by J. J. Cook
“Let me out of here,” Mr. Carruthers demanded. “You are in so much trouble—all of you. You don’t know me, Detective, because I report directly to the commissioner.”
“That may be true, but it will only take a moment to verify. I’ll be right back.”
Miguel and I stood at the front of the car and watched her call in the information.
“Can he really arrest us if he’s a police officer?” I asked quietly.
He shrugged. “Theoretically, it’s possible. But I think we have a good case to support our actions. We’ll see what happens.”
Patti came back a few minutes later and opened the back door for Mr. Carruthers—apparently Officer Carruthers. “I’m sorry about the misunderstanding, Officer. But even if you’re undercover, your actions are irregular.”
Officer Carruthers climbed out of the backseat. Patti handed him his ID and gun. “If you won’t arrest them, Detective, I will.”
“What are you arresting them for?” she asked.
“Kidnapping, assault on an officer, assault with a deadly weapon. Possible involvement in the death of Jordan Phillips. And a few charges I haven’t fully formalized as yet.”
Patti smiled, but it was only a polite gesture. “From what they told me downtown, you’re new, Officer. I don’t know why they’ve had you out on an undercover assignment already, but you’ve botched it. We’re all going to headquarters to hash this out. No one is arresting anyone until after that. Do you want to ride with me?”
“I have my own vehicle parked around back.” Officer Carruthers gave us all a dirty look and then stalked off to his car.
“Patti, maybe you should check on Tiffany,” I suggested. “She sounded like she was crying, and she wouldn’t let me in. I don’t know if Carruthers did something to her or what.”
“Okay, Zoe. Let’s do that. Officer Carruthers is legit. I don’t understand why he’s out here yet, but I’m sure he’ll meet us at headquarters, if nothing else so he can rub our noses in it.”
We went back up to the apartment door. I stepped aside so Patti could ring the bell. Tiffany answered, and Patti told her who she was.
“Are you all right, Miss Bryant? Do you need assistance?”
Tiffany sniffled. “No. I’m fine. Are you the new duty officer?”
Patti looked at me and then answered, “I’m not here to take over your security, Miss Bryant, but I’d feel a lot better if you’d buzz me in.”
The buzzer sounded, and I pushed open the inside door. Miguel had waited by the car, but I wanted to go upstairs with Patti.
“I’m not taking you up there, Zoe. I don’t know what’s going on yet, and I don’t want to make it any worse if what I think is happening is really happening. Just wait by the car with Miguel, please.”
“All right.”
“She didn’t want your help, did she?” Miguel asked when I went to stand by him.
“Nope. I think Officer Carruthers is the real deal and we’re about to get our butts whipped, as Grandma Chase used to say. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
He put his arm around me. “If that’s the case, we’ll handle it. It’s definitely not routine.”
A few minutes later, Patti came back downstairs with a thunderous frown on her face. “I don’t know how you manage it, Zoe, but you’ve done it again.”
THIRTY-THREE
We waited impatiently at police headquarters as Patti and Officer Carruthers disappeared into an office with two other men in suits. I kept glancing at the big clock on the wall as time went slowly toward dinner at the Biscuit Bowl.
What was I going to do? If there was no food by six, I’d have to close the food truck. The new PR woman wasn’t as strict as Tiffany, but there was no way to fake having food.
I got on the phone with Uncle Saul and told him my dilemma.
“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll get Ollie, and we’ll take care of it.”
“We need ice and Cokes, too,” I reminded him. “I’m so sorry to put this on you. I’m afraid Miguel is stuck here, too. I’m sure Ollie won’t mind cooking, but don’t let him over spice the food. You’re probably better at making biscuits. You know my recipe.”
He laughed. “I should. I was the first one you tested it on, and I think the basic recipe came from Grandma Chase, right?”
“Yes. I’ve added my own ingredients, but you know about those.”
“Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. We’ll have the Biscuit Bowl up and running by six. You just get out of whatever mess you’re in with the police.”
“Thank you. I’m so glad you’re here.”
I pressed end call on the phone and looked at the clock again. It was four thirty. I hoped there was enough time to get everything set up. If not, I only had myself to blame.
We waited until a little after five before another officer came to get us. He led us through a maze of desks and cubicles until we reached a large conference room.
“Looks like whatever is going on has been settled between Patti and Carruthers,” Miguel observed. “They’re both in there.”
“What does a lawyer do who needs a lawyer?”
“He has a good friend who’s also a lawyer.” He squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”
The officer opened the door for us into the conference room and told us to take a seat. Patti nodded as we sat by her. Officer Carruthers stared at us as though we were wanted criminals.
I was surprised when Commissioner Sloane entered the room with another man and woman. They all sat at the big table. The officer who’d shown us into the room closed the door and stood in front of it.
“Well, this is a fine mess we’re in.” Commissioner Sloane cleared his throat and frowned at me. “I believe you’re responsible for this, Miss Chase. What part of stay out of it didn’t you understand? Because of you, my daughter’s safety may be jeopardized.”
