News and Nachos

by Carly Winter

  "I bet that really upset Mr. Hill."

  "I can't imagine,” Debbie replied with a long sigh. “I wake up at night in cold sweats with nightmares about my place being shut down for health violations."

  "Really?'

  "Oh, yes. It's high on the list of worries for those who own eating establishments. Cleanliness is truly next to godliness in this business."

  "How would Jake plant the rat and the rest of it in the restaurant?"

  Debbie shrugged. "Off the top of my head, I would guess he would have had to break in with all that stuff, set it up, then call the inspectors."

  Martinez's Mexican Fiesta was open every day. I just assumed the Little River restaurant would have been as well.

  "How would he do that?" I asked. "Did the restaurant close a few days during the week?"

  "I don't know. Maybe Darryl closed on Mondays or something like that. A lot of restaurants have a day off around here."

  "I'm going to ask Sophia about this," I said, rising from the table. "See what she has to say."

  "Why?" Debbie asked, also standing. "It's not like it has anything to do with Jake's death. If it's true, it'll prove that Jake's an even bigger jerk than we thought, but that's about it."

  "Unless Darryl Hill got so angry at what Jake had done, he had him killed."

  Debbie arched an eyebrow and nodded. "There's that theory. It doesn't hold a lot of weight, but it's a possibility."

  "We'll see. I know we're grasping at straws here, but you never know. Each day they close in on Carla being arrested. I have to do everything in my power to make sure that doesn't happen. I have to at least try to give them other suspects."

  "Carla sure isn't worried about it."

  "I know, and it's making me insane. It's like I care about her freedom more than she does. She tells me that she's innocent, so they won't arrest her."

  Debbie rolled her eyes. "Like you said, Tilly, the sheriff only cares that he has someone in custody before the election. If he can make the narrative fit, he'll use it."

  "I know."

  "Good luck, hon," she said, giving me a hug. "Let me know what you turn up."

  10

  I hurried back to the office and sighed with relief when I found it empty. My deadline for the article on Jake was looming, and Harold would wonder where it was. I decided I'd work on it as soon as I called Sophia, but then I realized I didn't have her phone number, only her address. I didn't have time to drive back to Cedarville to see her, so I took the shortest route in getting the digits and called Carla.

  Thankfully, she picked up.

  "I need Sophia's number," I said. "I need to verify something with her."

  Carla hesitated for a moment before answering. "I'm not sure I should give it to you, Tilly."

  "Why not?"

  "Because if she wanted you to have it, she would have handed it over."

  "I never asked for it," I replied as I tossed my pen on the desk in frustration. "This has to do with you possibly not going to jail."

  "I'm sorry, but that's confidential work stuff. It's not me giving you the number to the local dry cleaner. It's her personal number."

  Gritting my teeth, I tried keep the fury out of my voice. "Can you please break this one damn rule, Carla? I'm trying to save your hide."

  "I'm sorry, Tilly," she said with a loud sigh. "I can't. Rules are in place for a reason."

  Oh, how I wanted to rattle some common sense into her. "That's fine. You can help me. I was wondering about a problem between Jake and Darryl Hill."

  "The guy who owned the place in Little River?"

  "Yes."

  "What about him?"

  I told her the story Debbie had shared.

  "A rat? No way. That's just disgusting."

  Disappointment railed through me as I rubbed my forehead. "Are you sure?"

  "Well, no. But that's just... I don't even know the word for it. Setting up a rival like that? It's cold."

  Carla wasn't certain, and that left room for a possibility, but I could see I wouldn't be getting anywhere with her. In fact, my friend was on my very last nerve. "Can you have Sophia call me?"

  "Sure. She should be in later today."

  I hung up and began my Google search for Darryl Hill. If I didn't find anything on my own, I'd go down to City Hall and look at the licensing records. His restaurant had only been open a few months before it closed, but he had to have a license to operate it.

  My internet search became a trip down a rabbit hole, and I finally located him on Facebook. He'd had a page set up for the restaurant. As I scrolled through, I took great interest in the comments.

