Cheddar Off Dead (3 page)

Parker's lip twitched.

“Anyway, he clicked out of that and started looking at text messages, and he was sort of complaining out loud and saying, ‘Unbelievable,' and stuff like that.”

“So he was upset by the text he had gotten.”

“Yes. And whoever texted him must be the person who shot him.”

“Why?”

“Because when the car pulled up he said, ‘I was just coming to you,' as if the text had summoned him. And that would explain why they took his phone.”

Parker thought about that. His eyes always seemed to glow when he was doing police work; I admired their blueness while pretending to look at my nails.

“And you're sure he didn't say a name, or anything that would indicate—”

“No, I don't think so. Anyway, when he came out of the school I went up to him—”

“Why was that? You said you didn't know him.”

“I know, but—first of all, I like Santa Claus as a general rule. I see him as a positive symbol of love and unity.”

Parker said nothing—just stared at me with those eyes.

“And secondly, I'd been feeling kind of sad, and I—I don't know, I just thought it would cheer me up to talk with Santa Claus, even if it was a guy in a suit at a grade school.”

“Okay,” said Parker. He typed a few words, which were probably “Lilah is weird.”

“You said you wanted to hear this.”

“Go on. What else did he say?”

“He was just—really put out. He said he didn't have time for whatever the person wanted, and now he was going to have to make a trip somewhere. He actually seemed concerned about that part. So he started heading toward the parking lot, and we ended up walking together. He asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and—anyway, he made some comment about starting over. He quoted Shakespeare. He said he had gotten himself a second chance, and that you
had to make your own destiny, not wait for some entity to grant it to you. Or something like that.”

Parker was typing away. “What kind of second chance? What was he talking about?”

“He was a stranger in a Santa suit. It wasn't like I was interrogating him about each comment he made. We just exchanged a few words, and then I turned away and went toward my car.”

“And it didn't make you turn around when you heard another car pull in? Weren't you curious to see who it was?”

“Well—no—because I was kind of deep in thought, and I don't know anyone at that school except Jenny, and she was inside. So I didn't really care. I just glanced at the car and saw that it was blue. I feel bad about it now, but when the car was leaving there was a glare on the windshield. If there hadn't been, I probably would have made eye contact with the person, but—”

Parker pushed aside his laptop and raked a hand through his dark hair, then beamed his blue eyes at me with laser intensity. “Lilah, if you had made eye contact, you would be dead. To be honest, I'm surprised the person didn't try to—eliminate you as a witness.”

“But I don't—I mean, they probably didn't see me, right? I was several cars away, and there was that glare on the windshield. If there was a glare for me, there was a glare for him, right? I didn't see anything inside, just a silhouette. One person.”

He stood up and grabbed my hand. “You look pale. Come here. Sit down. That hadn't crossed your mind? That they might have seen you?”

“No. It's been a weird day.” I sat on one of the stools; Parker took my coffee cup from the counter and handed it to me.

“Drink this. There you go. Look at me, Lilah.”

I looked up at his earnest face. “I'm too abrupt sometimes. I shouldn't have frightened you like that. Obviously you're in no danger now, because the danger is past.”

“And even if someone saw me, they wouldn't know how to find me.”

“Right—I just have one small concern. When the car passed you—did it stay there long enough for the driver to see your bumper sticker?”

I thought about it. Had the car hesitated for a moment before it tore out of the lot? Now it seemed to me that it had, but perhaps my brain was just making up that detail as a byproduct of fear.

“The Haven sticker? Why? Do you—oh, I see.” Whoever saw the sticker would know where I worked. So if someone had been in too much of a hurry then, the Haven sticker might have given them a heads-up about where to find me in the future. “I don't know. I don't know if they saw it.”

“I doubt it. You said everything happened very quickly. And whoever was driving would have been under a great deal of stress. They wouldn't have had time to notice small details.”

