by Josh Lanyon
The safe vault at the Orca’s Slough branch of the Island Federal Bank was small, well lit, and exactly like every other bank vault I’d ever seen. After we retrieved the box, the bank manager escorted us to a private room. I looked away as Evelyn opened the box, feeling that the contents were none of my business. But then Evelyn just upended the thing, spilling out a dozen or more old photos as well as numerous corroded antique coins. A piece of tarnished silver skidded across the table and fell to the floor, and I snatched it up. It turned out to be a battered and dirty cuff link that looked like it had been buried for years.
“Dorian was always hoping he’d uncover some piece of treasure,” Evelyn commented. “When he was a little boy, I used to tease him for being such a magpie. He’d grab anything shiny.”
I remembered Alfred lamenting his lost lighter and nodded.
Many of the assorted pictures looked similar to the photo Dorian had intended to give to Mac. The Lindgren twins peered at me from most of them, no longer boys but now men. I recognized Troy by his dress shirts and suits. Charlie, who’d drowned before I even came to town, seemed tired and worn down despite his crisp white chef’s coat.
“Why would Dorian have so many pictures of Troy and Charlie?” I wondered aloud.
“Those would have been his grandmother’s. She was a Lindgren before she joined our family.” Evelyn picked up a photo and considered the group of people gathered around a boat. Then she tossed the photo down. “She never once spoke to me.”
Evelyn fished a white business envelope from the pile.
“Here is what we came for.” Evelyn tore the sealed flap open and pulled out a yellow piece of paper. I recognized it at once as a produce invoice, the kind that pulls out of a three-part carbonless copy. It detailed the contents of a vegetable delivery that had been received a couple of days before Dorian was killed. “Recognize this?”
I nodded. “Sam tore up the whole office looking for this the other night. What’s written on the back?”
“Don’t know. Didn’t bring my glasses.” Evelyn handed it over to me. The writing was neat, feminine, and definitely not Dorian’s jittery script.
“For and in consideration of the three-hundred dollars,” I began to read aloud, “the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, Samantha Eider does hereby sell and convey to Dorian Gamble all the assets, property rights, and interests of the Eelgrass Bistro—” I stopped speaking and skimmed to the end. “It’s a bill of sale.”
Evelyn’s eyebrows shot up. “Is it signed?”
“Yes, by Sam and Dorian and witnessed by Lionel and some other guy I’ve never heard of—Adam Vukoja. So I guess…Sam had a reason to kill Dorian after all.” At first my shock was so complete, I couldn’t feel anything. I expected rage—hurt—but all I felt was a deep paroxysm of contempt curling like an anaconda through my guts. She had sold out. And for what amounted to pocket change. That couldn’t be right, could it?
“Vukoja’s one of Dorian’s coworkers from his other line of business.” Evelyn’s disapproving expression spoke volumes. “Some Croatian person from Portland. Dorian’s main supplier, I think. Do you think Sam was, you know, too high to remember?”
“The handwriting looks like she’s sober. And why would she have been looking for a paper she couldn’t remember? Once we get out of here, I’ll call Lionel and ask him if he remembers signing this.” As I glanced at my phone, I saw a text from Sam telling me I was half an hour late for our meeting with Troy.
“Damn it,” I muttered.
It’s not like me to forget a major commitment—even one I didn’t want to meet. But since the murder, it was like my mind had come unwound and with it my ability to prioritize had gone. But when your life is all just pissing on one dumpster fire after another, that’s what happens.
“Bad news?” Evelyn said.
“I forgot about an appointment. Sam and Troy are waiting for me at the restaurant. Sam was arranging for us to sell Eelgrass—”
“What?” Surprise bordering on loss showed in Evelyn’s face. “Why would you do that now?”
“I don’t want to,” I said hastily. “And with this receipt, I’m not even sure that she can. But it’s obvious that I need to talk to Sam and straighten this whole thing out.”
“Seems pretty clear what she’s doing: selling up. Twice. Doubling her money,” Evelyn said.