  José was a constant contributor, and he wasn't pleasant, to put it mildly.

  Under a picture of fajitas, he wrote, Is that a pile of worms?

  When Darryl announced Taco Tuesday with pictures of some ground beef tacos, José wrote, Are you sure you use beef? That looks like rat.

  There was more.

  This place is unsanitary.

  I'd rather take a bullet than eat here.

  And under Darryl's last post saying that he was closing down: Adios, Amigo.

  I didn't understand why Darryl had kept the insults up on his page. Why hadn't he deleted them? It didn't make any sense.

  My phone rang and startled me out of my reverie. I took a few deep breaths before answering Sophia's call.

  "Hi, Sophia," I said. "Thanks for getting back to me."

  "Sure. What's up?"

  I once again told the story I'd heard about the rat in Darryl's restaurant. To my surprise, Sophia broke out into peals of laughter.

  "Yeah, that was us."

  "So... your dad planted the rat?"

  "My dad and José did it, but it was my idea."

  I stared at my computer screen, at a complete loss for words and utterly shocked at the pride in her voice. How could an eighteen-year-old girl be so cruel?

  Because she had such a jerk for a father. The more I learned about the family, the less sorry I was Jake had lost his life.

  And why was she admitting this? Probably because she was eighteen, immature, and thought the whole situation was terribly amusing.

  "Did Darryl Hill know you guys did it?"

  "Oh, he suspected it. We also trolled him all over social media."

  "Why?"

  "Because our business was going down," Sophia said. "People were trying out the new place, and we couldn't have that."

  I closed my eyes and bit my bottom lip. So much for friendly competition. "Did Darryl ever say anything to your dad about the rat?"

  "Sure he did. He came in here one night all lit up and angrier than a cornered possum."

  "What did he say? Did they have a fight?"

  "Darryl said my dad better watch his back because he'd get his revenge."

  "Did he mention what that revenge looked like?"

  "Yes. He said he'd kill him."

  After I hung up with Sophia, my stomach rolled from disgust at the Martinez’s Mexican Fiesta crew, as well as stress over my job. I felt like I was being pulled in fifty different directions. On one hand, I had a job to do, but I didn't seem to be able to sit down and concentrate on the articles. The urge to head to Little River and speak with Darryl Hill tugged at me. Why hadn't he called the police when the harassment started? Why had he left the horrible comment José had posted on his social media? I needed answers, but then again, if he was a killer, I shouldn't be tangling with him. Yet, I had to meet him to get a feel for him. Was he capable of murder?

  I had four good suspects to hand over to the police. They had to investigate Sophia and José, the farmer, Jerry, and now Darryl Hill. They thought they had Carla set up perfectly, but they didn't. She may have been the last one to see Jake and fought with him before she left, but she had no reason to kill him. At least none that she shared with me, but then again, she hadn't been very forthcoming with any information this whole time I'd been trying to help her avoid going to prison for a crime she didn’t comm
it.

  At least, I hoped she hadn’t.

  I realized I'd been so surprised by Sophia's admission, I never asked why she didn't call the police when Darryl threatened Jake. When I glanced at my phone, I saw that I had her number from our previous conversation. She picked up right away when I pressed the dial button.

  "Did you tell the police about Darryl's threat?"

  "No, we didn't," she replied. "If we had, we'd have had to admit what we'd done, so I just let it go. Besides, my dad would never let him in his house or the restaurant. They're saying my dad was poisoned, which meant someone had to give it to him."

  "You don't think it's a possibility that he snuck into your house or the restaurant?"

  "Everything was alarmed. There's just no way in without us knowing."

  "Okay, thanks, Sophia. I appreciate your help."

  As I set down my phone, I recalled when I'd gone into Martinez's Mexican Restaurant with Carla that morning we'd found Jake. No alarm had sounded and Carla hadn't mentioned it. Perhaps it was a silent alarm, so she didn't think anything of it? Or maybe she knew the alarm wasn't going to go off because when she'd killed Jake, she'd left and didn't turn it on.