He didn't totally believe that, and neither did I, now that I thought about it. Whoever had murdered the Santa might have second thoughts about trying to find me before I could summon up whatever clues I might have. He or she had left in a hurry, but it didn't mean they wouldn't come back—especially because when I saw the glare of the sun
on the windshield, they might have seen
me
squinting into the car.

Parker sat down next to me and took a sip of his own coffee, then made a satisfied sound. “Still hot,” he said. Then he forked up some of the almond cake and made a little moaning sound. “God, your food is good.”

“Thanks.”

He ate the whole thing, and drank some more coffee, before he said, “I should go. There's a lot of work to be done now.”

“Okay.”

“Lilah?”

“Yes.”

“What did you tell Santa you wanted for Christmas?”

I considered lying, but then I decided, what the heck. Brad Whitefield had told me to gamble on myself, and he had also said that life was short. Moments later he had been proven right. “I said I wanted a second chance. That's why he was talking about it.”

He didn't pretend not to know what that meant. He nodded at me several times, and his eyes darted around while he thought that over. Then he looked at me and held my gaze. “Maybe I want a second chance, too.”

I shrugged. “It's probably too late.” I said it to tick him off, but a tiny smile escaped me, and Parker saw it with his eagle eyes. He smiled, too.

“But maybe it's not, Lilah.” He touched the tip of my nose and said, “Your nose is cold.”

I nodded. My nose stays cold all winter long.

“Can I come to talk to you, when this is over? About second chances?”

As always, his blue eyes had me half hypnotized. “I would like that.”

Then Parker was all business. “I'm going to need you to call someone—your brother, maybe, or your parents. Have someone stay here with you for a few days. Hopefully we'll get to the bottom of this before long.”

“Well, I mean—people have jobs. And I have a job. Oh no! I have to call work and tell them what happened.”

“I'll talk with them if you want. Explain what happened. But are you sure you should—”

“It's a brand-new job, and they need me. The holiday, you know.”

“Okay.” Parker looked troubled. “But I'm going to drive you there and pick you up until I know you have someone who can come here. We don't want to take any chances until we—” He stopped and walked to my refrigerator, where a newspaper clipping was held on with a magnet. “What's this?”

“Oh—it's just an article about a friend of mine. Angelo—you remember I said I knew him? He just got his own cable TV show. Just a local thing, but knowing Angelo, it will lead him on to superstardom. That was in the
Trib
about a week ago.”

Parker scowled. He knew, from our previous association, that I had once dated Angelo. “I remember that he was a suspect in a murder investigation.”

“Not really. We know who the real murderer was. Anyway, he sent me that, so I hung it up. He wants me to be proud of him, I guess.”

He stared some more at the article with its prominent
picture. It was a flattering shot: Angelo in a long black coat and a blue wool scarf, standing on the Clark Street Bridge; in the background boats could be seen chugging busily down the Chicago River. His black curls hung to his shoulders, and his dark eyes studied the camera with that special intensity of his. Women all over Chicago had probably fallen in love (and searched for him on Google). Parker looked as though he was about to say something else, but his phone rang, and he spoke tersely into it. Then he flipped it off and turned to me. “Let's go. I'll drop you at work, then I have to get back to the scene.”

I nodded and went into the kitchen. Parker and I both bundled up again in our winter gear, and he studied some ornaments on my little Christmas tree, pretending not to be peeved about Angelo. Then he said, “Where is this place? Is it that little storefront right next to the Village Hall?”

“Yes. Haven of Pine Haven.”

“Fine.”

We were both gloomy in the car. In Parker's case, it was probably because he had to solve another murder. In mine, it was because (a) I couldn't forget the sight of a prone Santa Claus in the polluted snow and (b) Parker had not spoken again about second chances, nor did he seem particularly fond of me at the moment. What else was new?

Parker flipped on the radio, clearly uncomfortable with our silence. Gotye was singing “Somebody That I Used To Know.” He was right at the part where the lover feels rejected and mistreated, and his pained voice echoed through the car. Parker flipped it off again with a flick of his wrist. “I thought there might be Christmas carols,” he said, not looking at me.
The song lingered in my head, though, because my brain holds on to music, absorbs it, and replays it, even when I'm sleeping.

