“Now that she’s dead, who’s going to take her place?”
“No one even brought that up in our crisis management team meeting today. We had our hands full coping with the recent incident. Dorothy was there representing the Food and Beverage Division. As assistant director, she’s Mallory’s backup and has, no doubt, been carrying a lot of the load already. She’s the most likely choice to step into the role permanently.”
“Any chance they’ll ask you to accept the leadership role in Food and Beverage?”
“It’s possible. Like I said, we were concentrating on getting through the day. No one has had much time to consider what Mallory’s death means for the organization long term. Unless Max decides to delegate the task, he’ll call the shots once he’s buried his daughter and is ready to tackle business.”
“So it sounds like Dorothy Sayers is the big winner here, Georgie. With Mallory out of the way, her day-to-day life just got a whole lot better. I’ll bet there’s a big, fat raise to go with a permanent promotion to top dog in the Food and Beverage Division at the Cat Factory. Putting you away for the murder would guarantee they didn’t give it to you. Heck, Dorothy doesn’t even have to succeed in getting you charged with anything—just keep a cloud hovering over you until Max appoints her to the position permanently.”
“Except that she’s older than I am, Jack. I’m surprised she hasn’t retired already. And, she’d have to be a sick person to do any of the things you’re suggesting. I was never close to Dorothy, but she always did her job well. If you don’t stay on top of them, food costs can push you into the red, fast. Dorothy was a hard worker, dependable, and good with numbers—all reasons they moved her up. Perhaps Dorothy got along better with Mallory than I did because she stayed put. Mallory was openly disdainful toward Dorothy, as she was with so many others at Marvelous Marley World. I never saw any show of resentment from Dorothy in return. It sounds like you have a lot of good questions to ask her and Linda Grey when you interview them.”
“I sure do. What about that Dale Kincaid character? Was he ever alone in your office—even for a minute? It wouldn’t have taken long to slip that phone into your coat pocket.” Jack had stopped eating to ask that question, his fork poised to dig back in. “This is fabulous, by the way.”
“I’ve never eaten anything here that wasn’t fabulous. I’m glad you like it.” I’m not sure why Jack’s approval made me happy, but it did. “Dale is an odd duck—the fact that he can’t take a hint, for one thing. I disliked having to lay it on the line like I did today, but he left me no choice. Perhaps it’s my fault. I could have waited too long to 'just say no.' My guess is that the guy has boundary issues of his own. I’m not sure how to factor that into your theory of the murder or his role as an accomplice if he’s the one who planted Mallory’s phone on me. Until today, he rated only about a three on my Sludge-o-Meter. That’s gone up to a six after his Valentine’s Day surprise and the fact that I practically had to spell out the word ‘no’ for him.” Jack had fixed me with an amused gaze.
"What?" I asked.
“I’ve heard of rating folks—the whole one-to-ten deal isn’t new—but a ‘Sludge-o-Meter’ is one I haven’t heard before. I trust your judgment as much as you trust Carol’s. If you say Dale’s a six, he’s a six in my book.”
“There is another thing. It’s probably nothing, but my heightened sense of paranoia. I could have sworn Dale reacted in an uneasy way when Carol announced you were waiting to see me. I can’t be sure if it was the mention of your name or the fact that a police detective was about to step into my office.” I shrugged as Jack pondered what I had told him.
“Hmm, I’ve already got someone checking him out. Maybe he’s harmless, and it’s just a coincidence he was in your office right before you found that phone, but I don’t like it. If my presence made him jumpy, it could be he’s had a run-in with the law. We’ll see what our background check turns up. The lab will also examine that phone and your coat for prints. Although it’s a long shot that there’s anything for them to find. It could take a while, too, since they have their hands full with everything collected at the crime scene this morning. By tomorrow, the coroner might be able to tell us more about some of the issues you’ve already raised—the size and strength of the attacker, how the attack unfolded, type of murder weapon. ” He paused and shook his head. After pouring himself more wine, he held the bottle above my glass. I nodded, and he refilled it.