“For three hundred bucks?” I shook my head. “Her share of Eelgrass is worth way more than that.” I didn’t want to speak ill of Dorian to Evelyn, knowing that she cared for him, but I was pretty certain of how this bill of sale came about.
“You know, this Vukoja guy may have coerced Sam into signing this.” I turned to see Evelyn gazing at me with blatant skepticism. She probably realized Dorian would have had to be in on it as well. Neither of us wanted to say as much, though. I could see Evelyn weighing the possibility of just locking the receipt away again.
“You need to take this to the police,” I told her. “It could be a big part of why someone—maybe Mr. Vukoja—murdered Dorian.”
“On the way over here you said you thought he was killed for his supply,” Evelyn said, but I could tell she wasn’t putting up a real argument. She just didn’t want the sheriff to be right about Dorian playing a part in his own murder.
“Maybe Vukoja wanted both, and Dorian refused to give him what he wanted,” I said. “The thing is that if Vukoja did play any part in Dorian’s murder, then this receipt is the only physical evidence pointing to his involvement. Mac needs to know about it. If he doesn’t, then how is he gonna have any chance of getting justice for Dorian?”
“You think any of them in that flatfoot family care about Dorian?”
“I think Mac cares about justice and the law. And I think he cares about you, Evelyn.”
“Yeah…maybe.” Evelyn absently poked at the cuff link I’d picked up earlier.
“I tell you what. I’ll text Mac directly to say you’re bringing something important to him. I could ask him to meet you outside, or better yet, I’ll ask him to come here and meet with you. That way you won’t have to go to the police station or even look at Sheriff Mackenzie.”
I held out the receipt and Evelyn took it, but she didn’t look happy.
“You’ll call him?” Evelyn asked. “Just him?”
“Yes. Just Mac.”
“Okay, then,” Evelyn decided. “Go on and phone the fuzz.”
I pulled out my phone and nearly dropped it when it buzzed in my hand. Mac’s now very familiar number flashed up as my ringtone of “Hey Good Lookin’” wondered what I had cookin’.
“Hey,” I answered. “I was literally just about to call you.”
I wasn’t sure if the brief silence that followed was alarmed or dismayed, but I quickly realized the last thing Mac probably wanted was me calling him at work after we’d…gone on a date? Or was it a one-night stand? I didn’t want it to be, but at the same time…
“I don’t mean calling you personally,” I said quickly. “I mean I was about to call the police, and you’re the only one I know and also the only one Evelyn likes—”
“Mr. Allison, we’d like you to come in to the police station at your very soonest convenience. In fact, if you give me your present location, I can come and pick you up.” Mac’s formality made me feel certain that either his uncle or his cousin—maybe both—were listening to him.
“I’m with Evelyn at the bank. Why do you want me at the police station?” I had a terrible feeling I knew why.
“We have a few questions we’re hoping you could answer. Routine questions.”
“Routine questions that I can’t answer now over the phone?”
Mac was silent for so long that I thought maybe we’d been disconnected. Then he whispered, “A witness is claiming he saw you break into the Beehive.”
“What witness?”
“I’m not allowed to say,” Mac replied. “And please don’t go around town trying to hunt him down because—”
“I
thought I had an alibi!” My voice echoed through the room.
“You do, but this is a very credible witness—”
“More credible than my alibi of being pinned naked next to you all night in Seattle?” I demanded.
Evelyn raised her brows at me.
“Look, Drew, you aren’t being arrested.” Mac sounded like he was trying to calm a rabid dog with soft tones and meaningless words. “But I would really like you to come in, for your own safety, if nothing else.”
“But I’m not under arrest.”
“No…”
The way his voice trailed off did not fill me with assurance. How shoddy of an alibi had he given me?
“Well, I was going to feel kind of shitty about not telling you what I was doing here at the bank with Evelyn, but now I hope it really pisses you off,” I announced.
