Shredding the Evidence (A Cookbook Nook Mystery 9)

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  The sky was a pale blue with wisps of orange and yellow, thanks to the setting sun. There wasn’t a hint of a breeze.

  “Lola, the rooftop is packed already,” I said. “Can it hold this much weight?”

  There were at least fifty people in attendance so far. Most were hovering around the cooking stations closest to the ocean side of the restaurant. For the food or the view? Hard to tell.

  Lola smirked. “Do you think I’d let you up here if it couldn’t?” Before buying the diner, Lola had served as a full-time lawyer. A brilliant mind, she knew liability and every other kind of law, but ultimately she’d needed a change and had gone into the restaurant business, her second passion. “Don’t worry. We won’t cave in. Go. Be with my daughter. She’s in a buoyant mood.” Lola nudged me.

  Bailey was standing next to Tito near the bar that was situated on the side of the roof near the boulevard. My pal radiated calm in a turquoise dress and matching shawl. Tito, in white shirt tucked into jeans, looked relaxed for the first time in a week. Each was holding a glass of white wine.

  “Jenna!” Bailey called to me. “We hired Tina for the night. Come, celebrate.”

  My aunt said, “I’m going to chat with Jake and Z.Z. Have fun.”

  I strolled to Bailey and Tito and flagged down a waitress who was passing hors d’oeuvres. “Over here. Starving.”

  The waitress held out a tray of mini whitefish tacos. “Ahoy!” she said. “Don’t miss the crabmeat morsels by Chef Phil. They’re going fast. The cilantro adds just the right yum.”

  Chef Phil hailed from Carmel-by-the-Sea, down the coast. I hadn’t yet dined at his restaurant, but if Rhett and I planned a trip south, it would be at the top of my list.

  I took a fish taco and downed it in one bite. “These are fabulous. Could you bring me a glass of white wine?”

  “It’s self-serve,” the waitress said.

  As she moved on, my father, looking a tad more upscale than Tito—he’d thrown a linen blazer over his white shirt and jeans—strolled to me and pecked me on the cheek. “Daughter.”

  “Father.”

  “Did you have a good day off?”

  I eyed Bailey, who squinted in Tito’s direction. My guess? She hadn’t told her husband about our visit to Alexa’s house or the fact that Alexa was a suspect in Kylie’s murder. I wouldn’t spring that on my father right at this minute.

  “I did,” I said. “Bailey, Brianna, and I spent a delicious few moments at Azure Park.”

  My pal nodded. “The waffles were out of this world.”

  Dad said, “Make sure you tell Lola what a hit this soiree is. She has been fretting about it for a month.” He squeezed my shoulder and raised the glass he was holding as he headed in Lola’s direction. She was chatting with Z.Z. and Jake. “About our chess game, Jake,” I heard my father say.

  “So, Bailey . . .” I said. She and Tito were staring toward the boulevard instead of the ocean. “What’s caught your eye?”

  Tito shrugged. “Your Wellness. Actually, the Boldine Building, but you know what I mean.”

  The lights were off in the building, but a spotlight illuminated the front of the building as well as its rooftop.

  “You’re remembering the crime scene, aren’t you, my love?” Bailey asked.

  Tito grimaced. “I can’t wrap my mind around what happened. Why was Kylie there? Had she gone in to wait for me, as Alexa implied? Or had she gone to chat with Alexa? The killer must have followed her. If we could figure out Kylie’s intention, we might be able to drum up the culprit.”

  Bailey squeezed his forearm. “You’re not pursuing this story, sweetheart.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  “There are other reporters who can. You stay clear.”

  “Eugene mentioned Kylie had been acting strangely lately. Not only did she argue with me in public”—Tito took a sip of his wine—“but it turns out she had taken on a few other reporters in recent weeks. She nearly had a knock-down, drag-out fight with Priscilla.”

  “Priscilla?” I asked.

  “The crossword puzzle editor.”

  I presumed that was the woman in the crossword puzzle T-shirt who had almost plowed into me last Wednesday. I recalled seeing her name attributed to the Food Bowl–themed crossword I’d worked on this morning.

  “What did Kylie argue with Priscilla about?” I asked.

