by June Shaw
She nodded, letting another patch of my hair down. “He didn’t smoke a whole lot, but his doctor had told him he needed to totally quit. Kelly said he chewed nicotine gum.”
“He didn’t get her to put those patches on his back?”
“They both knew better than that. The gum’s instructions said not to use any other nicotine product at the same time. The guy teaching his stop-smoking class told people in the group that, too.”
“It’s hard to believe using the gum and patches could kill a person. I’m sure other people have done that and survived.”
She leaned toward my image. “But none of them had extra nicotine added to the patches.”
I leaned closer toward her image, eyes wide. “Extra nicotine?”
“They did some tests. Pierce and the patches all contained too much nicotine.” Audrey Ray kept snipping. “And his partner might have suggested he smoke a few, just that once, after their sex. Mega doses of poisonous nicotine.”
“Wow, so nicotine really killed him.” I noticed what she was doing. “You’re cutting a lot. I only wanted a slight trim.” I glanced at hair on the floor.
She grabbed my chin and lifted it. “Stay straight. You don’t want me to mess this up, do you?”
I shook my head. Then realized what I’d done.
“Oh, pooh. Well, I can probably fix that.” Audrey Ray stared at the back of my head. I was scared to ask.
“How could patches have extra nicotine?” I asked, getting my mind off whatever she was doing back there with her scissors.
“Somebody could have injected some.”
I jerked toward her image. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head. Then stared at the rear of my hair and looked grim.
“I should go,” I said, fearing what she’d done.
“Let me straighten this out first.”
I focused on not saying a word to distract her. I kept my gaze away from the mirror, considering what she’d told me.
“All shaped up.” She plucked the remaining bobby pins out of my hair, ran blue gook between her fingers and through my waves, and picked up a blow dryer.
I touched her hand to ask something before she made noise. “You say his fiancée is terrific. But maybe she found out he had an affair and went into a rage and killed him.”
“Kelly teaches fifth graders. She never left school that day. The cops checked.”
“It was after school hours when I arrived at my cousin’s house and found him.”
“Kelly tutors until six. Her students and some parents swore she stayed with them. She’s not the kind of girl to do that anyway.”
Audrey Ray blasted my head with hot air. Her dryer kicked up my hair’s volume.
“That’s kind of high,” I said, pressing it down on top.
“What?” She didn’t shut off her noisemaker but used her fingers to draw my waves up even higher.
I looked like I wore a scarlet crown when I walked out. I waited till I sat in my car to flatten the top and press against the sides. I had refused politely when she’d offered a hand mirror for me to check the back.
“It’s a kind of combined Retro and Afro,” she’d said of that part of my hair, and I didn’t want to see what that meant.
I did want to see how Gil was doing. I punched his number on my cell phone.
He didn’t answer. No request for a message came on.
I didn’t know if he was staying in Gatlinburg or around Pigeon Forge, but had an idea he might be at his restaurant.
I went there.
* * *
CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. That large sign out front of Cajun Delights made my spirits plunge. A ball of tears stuck in my throat.
One truck was there, a dark green one.
I went to the entrance and pulled on the doors. Both locked. I peeked through the stained glass.
All dark inside.
I walked to the rear of the restaurant. A gray cypress fence matched the building. I opened the gate and walked through the small enclosed yard, went up the two steps, and pulled on the door.
It opened.
“Gil,” I yelled. “Gil, it’s me. Don’t shoot,” I said with a laugh. He never carried a weapon.
The employees’ lounge I entered was dark. So was the rear hall. I ran my hand along the walls and door frames as I moved. I knew where Gil’s office should be, but everything was so black I wasn’t sure I was heading in the right direction.
“Gil, it’s me,” I called, reaching a wall, determining I should turn left. And then cold dread washed through me.
A woman had just suspiciously died in this place.
Suppose a killer was in here now instead of Gil? The truck he used wasn’t green, was it? No, the one he’d had here before was silver.
