by Holly Plum
“I’m going to figure out who is doing this, and losing their job will be the least of their worries,” he continued. “I’m going to press charges. I’ve already spoken to the police, but I need each of you to keep an eye out. Let me know the moment you see anything suspicious.”
Mari couldn’t decide whether it was the thefts or the murder that seemed to be drawing every officer in Texas to Lito Bueno's Mexican restaurant for lunch that afternoon. They had all insisted that they were only there to eat lunch, but Mari knew better. Officer Rick Kinney, with whom she had once shared a memorable date, sat in a corner booth with his jug ears attuned to the conversations around him.
“You’ll be having your usual, right?” Mari said, trying and failing to hide a playful smile. “Beef enchiladas, double rice, no beans, and a side of green chili?”
“To-go if you don't mind,” Rick replied, ruffling his dark hair shyly. “But for here I would like a plate of your bite-sized chimichangas.”
Mari rolled her eyes and snatched his menu. Once she had placed his order, she came back and sat down in the seat opposite him.
“So,” Mari said coyly, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Officer Rick knew Mari well enough by now to know what she was up to.
“We don’t have any leads on the investigation yet," he stated. "It hasn’t even been a full day. But I’ll let you know when we come across something.”
"That's not what I was going to ask," Mari lied.
"Really?" Rick raised his eyebrows. "You weren't going to ask me anything at the incident that happened at Woofles Snack Company?"
"Okay, fine I was," she admitted. "But that's not all." Mari proceeded to tell him about the money that had gone missing, hoping that his experience might point her in the direction of the culprit. "My dad will let this drive him crazy until he figures out what happened to the money."
“Well, if he thinks someone working here is stealing there are ways to find out for sure,” Rick responded.
“Like what?” Mari asked.
“A simple lie detector test." He grinned smugly.
Mari exhaled loudly. "You want me to hook every employee up to a lie detector? That will go over well."
"No." Rick shook his head as if the solution were obvious. "I mean you can ask your employees test questions to see if they lie to you."
“Can you teach me?”
“I can’t train you to read people over lunch," Rick answered. "But I can give you some pointers. You know how in the movies when a person is lying they get all nervous and fidgety?”
“Yeah,” Mari responded. "Isn't that a classic sign that someone is hiding something?"
“Yes and no." Rick clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "Actually, the opposite is more likely to be the case. See, a lot of folks are aware of what a lying person is supposed to look like, so they over-compensate. They make extra sure that you believe their lie.”
“But how can I tell if someone is nervous or just overly chatty by nature?”
“The trick is to watch their eyes," Rick replied. "Do they avoid looking at you? Do they look at you too much? Do their eyes dart around the room? Observe how someone behaves in a normal scenario and then watch for the differences when you bring up the money.”
“Oh, brilliant.” Mari took a deep breath. "It's that simple, huh?"
Mari decided to try these techniques on the rest of her coworkers during her shift that afternoon. She questioned Chrissy and Mateo the bus boy about their lives outside of work. Mateo, in particular, was notoriously secretive, though Mari could never figure out why. But if Chrissy or Mateo were lying, they were either doing a remarkably good job of it, or she was just terrible at catching them at it.
Mari was still testing out her new methods when Jemina showed up after her shift for drinks and dessert.
“How are things at the office?” Mari asked, squinting hard as if trying to read Jemina’s mind.
Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Jemina responded, “Now that the initial shock has worn off, no one is that upset about Dale’s death. Except for Andre, obviously. He took half the day off work, and the other half he spent coming up with theory after theory as to who will be taking over the company. I think he's worried that he won't be getting his promotion.”
“That poor guy,” Mari said.
“Andre was always quick to defend Dale, no matter how boorish he was being. He didn’t believe the rest of us when we told him about all of the sexual harassment stuff."
“Have the police been in to question you again?” Mari went on.
“Several times." Jemina held up her drink before taking a swig. "It was hard to get anything done with that Detective Price hanging around. But I did some digging of my own, and you won’t believe what I found.”
“An answer to all of our problems?” Mari chuckled, taking a bite of the fried ice cream she'd brought out from the kitchen.
“When I went looking through Dale’s office I found a list of all his businesses and properties. Apparently, he was trying to buy the place across the street—the Lucky Noodle.”
“No way.” Mari's jaw dropped. She had known Mr. Chun and his daughter, Jia, for years. He and her father had a rivalry that dated back to before she was born. Mr. Chun had pulled trick after trick to steal customers, sometimes going as far as trying to release rats into the kitchen.
“Yeah,” Jemina continued. “I guess having some success with dog food made him think he could become a restaurateur. And it appears that Dale offered the owner a huge sum of money for it.”
“I wonder why Mr. Chun turned it down,” Mari replied.
“I don’t know, but I would like to find out.” Jemina rose from the table grinning, a tenacious look in her eyes. “Wouldn’t you?”
CHAPTER SIX
The Lucky Noodle stood directly across the street from Lito Bueno’s Mexican Restaurant. It had been there for nearly thirty years. Mr. Ramirez and Mr. Chun had been at each other’s throats for about that long as well. Mari could remember when she was a little girl, watching them fight from behind her mother’s legs.