  “Apparently, Priscilla had canceled numerous running dates, and Kylie was giving her guff.” Tito struck a haughty Kylie-like pose. ‘“If Priscilla wasn’t serious . . . ’ ‘If Priscilla wasn’t up for more than the occasional jog . . .’”

  Bailey said, “She could stick it where the moon don’t shine.”

  “Exactly.” Tito nabbed a fried shrimp from a passing waiter.

  “Is Priscilla a person of interest?” I asked. Maybe she had decided Kylie’s overbearing personality should be silenced.

  Tito shook his head. “Nah. She’s out of town. At a crossword convention in Los Angeles. She left Thursday afternoon. One hundred percent confirmed.”

  Bailey elbowed her husband. “Must eat.”

  Tito said, “Let me stake out a table, then we’ll make the rounds.” He kissed her softly on the forehead and went in search.

  I stood staring at the rooftop of the Boldine Building. “I gather you didn’t tell your husband about our going to Alexa’s house?”

  “No. I didn’t feel the need—”

  “What are you two gazing at?” a woman asked.

  Cinnamon appeared on my left clad in a long-sleeved sweater and jeans. Her belly had a slight pooch. Finally. She took a sip from a glass of sparkling water and followed our gaze. “The Boldines canceled Alexa Tinsdale’s lease,” she said.

  “Really? Alexa didn’t mention—” Bailey jammed her lips together.

  Cinnamon shot her a look. “When didn’t she mention that to you, Bailey?” There was a bite to her tone. She focused on me. “Jenna, tell me you two didn’t intervene.”

  “I didn’t. We didn’t. Okay, we did, but not in the way you mean.” I was blathering. I hated when I did that. Cinnamon was my friend, but she was also the law. I liked to follow the rules most of the time. “We were concerned about Alexa, thinking how rough it must be for her, losing her best friend and possibly losing the business she’d built up over the past decade.”

  “We’d noticed the studio was closed earlier,” Bailey said, “so we went to Alexa’s house to check on her. She wasn’t there, but her mother and father asked us in.” She peeked at me to confirm. “They are so nice. They offered us tea and showed us lots of old yearbook pictures of Alexa and Kylie.”

  “A walk down Memory Lane,” I added.

  “Soon, Alexa showed up—she’d been working out—and she tried to shake off this one photograph . . .” Bailey wiggled a finger. “Not in a bad way . . . but . . .” She cleared her throat and glanced again at me, to bail her out.

  “The photo was of Kylie as homecoming queen,” I offered. “Posing with Bunny.”

  “Bunny?” Cinnamon raised an eyebrow.

  “A boy. Funny Bunny was his nickname,” I said. “He used to be Alexa’s boyfriend, but then he dumped her when he became a vegan, and, well, he must have been voted homecoming king, so he was posing with Kylie. And Alexa sort of—” I stopped myself.

  Stop blathering. Get it in gear, Jenna.

  “Anyway,” Bailey said, “during the conversation, Alexa said you, the police, suspected her of the murder. Is that true? I can’t imagine—”

  “We would like not to,” Cinnamon said, “but her alibi is weak, and her fingerprints are everywhere.”

  “Of course they are,” Bailey said. “It’s her studio.”

  “Not so,” I countered. “I heard the technician say the reformer had been wiped down. Plus, none of Kylie’s hair had been found at the studio.”

  Cinnamon took another sip of water.

  “Alexa said you met with the private client she’d met that morning,” I went on, “a
nd the woman confirmed Alexa had attended the appointment. Alexa also said she showed you the punctured tire that had delayed her. It was in her trunk.”

  “True, but there’s a time frame where . . .” Cinnamon studied her fingernails.

  Mentally, I filled in what she’d omitted: a time frame where Alexa, if she weren’t fixing her tire, could have come back to the studio.

  I said, “Alexa’s parents are going to seek the advice of an attorney.”

  “They probably should.” Cinnamon scanned the crowd. Hoping to spot an ally? An escape? Bailey and I weren’t grilling her, but she clearly did not want to be having this chat with us.

  “The family is torn up over losing Kylie,” I added.

  “Mm-hm,” Cinnamon mumbled guardedly.

  I said, “Since Kylie’s parents are dead, I think the Tinsdales will be putting on the memorial.”