“This is a horrible conversation for a first date, isn’t it? I’m sorry we had to start off like this. I should have waited to ask you out until we resolved this mess. That could take weeks or months. Frankly, I didn’t want to wait that long. I’m not getting any younger, Georgie. It’s not often I take to a person right off the bat.” I felt a rush of compassion for the doubts he was having. I appreciated his honesty, too, and with a sudden surge of surprise I realized I was glad he hadn’t waited. My shields were down after all.
“It’s fine. I wish we had met under other circumstances, too. I don’t date much. I don’t have a lot of time to socialize outside of the workplace—and you heard my rule about that. Sixty-hour work weeks don’t leave a lot of extra time for romance. It was often more hours than that while I was in the kitchen. Chefs keep odd hours and work different shifts, including nights, weekends, and holidays. I never married, though I came close once. I got used to a solitary life. My family and friends gave up asking me about my love life years ago after—oh, never mind. I won’t go into all that.” I leaned in and lowered my voice. “I got my AARP card in the mail this year, Jack, and I’m eligible to use it!”
“Now you’re making me doubt your truthfulness. You don’t want me to put you back on the suspect list, do you?” Jack smiled at me. I knew he was flirting, but I liked it.
“Run a background check on me. That’ll prove it. How about you, Jack? Was there a Mrs. Wheeler?” He sighed and nodded yes.
“My life as a cop has been a rough one. My wife felt she had it worse than me. You’ve built a career for yourself. Not all women are as career-oriented or as comfortable spending so much time on their own. My wife was alone a lot while I was working my way up the ranks. I wasn’t always good about checking in with her, especially in the middle of an important case. She got fed up feeling widowed before I was even dead—another worry for the wife of a homicide detective. I’m not making myself sound like good dating material, am I?”
“Marriages take two committed people to make a go of it. When it doesn’t work out, it’s rarely only one person’s fault. It sounds to me like you’ve done a lot of soul-searching about what you might have done differently. Your job is what it is, as they say. I’m glad there are people like you, who can face every day what we had to face today. I couldn’t do it, but I’m grateful you can. I hope I get a chance to hear more about your work—over other dinners. You can leave out the more graphic details. The puzzle-solving is intriguing, although I’d prefer not to be on the whodunit list.” That brought a broad smile to Jack’s face, making me think he was one of the most attractive men I had seen in a long, long time. He reminded me of someone, an actor from old TV shows or movies. I hadn’t been to a movie in months and didn’t spend much time watching television either, so I couldn’t place a name with the resemblance.
Our servers returned with our main course. I was grateful for the interruption. The conversation had become more intimate than I expected on a first date. Given the dire circumstances that had brought us together, I suppose it wasn’t too odd that we had moved past small talk quickly.
I was still hungry enough that the aroma of my wild mushroom-crusted sea bass made my mouth water. The sizzling steak they set in front of Jack smelled delicious, too. The servers cleared away our appetizer dishes, collected the old napkins and silverware and set out new ones. With a flourish, our server presented us with fresh napkins, placing them in our laps. A second server set a new basket of warm bread on the table.
“Can we bring you anything els
e?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” reaching for that basket of bread as I replied.
“I’m more than fine with this incredible steak in front of me!”
“Enjoy!” With that, the server disappeared.
We dug into our food, and neither of us spoke for a couple of minutes.
“This steak is out of this world. How’s your sea bass?”
“Delicious! It melts in your mouth.” Jack went back to cutting his steak. Without warning, he picked up the conversation about murder and mayhem with another question.
“What about your boss, Georgie? How did he get along with Mallomar?”
“Wow, you are unearthing all our little secrets, aren’t you? Fast, too!” Mallomar, like the cookie, was another name we used when talking about the woman behind her back. The name captured our disdain for Mallory's treatment of important matters as fluff.
“This is a big case with a high-profile murder victim,” Jack said. “She was brutally killed in a hallowed playground for happy families. It’s important to get out ahead of the curve. I don’t want Mad Max ranting at me, nor do I want this case to go cold. So, yes, I’ve made the rounds today, if only in a superficial way so far. We’ll follow up with more in-depth interviews, and we’ll collect formal statements from everyone who worked with Mallory. What about your boss?”
