Getting Rich (A Chef Landry Mystery) (18 page)

I laughed. “Oh, lots of them are trying, but I’m saving myself for this hot young author I know.”

He laughed, and his voice grew husky. “I miss you.”

My heart skipped a beat. “I miss you too.”

“Are you sure you’re all right? If you need me, I’ll hop on the next plane and come back.”

“You would do that?”

“Just say the word.”

That was all the reassurance I needed. “Don’t be silly. You have a book to edit. How’s it going, by the way?”

“Good. Bunny is amazing. I’m learning so much from her.” That was not what I wanted to hear. “Crutches, huh?” he continued.

I gave a little laugh. “You should see me. I’m getting good. Although, I suspect it might put a crimp in the bedroom acrobatics.”

“Don’t worry. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” There was a pause, and then as if he guessed that I was suddenly blushing, he changed the subject. “Well, I hope you’re taking it easy. You shouldn’t be going to work with a broken ankle.”

“Er, actually there is no more work to go to.”

I imagined his eyes growing dark and sexy the way they did when he furrowed his borrows. “What do you mean there’s no more work?”

“The restaurant is gone—burned down to the ground.” I told him what had happened, starting with the threats and ending with Jennifer’s death. He listened quietly.

And then he suddenly made the link between the threats and the hit-and-run. “Are you telling me that was not just an accident? Somebody was actually trying to kill you? And now they’ve destroyed the restaurant?”

I decided to make light of it. “That’s what I thought at first, but Steven is convinced the threats had nothing to do with the hit-and-run, that it was just some teenager who lost control of his car, panicked and sped away.”

“What about the fire? That’s a bit much for a coincidence. It sounds to me like somebody is out to get you. What are the cops doing?”

I hadn’t even told him about Jennifer being killed, and he was already freaking out—which I sort of liked. Still, I didn’t want him worrying too much. “You know the police. They have a million other cases to solve. Anyhow, I’m sure one had nothing to do with the other. Toni and I have been looking for another location.”

“You mean you’re planning to reopen? Are you crazy? You’d only be giving this lunatic another reason to come after you.”

“Actually, we think the arsonist was after somebody else.” I told him about Jennifer.

“You’re telling me one of your employees was murdered?” His voice had risen a full octave. “Are you sure you’re not in any danger?”

“That’s what Toni and Steven seem to think. Although I kind of like you worrying about me.”

The smile was back in his voice. “Well in that case, I’ll keep worrying. And I’ll hurry back and protect you as soon as I can.”

“Hmm, good idea.” I cleared my throat. “By the way, who’s that sexy blonde I keep seeing going into your house?” I was aiming for a light tone, but I didn’t quite achieve it.

“Blonde?” He chuckled. “That would probably be the location scout who rented my place for two weeks.”

“Location scout? What are you talking about?”

He laughed. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you. The day before my flight, just a few minutes after you left my place actually, a location scout stopped by. She was looking for an old Victorian house to use for a scene in a movie. She said my house was perfect.”

“Somebody wants to shoot a movie in your house? What kind of movie are they making?”

“Not an entire movie—just one scene. Probably some kind of horror flick about a serial killer.” He had his teasing voice on again. “Whatever it is, it’s obviously not a big budget production.”

I was stunned almost speechless. Of all the places a company might want to rent, Mitchell’s was the last I’d expect.

“Unless the blonde in question is one of the actors,” he continued.

“I doubt it. It doesn’t look like anything is going on. How long did the production house tell you they’d be filming?”

“They only said they’d need the place for ten days. I tried calling them, but there’s no more service at the number they gave me. It’s weird.”

I would have said that was more than weird. It was downright worrisome. “I hope they paid you in advance.”

“They gave me a deposit, and the balance is due at the end of the shoot. They said they’d email me the money.”

That did not fill me with confidence. Could this have been some kind of a scam? But if so, what for? To raid Mitchell’s house? I might have been worried if the thought wasn’t so ludicrous. The most valuable thing in Mitchell’s house was probably the tight designer jeans he liked to wear. Not exactly the kind of valuables anybody would go after—unless he happened to be wearing them.

“How much was the deposit?”

“Three hundred bucks.”

“A check, I suppose?” I hoped it wouldn’t bounce.

“No, she gave me cash. I was surprised, but she said deposits were always paid in cash.” He sounded unworried.

He changed the subject and we chatted on flirtatiously. By the time we hung up, I was feeling silly for all my doubts and insecurities. Bunny might be working with him day in and day out, but I was the one who had his heart. If not for my air cast I would have danced for joy.

*

The next morning I woke up feeling much better. After Mitchell’s phone call, I’d had my first good night’s sleep in nearly a week. Now if that case could only get solved, maybe I could actually go on with my life.

“How are you feeling this morning, Jackie Chan?” I said as I filled the doggie bowls. “Do you miss Mitchell too?”

She gave me a bleary look, as if to say, “One phone call and you’re all gaga over him again?”

“You would be too, Jackie, if you’d had a few of his kisses.”

She marched off disgusted.

I ground enough fresh beans for a pot of coffee and made myself a poached egg served on half an English muffin. I grated a bit of aged cheddar on top, added freshly ground pepper and some chopped fresh chives. Hopefully, my low-calorie breakfast would balance out the two large pieces of cherry pie I’d wolfed down last night. I consulted my calorie counter. Half a muffin—55 calories, one egg—65 calories, half ounce of cheese—67, for a total of 187 calories. How great was that? Feeling holier-than-thou, I poured myself a cup of coffee, adding real cream, and sat down to eat. I had just finished when the bell rang. I grabbed my crutches and hurried to the door.