  “They’ve mentioned they would,” Cinnamon allowed. “Alexa will probably take the lead on that.”

  “Well then.” I spread my arms. “How could you suspect her if she’s willing to honor her friend with—”

  Cinnamon shot me a stink-eye.

  I shifted feet. “I’ve got another question for you.”

  “I don’t have an answer,” Cinnamon quipped. “Unless it’s about how you might balance better on your skates.”

  “You’re a laugh riot.”

  A waitress moved toward our group. “Fried Asian kebab anyone? Gluten-free. It’s been marinated in a tamari-based sauce.”

  We all took one. Two pieces of juicy tuna on a stick interspersed with mushroom slices and green onions. Fabulous.

  When I finished mine, I said to Cinnamon, “Have your guys figured out what was printed on the shredded paper at the crime scene?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m assuming more articles?”

  Cinnamon nibbled on her tuna, remaining as silent as a monk.

  “I didn’t touch any of it,” I said—I hadn’t; I’d used a tissue—“but I’d guess it was multimedia. Some photographic, some heavy bond paper, like the kind used for correspondence.”

  Cinnamon’s nose flared.

  “Did whatever it was include images of Kylie?” I asked.

  “Stop, Jenna!” Cinnamon snapped. “Are you deaf? I’m not telling you anything more. Period.”

  My cheeks flamed with heat.

  “Did Midge Martin talk to you, Chief?” Bailey cut in.

  Cinnamon regarded her with outright contempt.

  I put a hand on my pal’s arm, but Bailey pressed on. “Jenna and I talked to Midge earlier. She has a strong motive to have wanted Kylie dead, but she has a solid alibi, so in case she’s on your radar, we suggested that she contact you—”

  “That’s it. Bailey, no investigating. Do you hear me?” Cinnamon aimed her kebab at my pal. “And you, Jenna”—she jutted the stick at me—“rein her in.”

  “We weren’t investigating,” Bailey said. “We went to talk to her after we met with Principal Baker—”

  “Why were you talking to Principal Baker?” Cinnamon snapped.

  Bailey recoiled. Stammering, she said, “We’d heard a rumor about Kylie giving Midge’s daughter Marigold a hard time. Principal Baker confirmed that Kylie had written scathing articles about Marigold. She added that because of the abuse, Marigold now has an eating disorder, so we thought Midge might have held a grudge against Kylie—”

  “Oof.” Cinnamon flinched and listed to the right.

  I steadied her. “Are you okay? You’re ashen.”

  Her eyelids fluttered. “I’m feeling a little under the weather. I’m going home.”

  “Want me to take you?” I asked.

  “I’m not a child. As for you two . . .” Cinnamon straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “We, the police, have got this. Tito is innocent. Move on, ladies. Good night.” She pivoted and strode toward the exit, stopping briefly to say something to Lola.

  As Cinnamon neared the stairs leading to the restaurant below, she peered over her shoulder at me. The message she sent was clear: Tow the line.

  Rhett passed her and mouthed a greeting. Cinnamon waved to him but didn’t say a word, which was very unlike her, proving she was ticked off at me and under the weather. A lethal combination.

  “Hey, beauty.” Rhett strode to me and bussed my cheek. “What’s with the frown?”

  “I’m concerned about Cinnamon.”

  “She seemed okay to me. You, on the other hand, look like you could use a glass of wine,” he said. “I’ll get it. Chardonnay?”

  “Yes, please.” I continued to stare toward the staircase. If only I knew what was on that shredded paper, maybe I could help Cinnamon piece the puzzle together.

  Eugene and Audrey Tinsdale emerged at the top of the stairs. Eugene had dressed casually in denim; Audrey, sedately in a simple dark blue sheath. Perhaps she thought wearing a colorful outfit would be inappropriate now that her daughter was considered a suspect in her friend’s murder. Alexa trailed her parents. In a sleek black jumpsuit, she appeared glum and pale. She moved behind them, toying with her necklace as if it were a lifeline, chin down, not making eye contact with anyone. So much for her motto: Be brave, be bold.

  Eugene whispered something in his wife’s ear and strolled across the rooftop to Tito. He clapped him on the shoulder. Tito smiled and they shook hands.

