“Wait. What?”
“He claims that . . .”
“Stop it. I heard what you said. It’s just a lot to absorb.” How many different ways was Melanie stealing from Antoine? His crew seemed loyal to him. Was there more going on under the surface? How would I tell? I’d certainly never sensed even a whiff of Melanie’s treachery.
He took another long drink. “Not really. It’s part and parcel of the way she was trying to deal with her debt problems.”
I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders and drank some of my beer, too. “Why this kid, though?”
“Well, that’s where things get a little dicier for Mr. Wade. Melanie chose that kid because she caught him stealing from the hotel.” Dan shook his head.
“What’s there to steal from the hotel that’s not bolted down? Towels?” It wasn’t like the Grand Lake Inn featured pricey artwork. Beyond the flat screens in the rooms, I couldn’t imagine what someone might steal.
“More like credit card information from guests. What she actually caught him doing was marking one of the rooms as canceled and then instead of refunding the money to Antoine’s credit card, he pocketed it. Not bad as schemes go. Pretty clever, really.” Dan smiled, but it seemed forced.
“Well, he is a college boy,” I observed, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
“So his mother informed me.” Dan rubbed his forehead with his thumb. “A college boy with a future, supposedly. Or one who had a future before he started stealing credit card numbers and being a complete idiot. I wasn’t even planning on searching his room, but we caught him sneaking out the side door with an armful of equipment.”
“Why?”
Dan shrugged. “He panicked. Figured we’d search his room once we didn’t find any of the stuff in the crew’s rooms. He might have been right about that, but he definitely jumped out of the frying pan and straight into the fire.”
I thought about what he’d told me. “Let me get this straight, then. Melanie caught him stealing from the hotel and figured he’d be up for fencing some video equipment?”
“Video equipment and some jewelry that appears to have belonged to Melanie. That’s his version of events.” He’d gone all cop face again. At least, in profile. He tapped his index finger on his knee.
I knew what that meant. There was something he wasn’t saying. “And your version is?” I asked.
“What makes you think I have a version?” He turned toward me, one eyebrow cocked.
I turned to look at him and batted my eyes. “Because I know you and I know what it means when you tap your finger like that.”
He snorted. “Don’t tell Haley. I’ll never get away with another surprise for her.”
“Don’t count on her not knowing, dude. She might be willing to play along so she keeps getting the surprises.” If I knew my sister, that was exactly what was happening. She didn’t miss much.
His brows shot up. “Damn. You’re probably right.”
“Now stop dodging. What makes you think his version isn’t the real deal?” I punched him—lightly—in the shoulder.
“It might be. I can see other possibilities, though. Like what if he decided it would be better business to pocket all the money from fencing those items himself and decided to get rid of Melanie? He would have a key to her room. He does minor repairs around the place as part of his job. He had the tools and the know-how to alter that blow-dryer,” he said.
There were even more possibilities. “Or what if the whole thing is made up and he actually did steal those items?”
Dan made a face. “That part I believe. She apparently told him something about needing to have a big sum of money fast. She needed to pay someone back for something.”
“I thought she had to pay a lot of people back.”
“This sounded like it could be different. She did have one big lump sum come in about a month or so ago. It was gone practically before it hit her bank account. Maybe it was some kind of loan that’s come due,” he said. “It was after that that she started siphoning money out of Antoine’s account.”
“Who was the lump sum from?” I sat up straighter.
“Not traceable. It was a money order. I’m thinking that if it was a loan, it wasn’t from what you might call a reputable source.”
“Disreputable enough that they might kill if they didn’t get their money back?” There were bad places to borrow money from and then there were some really bad places to borrow money from.
Dan rubbed his chin. “That crossed my mind, too. That would also explain the bruising on her body.”
“What bruising?”
“The coroner found evidence of some damage that was a couple of weeks old. Either she took a bad fall or someone worked her over some. Whatever it was, it happened before she came to Grand Lake. I wasn’t sure if it was connected, but it might be.”
“You know that both those scenarios don’t involve Antoine, right?” I pointed out.
There he went again. Cop face all over the place. “I’m aware, Rebecca. Don’t push it. Antoine still is the best and most logical suspect in this case and generally the best and most logical suspect is the person who did it. That’s true of the little crimes I have to solve here in Grand Lake like who vandalized the water tower and who killed Melanie Fitzgerald.”
“Who did vandalize the water tower?”
“Norma Jenkins.” He chuckled. “Who else? Oh, by the way, that stalker lady? Marie Parsons? She checked out of the hotel the morning you found Melanie. We’re trying to find her, but the ID she used was fake and she gave a fake license plate number for her car. Let me know if you see her around. I’d like to talk to her, too.”
He had a point about the vandalism. Norma had always had an artistic side that has been continually frustrated, most recently when her T-shirt design for the summer street fair had been rejected in favor of a second grader’s more colorful work. I still didn’t think it applied to the Antoine situation. “I’m glad you’re keeping an open mind.”