  "She's innocent," I said to my empty office. I couldn't allow myself to travel down that path of thinking that she was anything else.

  But honestly, when I looked at the facts, I understood why the police had their sights set on her. Her actions made her look guilty, as well as the fact she’d changed her story of what had happened that night.

  I sighed and pulled out my laptop. First things first. I had to get my articles written.

  An hour later, I had one completed about Jake Martinez and his history, and I began one on the restaurant. It made me sick to write such niceties when I knew the truth about the murdered man and his family. Yet, I couldn't print any of the horrible things they'd done unless I could corroborate it with Darryl Hill. But then again, did I want to drag a dead man through the mud for a story? Did any of it really matter at this point? I may not like Sophia, but to write on the deceitful practices of her father didn't sit well with me. He was dead, and somewhere in that cold heart of hers, I had to assume she was hurting.

  Harold entered the building like his butt had caught on fire, and I practically jumped out of my chair.

  "Tilly! I'm glad you're here," he said as he dumped his computer bag on his desk. "You'll never guess where I've been."

  A satisfied smile crept over his face as he crossed his arms over his chest. The cat who ate the canary or the old-school, hard-hitting editor who’d just landed a whale-sized story.

  "I can't imagine, Harold," I said, sitting back in my chair and preparing for the big reveal. "Tell me. I know it's something good."

  "I've been having lunch with Doctor Wheeler."

  "And?"

  "And he's expecting the results from toxicology soon. We'll know exactly what poison killed Jake Martinez. He's going to call us first."

  "Even before he calls Sophia?" I said, arching my brows. "I would think he'd notify the family before the paper."

  "Of course, of course," Harold said as he walked around his desk and sat down. "My point being, we don't have to wait to hear it from the police."

  "Ah, I see," I replied. What he hadn't said was that I'd pretty much burned the fragile bridge between us and the sheriff's office. They most likely wouldn't be very cooperative.

  I didn't know anything about poisons, so I was curious to see what Doctor Wheeler had to say.

  "This article is good," Harold said as he stared at his computer. "Nice work, Tilly. I was beginning to worry that you'd lost your touch."

  "No, just really busy," I said.

  "With what? You aren't trying to hunt down a killer, are you?"

  "Of course not," I said with a smile. "That would be dangerous and stupid."

  "I'm glad to hear you say that. Sometimes I worry that you get yourself in over your head."

  "Sometimes, I do," I replied and returned my focus to my computer.

  For now, I had to think about my next step. Did I call Byron and tell him what I know, or go visit Darryl Hill, a potential murderer, in Little River?

  11

  "How do you figure you have four suspects?" Debbie asked.

  We sat at my kitchen table putting together a jigsaw puzzle while rain poured outside. It was a picture of old soda bottles and we weren't making much progress. I had too much on my mind to concentrate.

  "Sophia and José... they're crazier than a three-headed pig," I said as I picked up a puzzle piece, then set it back down.

  Debbie shook her head and clucked her tongue. "They definitely seem to be a few wires short upstairs."

  "If I'm going with the theory that they killed Jake, I don't know whether to think that they did it separately or together."

  "I think they did it together," Debbie said as she snapped a piece into place. "Crazy loves crazy, Tilly."

  "I know. I can't help but wonder about Darryl Hill. If it had been my restaurant, I'd be mad enough to kill."

  "You and me both."

  "But I feel like I've got to talk to him about the situation. I'm getting one side."

  "Yes, but Sophia admitted to their guilt. She, José, and Jake were thick as thieves in that one."

  "I know. I just don't understand why she didn't tell Sheriff Connor about the threat. The man said he'd kill Jake."

  "Because she would have to admit her own wrongdoing at the time, as well as her father's and José's. It was easier to let it slide. Besides, from what you've told me, she doesn't seem too broken up about her father's death anyway. In fact, it solved a problem for her and paved the way for smooth sailing. She's got her boyfriend and she's got her restaurant. I think she did it."

