Smothered In Lies (A Mexican Cafe Cozy Mystery Series Book 3)

by Holly Plum

  “I’m not interested in your pizza,” Mr. Chun went on. “Greasy, disgusting American food.”

  “Technically, it is Italian food,” Bubba chimed in.

  Remembering the egg rolls she had seen in the judging tent, Mari saw an opportunity to change the subject and avoid a fight.

  “Mr. Chun, did you enter something in the cooking competition?” Mari asked.

  Mr. Chun narrowed his eyes as if reluctantly treating a nasty wart growing on his big toe. The Ramirez and the Chun families had never been close even though their restaurants were right across the street from each other.

  “Yes,” Mr. Chun stated. “I entered my bestselling item—my Shanghai egg rolls.”

  “And I entered one of my best items,” Bubba said. “My pepperoni pizza bites.”

  “I wouldn’t mind trying that,” Mari responded. She had always loved pizza.

  “I’m hoping to bring more exposure to my restaurant,” Bubba added. “You’d be surprised how many people in town don’t even know there are two pizza joints. And with the money I win, I could stake out a more central location.”

  “Where is your restaurant exactly?” Mari asked.

  “It’s on the other side of town,” he answered. “Next to the old fruit stand that closed down a few years ago.” He held up a painting of the shopping center where the fruit stand stood.

  “Don’t go,” Mr. Chun muttered. “It’s not worth it.”

  Bubba looked like he was about to ask Mr. Chun how he could know this, but the shrieking of sirens interrupted their conversation. An ambulance barreled down Main Street, past the Emporium, past the church, and toward the heart of the festival.

  “I wonder what happened,” Mari said quietly. The two men must have wondered this as well, for they both left the booth and began walking in the direction of the judging tent where a large crowd gathered. Mari was puzzled by the sudden turn of events that she no longer noticed the hot sun beating down on her back, nor the low growling of Tabasco at her feet.

  At the entrance to the tent, they met a bronze-skinned woman with dark, curly hair. She motioned to them to stay back.

  “You can’t go in there,” the woman said.

  A wave of apprehension and dread rolled over Mari as she asked, “Who’s hurt?”

  “Brandy Davos,” the woman replied. “It was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen. One minute she was taking a bite of salsa. The next minute, she was dead on the floor!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was like a nightmare slowly unspooled all around Mari. She found herself in the office of her family's restaurant being interviewed by Detective Price.

  “How long had you known the victim?” the detective asked, his gaze clearly fixed on the notebook in which he was writing.

  “A few years,” said Mari answered. “Although, I didn't know her very well. She’s been running the cooking contest since I was in college. I met her not long after I came home to help out at the restaurant."

  “And how did the victim strike you?” the detective went on.

  “Strike me?” Mari repeated.

  “What was your impression of her the last time you saw her?”

  Mari fumbled for an answer, caught off-guard by the accusation concealed in the question. “She was busy. Brandy is always busy. She had her hands full organizing the competition. She was meant to be a judge as well. She's always the head judge.”

  “Did she stressed more than usual?”

  Mari shrugged. “Not especially.”

  “Did you see her argue with anyone at the festival?”

  “Not as far as I know. I mean, some people argue no matter what.” Mari chuckled. Her father was that way too.

  “Can you expand on that?” the detective replied.

  The most uncomfortable thing about interviews with Detective Price was that he would seize on the mildest statement and blow it out of proportion.

  “I just mean, everyone has their quirks," Mari explained. "Everyone seemed to like Brandy, as far as I could tell. She had a kind and charismatic personality.”

  Price made a show of painstakingly scribbling something into his notebook. Mari leaned forward squinting in the hopes of making out what it was but relented at his glance. It wouldn’t have done any good, anyway: his handwriting was indecipherable.

  “Can you describe for me, Ms. Ramirez, how you made your salsa?”

  "Ummm…" Mari inhaled slowly. Detective Price saw the objection in her eyes and countered it with one of his own.