A door creaked open. It sounded down the hall to the left.
I stood spellbound, deciding what I’d do if a thug came out, especially one carrying a gun.
Shrugging my shoulder bag to get its weight, I already knew it was feather light. I kept it, like my life now, free of most things that weighed me down. I mentally scrolled through it—wallet, keys, tissue, lipstick. Nothing that would hurt a person.
Lights were on in the room beyond the door that was slowly opening, letting me glimpse my surroundings.
This hall was kept neat and clear like in the rest of Gil’s restaurants, making me angry. If it held junk like large pots or possibly knives, I’d have a weapon. Running back through a straight hallway wouldn’t provide me much protection if a person aimed a gun in here.
A few chairs were stacked near the wall. I grabbed the one on top and with my other hand, dug keys out of my purse. Keys jabbed into a person’s eyes would really slow him down but I doubted I could do such a thing. Unless I felt severely threatened.
The door yanked all the way open.
I shrieked and pulled on the chair.
The stack tumbled between me and the person coming out of the room. I jumped back, but held my arm straight, aiming my keys up toward the person’s face.
“Cealie, no!” Gil ducked, seeing my keys up, although they didn’t get close to him.
The chairs did. Some struck his hip.
“Oh, no,” I yelped, trying to block all the chairs from getting him. They clattered to the floor.
Gil jumped aside before the whole stack slammed his body.
“You didn’t answer when I called you,” I said, wincing. I straightened the bottom chair. Pulled the next one on top of it.
“That’s okay. Let’s leave those alone for now.” He stood on the opposite side of the fallen stack. “Come into my office, Cealie.”
I squeezed alongside the downed chairs, reached him, and puckered. He gave me a quick kiss on the lips.
Gil took baby steps, groaned, and bent like an old man needing a cane.
“I’m sorry. Did I do that to you?” I put my hands out to hold him in case he fell.
He limped to the chair near his desk. Dropped to it. Moaned. “I’m good.”
“I didn’t mean to do that. I thought you were a bad guy.”
“I can be—whenever you let me.” He smiled his wicked, sexy smile and reached for my butt. That movement made him yelp.
I gripped his hand and placed it on his desk. “Did I just do all of that to you?”
He grinned wryly. “I was trying to shuffle out to the hall to complain that you’d really injured me the other day. But that injury is doing much better.” He rubbed his hip.
“But not the new one,” I said.
He shook his head. “Not that one.” He massaged his opposite thigh. “You could do this for me and make it all better.”
“Right, and then if you tried sexy moves, you’d yell for sure.”
“I’d yell with pleasure.” He smiled. Pain crept into his face. “Next time you feel threatened, maybe go a little easier on body parts.”
“What would you have me do to protect myself?”
“Throw yourself at me. Yo
u might knock me down, but then you’d already be on top. Good position.” He gave me his wicked smile, and I was tempted to do what he suggested.
No! Stop that, Cealie.
The man was hurt. And I did not want to have relations with Gil again. Ever. I needed to live my own life, gaining my own certainty like he had his.
“You’re tempted, aren’t you?” he said with his grin.
“No.” I rounded the desk to get opposite him before my resolve broke down. “Tell me what you learned about Fawn McKenzie.”
His demeanor turned solemn. “A shrimp killed her.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know how severely allergic I am to shrimp. So was she. Fawn was sitting at my table. The deadly seafood was surely meant for me.”
Chapter 27
I dropped onto a chair to decipher what Gil told me.
“Gil, I was eating with you in Vicksburg the day your face swelled like a puffer fish,” I said. “I held your hand in the ambulance and prayed like I’d never prayed before.”
He sat at his desk and nodded. “That’s probably what saved me.”
“But that was at another restaurant. It’s when you learned you were so allergic.” I couldn’t get a handle on what he said happened. The doctor had told him if he ever ate shrimp again, reactions could occur much more quickly. Gil could be dead before an ambulance arrived. “How could the shrimp be meant for you? It could have killed you.”