I was scowling by the time we arrived, and I didn't look at Parker when I said, “Thanks for the ride.” I opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The snow had stopped falling, but the ground was covered with about three inches of white accumulation.

“Be careful,” Parker said. “It's slippery.”

I stole a glance over my shoulder and saw that Parker had gotten out of the car.

“What's going on?”

“I need to speak with your employer.”

Not two months ago I had been in a similar situation with Parker; we had feared, due to a bizarre set of circumstances, that someone would poison me. Now it was happening again, I realized: outside forces were controlling my life, dictating my movements in the name of safety. Feeling like a prisoner in shackles, I followed Parker through the snow.

P
arker got there first and opened the door; he held it for me, and I stalked past, stomping my boots on Esther's entry rug.

“Oh, Lilah—you're a bit late, aren't you?” asked Esther, her white hair disheveled and her face red from the ovens. She was toiling over a tray of bacon-wrapped scallops; we were doing a home wedding reception that evening.

Her husband, Jim, gray bearded and blue jeaned, worked beside her, his expression serene as he split figs with an expert hand, then began filling them with ricotta and drizzling honey on top. The more tense Esther got when under pressure, the more Jim seemed to grow calm. He was a good influence on us all when the schedule grew hectic.

Around the corner on the same big work space were Gabby and Nicole, two culinary students who worked for
Esther part-time as interns. Their dark heads were bent over what Esther called mushroom fantasies—crisp little toast wedges covered in a mushroom-celery mix that the girls had sautéed in butter and sherry. The room smelled wonderful.

Before I could say anything to Esther, Parker raised a hand. “I'm Jay Parker of the Pine Haven Police Department. I wonder if I could speak to you, Mrs. Reynolds, and you, Mr. Reynolds? Perhaps in a different room?”

Everyone stopped dicing, chopping, and stuffing and looked up at us for a pregnant moment. Then Esther said, “What's wrong? Is it one of my children?”

I suppose that would be every mother's fear, always.

“Oh, Esther,
no
!” I cried. “It's just—I had a little—incident today, and—” To my utter embarrassment, I started to cry again.

Esther's eyes widened in horror. Parker said, “In another room?”

The four of us traipsed through a door and into Esther and Jim's private apartment, leaving poor Gabby and Nicole gaping after us. They probably went straight to their phones to run a Google search on the police blotter for Pine Haven. We sat on Esther's living room couches, and Parker filled them in succinctly on the day: my delivery, the ill-fated Santa, my unfortunate presence at a crime scene, the potential danger of my situation.

“I'm not saying that Lilah is definitely in danger. We'll know more after we gather some additional information, and I need to get back to that.” Parker looked at his watch with something near desperation. “But I wondered if there was any way that you could keep Lilah to inside work today.
I realize she probably helps you with deliveries or serving at parties, but perhaps she could take up more tasks here, and—”

“You can't be serious?” I said, gaping at him.

Jim spoke in his calm voice. “Lilah, he's being wise. We can get Gabby and Nicole to help us out at the reception, and you can man the phones here and start tomorrow's soufflés. It won't affect the timing of things in the least.”

Esther didn't seem to have heard anything after the word
murder
. Now she came and sat beside me, taking my hands. “Oh, Lilah. You must have been so afraid.”

I hugged her. Esther was always brisk and efficient, but she was quite maternal when the situation called for it.

“I have to go. I'll be back for Lilah tonight,” Parker said.

“I can get my family to pick me up, Parker.”

He stood; his keys were in his hand. “If you make other arrangements, call me. Otherwise I'll be here at the end of your shift, which will be—?”

“Today? Around eight o'clock,” Jim said.

“All right.” Parker nodded at me. “Good-bye.” And with one quick blue glance around the room, he took three long strides and was out the door.

“A man of few words,” said Jim.

I said nothing.