“Doug Addams has been one of my biggest supporters over the years. He knew how miserable I was once Mallory as my boss, told me about the opening, and encouraged me to apply. Once I had done that, I heard he put in a plug for the search committee to search no further. Doug’s competent and reliable—good at his job and runs a tight ship. I can’t believe he’d set me up, much less that he lost his mind and murdered Mallory. He was upset, but so was I.”
I flashed for a moment on how troubled Doug had been as he drove that golf cart through the tunnels this morning. Could there have been more to his distress than we all experienced learning that someone had murdered a colleague in Arcadia Park? Stop it, Georgie, I thought, shaking my head to clear it. Why wouldn't he have been upset since he already had an inkling that Mallory was the victim?
“Jack, I don’t know how you do this. The more we talk, the more confused I become about whodunit! I’m becoming more and more paranoid, too. The fact that some maniac killed Mallory in the Park points to someone on the job, but isn’t there an ex-husband or a jilted lover you ought to check out, too? What if she took up with some guy she met in rehab? It could be wishful thinking, but I have no reason to regard Doug as a culprit.”
“It’s not only that the killer attacked her in the park. What also has me focusing on your colleagues as culprits is the fact that someone has gone after you, too. I’m not ruling out a love affair gone wrong, a bad drug deal, or anything yet. Mallory's murder is shaping up, so far, as the work of a Marvelous Marley insider in my book.” He looked directly into my eyes as he went on.
“Paranoia isn't always a bad thing. I don’t want to scare you, but I do want you to be on alert. Call me, or call 911 if anything or anyone triggers your Sludge-o-Meter, promise?” The earnestness in his voice and seriousness of his gaze reached me.
“In a heartbeat,” I replied. No more denial. His message had hit home.
6 Chocolate Points
If I had ever been more exhausted, I couldn’t remember when. I felt drained from riding a roller coaster of emotions all day. Even though our dinner had started later than planned, we had lingered over coffee and the dessert, a chocolate soufflé cake. It was an indulgence, but I needed chocolate. I love chocolate, and it’s a weakness, even on a good day. One reason I had chosen the Blue Pacific was to get my chocolate fix.
Like everything else we ordered, the cake was outstanding. It’s a favorite, second only to my version of the dense, flourless cake. I add vanilla, freshly made espresso from my favorite beans, and a little coffee liqueur. The alcohol bakes out, leaving a hint of something deeper than the chocolate would alone. When I let myself into the house, I was greeted with a booming “Hello” from Miles, my Siamese cat.
He’s a chocolate-point, of course. When I first encountered the tiny kitten with the enormous ears, he had greeted me with several trumpet-like blasts. I named him after Miles Davis, the incredible jazz horn player. Although he’s a full-grown cat now, Miles never did catch up with those ears. They’re still too big for him. Miles ran to greet me, murmuring to himself. I bent to pat him on the head, and he rewarded me with loud purring. His piercing blue eyes peered up at me. I swear he can tell when I’m upset.
“Hello, Miles. How are you, Baby? Mama’s tired.”
Talking to a cat, I know, is almost a cliché for a single woman of a certain age. But I don’t care. Miles levitated, landing at "petting level" on the table inside the kitchen where I stash my keys and go through the mail. He got what he wanted—more petting and a smooch. His soft fur and reassuring rumbles worked to soothe away the rough edges left by the day and that warning from Jack.
I had been wary all the way home. Was I being watched? Followed? What if whoever killed Mallory decided to get rid of me, too? I had driven into the garage and shut the door before unlocking and exiting my car. The instant I set foot in the kitchen, I reset the alarm and sighed with relief. Jack had promised to ask for extra police patrols in my neighborhood.
Satisfied that I was okay, Miles went into action. In a burst of energy, he did a dismount, nailed the landing, and launched into his “crazy cat” routine with his tail kinked. Miles bolted out of the kitchen, roared like a mini-lion, then leaped up and over the back of the couch, ran under the coffee table, and plopped back down at my feet, almost before I could blink. This routine was in celebration of my homecoming. One he performed nightly, it always made me laugh.