  "Do you really think an eighteen-year-old girl is capable of killing her father?" I asked.

  "A black, ugly heart of evil,” Debbie replied. “Besides, she has to have heard that the Sheriff believes Carla committed the murder, and Sophia still keeps her around. That's weird to me. She obviously doesn't think Carla did it, and that's because she knows in her soul who killed him."

  “I don’t think the sheriff has let anyone know his suspicions,” I said. “The only reason I’m aware is because Byron let it slip when he took my statement.”

  “Okay, whatever,” Debbie said, then took a sip of tea. “But trust me, that girl is wicked.”

  "I don't know, Debbie," I said, picking up another piece of the puzzle and twirling it around in my fingers. "What about the farmer? Jerry? He definitely could have done it."

  "The guy Jake owed money to?"

  "Yes."

  "He's a good possibility as well, especially after what he said. Did he mean that he hoped he'd get paid by Sophia if Jake was dead, or that he thought Sophia would be a better business partner than Jake had been?"

  "I just feel like I'm missing something," I said with a sigh.

  "Well, remember... we aren't supposed to be solving this murder. Just give the police another place to hang their hat besides on Carla."

  I groaned when my doorbell rang. Even though I had been the one to invite Byron over, I knew he'd be upset with me about the topic of conversation.

  "Thanks again for being here for this," I said to Debbie, then stood.

  "Sure, hon. I'm always here for you."

  I'd invited Debbie over to act as a barrier between Byron and me. I hoped it would prevent any conversation about our non-existent relationship as well as my budding romance with Derek.

  When I opened the door, Byron's gaze settled on me for a second, then went over my shoulder as if he searched for something... or someone.

  "What's up, Tilly?"

  "I was hoping you and I could talk for a few minutes."

  "Sure."

  I led him into the kitchen and his shoulders sagged when he saw Debbie. Perhaps he thought he'd find someone else? Like Derek?

  "Hey, Debbie," he said with a grin, obviously pleased to see her.

 
; "Byron. How's your day been?"

  "Fine," he said as he sat down at the table. "What can I do for you ladies?"

  I took my chair and cleared my throat. "I need to talk to you about Jake Martinez's death."

  Byron rolled his eyes. "Tilly, I told you to stay out of it."

  "I know, and I am. Truly. I just want you to listen for a minute."

  He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me. "Fine. Go ahead."

  "Well, I think there are some other people who should be investigated besides Carla."

  "You've said this before."

  "I know, but please just listen to what I've discovered."

  He stared intently at me as I laid out my suspects. Each had far more reason to kill Jake than Carla.

  "You really think a young girl is going to have the stomach to kill her own father?" he asked. "You're out of your mind."

  "No, she's not," Debbie interjected. "It's a possibility, and it needs to be looked into, Byron."

  "Carla has motive," he countered, holding up his hand. He pushed one finger down. "She and Jake argued before she left that night." Another finger went down. "She lied about that." Another one. "Poisoning is typically a woman's weapon. Men usually kill with more force. A bullet. A knife. Carla said that—"

  "Sharon Rupert killed Mr. York with a knife," I interrupted. "So I get your theory, but it was just proved that women are perfectly capable of killing up close and personal with force."

  Byron glared at me once again, his lips pursed together, but at least he'd put his hand back in his lap.

  "So you think Carla just happened to have some poison in her purse?" I asked.

  "It's a possibility," Byron said with a shrug. "She’d decided she'd either get the raise, or Jake would die."

  "Wouldn't that be premeditated murder?" I asked.

  "Yes."

  "Have you searched her home? Her purse?"

  "I can't comment on that, Tilly."

  With a grunt, I slammed my hand down on the table in frustration, which only made my finger I'd smashed in the door hurt worse.

  "All we're saying is that these other people have to be looked at before Carla is arrested," Debbie said. "We know she didn't do it."