Mari would never admit it out loud, but she loved the smell of the food. The stir-fried vegetables and fried egg rolls wafted through the room as she opened the door. Unfortunately, if she wanted to spare her father the heart attack, she couldn't be seen eating anything from Mr. Chun's menu.
Mr. Chun knew that Mari and her brothers hadn’t inherited their father’s reflexive hostility towards him and his business. At one point Mari's little brother Alex had even dated Mr. Chun’s daughter. So, Mr. Chun was willing to talk to her whenever she came in with questions. On this particular evening, however, the restaurant was unusually crowded.
“Not now, Mari,” Mr. Chun said bluntly. “My customers come first.”
As he said this, a young man wearing a beige fedora jostled past Mari, hitting her hard in the elbow.
“Hey, come back here,” Mr. Chun shouted. “You can’t cut in line. You have to wait to be seated.”
“I know your hands are full, but this will only take a minute.” Mari followed Mr. Chun around the restaurant as he served customers.
“Please, will you help us?” Jemina cut in. "I am a customer. I was in here last week, remember? The number five special for one."
Mari watched as Mr. Chun’s face visibly softened when he heard the pleading tone in Jemina’s voice. Mari made a mental note to congratulate Jemina later on her excellent acting. It wasn’t lying, exactly, but it was something close.
“Come with me,” Mr. Chun said with a reluctant sigh. “Both of you.”
Motioning for Jia to cover the register, he led Mari and Jemina into his office. It was the mirror image of her father’s office, except that it faced the other way and an antique bronze tea kettle had taken the place of the coffee pot.
“So, as you might have heard,” Jemina said, “my boss, Dale Roberts, died yesterday afternoon.”
Mr. Chun looked confused. “I
s that a fact? Well, I am sorry but what has that got to do with me?”
“More than you think,” Jemina said. “We think he might have been murdered. And, to be honest with you, so do the police. We don’t think you had anything to do with it, but we think he may have tried to contact you shortly before he was killed.”
As before, Mari marveled at Jemina’s gift for talking to people. She had a way of engaging them, getting their attention, and finding out exactly what she needed to do to get what she wanted. It occurred to her that Jemina would have made an excellent detective herself.
“What makes you think he contacted me?” Mr. Chun asked without bothering to deny it.
Jemina told him about how she had seen his name and business listed among the properties Dale planned to buy.
“It’s true,” Mr. Chun confessed. Mari nearly gasped. In her previous interviews with him, it sometimes took him an hour to stop being stubborn and answer her questions. “There was a time when my business wasn’t doing as well as it is now. Back then, Dale offered to buy The Lucky Noodle, and I seriously considered selling it to him.”
“Why didn’t you?” Mari couldn’t help asking.
“Because what he wanted for this place was not what I wanted for it. I wasn’t going to leave it in the hands of a man who disrespected it. I might as well sell it to your father.”
Ignoring the slur on her father, Mari said, “What did he want to do with it?”
“He wanted to turn it into a take-out only place,” Mr. Chun replied with a look of disgust. “He wanted to cut out half the menu and serve sushi. The nerve of that man."
“Well, you have a great restaurant,” Jemina responded. “I am glad you didn't sell.”
“So am I,” Mr. Chun said. “I’m sad to hear of Dale's death, but I’m not sad about my decision. Besides, he had plenty of other investments. He didn’t need mine.”
Mari and Jemina raced back across the street toward Lito Bueno’s Mexican Restaurant feeling exhilarated by their success.
“Did you see that?” Jemina commented looking pleased with herself. “Can you believe he opened up to us like that?”
Mari shook her head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen him talk to anyone like that. You sure have a way with words.”
Mari avoided the suspicious glances of her father as she sat at a booth in the corner with Jemina. Mari asked Chrissy for two of Abuela's hot chocolates and a basket of warm sopapillas.
“I’m betting Mr. Chun wasn’t the only person who refused to sell Dale their business,” Jemina continued. “But we’re still so far from having a motive.”
“That leaves us with your coworkers,” Mari suggested. “There is plenty of motive among the women at the office.”
“That is true,” Jemina replied. “Luckily he never got handsy with me.”
Chrissy placed Mari's order on the table, and Mari took a sip of her drink.
“Of course, we can't overlook Andre either." Mari savored the rich chocolaty flavor that delighted her taste buds. "He is so adamant that he and Dale were buddies that I wonder if his grief is—"
“Just an act?” Jemina guessed.
She nodded. “I didn’t want to say it, but yeah.”
“It's impossible to tell when Andre is acting. He brings the same level of enthusiasm to meetings as he does to making coffee in the morning. It can be a bit much.’”
“I should talk to him again,” Mari added. "Maybe his story will change."
Jemina stayed until her hot chocolate was gone. After Jemina had left, Mari returned to the kitchen as she thought through what she and Jemina had discussed. She found her grandmother standing at the stove warming tortillas in a cast-iron skillet.
“You know you don’t have to keep doing that,” Mari said. “It’s late. You can go home for the night.”
