because of something to do with those papers? Other owners, like Mr. Rogers, might be in danger, too.”
Peter frowned. “I can see your argument for Bill, but how do you tie in Richard? That seems a bit farfetched.”
“Maybe he was involved in something to do with scouting the properties or strong-arming people to sell? I never met him when I was married to Bill, but from what Jane and Emily have said, he did different odd jobs for Bill. Bill and he had enough of a relationship that Bill arranged for him to be hired at Southwind. We simply need to find out what their connection was.”
“We? Investigating is my job.”
“Technically true, but Emily is my sister and I’ll do anything to prove she’s innocent.”
He stared at her. “I’m well aware Emily is your twin and you’ve been doing things out of your belief in her innocence. If I wasn’t cognizant of that, I’d have arrested you for interfering with a police investigation or something else by now.”
She took a step back from him, clutching RahRah a little more tightly.
Peter responded by stepping forward and waving his hand in a stop motion. “Calm down. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. It’s just that you get me so mad. I know you’re trying to protect Emily, but someone out there has killed twice and tried to hurt RahRah and you once.” He shook his head. When he spoke again, it was through tight lips. “I don’t want them to get another chance.”
Sarah gazed at him for a second and then focused her eyes on RahRah’s collar. In the few hours since she took RahRah to the carriage house, Jane already had traded his collar for a jazzier one. The rhinestones in this one weren’t nearly as nice as the ones in the collar Emily used as a tiara.
“I appreciate you care and are worried about us, but don’t you think the Main Street documents in Harlan’s possession could be the key behind Bill’s murder?”
Peter didn’t answer. Instead, he posed a question. “So, you think Harlan is involved?”
Harlan’s sweet face jumped into Sarah’s mind. It couldn’t be him. There had to be a good explanation for Harlan’s folder of documents. But if it wasn’t him, who was behind the development plans? The only other suspect with a claim to property on Main Street was Jane. Was Jane guilty or did Sarah simply want her to be?
Peter interrupted Sarah’s musings. “You seem to have someone else in mind. Care to share?”
Sarah shrugged. She opted not to mention Harlan. She’d already thrown him under the bus. “Possibly Jane. Look at her with RahRah. She’s got her clutches into him and his money and it’s obvious the money and carriage house are the only things about him she cares about. Think about the profit she could make as Bill’s heir if something happened to RahRah and she could sell the land, carriage, and main house to a developer.”
Even as the words came out of Sarah’s mouth, she could see the sense in them. It all seemed suddenly clear. “Peter, we have to follow the money.”
“‘We’ again. I don’t have time to fight. If you’re right then, for Emily’s sake, I agree we need to work together.”
“All the way?”
“Well, as much as I can.” He laughed and then struck a serious pose. “Remember, you’re not a policeman, so I have a responsibility to protect you, too.”
Sarah jerked her head up, causing RahRah to strain against her arm. “I’ve got it. Deputize me. You’ll get a lot more done with me on the case than relying on your present sergeant.”
Peter slapped his head and rolled his hands upward as if praying for help from a higher source. “Run-of-the-mill deputizing a private citizen is only going to happen in a book or the movies.”
“That’s a shame because I think, especially being at a food expo, we could probably come out with a better dish if we pool our ingredients and preparation.”
Shaking his head, Peter offered Sarah his hand. “Truce?”
“For the sake of Emily, I guess so.” Sarah lowered her voice again. “How do you want us to proceed, Chief?”
Peter laughed and picked up the carrier.
“First, we find a spot from which RahRah and you can safely watch the rest of the food contest and cheer for Emily.”
“And you?”
“Oh me, I’ve got a little legwork to do.”
Sarah sputtered, “But . . .”
“Relax, I’m going to do some title searching. It’s an interesting theory, but I need something to go on. Hopefully, with a little luck, with what you’ve told me, I’ll find enough information independently to be able to ask some questions without anyone attributing anything back to you.”