Miguel held my hand under the table, but he didn’t sit idly by as the commissioner talked trash about me. “I’m sorry, Commissioner Sloane, but I fail to see how Miss Chase has endangered anyone’s life. Perhaps you’d like to explain.”
The commissioner rolled his eyes. “Great! Who let a lawyer into the conversation?”
“Apologies, sir,” Patti said. “But if Zoe knows what’s going on, so do all of her friends and family.”
I started to object. What was wrong with sharing things with friends and family, anyway? Miguel squeezed my hand again and almost imperceptibly shook his head.
“So all my machinations have been for nothing.” Commissioner Sloane let his hands fall on the table with a thud.
“Maybe you should explain,” Miguel suggested.
“I was hoping to get away from this until we found the killer.” Commissioner Sloane shook his head. “I guess this is it.”
He went on to explain that they’d received a death threat against him and Tiffany before the masquerade ball. “We believe Jordan Phillips heard about this threat somehow and was following up on it. That’s all the information we currently have. The investigation has led us to believe that Phillips was killed in pursuit of the story. After that event, the killer seemed to give up, perhaps fearing he’d be caught.”
That explained a lot for me. I knew Jordan wasn’t suicidal. What a relief this would be for his grandfather and his father.
“I’ve been keeping the whole thing under wraps,” the commissioner went on. “I was hoping the killer would try again. I wanted him to use me as a target, but then we received a death threat against Tiffany. I wanted everything to stay quiet as far as the media is concerned, so I used a retired officer to keep an eye on her.”
He nodded toward Officer Carruthers, who smiled like the Cheshire cat. “Exactly,” he said.
“But if he was guarding Tiffany,” I asked, “why was he posing as an obnoxious health inspector?�
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“Because we thought you, Miss Chase, or someone with you could be the killer. We’ve kept a close eye on you since the masquerade.”
“Did that include using Bennett Phillips to pose as the ghost of Old Slac?” I wondered.
Commissioner Sloane’s vision went from the woman on his right to the man on his left. Both of them shook their heads and went back to searching through documents in front of them.
“No. I can only assume Mr. Phillips also believed you were part of understanding what happened to Jordan, Miss Chase,” the commissioner explained.
“And what about my father being attacked at the bar? Was that part of this, too?”
Again, the looks passed between the three people at the other end of the table. This time, the woman whispered something to Commissioner Sloane.
“I’ve been advised that the police have investigated the attack on you father. There seems to be no correlation between the events. As you know, we sometimes encounter late-night brawls during carnival.”
I didn’t agree with him, but I didn’t say so. I needed to keep the subject in focus—what was going to happen to me and Miguel?
“What now?” Miguel asked him.
Commissioner Sloane shrugged. “We have to replace Officer Carruthers and find somewhere else for my daughter to stay until this is over. I hope I can rely on your discretion not to share this information with family and friends. Right now, a second threat against me is the best way for us to have the killer reveal himself.”
“What about your belief that Miss Chase is somehow involved in Jordan’s death?” Miguel asked.
The woman seated beside the commissioner glanced up. “We have no evidence that shows any participation on Miss Chase’s part in this terrible tragedy.”
Now that my name was cleared and it didn’t look as though they were going to arrest me and Miguel, I had another question. “What about Dylan Medlin?”
“Who?” Commissioner Sloane asked.
The woman beside him whispered something, and he nodded.
“Oh yes. The other reporter at the Mobile Times who died. Is that right?”
“Yes. Was he killed as part of the conspiracy? Because when I spoke with him before his death, he claimed to know who the person was that was threatening you and Tiffany. I tried to get Detective Latoure quickly enough, but we found him dead in his apartment.”
Commissioner Sloane’s frown deepened. He looked at his advisors again. Both of them shrugged. “Come on now. This food truck driver knows more about this than we do?”
“If I may,” Patti intervened, “I was with Zoe after she found Mr. Medlin’s body at his apartment. I didn’t have a chance to question him. The information he gave her was sketchy. I filed a report on the incident. I guess it didn’t make it to your desk, sir.”
“What exactly did he tell you, Miss Chase?”
“Dylan said he’d overheard a conversation at the newspaper office that made him think someone was going to try to kill you. He told Jordan because Dylan wasn’t allowed to do anything but the garden feature for the paper. He thought if he shared a byline with Jordan it would help his career. But he didn’t go into any other details.” Commissioner Sloane drummed his fingers on the highly polished wood table. “I can’t believe no one thought this was relevant. Why didn’t I receive this report?”
The man at his side got up and left the room—maybe to find the report. I couldn’t be sure.
“We’ll look into this, Miss Chase.” Commissioner Sloane focused on Patti. “Was this other reporter also shot, Detective Latoure?”
“No, sir. He appeared to have hanged himself. His body is at the morgue now awaiting autopsy.”
“Get me those results,” he barked at the woman who sat beside him. “Do I have to do everything myself? Maybe I should hire Miss Chase to get results.”
I knew that was rhetorical. He didn’t really want to hire me, and I certainly didn’t want to work for him.
“Needless to say, Miss Chase, you have to stay away from this—no matter what else happens. I hope that’s understood. I don’t want to hear from Officer Carruthers’s replacement that you’ve been snooping around again.”