His whole body stiffened and he turned toward me. The anger in his eyes made me wish for his cop face again. “My mind has always been open. I’m following the evidence. I’ll follow it wherever it takes me. I wish you’d give me that much credit.” He stood up.
I reached up to him. “I do give you credit, Dan. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “I think you’re the one who should open your mind a little bit more. There might be more of a dark side to Antoine than you’re willing to admit.”
He went inside without saying good night. I went back to my apartment, but I still couldn’t sleep.
Nine
Dario met me at the back door of the shop at six the next morning, ready to start rocking the breakfast bars. Business at the shop had increased about twenty-five percent since I’d started offering the pumpkin-spice popcorn bars. They took a little extra time, but they were worth it. “What is it with you white girls and the pumpkin stuff?” Dario asked as he iced the popcorn bars.
“I have no idea. Asking me is probably like asking a cat why it likes catnip.” I looked pointedly at my very white arm.
He chuckled, which was an awesome sound. It was like his chest was some kind of echo chamber. “It makes you high?”
“Well, not exactly, but it seems to make me happy.” I’d grab whatever little slice of happy I could get at the moment.
“Based on the expressions on people’s face once they take a bite, you’re not the only one.” He smoothed more icing on. “I’m all about spreading the happy. You eat your pumpkin spice. Eat it all year-round.”
I shook my head emphatically. “Nope. Only from October first until Thanksgiving. After that, we’re going to be all about the eggnog. The day after Thanksgiving, all pumpkin items turn into pillars of salt.”
“I think you’ve got your biblical quotes mixed up. Y
ou’re serious, though? About the eggnog?” he asked.
“Yep.” I was, too. I loved eggnog. I was all too aware of how really good eggnog was made and knew that I needed to limit its consumption, at least calendrically.
He leaned in and whispered, “Can we put brandy in it?”
I giggled. “I like the way you think, Dario.”
We opened the doors to POPS at seven and the throng rushed in. Antoine had totally brought more business to my shop—not exactly in the way he’d planned, but increased revenue is increased revenue, isn’t it?
While we served them, three different reporters slipped me their business cards with their payments for breakfast, but they didn’t ask any questions.
When things quieted down, I went into the kitchen to make a quiche.
“What’s that for?” Dario asked as he made another pot of coffee for us.
“For Antoine,” I said as I rolled out the crust.
“You know, my grand-mère always said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. If you don’t want Antoine’s heart, why are you still trying to please his stomach?” Dario asked, flipping a chair around to sit on it backward.
It was a tough question to answer. I hadn’t really admitted the truth to anyone, not even Annie or Haley. I maybe hadn’t even admitted the truth to myself. “I might maybe feel the slightest, tiniest bit guilty about leaving him,” I blurted out. It felt good to have it out in the air.
He snorted. “You left a man with a multimillion-dollar business, refused to take support, and you somehow feel guilty about it?”
“When you say it like that it sounds stupid, but I do feel a little guilty. I knew who he was when I married him. I didn’t expect to change him, either. I hadn’t understood how hard it was going to be to live with who he was.” I started whipping eggs.
Dario leaned his chin on his crossed arms. “I still don’t see a reason for you to feel guilty.”
“He never understood why I left him. Based on our conversations, I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t.” It was entirely possible that Antoine couldn’t understand.
Dario got up and started rinsing out the dishes in the sink. “Is that it?”
“Not entirely. I feel a little responsible for him being arrested, too. If he hadn’t been here in Grand Lake, maybe none of this would have happened. Or wouldn’t have happened in a way that would have ended up with him in a cage being served bologna with Miracle Whip.”
Dario waved a wooden spoon at me. “Miracle Whip is zesty. It has its place in the pantheon of condiments.”
“Not if you’re French,” I responded.
Dario shrugged. “So you’re making quiche and salad so he doesn’t waste away to nothing while waiting for you to clear his name of a murder charge.”
“It’s not as simple as that. I think you’re overstating.” I hoped he was overstating, because when he said it like that it sounded a little crazy.
He wiped his hands off on a dish towel. “You might think I’m overstating, but no one else does.”
There was a knock on the back door. Dario let Garrett in. “Smells good. What are you making?”
“Lunch for her ex-husband,” Dario said with a drawl.
I shot him a look.
He sat down at the table and stared at me. “You’re making a quiche for Antoine?”
“Yes.” I finished rolling out the crust and started to line the pie pan. “But I am not baking bread for him. There are lines I simply won’t cross.”
“Well, then, that makes perfect sense.” It did to me, but I could tell by his tone that it didn’t to him and that perhaps his lines were in a slightly different place than mine. Judging by Dario’s snort his were in a different place, too.
I decided to take his comment at face value anyway. “I’m so glad you agree.” The trick with cooking a filled piecrust is to make sure the bottom bakes and doesn’t remain mushy while not burning the edges. To accomplish that, I needed to be sure the bottom was thin enough. I applied my attention to that task.
He sighed. “Are you at least making two?”
I tried to hide the smile quirking at my lips. “Of course.” I hadn’t been, but I would now. I rolled out a second piecrust.
