Death Over Easy

by Maddie Day

  I returned my gaze to Roberto and the detective. My father sat, arms on his knees, head bowed, while Henderson’s erect posture made it look like she was waiting for him to speak. Christ on a cracker, as Adele would say. What just happened?

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Roberto stood twenty minutes later and came over to the old-fashioned cash register we used, where I was counting the till for the day.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I am fine.” He blew out a breath. “The detective, she wants to know everything. What did I hear, what did I see.” He tossed a hand in the air. “So I tell her. It’s no problem for me. I am not a criminal. As my wife is not, also.”

  Detective Henderson approached Ed and Beth, the only diners left in the restaurant. Their table wasn’t far from where Roberto and I stood.

  “Ms. Ferguson, if you don’t mind?” The detective gestured toward the desk.

  I wasn’t sure I liked her using my restaurant as an interview room. But if doing so helped solve this case sooner, I wasn’t going to complain. Danna followed the action while she scrubbed the grill.

  Beth stood. “I really don’t see why this is necessary. I don’t have anything to tell you.”

  “Then I’m sure my interview won’t take much more of your time.” Henderson’s tone was level and brooked no argument.

  Beth swore, but stomped over to the office area and stood, arms folded. Henderson followed her. If Beth didn’t tell the detective she’d argued with Sue, I was going to have to. Meanwhile Ed sank his forehead into his hand.

  “Excuse me a minute,” I murmured to my father, shoving the cash drawer shut. I couldn’t count money with all this going on. “I’ll be right back.” He nodded and I headed toward Ed. “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  He gazed up at me. “I’m sorry for this mess. She’s prone to . . .” His voice trailed off.

  Throwing fits? Apparently.

  “I mean, she doesn’t like the cops. Any of them.” He pushed the remnant of his meal—a morsel of ham—around the plate with his fork.

  I waited, but he didn’t offer any clarification. “Too bad. The police officers I’ve met are pretty good folks. Did she have a bad experience in her past or something?”

  “Sort of.” He gazed over toward where Henderson had managed to convince Beth to sit. “She had to serve time on probation a few years ago. They said she was selling drugs, which is ridiculous. All she did was split a bag of weed with a friend of hers. But the friend turned her in to the cops to avoid being charged herself.”

  “Ouch.”

  “No effing kidding. It totally derailed her life, too. Beth was ready to start grad school at IU. She’d been dancing her whole life, and was going back to get a MFA. But when she was arrested the department withdrew her fellowship. It really sucked.”

  I had a flash of an idea. “Did either of you know Pia Bianchi?” Earlier I thought Beth had said they hadn’t, but maybe she’d been lying.

  He looked straight at me. “Yes. She was the friend who ratted on Beth.”

  Whoa. Flash confirmed. “She was?” Talk about a motive for murder. I glanced at the detective. She and Beth were talking but Henderson was keeping her voice too soft for me to hear. “Will Beth admit to it?”

  Ed looked sad. “I don’t think she’ll need to. I’m sure they already know.”

  Plus Beth had argued with Sue Tuesday night. “This is going to sound funny, but was Beth upstairs with you all night Tuesday?”

  He shook his head slowly, watching Beth and Henderson. “She’s a runner. She likes going out on long runs to see the sun rise. Me, I have a bum knee, so I can’t go with her.”

  A long run. How long a run? The Beanblossom covered bridge was only three or four miles from here, as was Scarce O’ Fat Ridge Road. Beth could have slipped out the upstairs egress without anyone noticing. Would she have arranged to meet Pia at the bridge, coolly choked her with a banjo string around sunrise, and run back? I imagined Henderson was asking Beth the very same questions.

  “Did she go for a run yesterday early morning? Or this morning?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” His already deep voice turned gravelly, trailing out the vowel until it became inaudible.

  Did Detective Henderson have any evidence Beth had been at either murder site? I wouldn’t interrogate Ed any further. He’d get plenty of questioning from the detective. I almost said something comforting, but I refrained. If his girlfriend was going to be arrested for murder, not a word I could utter would offer any real comfort and would only ring hollow.