“Jake,” I said, stepping aside. “Come on in. I just made a pot of coffee.” He followed me to the kitchen. I pointed him to the coffeepot. “Help yourself.”

He shook his head and joined me at the table, looking serious. “The police showed up at my place yesterday. They seem to think Jennifer’s murder was a case of mistaken identity—that Toni was the intended victim.”

I nodded. “They told us the same thing. They also seem to think I might have done it.”

“That’s just plain stupid,” he said. “I think they’re wrong. I think Jennifer might have been murdered on purpose.”

“What makes you say that?”

“According to Charles, Jennifer was having trouble with her ex. They’d only been separated about a year and the guy was being a jerk. He was stalking her, for one thing.”

“Did she report him to the police?”

He shrugged. “She was afraid it would only make things worse. But he was escalating. Whenever she went shopping, there he’d be, running into her in the vegetable aisle or something. And then when she’d leave the store, she’d find him waiting by her car. He called her constantly, begging one minute, threatening the next. She was spooked. She finally warned him that if he didn’t leave her alone, she’d get a restraining order.”

“When was that?”

“About a week ago.”

I calculated quickly. That would have been just a few days before I was hit by that car.

“And there’s something else,” he continued. “It turns out that her ex is a fireman.”

This floored me. “Well, that settles it. He must have started that fire. I can’t think of anyone who would know better how to start one than a fireman.” My head was spinning. “Did you tell the police?” With any luck, he would be apprehended, if he hadn’t already been, and all suspicion would be off me. Toni and I would no longer feel like walking targets. We could reopen our restaurant without worrying.

“I did, but I have no idea if they questioned him or not.” He still looked troubled and I realized there was more to come. “I’m worried about Charles. I suspect he’s going to take matters into his own hands. I’m pretty sure he’s on his way to confront Jennifer’s ex right now.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He was on his laptop for a long time this morning. He looked so focused that I got suspicious. At one point he went to the washroom and I got a peek at his screen. It was just as I thought. He was searching through the online phone listings for every Atwood in Toronto. He came back and continued working at the computer for a while, and then he wrote something down on a piece of paper and took off in a rush. When I asked him where he was going, he said he had a doctor’s appointment.”

“Maybe it wasn’t an excuse. Maybe he really did have a doctor’s appointment.”

He looked me straight in the eye. “People don’t bring guns when they go to the doctor.”

“Oh my God!” My first thought was
Call the police.
But what if they arrested him for carrying a gun? “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I blurted. “Do you have any idea where he was going?”

“I copied down the last address he had on his computer. Here it is,” he said, pulling out a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket.

“Let’s go,” I said, already making my way over to grab my coat.

“My car’s out front,” Jake said, “and I have a GPS.”

I got my purse, threw in my cell phone, and we took off. In the car, I punched in Toni’s number. It was still early by Toni standards but to my surprise she answered sounding out of breath.

“This isn’t a good time,” she said, languorously. “I’m fucking busy.” She sighed. “I wish it were the other way around.”

At any other time I might have been amused, but today I didn’t have time for any of her smart-alecky remarks. “We’ll have to postpone those drive-bys until two-thirty,” I said briskly, and repeated what Jake had just told me. “Can you call Judy?”

I hung up without waiting for her reply, and held onto the grab bar for dear life. Jake was driving like a maniac, zigging and zagging through traffic at neck-breaking speed. I squeezed my eyes shut as he swerved between two huge trucks.
Dear God
,
let us make it there alive
.

My cell phone rang. “Nicky? Are you there?” It was Toni. “Judy agreed to meet at your place at two.”

“That works for me too, as long as I survive this car ride.” I hung up and looked out. We were on the Gardiner Expressway heading west. “How far away does he live?” I asked, hoping we’d take the next exit. Even if I didn’t get killed in a car crash, I might still die of a heart attack.

“Near Bloor West Village. We’re almost there. I don’t know whether he’s home or at work right now. With any luck, he’ll be at work and Charles will be outside ringing his doorbell when we get there.”

A few minutes later we came to a tire-screeching stop in front of a pretty barn-style house, just steps from High Park. After seeing the house where she lived with Charles, I was surprised at the modesty of this one. It answered one question. If the house in Cabbagetown belonged to Jennifer, it was unlikely her wealth came from her ex-husband—unless she’d cleaned him out in a separation agreement. That, in itself, could give an ex a good reason to be mad as hell. Or, for all I knew the house belonged to Charles, and if it did, I wondered how he could afford a place like that.

“There he is.” As he said this, I spotted Charles creeping stealthily around the corner of the house. Jake jumped out of the car, slamming the door shut. I fumbled with the door and my crutches, and followed.

“Charles,” Jake called out.

Charles swung around and his face grew fierce. “You had no business following me. Get out of here.”

“Charles Bateman,” I said, with as much authority as I could muster. “What do you think you’re doing?” As I got closer, I could see something metallic in his hand—a gun. He stuffed it back in his pocket, looking guilty.

For a second I couldn’t help wondering whether this might be the gun that had killed Jennifer.

“You had no business following me,” he repeated more mildly.

I stopped a few steps from him. He looked so vulnerable that I dropped the stern tone. “You know I care about you, Charles. And you know I cared for Jennifer too. Believe me, I know how you feel. I’ve been there, remember?” Charles had witnessed my own grief when Rob was killed.

His eyes watered suddenly. “It—it’s just so hard. I loved her so much,” he said, in a choked voice.

I wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I know, Charles, I know. But please don’t do anything you’ll regret later. Why don’t you come back with us and let the police take care of this?”