Murder On The Menu: The 1st Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries)

by Nancy Skopin

  When our drinks were served we ordered dinner. I asked for the steamed clams, the salad bar, and the grilled swordfish. Fred smiled sardonically at my appetite, and ordered the Caesar salad with grilled shrimp. David collected the menus and departed.

  I looked across the table at Fred. “Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions about Laura?”

  “Ask away.” He took a generous sip of his scotch.

  “You were sleeping with her, right?”

  “Yes.” The look on his face was beyond condescending. It was arrogant.

  “Did she ever ask you to put your hands around her throat while you were having sex?”

  Fred abruptly stopped smiling and moved his intense gaze toward the Bay. He didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he slowly turned back to me. His eyes had lost their glow and there was something else, maybe fear.

  “I told you she was bored,” he said. “She was looking for excitement.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I said quietly.

  Fred silently took another sip of his drink. Just when the tension was getting palpable, David arrived with my clams. He told me I could help myself to the salad bar anytime I was ready, and pointed it out to me. Before he could get away, Fred ordered another double Scotch.

  The clams were served in a butter and garlic broth, and they were tender and juicy. When I’d finished them Fred was still giving me the silent treatment, so I decided to step outside and grab a smoke.

  “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I said, rising from my seat.

  Unless I missed my guess, our entrees wouldn’t be served until I returned. I walked past the restrooms, slipped out the front door, and lit up. I stood beside a small waterfall in the courtyard and looked out at the deep blue sky above the parking lot. The sun was setting and it was an unusually still evening. A peripheral flash of color caught my attention. I turned to get a better look, and couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a petite, strawberry blonde person bending over the open trunk of a silver-blue Jaguar XJS that was parked up the hill. I watched as she switched on a penlight.

  “Jesus Christ,” I whispered.

  I glanced quickly at the parking valet. He was leaning against the booth, contemplating the boats in the harbor. I tossed my cigarette in the fountain and, taking out another, sashayed over to the booth and asked him for a light. The kid responded with all the requisite hormones, his hand shaking as he held a plastic lighter to my cigarette. I stood with my back to the Bay, keeping him turned away from the uphill parking area and Fred’s Jag.

  “Been working here long?” I asked.

  “Two weeks.” His voice cracked.

  “You’re very good at your job.” I smiled. “How are the tips?”

  “They’re great!” he said, with enthusiasm.

  He was adorable, but it took tremendous self-control for me not to look past him at Elizabeth. As I made small talk I remembered the night she had broken into Fred’s house. She’d given me back the Glock, the phone, and the camera, but not the lock picks. I mentally slapped myself on the forehead.

  When I didn’t think I could wait any longer without arousing Fred’s suspicions and the valet’s expectations, I thanked him for the light and went back inside. As I passed the waterfall I glanced up the hill. The Jag’s trunk was closed, and Elizabeth was nowhere in sight. I blew out a sigh of relief as I hurried back into the restaurant.

  Fred looked annoyed as I approached the table and sat down.

  “Sorry that took so long,” I said, with a self-deprecating smile. “Irritable bowel syndrome.”

  Fred grimaced and waved an impatient hand in the air. David must have been watching, because our entrees were served immediately.

  The swordfish was moist and firm with a subtle garlic and lemon flavor. On the side were rice, carrots, and green beans. I ate half of the fish and watched Fred nibble at his shrimp salad and guzzle his scotch.

  When Kate received the report I had mailed she would probably tell Derrick about Fred and Laura. I decided not to broach that subject tonight. I pushed my chair back and said I was going to check out the salad bar. Fred gave me a look I can only characterize as disdainful, undoubtedly remembering how I had heaped my plate at the Chart House.

  I collected a few leaves of romaine, some spinach, Greek olives, and mushrooms, and topped the whole thing with oil and vinegar. I passed on the more filling food groups. When I arrived back at the table I noticed that Fred’s salad had been cleared and he was starting on his fourth double scotch. And he was driving.

  “I’m sorry if my questions make you uncomfortable,” I said. “I have to ask. It’s my job.”

  He remained mute, drinking his scotch and brooding.

  When I’d finished most of my salad I waved David over and asked for the check. He took a black leather folder from his apron pocket and placed it on the table. I paid with cash to save time. I was anxious to get away from Fred, and even more anxious to question Elizabeth.

  “Had enough of me for tonight?” I asked, as we walked toward the door.

  Fred gave me a sideways glance, but said nothing. Could he have snuck out while I was chatting with the parking valet and seen Elizabeth at his car?

  When the valet brought the Jag around, Fred opened the door for me. I got in and watched him tip the young man, who was now ignoring me in favor of cash.

  The drive home was quiet until we reached the Whipple Road exit.

  “Should I drop you back at your office?” Fred asked.

  “Yes, thank you. I have some paperwork to finish up.”

  He pulled into the marina lot and just sat there as I climbed out of the Jag.

  He said, “Goodbye, Nicoli,” and drove away as soon as I’d closed the car door.

