Bingo. The theory that they’d started developing at Sal’s was seeming more and more likely, but there still wasn’t an apparent reason that Heaven could see for Bodden or the Fosters to burn the beans. Before she could ask the secretary for more of her theory, the brothers swept around the corner deep in conversation. When they saw Heaven, they froze and blinked, both looking like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Heaven could almost see them trying to remember who in the heck she was.
“Hi, gentlemen. Heaven Lee, remember? I’m one of your chefs. And I called and talked to one of you the other day and said I had some wonderful ideas for the New Year’s Eve gala.”
The two men stared at each other, each trying to recollect a call that, of course, Heaven had never made. She smiled cheerfully but tried to indicate a firmness of will. She wanted them to know she wasn’t going away until they listened to her scintillating ideas.
Harold broke first. “I’m sorry if you’ve been waiting long, Heaven. Our lives have been turned topsy-turvy by this situation … the murders. I’d love to think about something more cheerful for a while. Come into my office, won’t you?”
Claude looked with relief at his brother for taking on this chore and nodded, turning to his office. The secretary gave him a stack of phone messages as he passed her desk.
Heaven’s wheels were turning fast. How could she slide the conversation from New Year’s Eve to cocoa beans and Oliver Bodden, especially when Harold had indicated he was sick to death of those topics? She thought of a novel approach: telling the truth, or at least a portion of it.
“I’m not trying to interfere, but I have to tell you something,” Heaven said as she sat down across the desk from Harold.
That got Harold’s attention. “Please don’t tell me you can’t participate after all on New Year’s Eve.”
“No, this is actually not about New Year’s Eve. It’s a confession. On Friday I accidentally heard you and your brother talking privately, when I was leaving this office after my turn with the detective. You know how a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing? Well I’ve been worried about what I heard and I decided I should just ask you about it.”
The man rubbed his temples with one hand. “I have no idea what we were talking about a few minutes ago, let alone on Friday. My brain has turned to mush. Give me a clue.”
“You asked your brother if he killed Oliver Bodden, not in exactly those words, but that’s what you wanted to know. He said the, eh, victim was trying to take over your business, that he hated him and was glad he was dead but he didn’t kill him. You mentioned getting someone to finance buying the African Cacao Company, or a name to that effect, out of your business. He mentioned punching you for the first time in your lives.” She said it all in a rush, then sat quietly, eyebrows raised.
Harold drew himself up. “I don’t want you to think that I doubted my brother’s innocence. I feel responsible for the mess we’re in right now. I am the one who sought a partnership with Oliver Bodden’s company, West African Cacao Company is the correct name. I had no idea that Mr. Bodden would be less than forthcoming with us until a few days before his death. The circumstances do not look good, I grant you. But I can tell you without any doubt that Claude and I did not take things into our own hands.”
“What about the fire?” Heaven said, knowing she was pushing it.
Heaven watched Harold Foster try to figure out where this was going. Some vague memory of seeing Heaven before, perhaps at the press conference or even in their offices that day in the chaos that followed, flashed across his face. Or maybe he even recognized her name from reading about her previous exploits in the newspapers. Then she saw suspicion and anxiety appear in his eyes. What, did he think she was some kind of nut, some kind of murder magnet? Or worse yet, did he think she could somehow be responsible for the problems besieging their company? But before he could decide how to answer her question about the fire, the secretary burst in the door. “You better come out here, Junior. The police are here.”
Heaven and Harold Foster got to the door just in time to see Bonnie Weber and two uniformed policemen walk out of Claude’s office. Claude was handcuffed and walking between the two officers. Bonnie looked surprised to see Heaven.
“Bonnie, what’s going on?” she asked.
“Manslaughter, H. Mr. Foster, I’m sure you’ll want to get a lawyer for your brother. We’ll be downtown. I’m not sure when the arraignment will take place, but we won’t start without you.” Bonnie held out her hand as if to stop the onset of questions she could feel coming her way from Heaven. “Heaven, don’t start. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Junior?” Claude said softly.