In addition to concern for my welfare and a celebratory spirit, Miles possesses a keen sense of order. He keeps me on task, anticipating where I’ll go and what I’ll do next. With Miles leading the way, I headed to the bedroom where I changed into pajamas. As I shed each item of clothing, I scrapped another layer of “ick” from the day. By the time I put on my soft, floral knit pajamas, I almost felt like the old me again.
Better, in fact. Jack’s smile floated before me, and his hearty laugh echoed, as I fixed Miles his evening snack and made myself a cup of herbal tea. After that warning from Jack to remain alert, we stopped pondering "whodunit" and why. Dinner became more of a real date as we exchanged tidbits about our lives.
Jack and I came from very different backgrounds—me, the youngest of four children, and he, an only child. My mother was a stay-at-home mom, his a school teacher. His dad had been a machinist, mine an accountant.
We also had some things in common. Both of us were born and raised in California. We share a love of the outdoors, although neither of us has had much time for hiking, cycling or swimming. A big fan of jazz like I am, Jack prefers the sax to a trumpet. Jack and I both enjoy theater and art as well as food and wine. I liked what I had learned so far and felt eager to know more about him. Consequently, I did something impulsive over our decaf coffee. I invited Jack to dinner. Now I felt almost panicky. What had I done? One date and I offer the guy a home-cooked meal! Fortunately, our get-together wouldn’t happen for another week. That seemed prudent since both of us would be busy dealing with the consequences of Mallory’s murder at Catmmando Mountain.
What would I serve? While heating water for tea, I perused the cupboards and conducted a quick inventory. Miles stopped eating to snoop along with me. Soon bored by what he found, he resumed snacking. I struggled to fight off the ridiculous spell of anxiety that had gripped me as I stared at items on the shelves.
Was it the feelings Jack had stirred in me that had me riled up? Or the dreadful circumstances of the day? Perhaps, a combination of the two. This situation wasn't the first one in which romance and murder had crossed my path, although it was premature to characterize my relationship with Jack as romantic. A little shudder of pleasure betrayed me. Dinner had been about
more than business—deadly business. A different sort of shudder slinked down my backbone. I shut the cupboard doors and shifted my attention to Miles.
“Playtime,” I announced as my tea steeped. Miles expects only a few minutes of fun from the feather teaser as part of our nightly routine, but he makes the most of it. The little guy can fly, leaping into the air in pursuit of those feathers. He gets all stealthy, too, as though the element of surprise gives him a better chance to catch his prey. I’m the one who’s often surprised by a new trick in his display of feline prowess. He’s a natural born clown, adding twists and turns, or Ninja yowls that make me laugh out loud.
Playtime over, I took my tea into the family room and watched the late edition of the local news. There we all were. Doug came across as tense, but he had stayed on message. Jack and I stood off to the side. The film crew had caught us both on tape. My eyes were fixed on Doug, willing him to hold it together, while Jack was watching me. I reacted with a flush of warmth at the frankness of his gaze captured in that unguarded moment.
The video clip ended, and the news anchors wrapped up the story. Late in the day, Mallory’s name had been released to the public. Max had gone into seclusion, thank goodness. All in all, matters were under control—no more leaks and no public tantrums or gory photos. Not a word implied that I or anyone else at Marvelous Marley World had anything to do with the crime. A quick search on the Internet revealed much the same thing.
As I sipped my tea, I typed menu ideas for that dinner with Jack. Soon, I found myself going over the case, instead. I made a list of the names of the people we had spoken about at dinner, and then added Debbie Dinsmore, of all people, to that list. She seemed straightforward when she had calmed down enough to answer my questions. Still, what if there had been more to Purrsilla’s meltdown than a reaction to stumbling upon that horrible murder scene? I’m sure Jack had considered that, but I’d mention it to him.
Murder at Catmmando Mountain Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #1 (Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Series) Page 5