  That sounded final. I wasn’t interested in Fred, and he might be a psycho-killer, but I still found his behavior unsettling. I don’t take rejection well, even if I don’t care about the person who’s rejecting me.

  I entered my office, locking the door behind me, and turned on all the lights. I sat down at my desk and smoked a cigarette, waiting ten tortuous minutes before turning off the lights and locking up again. I walked back out to the parking lot and looked around for the Jag. I didn’t see it anywhere, so I hurried down to my boat, noting Elizabeth’s closed door as I passed her trawler. Three hours in cowboy boots was all I could stand. I hastily changed into jeans, a Hawaiian shirt, and a pair of comfy old boat shoes. I left my dress and purse on the bunk, and jogged back to Elizabeth’s with only my cigarettes and lighter in hand.

  I ran past D’Artagnon, who was out on the deck of his boat, without even stopping to pet him, and immediately felt guilty about it. I’d make it up to him later.

  I knocked on Elizabeth’s door and waited. After a moment she called out, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me.”

  She slid the door open a crack. When she saw me, she opened the door the rest of the way, glancing over my shoulder at the companionway. She looked panicky.

  “Hi, Nikki,” she said. “How was dinner?”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “Come on aboard,” she said, grabbing my wrist. She pulled me inside, then closed and locked the door behind me.

  “I saw you in the parking lot!”

  Her eyes got as big as saucers. “You saw me? Oh my God. Did Fred see me too?”

  “I not sure. He might have. What were you thinking? You broke into his car in a public place for Christ’s sake!”

  “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help myself. I searched his trunk. I forgot to give you back those lock picks, and after you left tonight I kept thinking about what you said. Anyway, I drove out to Castaway and saw there was only one parking valet on duty, so I thought, what the hell? Nikki, I found the knife.”
/>   “You what? Slow down a minute. You mean you found a knife.”

  “Okay, okay. I found a knife. And it’s just the way you described it, with spikes on the hilt. He keeps it in a black garbage bag behind his spare tire. I think there’s dried blood on it. And there’s a broom handle in there with the top sawed off, a coil of fishing wire, a bloody ice pick, and a pair of red Victoria’s Secret panties.” She slapped the galley counter for emphasis, causing me to levitate off the settee.

  Elizabeth got up and emptied the last of a bottle of wine into a pewter goblet. “You want some wine?” she asked.

  I shook my head. I needed to keep my wits about me. I considered what she had said and reached for my cigarettes. “Do you mind?” I asked, referring to the smoke.

  “No, go ahead.” She cracked open a window as I lit up. “He’s got a twelve-pack of Trojan Supras in his trunk too, and a box of surgical gloves.” She swallowed some wine. “So, what do we do now?”

  “First tell me you didn’t touch anything.”

  “I’m not a complete moron,” she said. She walked to the sink and picked up a pair of pink Playtex gloves. “I wore these.”

  “Atta girl,” I said.

  I moved over to the window she had opened, and exhaled smoke through the gap.

  “We need to do something,” she said, handing me a coffee cup to use as an ashtray.

  “I’m thinking.”

  “You’re thinking? What do you mean you’re thinking? What are you thinking about? I’m telling you I found a bag full of evidence in the trunk of Fred’s car!” Her face flushed and she started pacing. “Oh, wait, I know you. You’re thinking he somehow found out what each of the murder weapons was, and then he went out and bought a spiky knife, and a broom, and some fishing wire, and he’s baiting you. Like this is some kind of a game. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

  Even under pressure, Elizabeth has one of the quickest minds I’ve ever known.

  “It’s exactly the kind of thing he would do, just to prove how superior he is, and to mess with me. We can’t assume anything until Bill has the evidence tested.”

  “I don’t believe this! There was nothing on the news about the knife having spikes on it. And what about that anonymous phone call the police got? He’s the killer, Nikki! Let’s call Bill right now and tell him what I found. Let him decide what to do about it.”

  “I’ve got his cell number in my purse. I’ll call him as soon as I get home.”

  D’Artagnon chose that moment to let loose with a long series of angry barks. Elizabeth and I looked at each other. We were both thinking the same thing. What if Fred had seen her looking in his trunk? What if he was here now?

  “Jesus,” she said, putting a hand over her heart. She picked up her wine glass, which had somehow become empty. “I’m going to have another glass of wine. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Elizabeth checked the door to make sure it was locked, and then got out her corkscrew and opened a bottle of something Italian. She took a clean goblet from the hanging rack over the sink and filled it, then sat down next to me. We waited in silence for a few minutes. D’Artagnon had stopped barking. That was a good sign. He’d probably seen someone up on shore he didn’t recognize.

  Eventually Elizabeth said, “Since I found the evidence illegally, how will Bill justify the search warrant?”

  “I don’t know. That might be a problem. Maybe he can follow Fred around until he commits a traffic violation. He drives really fast. Can the police search your car if they stop you for speeding?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I put out my cigarette, and set the cup in the sink.

