by Carly Winter
"Oh, thanks," she said with a grin. "I just had them delivered a couple of days ago."
Huh. If my father had been murdered, the last thing I'd do is buy a new refrigerator, but people mourned in different ways. Perhaps Sophia went on a spending spree to attempt to relieve her pain like I'd dive into a box of cookies to alleviate mine.
"Well, I'm sorry about your father," I said. "Like I mentioned, I wanted to do a couple pieces for the paper on him and the restaurant."
"Sure. I understand."
"Can you tell me about your dad? Where he was born? How long did he have the restaurant?"
Sophia nodded and pursed her lips together before speaking. "He came from Mexico when he was a boy and moved to California. His parents were illegal when they crossed the border, but they paid their dues and got their citizenship. He met my mom down in Los Angeles. They married, had me, and then we moved here when I was ten."
I jotted everything down on my notepad, surprised she mentioned her mother. I hadn't heard Carla ever say anything about a Mrs. Martinez, but then again, the Martinezes weren't high on our list of people to discuss. "Where's your mom?"
"She died three years ago."
"Oh, my goodness! I'm so sorry to hear that, Sophia."
The girl shrugged as if it weren't any big deal to lose both parents within such a short period of time, but she said nothing further on that subject.
"Do you have any siblings?"
"No. It's just me."
"Tell me about your dad. Are the recipes made in the restaurant today from him? If so, where did he learn to cook?"
"He was the chef, until he hired José. My abuela, my grandma, grew her own spices and taught him how to use them. She used to say that everything that went on a plate needed to be fresh—the vegetables, the protein, the tortillas, and especially the spices. That's how you get the amazing flavor and why our restaurant is so popular."
"Where did your grandma learn to cook?"
"I'm not sure, but she was a chef in a Mexican restaurant in Los Angeles. She used to say my dad had a natural ability in the kitchen, and he liked to learn from her when he was growing up."
"And how long ago did he start the restaurant? Was it right when you moved here?"
Sophia nodded. "Yes."
"When did you begin working there?"
"The day I turned sixteen, dad had me waiting tables. Before that, I would help out in the kitchen, but not get paid."
"So he gave you a paycheck at sixteen?"
"Yes."
"Do you like working at the restaurant?"
I hoped so, because she now owned it, according to Carla.
"I do," she said as a smile spread over her face and her cheeks turned crimson. "Once I learn the bookkeeping and everything that Carla is teaching me, I'm really excited to run it."
Based on the way her cheeks flushed, Sophia wasn't excited about being in charge at the restaurant. I had a feeling it was José who put the sparkle in her eye.
"I assume you'll be keeping José around?" I ventured.
She furrowed her brow. "Of course, why?"
"I just saw the way he looked at you," I said with a shrug. "He likes you quite a bit. I assumed you would. He also makes some of the best food in the Tri-Town area."
Her blush deepened and I knew I had my opening.
"Did he and your dad get along?"
"They did," she said with a sigh. "I think my dad saw José as the son he always wished he had. Then they had an argument."
"They liked each other... and then they didn't?"
I knew the answer, but I wanted to see how much she'd tell.
"Not when my dad found out we were dating."
"Why not? I thought he liked José?"
"My dad said he wasn't good enough for me," she said. "But I'm eighteen and I decided who's good for me and who isn't. José is amazing and we're in love."
"He's quite a bit older than you," I noted. "That's probably why your dad didn't like him."
"Maybe. My dad could be a real jerk sometimes. I knew he didn't want to be in the kitchen anymore. He'd complained about it for years, and he'd been thrilled when he'd hired José because he had the same philosophies as my dad. Everything fresh. But when my dad found out we were dating, he became so rude to José, and José stayed because I asked him to. He'd do anything for me."
"Did José and your dad argue frequently?" I asked.
"My dad would push him with snide remarks, say things about the food he prepared that weren’t true... stuff like that. There's only so much a person can take before they blow their top. So, I guess the answer is, yes, they argued frequently, and it was all because my dad didn't want us to date."
"I'm sure that was incredibly stressful."
"It was," she said as she fiddled with her bun. "I'm sorry my dad is dead, but at the same time, it's kind of a relief, you know?"
I stared at her, stunned. Was she that cold, or was her relationship with him so damaged that his death had truly been a reprieve? Or perhaps with her mother dying three years prior, she'd learned to insulate herself from the pain?
"What about your relationship with your dad?" I asked. "Were you close?"
"Not in the past year or so. We were after my mother died, but he sort of just shut down. It was like everything was an irritation to him, especially me and my relationship with José."
"Did José and your father ever come to blows?"
"No. It got close a couple of times. Both he and José said things they didn't mean."
"Like what? Can you give me an example?"
She glanced around the room for a moment, then back at me. "I don't remember."
But she did. I could see it in her face. She was a horrible liar. The fighting went far beyond Jake making nasty remarks about José’s cooking.
"I thought you wanted to talk about the restaurant?" Sophia asked. "What does my relationship with José have to do with that?"
"Of course. I guess we got off track there for a minute. Tell me about your plans for the restaurant."