  “In case I need to remind you,” he said, in a steady and sober voice, “this is a police investigation. A murder investigation. A woman was found dead after eating your salsa, and that is deeply suspicious. I understand you do not want to divulge the ingredients of a secret family recipe, but I don’t think I need to explain to you how much is at stake here.”

  Mari nodded. “I understand. I used garlic and cilantro, and I sautéed the onions. I also used fresh tomatoes. Then I added spicy chili that I fire-roasted the night before.”

  Mari was grateful that the detective stopped his line of inquiry before asking what made the secret recipe so special. If she had to guess, he didn’t know the first thing about food and how it was prepared. He probably ate microwave meals for dinner every night.

  “Detective Price,” Mari said, “can you at least tell me what’s going on?”

  Detective Price set down his notebook and ran his fingers through his receding hair. Somehow he looked even older and more tired than he had during their last visit. “It’s going to be a few days before we get the official coroner’s report. But judging from the circumstances we think it’s safe to assume that Brandy Davos was poisoned. Several eyewitnesses reported seeing her in the tent sampling your salsa moments before she collapsed. This naturally leads us to the conclusion that either the food had been deliberately poisoned by whoever made it…” The detective held up his hand to quiet Mari before she protested. “…or it was tampered with.”

  “You think someone snuck into the tent and poisoned my salsa when no one was looking?” Mari said flatly.

  “The only other alternative is that you poisoned it yourself,” the detective responded.

  Mari glared at him. "I'm not a murderer, detective."

  “I'm not saying you are,” he replied. “You are a hard-working and honest member of this community, and I can find no motive that suggests you might have wanted Brandy Davos dead.”

  "Thank you." Mari breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I decided to question you first on purpose,” Detective Price went on. “I knew you would give me a clear picture of what happened today. Naturally, your salsa remains under suspicion. I cannot ignore that detail, I'm afraid.”

  “I just have one question,” Mari said. “We’ve established that Brandy died after tasting my salsa. But couldn’t that just be a coincidence? Unless, of course, she sampled my food but none of the other foods that were on display.”

  “Come again?” Detective Price questioned.

  “As the host, it was Brandy's job to taste all the foods,” Mari explained, with growing impatience. “Who is to say that it was my salsa that killed her? Just because it was the last thing she ate, that doesn't mean my salsa was poisoned."

  “We don’t know that for sure yet,” the detective replied. “So far all witnesses are saying that she ate the salsa and only the salsa. We will know shortly if you salsa truly was tampered with, Ms. Ramirez.”

  ***

  After escorting Detective Price out of the restaurant, Mari got into her car and waited for the steering wheel to cool. She pondered the events of the morning and the interview in her dad’s office. Whatever the detective might have said to the contrary, it was clear that he still suspected Mari of being involved in the murder of Brandy Davos. Certainly, he hadn’t bought her suggestion that maybe someone else’s food was responsible. Mari hated the fact that whenever a crime was committed, suspicion always seemed to fall on her family. She wanted to pro
ve beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were innocent of this particular crime. But to do that, she was going to have to conduct her own investigation.

  Mari would have to begin by interviewing the man who was, in her opinion, the most likely suspect.

  A few minutes later, Mari stood at the head of the line in the Lucky Noodle. “Yes,” she said to the woman at the register, “I’d like to speak to Mr. Chun.”

  Jia Chun’s eyes narrowed into slits of contempt, but she said nothing as she marched into the back of the restaurant. A minute later she returned, looking as cold and composed as ever. “Mr. Chun will see you in the back."

  Mari found Mr. Chun in his office, busily using the end of his polo shirt to clean the glasses that were too big for his face.

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” Mr. Chun said. “I’m not a murderer. I’ve never killed anybody. I’m not about to start killing people now either. The restaurant is doing very well, and you can be sure to mention that to your father.”

  “But you can help me catch the killer,” Mari replied. “It may be someone in your restaurant. I want you to tell me everything you saw at the festival.”

  “All I know,” Mr. Chun stated, putting his glasses back on so that his eyes were momentarily magnified, “is that Brandy Davos died while eating your salsa.”