“Don’t worry, brother,” Harold said and turned back to his office to start making calls.
And then Bonnie and her prisoner were gone, leaving Heaven and the secretary staring after them.
Heaven was sitting in her car in the Foster’s parking lot. She had made nice upstairs, saying she was sure Harold would be able to straighten the whole thing out for Claude, saying how sorry she was, saying a few other inept platitudes, then giving the secretary her card and telling her to call her if she could be of help, as if there was anything at all she could do.
The whole thing made her wish she was still able to practice law, not that she was ever the criminal defense attorney that Claude needed now.
As she sat there regretting the past for a minute, a car pulled up beside her, and what do you know, the body builder Jane got out, gathering a group of papers from her back seat.
Heaven jumped out of her van and the woman looked up. “I’m sorry to be so bold, but I think I saw you Sunday at the body building contest,” Heaven said in her most nonthreatening voice. There was no good way to bring up a public event in which you make a fool of yourself. “I’m Heaven Lee, by the way. I’m one of the chefs for the New Year’s Eve chocolate party.” Boy, had she used that line to cover a multitude of sins today. “I’m glad to run into you. I was concerned about your health.”
“Yes, it was a big disappointment. It must have been something I ate the night before,” Jane said with a grim little smile. “I’m fine now.”
She didn’t mention another body builder sabotaging her. “What’s your name?” Heaven asked bluntly. She’d told her name, now it was time for Jane Anderson to do the same. After all, she didn’t know Heaven already knew it.
“Oh, sorry,” Jane said trying to free a hand to hold out, then giving up on that. “Jane Anderson.” She started to walk away, but Heaven followed along like she’d just found a new best friend.
“Do you work here?” Heaven asked, knowing that answer as well.
“No. Oh, I do work for Foster’s, but my office is actually downtown, not here at the plant,” Jane answered, narrowing her eyes at Heaven. “Are you a reporter?”
That took Heaven by surprise. “No. I just said I was a chef… but I suppose a reporter could lie about their profession. Haven’t you ever been to Café Heaven on Thirty-ninth Street? Well, you wouldn’t necessarily recognize me even if you’d eaten at my place. I’m usually in the kitchen. Why did you think I was a reporter, because of the problem last week?”
Jane laughed a bitter little laugh. “What a dainty way to put it, the ‘problem’ last week.” She walked on silently.
“What do you do for Foster’s?” Heaven asked, keeping pace. She knew she was being a pain in the ass, but she had to get a couple of answers from someone on this fishing trip.
“I’m the graphic designer. One of them anyway.” Jane bit her lip. Why couldn’t she just say she headed the graphics department, why couldn’t she take credit?
Heaven remembered hearing something about the graphics department of Foster’s. Where had that come up in the last week? “I bet you’ve had lots of design work what with all this new, what’s it called, second-tier production?”
They were almost at the entrance of the plant. Jane stopped walking and turned toward Heaven. “It’s been a re
al challenge, that’s for sure.”
Heaven touched Jane’s arm lightly. She decided she had nothing to lose in offending this woman and information to gain. “Please explain something to me. When you were ill last Sunday, on the stage. Why did you stop in front of that other woman and accuse her of doing something to make you sick? Do body builders play dirty?”
Jane stiffened. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’d had a problem with that particular contestant and I thought she was trying to get even for something … something she thought I’d done to her. Now I think I was paranoid. Are you coming in?”
Heaven smiled sweetly. “I apologize. I know it’s none of my business as you said, but it did happen publicly, and I just wondered about it. I’m new to this body building world. And no, I’ve already been in to visit with Harold, poor man. I guess you know what happened?”
“No, what are you talking about?” Now Jane spoke roughly.
Oh well, she would have found out as soon as she went inside. “One of your employers, Claude Foster, was arrested just a little bit ago, for the murder of Oliver Bodden.”