"Ugh. I don't know. Carla says Dad owed everyone money and we're going to have a hard time getting out of the hole. What I'd like to do is revamp the menu and put some of José's dishes on it. Right now it's all my father's recipes. I kind of want to make the restaurant my own, you know what I mean? Maybe add a taco truck so we can get more business than just the restaurant, especially during the lunchtime hours."
I nodded as I jotted down some notes, my thoughts spinning. Perhaps José and Sophia hadn't seen Jake's hatred of their relationship coming. If Jake had made their lives miserable enough, perhaps they had poisoned him. Without him around, Sophia was ready to take the restaurant in a different direction, and from the sound of her plans, José would be there with her every step of the way. They both won with Jake's loss.
Carla had said she’d heard José threaten to kill Jake, and there hadn’t been any reason for her to lie, unless she'd murdered him herself and needed to place blame somewhere else, which I didn't believe for a hot second.
"Has the sheriff mentioned any suspects to you?" I asked as nonchalantly as possible. I found it difficult to believe Sophia would keep employing Carla if she knew my friend was the focus of the investigation.
"No. Nothing. Have you heard anything about who may be responsible for killing my father?"
I shook my head and didn't meet her gaze. "Nope. I assume our good sheriff would come to you first."
"He hasn't said anything," she said with a shrug.
"Well, that's all the questions I have," I said as I stood. "Thank you so much for your time, Sophia. Again, I'm sorry for your loss."
As she walked me to the door and we said our goodbyes, I wondered about her and José. Could an eighteen-year-old girl be callous enough to kill her own father because he didn't like who she was dating? Could her boyfriend be frustrated enough to murder her father?
Two things were certain: it sure seemed like both of their lives were a lot easier w
ithout Jake, and I needed to talk to José... alone.
9
When I arrived home from Sophia's, I caught Tinker when she lunged at me and managed to wrestle her down. I really should have taken her to puppy school before she had grown into her full weight. Maybe she'd have some manners and be less of a challenge when she was excited.
"Let's go feed your chickens," I said as I patted her pretty brow. "How are they today?"
Tinker raced ahead of me as I rounded the house. I found her standing next to the chicken coop, wagging her tail.
I'd named the chickens Butter and Batter, but I didn't tell anyone. It was my own personal joke that may offend some people. I had no intention of buttering or battering either hen, but I gave myself a chuckle when I said hello to them.
Once I'd gathered their feeder, I took it to the spigot on the side of the house to rinse it out. I heard them clucking, and I could almost decipher what they said: Hurry up! The chickens and I had not bonded, but I kept them around because I liked the eggs and Tinker would be devastated if I got rid of her friends. If my dog was in love with the chickens, there was no way I would destroy that for her. Anything for my Tinker.
I went to the garage and retrieved their food. As I returned to the coop, I studied the planters that should have held some crops this past summer, but I'd been too busy to plant them. I love fresh vegetables, and promised myself I'd get around to it in the spring.
"Here you go, you vicious beasts," I said as I placed the feeder back into the pen. I watched them as they ate, acting like they hadn't had a scrap of food in days.
I headed back to the house and saw Derek coming my way. He waved and my heart fluttered while I waited for him on the porch.
"Hey, neighbor," he said. "I saw your truck drive by and I wanted to come say hello."
"I'm glad you did," I replied, taking a seat on the porch swing. "Did you have fun last night?"
He joined me and we sat shoulder to shoulder. "I did. I drank a couple of sodas and played a few rounds of pool but I would have rather been somewhere else."
"Like where?"
"I kept thinking about this really beautiful woman I know who finally let me kiss her. I wanted to spend time with her instead of at the bar. And perhaps steal another kiss."
A blush crawled over my cheeks as he grabbed my hand, giving it a quick squeeze.
"You're so sweet," I said, unable to meet his gaze. Would I ever get over feeling like a teenage girl around him?
"Tell me about your day, Tilly. What have you been up to?"
"Ugh. I went to see Sophia Martinez."
"What for?"
"Articles for the paper," I said with a sigh. "Harold has us in high gear again because of the murder. Instead of putting out editions a couple times a month, we're moving to once or twice a week until the murder is solved."
"That should keep you busy and from trying to find out who killed Jake."
I smiled and met his gaze. "It should."
"So tell me what Sophia said."
I reiterated our conversation. "The whole thing was weird, though. It was like she didn't care her father had died. She was already cleaning out his stuff. There were boxes everywhere. She didn't even look upset when we talked about his death. She'd even bought new kitchen appliances. Who does that when their parent dies?"
"People grieve in different ways. Maybe shopping makes her feel better."
"A definite possibility. It just seemed surreal to me."
We sat in silence for a bit, our feet moving in tandem to keep the swing going.
"Do you think she killed Jake?" Derek asked.
"I honestly don't know," I replied, shaking my head. "She wasn't all that upset about him dying. That, I'm sure of."
"A lot of people were talking about the murder at the bar last night."
"Really? What were they saying?"
"Mainly that Jake was not a good guy and there wouldn't be a lot of people missing him."
"What did he do?"