  “Yes, and we both know that I had nothing to do with her murder,” Mari clarified.

  “Whatever you say.” Mr. Chun shook his head. “I don’t know anything. I was arguing with you when she died. I was nowhere near the crime scene.”

  “Was anyone else in your family, anyone who works for you, in the tent at the time of Brandy’s death?”

  Mr. Chun shook his head. “Jia was here. We’ve been understaffed. Right now the two of us are running everything. If she’s not here, then I am. When I’m not here, she is. I was the only person at the festival. And I was with you.”

  Mari decided to press her luck. “Your egg rolls…what were they called?"

  “Shanghai egg rolls,” Mr. Chun answered. “And no, I’m not giving you the recipe.”

  “That’s not what I was worried about. How many egg rolls did you set on that hot plate when you entered the tent this morning?”

  “Two dozen." Mr. Chun didn't hesitate to answer. He lifted his chin with confidence. "They would have won too."

  "I guess we'll never know," Mari answered. “By the way, how many egg rolls were there when you went back into the tent after Brandy’s death?”

  “Two dozen, of course.”

  “You’re sure about this?" Mari raised her eyebrows. "Because anyone could have eaten one when you left the tent.”

  Mr. Chun tugged at a thin strand of hair. It was clear he was reaching the end of his patience. “There were exactly twenty-four Shanghai egg rolls, no more and no less.”

  “Then that means—”

  “It means Brandy Davos never tasted any of my food,” Mr. Chun said in a patronizing voice. “Your salsa was at the end of the table. She started there and planned to work her way down the line. But she never made it to the next dish, which was mine, because she dropped dead before she could reach it.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mari was no more successful in her attempts to interview the other people who had been present in the town square at the time of the murder. She started with Katerina Georgiou, owner of a Greek restaurant called Athena Burger.

  “I didn’t know much about her,” said Katerina, the curly-haired woman who had found Brandy's body. “All I can tell you is we weren’t friends.”

  “Any particular reason why?” Mari asked.

  “She was rude,” Katerina replied, seeming to regret the heated nature of her comments even as she made them. “Brandy insulted my food. She marched right into my restaurant and yelled at the chef when the dolmades she'd ordered weren’t perfect. She had a nasty temper.”

  "Did she?" Mar nodded, not sure if it were true or not. She, like Katerina, didn't know Brandy that well either.

  “Mind you, it’s terrible, what happened,” Katerina went on, taking out a cigarette and attempting to light it with shaking fingers. “I wouldn’t have wished such a fate on anyone. When she hit the floor, I thought maybe she had passed out from heat stroke. It was a hot one this morning. But her face turned a particularly nasty shade of purple. I was scared. You have to understand that I was afraid for her. I didn’t want her to die.”

  “I believe you,” Mari responded, placing a consoling hand on her arm. “Believe me, I do.”

  Katerina let out a deep breath. “I already told that detective everything I know. Good luck figuring out who did this. Brandy wasn’t a good person, but she didn’t deserve to die like that.”

  Katerina’s assessment of Brandy Davos puzzled and irritated Mari. Brandy was a headstrong woman and a consummate professional. Brandy had stood up to people when she didn’t get what she wanted. She wasn’t easily intimidated. If a man had exhibited the same behavior, he would have been praised as headstrong and assertive. But for some reason when a woman did it, she was hated for it.

  Mari wasn’t sure whether it proved the validity of her theory that Katerina’s disdain for Brandy was shared by Bubba Jones, the casual artist.

  ***

  “Now you know I would never speak ill of the dead,” Bubba said, pacing around the back of his pizza shop. The restaurant was empty even though it was dinnertime. “But you wanted my honest opinion, and I’m fixin’ to give it to you.”

  “Okay,” Mari replied. She sat in a corner booth with notebook and pen in hand.

  “Brandy was the worst.” Bubba clenched his fists into balls and closed his eyes tightly as if crooning a sad song. “I mean, the absolute worst.”