His gaze scanned his clean desktop as though searching for answers. He looked at me. “Fawn was highly allergic to most seafood. She ordered chicken gumbo. A few chopped shrimp were in it.”
My jaw dropped open. I forced it shut. “How did that happen? Aren’t the portions frozen? When was that gumbo cooked? Who had access to it? Why would it be aimed at you?” Too many questions came to mind for me to express. Too many fearful thoughts. “She was really murdered?”
“I’m afraid so, Cealie. And I feel responsible.” He looked miserable.
I jumped up from my chair and gripped his hands. “You had nothing to do with what happened.”
The skin between his eyes creased deeply. Sure, he believed he was responsible. “The police are questioning everyone who might have gone into the kitchen.”
“That’s a lot of waiters and waitresses, besides all of the cooks.”
“And others who could have gone in. Nobody else is supposed to enter the kitchen, but sometimes customers slip in for a couple of minutes to check out the equipment and see how things work.”
“Or drop in an ingredient that might kill someone.”
His gaze shifted to my left. He swung his eyes toward me. “When the waiter turned in Fawn’s order, he told the cook he needed one bowl of chicken gumbo for my table.”
I knew what that order meant. Because of Gil’s severe allergy, the kitchen staff and waiters had been told about it with a warning to be careful not to bring any shrimp to his table. This was the case in each of his restaurants. The only exceptions had been when I was with him, and he’d ordered seafood for me. When we were together, he knew he wouldn’t accidentally get my shrimp.
Fawn had been sitting alone at his table.
I squeezed his hands. “Maybe the shrimp was put in there a while ago, before the chicken gumbo was frozen.”
“The police are checking into it. There was fresh shrimp around for other dishes. I’ll get the reports when they’re finished.”
“In the meantime, you’ve closed all of your restaurants. But you might still be in danger.”
He appeared to force a wry grin. “Somebody could take me in and protect me,” he said with a laugh.
“Tempting. But it’s crowded at Stevie’s house. She has candles and altars and stones.” I kissed his cheek. “Keep in touch. And watch what you eat.”
I went out the way I’d come in, quietly picking up the fallen chairs. If Gil heard me, he’d try to rush out to help. I didn’t think he’d be able to rush anywhere too soon. My fault.
My main problem now was that I needed to help find a killer before this man who was most important to me became a victim.
Lots of people I’d met in this town had come to Gil’s place to try out the food. Some seemed capable of murder. One or more might have killed Pierce Trottier. Did they also know Fawn? I didn’t want to believe anyone would try to kill Gil.
Big brave man that he was, he certainly wouldn’t ask for my help.
But one person had secretly slipped a small deadly item that might have quickly killed him into food delivered to his table.
I needed to protect my man!
* * *
I drove to Stevie’s house, where I’d quietly sit and consider fearful people and events, maybe getting ideas of what I might do.
Her garage was open, the car inside. Disappointed, I went in through the front.
Her utterances were loud. The minute I walked in I heard them—somewhat like chants and then like sounds I’d never heard coming from a human.
The door to her room with the candles was open. The lit candles flickered. My cousin lay face down. She wore that gauzy white gown. Her guttural sounds mingled with high-pitched ones. And then stopped. Lifting her head, she turned toward me.
Her gaze met mine. Stevie’s eyes appeared extra strange, opaquely blending with her fair skin, yet deep and piercing. They looked angry. Sent a jolt of fear through me.
She rose from the floor. Keeping her stare at me, she swept over to the door and shut it in my face. It clicked as she locked it.
My legs froze in place. I didn’t know who my cousin was in that trancelike state. When her gaze turned to me moments before, she hadn’t seemed to know who she was, either. My shins ached.
I rushed to my bedroom. Locked my door. Ran my gaze over my room. Nothing out of place. I checked the closet.
No bad guys inside.
