Crime Rib (Food Lovers' Village) (25 page)

S
aturday morning I dressed with extra care, slipping on a soft coral-red-and-gray-striped skirt and a coral V-neck tee with lacey cap sleeves. The bruises on my arm had all but disappeared. I wrapped an acid lime pinspot scarf around my neck and pulled on my red boots. Sandburg meowed his approval.

At the last minute, I dumped the contents of my everyday blue bag into a lime-and-gray colorblock bag with both handles and a shoulder strap.

We may be small-town, but we do have style.

We’d make the news again, but this time, the news was good. Two men were behind bars. Pete had repeated his confession to Ike Hoover. Melinda had told Ike everything she knew, Ned, Ray, and her neighbor confirming their parts of the story. No doubt Gib would attack the timeline, but the case seemed solid. Kim called to say the lab had found Gib’s fingerprints on Stacia’s phone and laptop, and the tech analyst had found traces of the erased e-mails and recipes. Tara had identified the bloody overshirt stuffed under the porch of a cabin near where Drew had been killed—a piece of evidence the sheriff had not revealed to the public—as Pete’s.

And I intended to let every reporter who called or dropped in know we were celebrating National S’mores Day at the Merc.

“My treat this time,” Chiara said over my shoulder at Le Panier a few minutes later. She gave me a long hug, holding my shoulders for a moment after releasing me. “You’re just like Mom, baby sis. You get going and there’s no stopping you.”

I pointed my
pain au chocolat
at her. “Family trait.”

Back at the Merc, I sipped my coffee and walked the floor. The store was in great shape. Tracy had managed to restock the shelves before leaving last night. Her gift for display and my talent for product selection complemented each other beautifully.

We cut a few handmade marshmallows into sample sizes. The campfire display in the window and the bags of s’more cookies, graham crackers, and marshmallows near the front counter would light a fire under plenty of customers.

“What are you singing?” Tracy said when she walked in the back door. “Is that from
Mary Poppins
?”

“
The Sound of Music
. ‘These are a few of my favorite things.’” I sashayed to imaginary strains of Rodgers and Hammerstein.

“It’s over, isn’t it?” At my nod, she grinned.

“Let’s get this shop back to normal. Whatever that is.”

As I’d expected, reporters from all the regional papers and TV stations called, plus two from L.A. and the entertainment reporter I’d jilted earlier in the week. I kept my comments brief, praised the sheriff’s office, and snuck in a plug for Jewel Bay.
The Food Lovers’ Village
.

At ten thirty, the front door chimed and Iggy tottered in. Her uncurled hair and mismatched outfit told me in an instant that the news from her doctor’s visit wasn’t good. No point asking. I handed her a huckleberry truffle and refused her quarters.

“You girls are the picture of what’s good about this town,” she said, her voice surprisingly strong.

I hugged her thin shoulders gently and kissed her paper-thin cheek. “We love you, Iggy.”

The door opened again and Tara held it, Emma by her side, as Iggy waved good-bye and tottered out. I still had no clue how old she actually was, but the thought that we might not see her again seemed all too real.

“We came in to say thank you.” Tara had traded her usual black suit for tan ankle skimmer chinos and a brown top with short ruffled sleeves and giant orange dots. She hadn’t bothered to cover up the pale circles under her blue eyes. But despite the visible tiredness, she looked calm. Emma, in lavender today, wandered over to the washtub filled with pseudo soap bubbles and began sniffing the testers.

Tara spoke quietly so her daughter wouldn’t hear. “Pete acts so laid back, but I always knew he was a powder keg. I never expected him to snap like that, though. Thank God you caught him before—before something else happened.”

Some days only mixed metaphors will do. “You’re welcome. Is it true that he lost his job at the TV station for threatening to beat up his boss?” I’d heard the story for the first time last night, from Kyle, while we waited at the Lodge.

“He always said it was trumped up, an excuse to fire him. I should have known. He had an excuse for everything, especially for why he couldn’t hold a job despite all his talent. Always some ‘they’ who had it in for him. Like he has an excuse for killing Drew.” She gazed into the distance momentarily. “Drew Baker was the love of my life. But at least I have Emma.”

We both glanced at the little girl, happily playing soap games.

“If you need help packing Drew’s place,” I said, “my sister and I will be happy—”

“I’ve been thinking about that. That pantry. All those cookbooks and that kitchen gear Deb and I will never use—I think you should have them.”