Derek shrugged. "He owed people money. Had some shady business dealings. The IRS has been interested in him for a while. Stuff like that."
"Even his own daughter says he wasn't very nice."
"If all that's true, why did Carla continue to work for him?" Derek asked.
"I have no idea. I've asked her and she said she doesn't want to go back to serving. She wants a management position."
Derek sighed and shook his head. "Well, if things get bad enough, she'll take what she can get."
"Now she's set on teaching Sophia the ropes so she can take over the restaurant."
"Hmm."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing."
"No, don't nothing me, Derek. What are you thinking?"
"I was just thinking that Sophia... well, perhaps she's like her father. She's just not a nice person."
The sun had begun to set and a thick chill hung in the air. I wouldn't be able to stay outside much longer.
"She seems nice enough," I replied. "She was sweet when we worked at the restaurant, and she was fine today."
"But you didn't like the fact that she was packing up her father's things and buying new appliances."
"No, that was cold. You have a point. Maybe she is like her father. The apple may not fall far from the tree."
I shivered and Derek put his arm around me. As I rested my head on his shoulder, I appreciated the warmth he offered.
"Do you want to have dinner together?" he asked.
"I was going to have a grilled cheese and some tomato soup. Do you want to join me?"
"I'd love to."
We made our way into the house and I busied myself in the kitchen.
"Let me help you," Derek said, and his offer cracked away at my defenses just a little bit more. My ex-husband liked me to wait on him, and me thinking I was being the excellent wife, I had. Derek, on the other hand, helped me with the sandwiches and stirred the soup.
"I've got warm tea or iced tea," I said as I stared into the refrigerator. "I need to go to the store."
"No worries. I'm fine with water."
In my effort to regain my confidence and lose weight, I'd also given up soda. I didn't miss it, but I never had any beverage options to offer guests.
I turned around to find him standing in the middle of the kitchen carrying a tray laden with our food. "Do you want to watch some television while we eat?" he asked with a grin.
Did this man's niceties ever end?
With a nod, I followed him into the living room.
The evening passed quickly, and before I knew it, nine o’clock had arrived. Derek gave me a soft kiss goodnight, then left for his own home.
After I shut the door, I leaned against it and sighed. My lips tingled where he'd kissed me and my heart fluttered in my chest.
Warmth spread throughout my body and I couldn't stop smiling.
Good grief. Was I falling in love?
The next morning, I stopped into Debbie's to see what she'd learned. It was always hard keeping up with her schedule beyond work because she went to bed so early to be able get up before the sun and bake her daily sweet offerings.
"Good morning, my friend," she said as I entered, wishing I'd worn a coat. "What's going on?"
I glanced at her customers crowding around their tables, and I was happy to see her so busy. A few people waved to me and I smiled as I approached the counter.
"How are you?" I took the cup of coffee Debbie handed me.
"Fine. Busy."
"You need to hire someone."
"I did. They quit."
We sat down at a table near the register. "Perhaps you're just hard to get along with."
Debbie nodded in agreement. "I'm certain I'm a terrible boss. I have a hard time allowing others to do the work."
"You're afraid they're going to mess everything up?"
"Yes. Apparently, I have trust issues."
"Apparently."
"Things have been quiet on the Jake Martinez
front," Debbie said, her gaze shifting all around the store. "No one knows much about him. The guy kind of kept to himself, but I did hear one interesting thing about him."
"What's that?"
"Remember that Mexican restaurant that opened in Little River, but then closed right away?"
"Sure."
"Rumor had it that Jake had something to do with it."
"Like what?"
The door chime rang and a couple of people walked in. I recognized Betty Frank from the Feed store. As she glanced over at me, I waved, but she gave me the side-eye and then ignored me. Last time I had shopped for chicken feed, she had one of her employees wait on me.
The woman wanted nothing to do with me. I had put her best friend in prison for murder, so I understood I wasn't high on her list of favorite people.
Debbie waited on everyone, then returned to the table. "What was I saying?"
"You were about to tell me how Jake had something to do with the Mexican restaurant closing in Little River."
"That's right. Linda works over in the City Hall and knows someone who works in the department that coordinates with the state Health Department. She told me yesterday that the reason the restaurant closed was because someone reported them for unhygienic practices. She couldn't verify it was Jake, but it makes sense."
I frowned. "She thinks Jake turned in his competitor?"
"Yes."
"And what were the unhygienic practices?"
Debbie leaned over the table after glancing around to make sure no one heard us. "They found a dead rat in the sink, as well as rodent feces all over the kitchen, including in the food."
"Eww," I said with a grimace. "That's disgusting."
"But the guy said his place had just been inspected, and it came back with an A+ grade. He thinks he was set up."
"What's his name?"
"Darryl Hill," Debbie replied.
"And he thinks Jake was responsible for the rat and everything else?"
"Yes. The health department shut him down fast."
"Interesting. I never heard about that."
"Darryl Hill also lived and worked in Little River. Although we're called the Tri-Towns, we do keep to our regions of the triangle. Besides, from what I understand, it happened really fast. Everyone was on to the next thing, and that's probably why we never knew the full story."