I peeked behind the curtains. The window was locked. No new items under my bed. I opened my unlocked suitcase that still sat on my bed. The few items inside looked the way I’d left them.
I thought of Gil and how I’d hurt him. And how I wanted to help him with that problem at the restaurant, too. I wanted to take care of him. To protect him and not let any more harm come to him.
I sat on the bed and massaged my legs. The ache circled from my shins to my calf muscles. I groaned. Maybe these pains that came and went were all in my head instead of my legs.
Needing to write, I found that the lamp tables near the bed didn’t have drawers. I opened the bottom dresser drawer I hadn’t checked before, hoping to find paper.
More nude men. These magazines looked worse than the first ones I’d seen in the other drawers.
My face heated. Guilt? Excitement?
I shut the drawer and envisioned Gil’s face and body. Hmm, maybe not as firm and chiseled as some of them. But just right for meshing with my mine.
“Stop it, Cealie!” I jerked my eyes open and stomped my foot. I needed Gil’s image out of my head.
I remembered the legal pad I’d bought to pretend to interview Jenna Griggs. Stevie surely had paper, but I wouldn’t knock on the door to that locked room and ask. I went out to my car, grabbed the notebook off the seat, and went back inside.
Stevie met me in the living room. “You didn’t cook supper, did you?”
I shook my head, amazed. She seemed transformed, as though she hadn’t been furious with me moments ago.
Or maybe she didn’t remember?
“You don’t cook too often, do you?” she asked.
“Not if I can help it.” I grinned.
She grinned back at me. “I like to cook.”
“I know. And when I had family at home, I didn’t mind doing it, either. But now it seems such a bother to shop for ingredients for a meal, then spend hours in the kitchen cooking, sitting fifteen minutes to eat, and then cleaning up.”
“I’ll order pizza. Is pepperoni okay?”
“Yes, but I’ll only eat one slice.” Pizza contained so many fat gram
s that this short body usually tried to avoid it. If possible, I preferred not to look like a stump.
Who was this Stevie? I wondered, watching her appear pleased as she located the phone number and ordered.
“I really like your doctor,” I said once she hung up. “He’s a good man for you to see.”
“Dr. Wallo? Yes, having a gay doctor is cool.”
I bolted upright. “He is not gay!”
“Everybody knows that’s why his wife left him. But they’re still friends.”
I stifled a grin at this new knowledge, which I might withhold from Gil.
I grabbed my purse to pay for our food. Opened it wide to find my wallet. Got slammed with the stench of dirty ashtray. “Phew,” I said and dumped everything on the table. Wallet, lipstick, tissue, keys, tobacco. “Ugh, tobacco.” I turned my empty purse over on the trash can and shook it. Only a couple of strands fell out. I rubbed a couple more out of my nice tan straw purse, then smelled inside it. Still horrible.
“What’s your problem?” Stevie asked.
“I put a cigarette butt in here and then took it out. My purse still stinks.”
“Why would you put a butt in there?”
“I just wanted to.”
She watched me a beat. No use telling her I’d gone behind the bushes near her meeting place and found it. Probably because at this moment, that idea seemed stupid.
“It smells that bad after having only one butt in it?” She stuck her nose inside my purse. Handed it to me. “That’s not bad.”
Without putting my nose close, I was overwhelmed by the odor. “It smells like a barroom.”
“You just like to complain.”
“I do not. This purse stinks. I’ll have to air it out.” I sniffed my wallet and tissue. “This all stinks, too.” I tossed the tissues into the trash.
“You used to whine and say I pulled your hair.”
“You know you did it.”
“And you bawled because I took your little jewelry box.”
“You took it? That was my favorite thing in the world.”
“Yeah, when you were six. You even had some jewelry to put in it.”
“Just a pink plastic bracelet and a ring. We bent the metal to make the ring fit. It was fake silver.”
“I know, but at least you had jewelry. And a special box to put it in.”