Jane almost dropped her papers. “Oh my God, Uncle Claude,” she gasped and ran inside.
So that’s where Heaven had heard about the graphic designer for Foster’s, from Stephanie. This was cousin Janie.
Stephanie sat down and pushed her hair back, managing to get chocolate all over her forehead in the process. She was a mess, disheveled and spotted with chocolate, certainly not like her usual turned-out self. The store was packed with customers and Stephanie and her staff couldn’t seem to keep up with the demand for fancy chocolates. “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s as crazy as arresting me for that guy’s murder. After all, I was the one standing there with the murder weapon in my hand.”
Heaven decided to let that one pass by without mentioning how lucky Stephanie was she hadn’t been hauled downtown in handcuffs. “And then,” Heaven said as she tossed popcorn in a big bowl with melted chocolate, “I got to meet your cousin.” Chocolate popcorn was a Chocolate Queen bestseller.
“Weird, isn’t she?”
“She didn’t do anything weird today, but as it turns out, I’ve seen Jane Anderson two other times in the last couple of weeks. And she was plenty weird.”
Stephanie went over to a row of Granny Smith apples that had already been dipped in chocolate and started drizzling caramel on them. “Tell me,” she said, not having the strength to ask more specific questions.
“I went with Joe to see a friend of his in a body building contest at Woodside and someone accused Joe’s friend of being a man, not a woman. She was dykey, but obviously a female, to me at least. I guess in the body builder world, if someone questions, you have to go and have a gender test and it’s humiliating. It was your cousin doing the accusing.”
Stephanie clucked. “How rude.”
“Then, the finals of this body building season, or whatever they have, were Sunday over at the old Seville Square. Your cousin, only I didn’t know it was your cousin, had a spell on stage and had to drop out. She blamed Joe’s friend and made quite a scene.”
“What kind of spell?”
“She kind of collapsed. Sweat was pouring down her face and apparently she puked. I didn’t see her, but the nurse told me. The nurse also told me that it occurs fairly often at these contests, that the contestants don’t eat and then take megavitamins and they’re stressed out and their stomachs can’t hack it.”
“And Janie blamed Joe’s friend for all this?”
“On Sunday, but today she said it was probably something she ate. She’s a strange one, you were right about that. Steph, do you think you should tell your mother about your uncle, so she doesn’t see it on the evening news? Even with all the bad blood, I’m sure it will upset her.”
Stephanie quickly went over and started washing her hands. “Thank God you still have your wits about you. I’m so tired I just can’t think. I’ve got to warn Mom and Uncle David. He’s working the floor.” She quickly dissappeared out to the selling floor. In a minute she came back holding the hand of a minute version of the other two Foster brothers. David had his brother Harold’s thick, wavy hair and his handsome face, but he was only about five foot eight. He was nattily dressed in college professor clothes: tweed jacket, crewneck sweater and Dockers. “Heaven, here’s my uncle David. As you know I’ve put him to work. David, Heaven just came from the Foster’s factory and guess what? Uncle Claude has been arrested for murdering that Oliver Bodden I told you about.”
David Foster grinned. Heaven was a little surprised he didn’t even try to hide his amusement at the situation. He held out his hand and shook Heaven’s. “It couldn’t happen to a more deserving person. Glad to meet you, Heaven. Sorry I’m not exhibiting the approriate amount of concern for my brother. After all he’s done for me.”
Heaven felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. This guy had issues. “I’m glad to meet you. I was telling Steph that someone should probably call her mother, before it appears on the six o’clock news.”
David nodded. “I’ll take care of that if you want me to, Steph. And I’ll call my other sis and try not to crow,” he said as he moved to the phone on the desk.
Stephanie looked at her friend with a helpless expression.