  For a moment neither of them spoke. Bubba fell back against the wall, seemingly exhausted by the mere thought of Brandy Davos.

  “Did she ever do anything to hurt you?” Mari asked boldly.

  Bubba smirked. “What didn’t she do? Brandy asked me out, and when I refused, she spread rumors about my pizza all over town. This place wasn't always so empty.”

  Mari reminded herself not to stare at him with her mouth open. “Hang on… she asked you to go out with her?”

  “Why are you so surprised?” Bubba responded. “Now I don’t go out with just anybody. So when she came strolling in here and tried to give me her phone number, I immediately tore it up. No thanks, good lady, is what I said. Life is too short.”

  “I can’t imagine she took that well,” Mari said in an amused voice. She had a strong suspicion that Bubba was making the whole story up to impress her.

  “She didn’t take it well at all.” Bubba cleared his throat. “Brandy vowed never to eat at my restaurant again. She left, and within a few weeks, I noticed a serious decrease in the number of customers coming in. It was a pre-sisyphus drop.”

  “Do you mean precipitous?” Mari guessed.

  “Sure. Whatever." Bubba took a deep breath. "Pretty soon nobody was coming in anymore. You have to understand that I used to have actual customers. But this has been the case for the last three months. Empty. And here I am just twiddling my thumbs, waiting for someone to show up. Yesterday I spent the entire day painting. I didn’t make a single pizza.”

  “And you think it had something to do with Brandy?”

  “Well,” Bubba said, lazily scratching his belly, “I got to talking to some folks, and it turned out that they weren’t coming in because they had been warned not to. You wouldn’t believe the rumors. Rats in the ice machine. Rats in the ovens. Rats in the ladies room. Someone said the Canadian bacon wasn’t made out of real bacon, but koala, if you can believe it.”

  “Sounds rough,” Mari responded.

  “And then I spoke to a photographer for the local paper, who told me he had overheard Brandy Davos talking to the editor-in-chief. I guess she had told the editor-in-chief not to eat at Bubba’s either because the meat lover’s pizza was like death on a plate.”

  “She real
ly said that?”

  “That's what I heard." Bubba shrugged. "But based on my conversation with that photographer, I’m confident that Brandy was the source of all the rumors. All because I wouldn’t go out with her.”

  It didn’t matter whether or not Brandy had ever asked Bubba to go out with her. Mari reflected as she pulled out of the parking lot an hour later. Since she had been his only customer, Bubba was closing up early. It also didn't matter whether or not Brandy had actually spread the nasty rumors that he had attributed to her. What mattered was that Bubba thought Brandy had been spreading those rumors. The fact that he thought that made him a suspect. All he needed was a motive, and he and Katerina both had one. They had both disliked Brandy—though, in Bubba’s case, the dislike edged into outright hate. Katerina had been sorry about her death or at least done a convincing job of acting like it. Bubba didn’t seem sorry at all.

  Mari pulled up in front of the pioneer museum to find the booths and tents fully set up. Even the murder hadn’t interrupted the day’s preparations. After leashing Tabasco, she decided to visit the judge’s tent one more time where she found all the plates laid out as before. None of them appeared to have been touched since that morning, for understandable reasons, though she noted that a chunk seemed to have been taken out of her salsa.

  “That’s just great,” Mari said under her breath. “Investigate my food, but no one else’s.”

  “It’s a real shame, isn’t it?” came a voice from behind her. Mari jumped and turned around to find a woman in an all-white suit standing in the door of the tent. The contrast of her clothes against the dark backdrop of the evening sky was striking.

  “I don’t think we’ve met,” Mari said, coming forward and extending her hand. Tabasco growled softly.

  “Opal Tims,” the woman replied. “I organize the Chile Fest every year.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

  “Normally, I don’t drive out here until the day of the festival. But normally people aren’t murdered the day before it begins. I’ve been on the phone and in police interrogation rooms all day, and at this point, I just can’t see any way around it. I’m afraid we’re going to have to call off the Best Bite in Town competition.”