“I don’t really feel like I’ve been snooping,” I countered. “All I’ve been trying to do is keep my food truck going. Bits and pieces keep coming to me.”
He nodded. “I know all about Chef Art and Tucker Phillips. I’m sure if you tell them you can’t be involved with this any further, they’ll understand.”
“I believe a little gratitude is in order as well,” Miguel said. “Miss Chase has brought several important matters to the police in this investigation. I wouldn’t say she’s been snooping so much as doing your job.”
Commissioner Sloane accepted the criticism. “I do appreciate your help, Miss Chase. All the citizens of this city should be as well-informed as you.”
“Thanks.” I was ready to leave.
The commissioner and his assistant left first, followed by Officer Carruthers as he tried to get the commissioner’s attention.
Patti smiled at me. “That worked out okay. You were lucky. So was I. Don’t get involved again.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “And I won’t tell anyone what was said here, although you hurt my feelings the way you said I’m a gossip or something.”
“I’m sorry. Don’t be upset. I was really just telling him the way it is. You’re not required to keep your mouth shut around your friends. Don’t worry about it.”
Miguel shook her hand and thanked her.
“I hope to grab a promotion out of this,” she confided. “Maybe with going over Dylan’s stuff again, I can find more information. See you two later.”
As Miguel and I were walking back to the car, I wondered, “Why did they think I might be involved in Jordan’s murder? Was it just because I found his body?”
“I’m sure it was a combination of that and your name popping up all the time in the investigation. I have a feeling Officer Caruthers kept them up-to-date on everything you did.”
“You’re probably right.” I looked at the clock on the dash of the Mercedes. There was only forty-five minutes until the Biscuit Bowl had to be ready to serve dinner. I called Uncle Saul and told him we were leaving police headquarters.
“Good deal,” he said. “You two stop and get the ice and Cokes. Ollie and I will meet you at the Biscuit Bowl. Everything okay?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine. I’ll explain it all when I see you.”
When I was off the phone, Miguel frowned. “But you aren’t going to tell him everything, right? You promised Commissioner Sloane you’d keep it quiet.”
“Who are Uncle Saul, Ollie, and Delia going to tell? I won’t say anything to Chef Art or Tucker. That’s what I was talking about.”
“I don’t think that’s what he meant, Zoe.”
“That’s how I interpreted it, Miguel. You know. They should know, too.”
He sighed but didn’t say anything else about it. We went to the store to get Cokes and ice. We almost made it to the municipal parking lot without getting behind any of the celebrations until we hit a small unplanned parade.
The people in the parade—not more than twenty of them—carried banners from the Mobile Garden Club. Some were dressed like trees with flowering limbs. Some carried azalea branches and were covered with flowers. There were several wagons pulling children who carried small flowers they used as throws for people on the street.
“That’s really pretty,” I remarked as we waited for them to pass. “It makes a lot more sense than some of the parades.”
“How are you doing on flyers?” Miguel asked.
“I’m not sure. I’ll take a look when we get there. Thanks for reminding me.”
We found a place to park near the food trucks and got everything out of the trunk. Uncle Saul
and Ollie had put the food away. Delia was absent, but Uncle Saul said she would be back soon.
“What’s for supper?” I asked before I went to check on her.
Ollie got a devilish expression on his face. “I took the last of the chicken out of the freezer and made Brunswick stew. Try some.”
He put some of the stew on a spoon and stuck it in my mouth. It felt as though there was a four-alarm fire in my tongue. “Uncle Saul—you were supposed to keep Ollie away from the hot stuff.”
The two men exchanged glances, and both of them grinned.
“I was the one who put the spices in,” he said. “I can’t believe you think that’s too spicy, Zoe girl. You’re getting bland.”
I took exception to that remark, but I waited for a better time to argue the point. “What about the sweet?”
“We made a big batch of blueberry trifle with the blueberries we found in the freezer,” Ollie said. “And no spices in that.”
The two men did a high five. I realized that I couldn’t complain. They’d saved me from being kicked out of the rally. I was grateful. “Thanks so much.”
“I hope you have something sufficiently lurid in exchange to tell us.” Uncle Saul rubbed his hands together.
“It’s pretty good.” I glanced out the customer window and saw Miguel setting up the cooler outside. “I might have to wait until Miguel leaves to tell you. You’ll understand why when you hear it. I’m going to check on Crème Brûlée. I know he can be a handful.”
I found my cat and Delia by one of the park benches. He was rolling on his back hissing at her and slapping at her with his paws.
“You silly cat,” she said. “You may not have another chance to get out until midnight. You need some exercise.”
Crème Brûlée didn’t care.
“Thanks for trying to help with him.” I took the leash from her.
“I’m glad to see you. This cat is so stubborn.”
“I know. I’ve spoiled him.” I picked him up. She laughed. “I guess Ollie and Saul are set up. It’s almost supper time.”
“Yep. We’re good here if you want to take off. Tomorrow is Lundi Gras. It’s almost over. Have you heard from your sister?”