He rubbed RahRah’s head while staring at Sarah. “Sarah, I’m in this with you, but right now, one of us needs to stay at the Civic Center to support Emily and take care of this little guy.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Cradling RahRah, Sarah pressed her way nearer to the stage. A chef, whose name Sarah had heard but whom Sarah had never met, held a dish at an angle so that the audience could see its golden-textured yellow top. From where she stood, it appeared his entry was either a soufflé or quiche. She guessed, because time constraints were the reason Emily explained she chose a vegetable-related dish, his was probably a quiche containing fresh seasonal vegetables. It looked picture-perfect. The audience apparently agreed because he walked off the stage to a healthy round of applause.
Chef Marcus introduced Emily and her rhubarb crisp as the next entrant. Sarah marveled at how calm and collected her sister seemed, especially as two men down front heckled her about knowing how to make a killer dish. Except for the dash of color obviously rising in Emily’s cheeks, she seemed to keep her cool in the face of their continued comments. Other members of the crowd shushed the men as she pulled her rhubarb crisp from her oven and placed it on a cooling rack.
“How many of you have ever eaten rhubarb?” She turned to the portion of the audience from where someone voiced a loud groan. “I heard that. I bet you’ve simply never had a good rhubarb dish.”
“Never had the stuff and don’t want to start now!”
“Ah, you don’t know what you’re missing. Rhubarb can be used to make some of the most delicious pies, puddings, crisps, cobblers, jams, and even cheesecakes. It’s easy to grow both in and out of greenhouses, but it prefers cool weather to thrive. That’s why we don’t see as much of it in the South.”
She put her rhubarb on a cutting board and, with strokes that reminded Sarah of how Grace had prepped the other day, separated the stalks from the leaves. “Make sure you only eat the stalks. The leaves are poisonous.”
There was a low-pitched stir in the audience.
“A drop isn’t going to kill anyone, but you want to be careful. You don’t want to make anyone sick.”
Sarah wanted to signal Emily to move on to another topic. She couldn’t believe that, considering the circumstances of Bill’s death, Emily was obliviously talking about the poisonous aspects of rhubarb.
“For this recipe, which will serve ten to twelve people, you’re going to need to slice two pounds of rhubarb crosswise about three-quarters of an inch thick. You’re also going to need sugar, flour, brown sugar, unsalted butter, oats, and ground cinnamon. But don’t any of you worry about remembering the recipe. You can find it on Southwind’s website.” Sh
e flashed a smile at the crowd.
Emily kept a running patter going as she retrieved the crisp cooked during her demonstration, but Sarah tuned her out. Instead, she looked around the crowd, trying to see if anything seemed off. Nothing jumped out at her. Perhaps the weirdest thing was how subdued RahRah was being in her arms. He seemed absolutely content snuggled to her chest.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah noticed movement offstage near where Emily had placed her freshly made rhubarb crisp. While most of the audience oohed over its beautiful gold-brown crumb top and her closing words that the crisp could be finished off with a dab of vanilla ice cream, Sarah kept her gaze trained on Chef Marcus.
Just behind the steps to the stage, he was deep in conversation with Jane and Grace. Sarah didn’t think he looked happy but, try as she might, Sarah couldn’t read his flying lips. She could tell from his tight expression the few times he slowed to listen, he was displeased about something. There was no way she could easily get behind the stage to be closer to the three of them, especially without jostling RahRah.
Trying to ease her way through the crowd, she saw Grace nod and walk away. Chef Marcus said something else Sarah couldn’t make out to Jane, who recoiled from him. Based upon her scowl, Sarah figured whatever he’d said had impacted her blood pressure.
Sarah didn’t know which one of them to watch. Jane, who was poised offstage on the bottom step with her hands clenching the railing, or Chef Marcus, who was bounding onto the stage. She went with the latter.
As Marcus reached the stage, his conversion from angry to genial host reminded Sarah of the books she’d read about the transformation of a teenage boy to a werewolf. With each step, Chef Marcus gained more spring and the tense lines of his face softened. By the time he grabbed the microphone from its stand, he was jovial—thanking Emily, making bad food jokes, and introducing Jane.
Her emotional meltdown also seemingly under control, Jane took the stage. She made small talk to the audience, describing “Jane’s Jubilant Spinach Pie.” As her demonstration progressed, she laid her knives out on the table, displaying her ingredients.
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