  “I have to get back to my father. You make sure to let me know if there’s anything you need, okay?” Like the name of a good lawyer, maybe.

  “Thanks, Robbie. This sure isn’t how I expected this week to go. It was supposed to be a fun getaway for the two of us.

  “Don’t you live in Bloomington?” I asked.

  “Yes, but we both share houses with other people. I wanted this week to be special. A romantic bed-and-breakfast, great scenery, a week full of the music we love. Clogging for her, fiddling for me. We were trying to sort of patch up a rough spot in our relationship, frankly. Instead, the past reared its ugly head.” He set his chin on both fists and blew out a breath of frustration between his lips.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Ed gave me a wan smile. “I shouldn’t have unloaded my problems on you. Go talk to your dad. He looks like a nice guy.”

  I smiled back. “He is.”

  By now my father was elbow deep in sudsy water. When I neared him, I admonished him. “Babbo, you don’t have to wash dishes.” The affectionate Italian for “father” was still unfamiliar on my tongue.

  His smile could have powered the electricity needs for all of South Lick. “But of course I help. You have your customers, Miss Danna she works alone, I am sitting there?” He flipped open both hands, Italian style, nailing me with a clump of suds in the eye.

  While Danna doubled over laughing, I grabbed my sleeve and wiped my eye.

  “Colpa mia, cara.” Roberto looked worried. “I am sorry for the . . .” His voice trailed off and he waved his hands again, leaving more suds flying.

  I waved down his concerns. “It’s okay, really. It’s not your fault. It would be even more okay if Danna didn’t think it was so funny,” I mock scolded her.

  I didn’t mind being laughed at. Frankly, it was a welcome break from what Ed had told me, and from the ultra-serious conversation going on near my desk. Beth looked as somber and concerned as Ed. I grabbed a damp rag and set to wiping down all the tables, setting them with fresh place mats and silverware rolls until I ran out, then sat with the baskets of flatware and a stack of clean napkins to assemble more.

  Roberto joined me. “I will help you.”

  I showed him how to lay a knife, fork, and spoon on the diagonal of a square napkin. He slid the napkin over to me and I did the fold-and-roll maneuver. We assembled in silence for several minutes as Henderson questioned Beth, Danna swept the floors, and Ed perused his phone. With a furrowed brow, he glanced over at Beth every once in a while.

  “Roberto,” I began in a low voice, abandoning the Italian term for now. “Why does Maria seem to dislike the police so much?”

  He let out a sigh. “She has a brother who got in some big trouble. He was doing illegal things. She hated what the police did to him.”

  I decided not to ask what kind of illegal things, even though I was curious. “But she herself hasn’t been arrested or anything?”

  “Not since I have known her, no.”

  Huh. That sounded a little vague. As if he knew she’d done something wrong before they’d met? Like when he was here with my mom, maybe. It couldn’t have any bearing on the current crimes. Or at least I hoped not.

  “She’s probably going to have to talk to the detective at more length at some point,” I said.

  “I know this. Maria knows this. She is tired and said she must pack our suitcases.”

 
“I hate to think of you both leaving.” I gazed at him across the table and ended with the truth. “I want more time with you.”

  “As do I. So we will make it possible.” My father pushed the last loaded napkin over to me. I counted the number of rolls. Nowhere near enough for tomorrow. It was time to start a load of store laundry.

  Before I could grab the hamper of soiled linens, Beth stood abruptly.

  “I can’t keep repeating myself,” she spit out, word by word. “I didn’t murder anybody. Yesterday I went for an early run. Today I went for an early run. Isn’t it your job to find someone who saw me killing those women? I thought I didn’t have to prove myself innocent!” She stormed out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I listened to the cowbell on the door continue to jangle after Beth slammed it behind her. If Buck was here, he’d say she was madder than a hen on a June bug in summer. Ed jumped up and set the bell to jangling again as he followed her.

  “Mr. Molina?” Detective Henderson called after him, but it was too late. “Okay,” she said, drawing out the word as if his departure wasn’t actually okay. She cleared her throat. “Ms. Beedle, might you have a few minutes to spare?” She gave Danna a polite smile.