  Audrey and Alexa remained huddled together, not moving toward either the food or beverage stations. I beckoned them. Looking relieved to have a destination, they strolled toward me.

  “Were you able to meet with an attorney?” I asked.

  “Yes. We’ll see how that goes.” Alexa glanced past me and said, “I’ll miss working there, Mom.”

  “I know, sweetheart. Location, location.” Audrey draped an arm over her daughter’s shoulder.

  “I put my heart and soul into Your Wellness.” Alexa’s voice caught.

  “Your business is intact. You’ll get all your equipment back. All the hardware, too. You’ll find a new space and start anew.” Audrey kissed her daughter’s forehead. “New beginnings are vital for creativity.”

  “I’m not a creative person,” Alexa protested.

  “You are in your soul. Let’s join your father.” Audrey steered Alexa toward Eugene.

  “Alexa, hold on,” I said.

  She turned back.

  “Is there any other way into your building other than the front door and side exits?” I asked.

  She peered at the sky, deliberating, and returned her gaze to me. “I don’t think so. The restaurants at either end have a kitchen door, but those lead specifically to the kitchens and not into any other buildings. Why?”

  “I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out how the killer slipped in unseen.”

  Alexa shot a hand toward the building. “There were no security cameras at the time. Anyone could have gone through the front, if they’d timed it right.”

  “You’re probably correct.” Bailey and I had been able to enter, thanks to the courteous deliveryman.

  Audrey nudged her daughter. “Let’s go.”

  As they shuffled away, my heart ached for them. I remembered being a suspect in a murder. Until I was exonerated, people had treated me differently. But to have to start over completely, too? Alexa would need grit.

  “Here you go.” Rhett handed me a glass of wine.

  “My hero.” I took a sip. “How much time do you have?”

  “The whole night.”

  My mouth fell open. “Are you kidding? Really?”

  Rhett grinned from ear to ear. “Okay, an hour, but that feels like the whole night.” He ran a knuckle along my jaw.

  I shivered with desire. “I’ll relish every minute.”

  “Listen, I had a very serious talk with the investors this morning. I told them I would quit if we didn’t get this ironed out fast, and they promised they would by the weekend. They found a new executive chef, a real gem who worked at a high-end bistro in Seattle. She�
�s already in place. And they pressed the new manager to move up her timetable and show up by the weekend or they’d find someone else.” Rhett wrapped his arm around me and gave me a squeeze. “Aren’t you proud of me?”

  “Couldn’t be prouder.” I kissed him firmly on the lips. “Thank you.”

  “No, my love, thank you. You are my guiding light. I want a life, not a career. I’m excited about returning to the restaurant business, but if it ever begins to rule me, I’m out and headed back to Bait and Switch.” Rhett lifted my chin with a fingertip. “You are my life.”

  A lovely chill ran down my spine. “I’m hungry.”

  “Me, too.”

  We feasted on stir-fried shrimp with shredded green onions, blackened halibut, and crispy pan-fried sole with a honey-sriracha sauce. Fabulous.

  When we could eat no more, Rhett said, “Let’s take a walk.”

  I was more than happy to oblige.

  We left the party, crossed the street, and strolled toward the center of town. We didn’t walk as far as Intime. Rhett was the one who suggested we avoid it by turning right and heading south along Ocean Avenue, the road that ran parallel to Buena Vista Boulevard and ended at Azure Park.

  There was virtually no traffic. There were other, more popular arteries off Buena Vista leading to the park. Plus, Ocean Avenue featured mostly rental homes, half of which abutted the alley and backsides of the commercial buildings on Buena Vista.

  A breeze kicked up and I started to sneeze. Rhett pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket. “Here. When you’re done, give it back.”

  “I’ll take it home and wash it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The restaurant will be more than honored to launder it.” Rhett whisked it open and handed it to me.

  The flicking motion reminded me of Tito’s bandanna-banana magic trick. Voilà. How had he disposed of the banana? Had there been a pocket on the inside of his cape?

  As I dabbed my nose, I caught sight of the backside of the mini San Francisco complex. All eight units were unlit, including the Boldine Building, but spotlights illuminated the back façade as they had the front façade. I noticed security cameras had been installed on the rear of the building, too. Even though there were no exit doors, there were windows. I gazed up at the windows for Your Wellness.