“He's the one, isn't he?” Esther asked me. “The one who broke your heart?”

I tried to make light of it. “There's more than one person who answers that description, actually.”

“It must have been so hard, having to be around him after such a tense situation.”

“It was okay. He was decent.” I still had my arms wrapped around Esther; I peeled them away and said, “I need to get to work.”

Jim stood. “In a minute, Lilah. You've been invaluable around here for the last month and a half, and you've been overworking yourself between this job and your little sideline. Sit there and take some deep breaths. Then you come out and work when you're ready. And in the meantime, you can decide what you want to do for a ride. You're always welcome to stay here, if you wish.”

“Thanks, Jim. Really, thanks.” He strolled over and patted my head, then went out to complete his cheese-stuffed figs.

Esther took one of my hands and squeezed it. “Be honest with me. Do you feel up to working now?”

I nodded. “I desperately need to get my mind on something else. Give me some tasks, and I'll be much better.”

“Sweetie. This is crazy! And not even two months after that whole incident at the church bingo hall!”

I winced, and Esther looked sorry. “I need to be quiet,” she said.

“No, it's okay. It wasn't someone I knew—just a man who was playing Santa at the school where a friend of mine, Jenny, teaches. That's who I was bringing the food for; they had a big Christmas event today. She said the guy was a local actor named Brad Whitefield.”

Esther stiffened. “Brad Whitefield. Why do I know that name?”

I shrugged.

“What age is he? Around thirty?”

“Probably. I mean, he had the Santa beard and hat, so I couldn't really tell, but he looked youngish.”

“Oh dear. I'm going to call Mark. I think he might have known this man.”

Mark was Esther and Jim's oldest child; he worked for a computer firm in the city. Sometimes he came by and mooched food and flirted with Gabby and Nicole and me; I liked him, although not romantically.

“Call him tomorrow, maybe. I don't want to get you off schedule.”

Now Esther was looking at her watch. “I think we're okay. I think we're just fine. Now you do as Jim said, and rest here.”

She got up, but then bent and kissed my forehead. “You and the two girls out there—you're like daughters to me, you know that?”

“Thanks, Esther. That's sweet.”

She left, looking a bit shaken, and I leaned my head back on the couch and closed my eyes in their nice, quiet retreat of a living room. One of their cats, Penelope, leaped up and leaned against me as if in solidarity. She purred so loudly that it made me laugh; she squinted at me with her little white face, and it calmed me. I scratched her head for a while, then closed my eyes. I was on the verge of falling asleep when I shook myself and took out my cell phone. I didn't want to upset my mother and father—I had endured enough emotional scenes for one day. Their reaction could wait until tomorrow. Instead I called my brother, Cameron, whom I knew I could count on not to cry in my ear.

“Hello?” he said, sounding distracted. Cam was always
distracted, and usually by his ridiculously beautiful girlfriend, Serafina.

“Cam. It's me.”

“Hey, kid. We were just talking about you. We thought—”

“Cam, listen. There's been—an incident.”

“What? With Mom or Dad?”

“No, no. I seem to have witnessed another murder.”

“You have
got
to be kidding me!” Cam yelled.

“No. I wish I was.”

I could hear Serafina questioning him in rapid-fire Italian; Cam turned away from the phone to yell some Italian back at her. Cam taught Italian as a foreign language at Loyola University. Serafina was an Italian in America, studying chemistry at the University of Chicago.

Finally he was back. “So what's going on? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I'm fine. But—Detective Parker—”

I held the phone away from my ear as Cam let loose with a stream of invective. Then he said, “Why do you have to deal with that guy? Tell them you want to talk to someone else.”

“That's not how it works, Cam.” I felt a little glow at my older brother's protectiveness. He had been very angry at Parker back when the latter walked out on the fragile little something that we had.

“Fine. Then I'll deal with him. I don't want you talking to that guy.”

“Anyway, will you let me finish?”

“What, then?”

“He wants me to stay with other people. Not to be alone. He wants to make sure I won't be . . . targeted.”