“I’m glad it was him and not you,” Heaven said and patted her friend on the behind. “The popcorn is all mixed up but I can’t stay and bag it. I’ve got to go to work. My baby girl is coming home tonight with her elderly boyfriend. Do you want to come have dinner with us?”
“I have to stay here until nine, and I can’t imagine I’ll be good company after that. But I’m looking forward to Christmas Eve.”
“Remember, the first Christmas in retail on the Plaza is the hardest.”
Stephanie gave a weak smile. “And just in case it wasn’t hard enough, the fates have added a little family scandal. Heaven, I forgot to ask. Surely Claude wasn’t charged with the blimp shooting too, was he?”
“No, I think that one is still up for grabs,” Heaven said as she went out the side door with a handful of chocolate popcorn.
Heaven hurried into the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late. Has anything terrible happened?”
Jumpin’ Jack turned from the work table and smiled at Heaven. “Your daughter called. She said they were stuck at JFK and they won’t be in at six as scheduled. She’ll call as they’re getting on the plane. She said Stuart had ordered a car for them so they’d come right to the restaurant to meet you for dinner.”
“Oh, okay,” Heaven said, disappointment flooding her system. She hated the part about Stuart hiring a car, but she supposed it was better than waiting at the airport for hours. Now a hired driver could do the waiting. “What are you working on, Jack?”
Jack had been employed in the kitchen for only a few months. Before that he had been a local 39th Street character who dressed only in camo, thought he’d been to Vietnam but hadn’t and helped Heaven with her sleuthing occasionally. Then he went a little too crazy and went to Menninger’s, the famous mental hospital in Topeka, Kansas, gave up the camo and asked for a real job at the restaurant when he got out of the hospital. Jack hadn’t ever needed a job because his rich parents paid him to stay out of their hair. The shrinks suggested, however, that earning his own way might be a good thing, self-esteem-wise. It seemed to be working.
“I just made the salad dressing for the Blu Heaven and now I’m going to fry the pecans. I’m doing salads tonight,” he said proudly.
“Good man. Did the rabbits come in?”
Jack moved quickly to the walk-in and brought out a plastic container. “Here they are. What are you doing with them?”
Heaven went over to the bulletin board by the kitchen door and squinted at a recipe. “It’s an Italian hunter’s sauce kind of thing, without the blood, which is an ingredient in classic hunter’s sauces. Mine has red wine and herbs and some chocolate at the end. That’s why I was attracted to the dish, because of
the chocolate. I prepared it last year in the winter and it’s very good.”
“Heaven,” Murray Steinblatz yelled from the dining room. “Your friend Dale is here.”
“That was quick,” Heaven muttered. “At least I got to spend ten minutes in the kitchen.” She took off the apron she had just put on and slipped on a 1950s shark skin men’s jacket that she kept in the kitchen on a coat hanger.
Dale Traver was drinking coffee with Murray, standing by the bar at Murray’s spot. The two men laughed at something Murray said as Heaven crossed the dining room, walking into a shaft of sunlight coming in the front windows. She loved this time of day. It was that twilight zone for restaurants, the time between lunch and dinner service when things slowed down slightly. The only other person in the room was a wholesale liquor delivery man, bringing in wine. Murray was checking in the order as he talked.
Heaven gave Dale the two-cheek air kiss. “How’s my favorite sleuth?” Dale asked.
“Full of news. You probably don’t know this yet, but Claude Foster was arrested this morning for the murder, well, manslaughter, of Oliver Bodden, Friday’s victim.”
“They don’t think he shot down his own airship, do they?”
“No, I don’t think that was part of the charges.”
He cocked his head at Heaven. “Well, Heaven, you were so right about my photographer Santa. I think I’ve talked to everyone in the building now, everyone who hasn’t left yet for Palm Springs or Arizona. No one hired a Santa photographer for their Christmas party that Sunday, or any kind of Santa, for that matter. I was most likely polite to the airship sniper. I was almost in the same elevator with him,” Dale said with excitement in his voice.
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