  Danna glanced at me.

  “You’ve done enough for today. Permission granted.”

  Danna dried her hands before joining Henderson at the desk. Roberto stood.

  “I go to rest now,” he said. “And perhaps to smooth my wife.”

  I figured he meant soothe, but I didn’t correct him. Smoothing was good, too. “See you back down here at six, all right?”

  “Alle sei in punto.” He headed for the stairs, ascending with a slow heavy step.

  My phone buzzed in my back pocket. When I checked, it was a calendar reminder to put in the order for the weekend. I swore to myself. The end of the afternoon would squeak in for delivery tomorrow. Four o’clock was their cutoff, and I had exactly ten minutes. I hurried over to the desk, where Danna already looked exasperated with the detective’s questions.

  “I told you. I left Isaac’s house before six Wednesday morning. I had to zip home before I came to work. He was already out with the dog. What more can I say?” Danna flipped her palms open to the sides.

  “Excuse me,” I said to Henderson. “I need to grab something.”

  She scooted back in the office chair so I could open the top drawer and extract my tablet. I carried it into the walk-in cooler and pulled up the ordering app. Turner wanted to make an Asian noodle salad, and luckily buckwheat soba noodles were available. I really should stock soba regularly so I could offer a gluten-free option for those with sensitivities. I added sugar snap peas, red peppers, and carrots, plus a bottle of rice wine vinegar. Soon I’d be able to get almost all my produce at the Nashville farmers’ market. I checked on our other staples and added butter, milk, bacon, and eggs to the order. I included sliced turkey meat for the Hot Brown sandwiches, plus a few other odds and ends, and hit SEND. Whew.

  Shivering from the low temperature of the walk-in, I clicked the heavy door shut behind me. Danna and Henderson were still in conversation, or in interview mode, more accurately. The detective never seemed to lose her cool. Was it part of her training or in her nature to be calm and centered even when digging into the depths of people’s motivations and fears? I knew from personal experience investigating a homicide could be very, very dangerous, and it wasn’t even my job. I admired those who were brave enough to make it their profession.

  Once again I hoisted the full hamper and aimed myself for my apartment, where I’d installed the washer and dryer. I shot a glance at Danna and caught her attention. “I’ll be right back,” I called. She gave me a thumbs-up in return.

  The door to my private quarters was at the back of the store. I fumbled in my pocket for the key, trying to hang on to the heavy hamper.

  “Can I help you?” a man’s voice asked from directly behind me.

  It startled me so much I dropped the hamper on my foot. My key fell into the open top. An expletive slipped out of my mouth before I could catch it. I whirled to see Chase backing up a step. Where had he come from? Not through the front door. He must have gone up the outdoor stairs and into the rental space before coming down here. The second egress for the B&B rooms, required by the building code, was a staircase outside the eastern side of the building.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

  Over his shoulder I saw Henderson start to stand. “It’s all right,” I called over to her. “I’m fine.” To Chase I added, “I thought you were going to be out all day.”

  “I forgot something in my room.” His dark eyes regarded me.

  I didn’t know quite why, but I was suddenly grateful an officer of the law and a tall strong young woman kept me company right now. “I see. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m still on the clock.” I righted the hamper, scooping back in the dirty towels and napkins that had fallen when I dropped the hamper. I swore again, silently this time. My key was in there somewhere, too.

  Chase cleared his throat. “I know you’re closed, but I wondered if I could make myself a quick sandwich or something to tide me over.”

  Giving bed-and-breakfast guests afternoon snacks hadn’t been in my mission statement, but then again, the customer is always right. “Sure. I’ll get you set up.”

  He followed me to the cook station. I pulled out a clean plate, cutting board, and knife. I pointed to the bread. “Help yourself. You can find cheese in the small fridge underneath the counter, and the pickle jar is right behind you.”

  “I appreciate it, Robbie.”