  “I left my boat open with all the lights on. If I don’t go back soon the mosquitoes will move in.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be awake all night. Call me after you talk to Bill.”

  We hugged each other at the door, and when I was outside I heard Elizabeth lock it behind me.

  Chapter 30

  D’Artagnon wasn’t out on deck when I walked past his boat on the way to mine, and I still felt guilty about ignoring him earlier. I continued down the dock and stopped in my tracks when I saw that my Cheoy Lee was completely dark. I always leave the lights on. I even sleep with the lights on. I don’t like the dark.

  I looked around and saw that all the dock lights and some of my neighbors’ lights were on, so it wasn’t the electricity. I checked my shore power to make sure someone hadn’t turned it off as a prank. The switch was in the on position. Unless all the bulbs on board my boat had burned out simultaneously, someone had gone aboard and turned off my lights.

  My heart started pounding. I should have hired Lieutenant Quinn to guard my body. I should run back to Elizabeth’s boat and call the cops. That’s what I should do, but what would I tell them? I can’t go home because the lights are off? I could imagine the stories that would be circulating around the RCPD the next morning. Not that I cared what the local cops thought of me, much, but ever since I was a kid I’ve had trouble walking away from confrontations. I blame my father for this. When I was little he convinced me that no one would respect me if I turned away from a fight. Even if I got the shit beat out of me, it was better than being thought of as a coward. Now, as an adult, I know there’s no shame in being afraid, especially if you have a good reason, but I still respond to the stimuli.

  I walked down the concrete finger to my dock steps. Listening intently I cautiously climbed aboard causing as little motion as possible. Someone had closed my pilothouse door. I knew I’d left it open, and there wasn’t enough of a breeze tonight for it to have swung shut. I silently opened the door, and stepped inside. The hatch was open, as I had left it.

  The companionway steps on my Cheoy Lee are steep, and if you walk down them facing forward you have to arch your back in order to avoid clobbering your forehead on the top of the hatch. Normally I back down the steps, but tonight I didn’t have the nerve. I was shaking and my knees felt rubbery.

  Inside the boat I couldn’t see a thing. I felt my way into the stateroom, flipped on the light and flinched at the sudden illumination. My pistol purse and dress were on the bunk where I’d left them. I picked up my purse and reached for the Glock. It wasn’t there. I unzipped the main compartment, looking for the flash drive. Also missing.

  “Shit!” I whispered as my heart moved up into my throat and cut off my supply of oxygen. D’Artagnon had been barking at an intruder, and now whoever it was had the flash drive with all my notes on it, and my new Glock. “Mother-fucking shit!”

  I dumped the contents of my purse onto the bunk, just to be sure. Okay, now I was sure. Someone had gotten past the secure gate and had been on board my boat. Maybe they were still on board. I should slip back outside, run to Elizabeth’s boat, and call the police.

  I stepped into the galley and turned on the light. Derrick Howard was sitting at my galley counter, holding my Glock in his lap. He was the picture of serenity, dressed in black, his hair covered by a watch cap, and he was wearing latex gloves. The expression on his face was so tranquil it was chilling.

  I bolted for the companionway and made it to the base of the steps, but he was too fast for me. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me backwards.

  “Sit down, Ms. Hunter,” he said. “We’re going to have a little chat, and then we’re going for a walk.”

  He let go of me and I perched on the edge of the galley settee. I rubbed my scalp and squinted up at him. “You mind if I smoke?”

  I felt terrified, helpless, and indignant. I needed to dull down the emotion so I could think. I needed nicotine.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  I took the cigarettes and lighter out of my shirt pocket, and lit up. Under the right circumstances a cigarette can be a d
ecent weapon. These were not the right circumstances.

  “This is your party,” I said, exhaling smoke and nodding toward the Glock. “What do you want to talk about?”

  He pulled the flash drive from his hip pocket and held it up. “I assume this contains the details of your investigation?”

  I said nothing.

  “How many copies did you make?”

  “Why do you care? There’s nothing on it about you,” I lied.

  “How many?”

  “Three,” I said.

  He smiled, pleased that I had chosen to cooperate.

  “Where are the other two?”

  “One is up in my office, locked in the desk, and one is in my safe deposit box.”

  Of course I didn’t have a safe deposit box, but I had a bunch of flash drives in my desk and I was hoping to buy some time.

  “Which bank?” he said.

  “First National.”

  “Did you sign the signature card Nikki or Nicoli?”

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  “Later,” he replied, and I froze, realization washing over me. He was going to rape me and kill me, and make it look like Fred had done it. He’d take some trophy from the scene and plant it in Fred’s trunk with the others.

  “Have you shared the information with anyone?” he was saying.

  I thought about that for a moment. He’d kill me no matter what, but if I said yes, there was a chance he’d kill others.

  “No,” I sighed. “I haven’t even printed it yet.”

  “Well, that’s something anyway.”

  He sat down opposite me and my mind began displaying images of Laura after death, pre-lubricated condoms, a spiky knife, Kurt in the alley…