“What? Me? Why not a real chef?”

“You combine Drew’s love of food and his love of Jewel Bay better than anybody else. He helped make it the Food Lovers’ Village, but you’re keeping it that way.”

I choked back my emotion. Maybe I’d give a book or two to Mimi and Amber, as a remembrance. But Drew’s Julia Child collection could fill the Merc’s front window now, and retire happily to my bookshelves later.

“I’ve hired a moving company. They’ll pack it up and deliver. I’m also here to say good-bye. Emma and I are moving back East, to my sister’s town. Our parents are half an hour away. I hate to leave the Lodge on short notice, but I want to get her settled before school starts.”

Finally, Tara appeared to be putting her daughter first.

They each chose a truffle. Skinny Tara, always watching her weight, seemed to enjoy hers even more than the six-year-old did.

No one is ever too old for huckleberry chocolates.

Locals and tourists kept us busy all day. Summer might be winding down but the clock hadn’t run out yet, thank goodness.

Midafternoon, Landon burst in. “Auntie, you have to come. We have a surprise for you.”

“Who has a surprise for me?”

“Mommy and Daddy and me. Come
on
.” Fresca had arrived to help for the afternoon, and she and Tracy waved me on. Landon took my hand and tugged me out to the sidewalk, where his parents waited.

“What’s this about?” I said.

“Just something Landon thought you would enjoy,” Chiara said. It was hard to slow him down as we walked down Front Street. In the parking area next to the community center and playground was the ice cream truck.

I laughed out loud. “Perfect. Avalanche Crunch in a cone, please. Two scoops.”

“You got it,” the ice creamer said. “And it’s on the house, since your first cone met such a sorry end.”

When I got back to the Merc, Ike Hoover and Kim Caldwell were waiting for me.

“We wanted to fill you in,” Ike said. “Crime lab found fibers from Stacia’s clothes on the fender of the black Porsche. Reconstructionist is prepared to testify that the marks on the road, the fender damage, and the location of the body all point to Gib.”

“And like you thought,” Kim said. “He left his damaged rental car in town and drove back to the Lodge in Melinda Mayes’s car. That story he told us about hitching in with the girls was pure cr—fiction. Sally confirmed seeing him pick up the Porsche on Friday morning. We never would have figured him for the hit-and-run or broken his alibi without you.”

I covered my eyes with my hands. To kill a woman to protect his scheme for revenge on another man, for an imaginary wrong. I didn’t know the details of Gib Knox’s father’s banking crimes, but it seemed the son had learned the father’s lessons too well.

“What next?”

“First thing Monday morning, the prosecutor will charge Gib Knox with one count of negligent homicide, a felony, and misdemeanor counts of leaving the scene and failure to report an accident. And tampering with evidence. Not only did he get rid of the car, he tried to erase several files on Stacia Duval’s phone and computer that we were able to reconstruct, and he meant to destroy the papers he took.”

“If he’s convicted,” Fresca said, “and I’m sure he will be, after what my daughter discovered, how much time will he get?”

“That’s up to the judge, but for negligent homicide, up to twenty years in prison. Six months each on the misdemeanors.”

“And Pete Lloyd?” I asked.

“Deliberate homicide, which carries a potential life sentence, and intimidating a witness, for coming after you. And anything else we can tack on. You’ll be happy to know the prosecutor does not intend to charge you for unlawful entry.”

I felt my mother start to swell at the suggestion, but I caught a twinkle in Ike’s eye and put a hand on her arm.

He turned somber again. “Fresca, you know how much I wish every case could be wrapped up like this.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Kim go ghostly.

Fresca covered my hand with hers and nodded. “You’ve done your best, Ike, and Jewel Bay is a better place because of it.”

*   *   *

D
inner plans beckoned, but before retreating to the kitchen, I snuck back down to the Lodge.

There are few more stunning sights than a hundred trail-trained horses following each other out of the corral and through the meadow, where big events are often held under a giant white tent, then up the well-worn path at the foot of the wooded hillside. Pintos and paints, chestnuts, bays, sorrels, and a handful of Appaloosas, one after the other after the next and the next.

No matter what event fills the meadow, no matter how high muckety-muck or jaded the guest, the nightly parade to the upper pasture catches everyone’s attention.