  “No worries.” I was a bit worried, however, as I returned to my long-suffering hamper and dug into it until I felt the metal key. I knew Chase had said he had playing gigs lined up for the afternoon. Three o’clock was eminently qualified to be called afternoon. So what was he doing here?

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I sat in my apartment, alone at last, at five o’clock. We had a dinner reservation for six o’clock at Hoosier Hollow—Roberto, Maria, Abe, and me—and I’d already finished the prep for tomorrow morning’s breakfast except for the silverware rolls. The laundry was finally in the dryer, and Roberto and Maria were resting upstairs. Danna had gone home after Detective Henderson was through with her, and I could tell my employee wasn’t a bit happy over the way the questioning had gone. Henderson had taken the opportunity to shoot some questions at Chase while he was eating his free cheese sandwich. I’d watched out of the corner of my eye as I prepped biscuit dough. Chase hadn’t looked particularly pleased with the grilling, either.

  I was beat, but my mind was racing from the fullness of the day. I could fix busy-brain syndrome by doing one of two things: go for a strenuous bike ride to clear out my brain or create a crossword puzzle to make sense of what I knew. The first option was out because I didn’t have enough time. So I poured a cool IPA, got my graph paper, ruler, and sharp pencil, and sat at the kitchen table with my feet resting on the other chair. Birdy jumped up and curled around my feet for a nap.

  “What do I know, Birdman?” I asked him, but he kept his silence. Pia had had tussles of one kind or another with Sue, and with Glen, too. With Chase. With Isaac. Even with Abe. Any of them could have wanted her gone—except Abe, of course. So I started the puzzle with PIA BIANCHI across. I intersected ISAAC down through the I of her first name and CHASE going down from the C in her last name That led to SUE, who of course was dead, too. Glen’s name I added ending in the N of BIANCHI. I used the B of the name to print BEANBLOSSOM going down. I knew Abe wasn’t a suspect, but I added his name off the second B in the town’s name, anyway.

  I sat back and sipped the nicely hoppy ale, which held a hint of grapefruit. The tricky question now was Sue’s death. It still hung over my emotions like a thick cold fog. The motivation for killing her either had to come from Pia’s murderer or from someone else who wanted her dead. Could it be the apparently grieving Glen? The Glen who
wasn’t happy with Sue working a job that didn’t revolve around him and their home? Of course, if he’d killed Pia, and if Sue had been asking questions regarding the murder, then he’d have double the reason to remove his wife from the scene. But had she been? If Glen was innocent in both killings, he was just a grieving husband. Maybe tomorrow I could find time to take some food over to him.

  If Chase was Sue’s killer, he would have had to sneak out this morning without me noticing, go do the deed, sneak back in, and then come down for breakfast. He had looked a bit rattled this morning, not presenting the usual neat and trim front he usually did. B&B parking was on the far side of the store where the outside stairs were, and that side of the store didn’t have any windows. So Chase easily could have slipped away early, while I was busy with the noise of frying bacon and greeting customers. But how would he have lured her to wherever it was that he killed her? I flashed on the scene at the music festival when I’d spied the two of them arguing about something. It had been the night after Pia was discovered. Had Sue suspected Chase? I shook my head. I might never know.

  I returned to the puzzle. Anne Henderson should be an entry, and her name fit nicely intersecting with CHASE at the A. How much progress was she making, anyway? I hung WANDA BIRD off the first N in HENDERSON, since they were working together. Were they ferreting out alibis? Had the medical examiner given them a window of time during which Pia had died? Isaac had said her body was cold when he found her. And then there was Sue’s time of death. The traffic pileup had been this morning before eight. If Glen had faked his grief, he could also have easily lied about when Sue left home, and how else would the police know? They could ask neighbors if anyone saw her, I supposed.

  I hung the word MURDER off the final letter of BEANBLOSSOM, and crossed the I in BIRD with ACCIDENT. BANJO STRING fit down on the final letter of HENDERSON, BUCK worked off the top of BANJO and WEAPON squeezed in on the end of STRING. Clues were what I needed, except adding CLUES ending on a BEANBLOSSOM S did nothing to bring any to mind. Still, it gave me a place to hang ALIBI.