“I have déjà vu. You just went through this in October, when you had to stay at Mom and Dad's.”

“I know—it's crazy. It's going to ruin Christmas.”

“No, it won't,
Sorellina
.” Cam always broke into Italian when he said tender things. “We'll be fine.”

“Well, anyway. Unless you want Parker coming to get me at the end of my shift—”

“I do
not
.”

“Could you guys come and get me, and could I stay at your place for a couple of days?”

“Of course. Serafina would have insisted, anyway. And we have a new landlord, so you can bring your big, goofy dog, too.”

“Oh, good. I was going to ask Mom and Dad to take him, but that would have involved explaining to them . . .”

“That can wait. What time should we be there?”

I told him, and he said that I should relax. Typical Cam. To him, everything could be remedied with a few deep breaths.

Still, I drew in a deep breath before I went into the kitchen, where four busy people stole secret glances at me as I readied my bowls and ingredients for the Gruyère and chive soufflés we were making for a family Christmas.

I began whisking eggs, and Esther pointed at me. “Once those are in the oven, Lilah, could you be an angel and chop the walnuts for the salad?”

“Of course. And I'll head to the location early tomorrow so I can help prep the salads in their kitchen.”

Esther and Jim exchanged a glance. “We'll see,” Jim said. “What might work better is if you also prep the dessert batter tonight; then we can just bake them tomorrow in their
oven. You can stay where you are, and we'll call you if we need you. Will you be at your parents' house?”

“No—I'll be at my brother's in the city.”

“See—that would be a big pain to get back here in time, especially with traffic on the Eisenhower. Just set up those desserts, and Gabby and Nicole can bake them on-site.”

The desserts were also soufflés, which were to be baked in little individual ramekins and served at the table with a crème anglaise. This was one of Haven's specialties, and customers asked for it by name.

“If you're sure, Jim. . . .”

“I'm sure. This will be great. And the girls have already agreed to help tomorrow, right, kids?”

Gabby and Nicole, who were normally caught up in gossiping with one another, had summoned up sympathetic expressions and now both nodded eagerly, looking like twins with their dark ponytails. “We're excited to work on location,” Gabby said, wiping a fleck of mushroom from her cheek with the back of her hand.

Esther looked at her watch. “Those look great, Gabby. You and Nicole go get your serving outfits on, and then we can all head over in our van. Jim and I will wrap these up.” Before they could move, the door opened again, and Bart Andersen came strolling in, wearing his habitual smug expression. Bart was a high school freshman who washed dishes at Haven. I wasn't sure what Esther paid him, but he seemed pleased enough to be a wage earner while he was still fifteen. Bart was a nice kid, but he suffered from a severe case of overconfidence and teen narcissism, which we sometimes joked about in his presence. This never bothered him, due to the qualities previously mentioned.

“Hey, Bart. You've got your work cut out for you tonight, dude,” Jim said.

“Whatever. I'm the greatest, so I'll probably be done in about five minutes,” Bart said. When I had first started working at Haven, I had thought Bart was merely being ironic, and perhaps there was a slight dose of irony there, but in general Bart just liked to praise himself. The more he did it, the more I felt obligated to cut him down. Oddly he seemed to enjoy this.

“Are those three hairs on your chin your attempt at a beard?” I asked.

Bart stroked the red hairs I spoke of; they matched the red curls on his head. “The ladies aren't complaining,” he said.

Everyone in the room started laughing, but as ever, Bart was impervious to mockery. “I'll be in my kingdom, serfs,” he said, wandering into the sink room.

“That kid will go far,” Jim murmured with grudging admiration.

“Far into denial,” Esther said with a snort.

“Far away would be better,” I said. “Am I stuck with him all day?”

Esther shook her head. “I'm only paying him for two hours.”

“That should be fun.”

Esther laughed, and then she and Jim got to work wrapping the hors d'oeuvres. Half an hour later she, Jim, and the girls were wearing their serving black and piling things into the Haven van.