Kim and I used to watch at every chance, leaning over the corral rail. I leaned over it now, picking Ribbons out of the herd and blowing the mare silent kisses of thanks. Sent a few to Kintla the Appaloosa, too, for his bravery in the line of duty.

I felt her presence before I saw her. Kim Caldwell, sheriff’s deputy and detective, back from exile. Leaning on the rail beside me, captivated, the silver bracelet visible on her wrist. As if we did this every day. As if it had not been fourteen years. As if nothing had ever happened between us.

And maybe nothing had. Maybe it was all just another cryptid.

*   *   *

“W
elcome to The Courtyard,” I told my guests. “Our starter tonight is baked stuffed Brie served with sliced baguettes from Le Panier. Followed by Caesar Salad with Toasted Pecans, courtesy of Bill. And thanks to him, I can actually chew now. Our main course is grilled tenderloin with a huckleberry-morel glaze, served over a grilled portobello mushroom.”

“I think I’m going to cry,” Mimi said. Tony wrapped an arm around her.

“Now don’t you wish you hadn’t sent back that grill I ordered?” Fresca said.

“Not one bit. When I need a grill, I sneak next door and borrow Ned’s.” I gestured to the hot grill behind me.

“Any time, girlie,” Ned said. “It’s yours, sort of.”

“Plus we have a very special dessert.”

“If it’s made in Montana, it must be good,” Landon piped up.

“And wine from Monte Verde Vineyard. A toast.” I raised my glass. The courtyard sparkled. It had truly become a welcoming place, its tables filled with the people I loved best: Fresca and Bill. Liz and Bob Pinsky. Tracy, Heidi, Tony and Mimi, Ned. My sister and her family.

No Rick. No Adam. And that was okay. I ride solo just fine.

“To Stacia Duval and Drew Baker, with thanks for their work and their friendship. They brought us much joy.”

“Hear, hear,” Bob said.

“May we never forget,” I finished. “Let’s eat!”

“Play ball!” Tony added.

I took the meat off the grill to rest, then sat next to Fresca. My mother looked like her name tonight, in a watermelon pink linen dress with matching nails and lipstick, and coppery sandals that made my feet jealous.

Ike and Kim had answered nearly all my questions that afternoon. Except one. There had been no mistaking the tension between Kim and Kyle yesterday, when I rode into the corral.

“It’s private,” she’d said when I asked, biting her lower lip. But when she’d needed a horse in a hurry, he hadn’t hesitated.

Another cryptid.

“We haven’t started searching for a new chef,” Tony said between bites of salad, “but we’re already getting inquiries from around the country. Top-notch folks. I’m hopeful.”

“The kitchen store is getting tons of phone and web orders,” Heidi said. “That reminds me, Jason. I’ve got updates for the website.”

“Oh, me, too,” I said. Jason designed and maintained sites for many of the village merchants. “Luci’s soaps and the Blackfeet Natural products are flying out the door, thanks to Tracy. They’re almost as popular as her truffles.”

She smiled, and her red-and-silver-bugle-beaded earrings danced.

The happy chatter continued. Liz had been right about the courtyard: It did hold good energy. And maybe Fresca had been right, too: primo party space.

I smiled as I plated the tenderloin and sauced each slice. Chiara served. Talk slowed as we tucked in.

Mimi took a bite, then reached over and squeezed my hand. “Almost as good as Drew’s.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Fresca said after the filet disappeared and Jason and Bill rose to clear the plates.

“Oh, no,” Chiara said in a stage whisper. “We’re in trouble now.”

Fresca ignored her. “About Amber Stone. She let herself be manipulated for her own potential gain, but we know now that Gib Knox was a master manipulator. And the B&B’s been struggling. But ultimately, she did the right thing. Erin, how can we help her build up that business?”

I dithered briefly. “I can talk with her and her sister. Help them rework their business plan. They need you, Jason—their website barely functions.”

“Their logo looks like a kindergarten project,” Chiara said. “I’ll sketch out some new designs.”

“I’m in kindergarten,” Landon said in a hurt tone.

“And you can help,” she responded. “You and I make a great design team.”

“After that remodel,” Liz said, “they won’t have money for major changes. But I might be able to tweak the placement and decor a bit. Enhance the wealth and prosperity quadrant, and fame and reputation.”