* * *
In front of the Sheriff’s Department, a group of women carrying signs walked in a circle, chanting. The Bunnies. It was like they were everywhere. It took me a second to figure out what they were saying. Finally I got it. “Belanger. Belanger. Set him free. Do it today.”
Some of the signs had Antoine’s face on them. Others had Free Antoine in huge letters. There were a few that had pictures of me with devil horns and goatees drawn on my face in black marker. Off to the side, a woman stood with a life-sized cardboard cutout of Antoine. A sign next to her offered pictures with Antoine for five dollars to help support Antoine’s defense.
I texted Dan. “I want to come in the side entrance.”
He texted back, “Don’t blame you. Vera will meet you there in five.”
I ducked around to the side of the building before the Bunnies or the press noticed me. Sure enough, Vera was waiting for me. “Hey, Vera,” I said. “Would you be willing to try something?” Quiche was not the only thing I cooked up that morning.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Is this like a bribe?”
“Nope. More like market research.” I pulled a container from the basket and handed it to her.
She stared at it like it might be a snake. “What is it?”
“Remember when you mentioned the calorie count in Coco Pop Fudge?” I asked.
She sighed. “All too well. I remember all conversations about calories.” Then she stood up a little straighter.
“Well, this is a lower-calorie option. It’s still chocolatey. It doesn’t have the same mouth-feel, but I’d like to see what you think.” I pushed it a little closer to her.
“Right now?” She glanced from side to side as if someone might be watching.
“If not now, when?” I asked.
She opened the container and took a bite. Her eyes widened. “This is low calorie?”
“Lower than the fudge, that’s for sure. Kinda nice for those times when you want things sweet and salty and even a bit spicy at the same time.” I smiled.
“You mean like every day all the time?” she asked.
I laughed. “It’s good to know there are like-minded people out there.”
She nodded at my picnic basket. “Is that for Antoine?”
“It is. It is not low calorie.” Antoine was far more likely to eat less of something rather than compromise its ideal state, which generally involved copious levels of fat.
She laughed. “I’ll take you back to him.” She went through the basket to be sure I wasn’t smuggling in any contraband and took away the usual items like cell phones and keys and, in this case, the fork and knife.
“It’s a butter knife, Vera. Antoine will barely be able to cut a quiche with it much less rough up a bitch.” I knew he wouldn’t be thrilled.
“Rules are rules, Rebecca. We’re bending plenty of them for him already.” She replaced the utensils with a plastic sfork.
We were on our way down the hall when Huerta came from the direction of the cells with Antoine. “Whatever’s in that basket smells good, Rebecca,” Huerta said.
Antoine came to a stop and lifted his head like a hound scenting the air. “Your quiche, of course.”
“As per your request,” I replied. “There might be enough to share.”
Huerta looked hopeful.
Antoine continued walking to the interrogation room. “Perhaps I should offer some to the man in the cell next to mine. It might make him pause in his constant complaining if his mouth was momentarily full.” He shuddered. “Or perhaps not. He seems the type to speak through a full mouth.”
; “It might be a nice gesture,” I said as I set out the quiche, salad, sparkling water and chocolate. “Are you hungry?” I put the picnic basket up on the table.
“Starving. Perhaps literally,” Antoine said.
“Vera wouldn’t let me bring in any silverware. Sorry about that.” I gave him his sfork. “This is the best I could do.”
Antoine held it up and examined it. “It is an abomination, but sometimes compromises must be made.”
“Who cares what you eat it with?” Huerta asked.
Antoine opened his mouth to explain exactly how eating implements were designed to enhance the experience of various foods and beverages, a lecture that could go on for well over an hour in my experience. He could spend twenty minutes on stemware. He wasn’t wrong. It was just a long time to talk about a wineglass.
Vera stuck her head in the door. “Rebecca, your cell phone is buzzing like an angry hornet. Looks like there are some texts from Haley. Dan’s on the phone with her now.”
“Do you think it’s time?” I asked.
“Not sure. I’ll make sure Dan comes to talk to you when he’s off the phone.”
Antoine apparently could no longer withstand Huerta’s pleading eyes. They were like huge dark pools of melted chocolate. He pushed the quiche toward him and nodded.
Huerta dug in. “Rebecca, this is fantastic.”
“It is excellent,” Antoine said. “Not as excellent as being given my freedom back. You have no idea what it is like inside here.” Antoine’s shoulders drooped.
“I’m doing everything I can,” I said. “So is Cynthia.”
“Of course. Of course,” Antoine said while managing to still look totally dejected and pathetic. “She was here earlier today. She had many questions.”
“For us, too,” Huerta said. “She’s a feisty one.” He paused. “Do you happen to know if she’s single?”
Before I could answer, Dan poked his head in. “It’s not time. Haley’s pissed that you and I both were without our cell phones at the same time, though.”
“But she called the desk and they came and got you, right?” It wasn’t like we were totally unavailable.
Pop Goes the Murder Page 14