“What? Why would it—”
“We just opened up her safety-deposit box. It seems we forgot to tell you that the last time Dorian visited her, he asked her to put some things of his away.”
“Forgot?” Mac muttered something else under his breath. “So you thought that instead of telling me, you needed to take it upon yourself to go check it out?”
“I would have hated to waste police time,” I snapped. Next to me Evelyn chuckled.
“You know, it’s for the police to decide whether our time is being wasted—” He cut himself off, and I heard his cousin’s drowsy voice mumble something. Mac assured him that he had everything under control. His voice was again formal and clipped when he spoke to me. “So you believe you may have discovered something important?”
“Yes, and Evelyn is willing to share it with you. But she won’t talk to the sheriff and she’s not stepping foot in the police station.”
“All right.” Mac sounded resigned. “I will be there in a few minutes. We’ll work this out—”
I hung up without telling him I wouldn’t be there when he arrived.
***
I paused outside the bank to call Lionel and confirm that he had been the one to sign the bill of sale.
“Yeah, chief, I did sign something. I didn’t read it, though. Am I in trouble?” he asked.
“No, not at all. I just wanted to know—was Sam sober when she signed it?”
“Oh yeah. Dead sober. And crying. I got out of there as fast as I could, for real,” Lionel said. “Anyway, I’ll see you at five, right?”
“Right.” Even to me, my voice sounded strange.
“Do I still have a job?” His plaintive tone jabbed me right in the heart. “You haven’t been arrested again, have you?”
“I haven’t been arrested at all, and yes, you still have a job,” I replied firmly. Who knew how long I’d retain my liberty or if Lionel would be working for me after today, but I tried to reassure myself that Troy wanted to keep the restaurant going. “I’ll see you later,” I said and disconnected.
When I came within sight of the Eelgrass, I stopped walking and took several breaths till my heart stopped racing. Better to go into the situation late but calm, than to race in shouting angry accusations in front of Troy.
I decided to let myself in the back door and walk through my kitchen, like I normally would have done. There was something relieving about the familiarity of stepping into the dark, quiet back room. It was my ritual moment of calm before I faced the challenges of a day filled with rush orders, sharp objects, and grease burns.
Through the dim shadows of the kitchen I saw Sam standing in the dining room. I guessed the dapper suit with his back to me was Troy.
They’d gone ahead and started arguing without me.
“I cannot take this!” Sam’s shout echoed around the dining room. “I know you’re trying to help me out. And I know I screwed everything up, but the place is worth more than that.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have that kind of money just lying around.” Troy’s lugubrious whine rolled back toward me with so much force that I practically had to sidestep it.
Sam crossed her arms over her chest and curled down as if in agony.
“Drew’s not going to accept less than twenty thousand,” she said. “That’s what he put into this place. He deserves to get his money back.”
“I can’t pay what I don’t have,” Troy responded. “If you’re worried about Drew, then maybe you could sell your half for less.”
I’ll admit, I was torn. After so long, it felt good to hear Sam arguing in my defense. But only a dick would have allowed her to accept less than a fair deal for her half of Eelgrass. Not after she’d already been intimidated into signing it over for a pittance once.
So I took that opportunity to flip on the kitchen lights and crank the radio. Sam jumped, and Troy spun around to glower at me.
I strolled up to them and then walked behind the bar toward the espresso machine.
“Hey, guys, sorry I’m late. The ferry was delayed.”
“What ferry? Where did you go?” Sam’s surprise turned to bewilderment.
“Seattle,” I said. “I had a date. Do either of you want a coffee? I need about twenty shots, I think.”
“I’m fine.” Sam seated herself at the bar.
Troy took a seat next to Sam’s. “I’ll take a quad half-caff low-fat tall latte with extra foam.”
It took all my strength of will, but I smiled instead of rolling my eyes.
“Sure.” We didn’t have decaf, but he’d be long gone by the time he realized that. “So you’re no longer interested in entering our noble industry, Troy? I can’t say I blame you.”