“I know,” Abuela said in Spanish. “I find it relaxing. Besides, your father is driving me as soon as he finishes the accounts. Renata's knee is acting up again.”
"Renata?” Mari repeated.
“My friend Renata from sewing club,” Abuela replied, not looking up from her cooking. “The woman you saw in the dining room this morning. She has been driving me to meetings.”
“Funny," Mari went on. "I don't think you've ever mentioned her before."
“We met at church last Christmas during the nativity pageant. She invited me to her sewing club, and we’ve been friends ever since." Abuela fidgeted with the spatula in her hand. It wasn't like her to avoid eye contact during a conversation. When Alex and David did it, she had always scolded them for their bad manners.
For the first time that day, Mari had the distinct feeling she was being lied to.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning, Mari attempted to take Tabasco for a walk. The sky was gray, and the ground was damp from a rain storm that had passed by through the night. Most of the joggers and dog-walkers she was used to seeing on her morning strolls hadn’t even bothered leaving the house. Mari was left alone with her thoughts, and the sound of Tabasco's growls every time a bird flew by.
Mari's cell phone buzzed in her pocket, and she scrambled to answer it. She hoped it was Detective Price calling to tell her that the culprit had been caught, but she knew it was probably too soon for that.
"Yes, this is Mari," she answered hopefully.
“Mari, I have some urgent business to discuss with you,” the detective said before she could even say hello. “Our tests have just come back from the lab, and it appears that there was peanut powder in your chimichangas.”
“I'm not going to pretend that I'm surprised,” Mari replied, watching Tabasco chase a small squirrel that scurried away with an annoyed look. “I figured that something strange was going on. I can assure you though that I did not add peanut powder to anything, and neither did my mother.”
“At the moment the fact that you never met Dale Roberts until the day he died is working in your favor,” Detective Price said. “So now the question becomes who did it?”
Mari had no answer. After she had finished walking Tabasco, she decided to visit Woofles Snack Company and continue trying out the techniques she had learned from Officer Rick. Maybe she would stumble across a disgruntled employee with something to hide.
“It’s the least I can do, you know,” she told Tabasco. “Someone has got to keep the police from thinking me or anyone else in the family was involved in this death.”
Tabasco barked in agreement as he jumped in the car. The two of them drove to see Jemina at work. Tabasco barked as they entered the parking lot, sniffing the air to his heart's content. Mari wasn't at all surprised that Tabasco had seemed to memorize the factory's location. He wagged his tail all the way inside the office building.
The shock of Dale's passing must have worn off because the office was bustling. Not many people had the time to greet Mari or Tabasco, and no one was pleased by Mari's questions.
“I want you to think carefully before you answer,” Mari said as she stood in the break room with Yvette, Jemina, and Andre. “Did any of you see someone standing near the food doing anything that looked suspicious?”
Yvette and Andre both shook their heads.
“I had to chase your dog away from the table a couple of times,” Yvette said in a resentful tone, brushing her hair back behind her ears. “No people, though.”
Mari turned to Andre, who looked flustered. “I wasn’t really paying attention. I was too busy thinking about my upcoming promotion.”
Yvette glared at him, annoyed. Mari suspected this wasn’t the first time he had brought up his promotion since Dale’s death. But she also had an inexplicable feeling that Yvette and Andre were both lying about something. Andre avoided eye contact, and Yvette was overdoing it.
Mari was still eyeing them both thoughtfully when the door of the break room opened, and a petite, frizzy-haired woman Mari recognized as Dale’s secretary came in.
“I wasn’t sure who to tell,” the woman said timidly. “But ther
e’s a woman here claiming to be Dale’s sister, and she wants to speak with one of you.”
Andre clapped his hands enthusiastically. “Show her in, please. I will handle this.”
A young woman with a mass of curly blonde hair came walking into the room. In spite of the gloomy conditions outside, she was wearing a thin pair of slacks and a blue blazer that was only half-buttoned.
“I’m June,” she said. “I was wondering if someone would show me to my brother’s old office.”
She didn’t bother to specify why she needed to see his office, so Mari followed at a close distance while Andre led her down the hall. The whole way there he was talkative, asking her where she was from and telling her he had once gone surfing in California where his family owned a summer home. Jemina walked alongside Mari, rolling her eyes.
“Sounds great,” June said. “I don't have much time for the beach.”
“Well, you are missing out,” Andre responded.
“You sound like my brother. I assume you're into sports as well?”
“Extreme sports,” Andre exaggerated. “Skiing, rock climbing, anything involving a parachute—"
“Seriously, Andre?” Jemina muttered. “Watching that window washer last week made you uncomfortable. You're afraid of heights.”
Andre’s neck stiffened as he glared at Jemina.
“Jemina, don't you and your friend have somewhere to be?” Andre continued. He turned his attention back to June. “So, June are you into business like your brother was?”
“I’m actually a former beauty pageant contest.”
Andre whistled. “Oh, my. I thought so.”
June giggled. “Thanks. Right now I work as a pageant coach.”
“Come on. You can't be that old.”
“Andre," Jemina interrupted, grabbing June by the hand and leading her into Dale's office. “Quit bothering the poor girl. This is Dale's office.”