“It’s not that I’m not interested; I’m just not made of money. I don’t know why you and Sam can’t seem to understand that.” Troy raked his fingers through his hair so dramatically that I could vividly imagine him spending hours perfecting the move in front of a mirror. “We all know this place isn’t going to make me anything. When Charlie had a restaurant here, it was a complete failure, and now nobody’s coming to this place either.”
“Well, that’s partially due to the fact that it hasn’t been open.” I shot Sam a meaningful glance, then returned to assembling Troy’s ridiculous beverage. “But also it’s not the tourist season. Your store hasn’t exactly been rocking the customers. No business on the island is booming this time of year. But to my thinking, that would make this the perfect time for you to learn the ropes.”
“What ropes?”
“Learning the recipes, for one thing. Or did you plan to hire a different chef?” As the espresso shots poured out, I pondered the correct vessel in which to build Troy’s monstrous latte. I settled on a paper to-go model. That way he could have a mountain of foam and I could get rid of him without giving up one of my cups…at least while they were still mine.
“Well, I wasn’t planning on using any of your recipes, Andrew.” Troy pulled a wry smile at the notion. “If I do buy the business and building from you, I’ll probably reopen it as something more commercial. Orca’s Slough needs a place like a chain but better. A great burger and a fancy cocktail. The people in this town can’t appreciate real cuisine. I told Charlie as much, years ago.”
“Poor Charlie.” Sam nodded and wrapped her arms around herself tighter as if feeling the chill of her cousin’s ghost passing over her.
“I’ve found that the people here are generally excited about quality food that’s prepared with real skill and care.” I handed Troy his drink without touching his hand and then tamped down the grounds for my own shot of espresso. “And it’s not like I don’t have a great burger on the menu.”
“Listen, I understand the position you two are in.” Troy sipped his drink, and I wondered how he could possibly think we would believe he understood our situation. “You’re obviously not going to last now that this horrible crime has occurred. No one is going to buy this business off you lock, stock, and barrel either, not with it sinking further and further into debt every day.”
“Maybe it would be better to just tear this whole place down,” Sam muttered.
<
br /> “It’s a historic building. We’re not allowed to tear it down,” I reminded her. “And we’re not sinking further and further into debt. We’ve been closed, but when we did open, the customers came.”
“That’s true.” Sam’s expression lightened a little. She offered a warm smile to Troy, which I didn’t feel he deserved. “We made good money. Drew’s recipes are popular—”
“Maybe before he was dragged away by the police, but now…” Troy trailed off.
“Oh, right.” Sam’s expression sank further.
I kept my face turned away, focusing on the shiny espresso machine. I wondered if this had always been Troy’s angle with other people. Feign interest in their well-being, using a front of concern, while constantly shooting down their every word.
What did Troy really plan to do with this space? He had no discernable interest in feeding the people of Orca’s Slough. An expansion for his clothing store maybe? The building alone was worth a cool two million. Never mind the restaurant equipment.
“Thirty thousand,” Troy said.
“Each?” Sam sounded painfully hopeful.
“Thirty total. That’s all I can offer. Take it or leave it.” Troy waved a dismissive hand.
“Then we’re going to have to leave it.” The words were out of my mouth before I even knew I was going to say them.
But I’d had enough. I turned to Sam, whose face showed a weird mix of alarm and amazement.
“Sam, things are rough right now, but we don’t have to put up with your asshole cousin jerking us around.” I glanced back to Troy, watching as his bland expression turned fully hateful. I drank it in, happy to have spited him. “No offence, Troy, but you’re a fucking idiot if you think you can pressure me into jumping at some lowball offer.”
“You won’t find anyone in this town who’ll give you better,” Troy thundered, his true inner bully finally showing himself.
“Even if that were true—and I don’t think for a second that it is—I’d rather let the bank seize this place and everything in it to sell at auction rather than sign it over to you. Now take your coffee and fuck off. I need to speak with Sam privately.”