Hot Stuff (14 page)

“Marty?”

“Maybe. He was the head chef. Am I right? There might have been some flirting going on.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she wiped at them with her hand.

“Everyone liked her. She was such a good girl. Even Mr. Bouvier. I mean, he did offer her the South Beach restaurant.” She started choking again and the tears were streaming down her face.

“But nothing serious? She didn't volunteer anything else?”

“I told you—”

We were both silent for a moment.

Finally she sniffed, “That boy, James, the one that Amanda dated, he's working in the kitchen now, right?”

“Yes, ma'am. You apparently told the detective about him.”

She looked at me, teary eyed. “I hope that wasn't a wrong thing to do. It just came out. I so want them to find who did this to her.”

“I have another question. This may be painful as well, but nine years ago Amanda was somehow involved in—”

“Yes, yes. They asked about that, too.”

“Did they ask about Kevin Kahn?”

“What about Kevin?”

“Did your daughter know him well?”

“She dated him. They were very close.”

I nodded, recording every word, every thought in my mind.

“At her age,” she said, “I thought she might be a little too close to him.” She sniffed again, and wiped at her moist eyes. “They were just teenagers.”

“Mrs. Wright, were they dating when the ring was stolen?”

“Yes.”

“And did they stay together after the incident?” It seemed like a likely follow-up question.

“No. Amanda thought that Emily was going to be blamed for the theft. Emily had been the last one to touch it. The diamond ring, you know. So Amanda confessed, to save Emily. It was a stupid, childish thing to do. Neither of those girls stole that ring. But when Amanda confessed, Mr. Kahn, Kevin's father, told him he could never see her again.”

There was something I couldn't put my finger on. Something that brought Amanda, Em, and that cop together again. It was eluding me, but I was going with my gut. I kept pressing.

“I don't mean to impose, but when the ring came up missing, I assume this theft happened in the store. Somebody who was in Kahn's Jewelers walked out with this ring, right?”

“My understanding. I don't know why the girls were looking at a diamond engagement ring in the first place, but it was supposedly on the counter. There was no way Amanda could afford anything like that. Emily, with her family money, could have bought ten of them, I suppose.”

She stood up. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? I'm going to have one.”

“No, I've got to get going. Can I call you if I have any other questions?”

“Oh, heavens, the police are calling three and four times a day. I'll try to help anyone who can find out who murdered Amanda.”

“By the way, when Mr. Kahn showed the girls the ring—”

“Mr. Kahn?”

“Yes. Kevin's father. When he showed them the ring, did Mr. Kahn leave the room for a moment? I mean, the ring was on the counter or the girls were trying it on and—”

“That's my understanding. But Mr. Kahn wasn't there.”

“Who waited on the girls?”

“Kevin. Kevin Kahn, Amanda's boyfriend, was the one who was showing the girls the diamond.”

I drove back to the mall, past the once colorful, now faded, purple pelican that stood on top of the bar of the same name, and down to the jewelry store. Riding past the storefront several times, I decided to bag it and headed back to our apartment. I just didn't have it put together yet. Something was bothering me. I felt that Em knew more than she was willing to share, and it had something to do with Amanda's murder. What, I couldn't put my finger on. Somehow I was going to have to push Emily.

James was on the back porch, a tiny slab of stained and pitted concrete that looked directly into the back bedroom of the apartment fifteen feet across from us. He was texting someone and laughing as his two thumbs punched the keyboard.

“What's so funny?”

“It's the girl from Starbucks. Janine. She's sort of interested in going out this weekend, but—”

“But you've got to work. Long nights, late hours. Right?”

“Wrong.” He gave me a wry smile. “Nothing on South Beach even starts until after we're closed, amigo.”

I nodded. He was right. It's just that I didn't do the night-life.
If I wasn't with Em, I usually went home. To this crappy place. And besides, I couldn't afford Miami nightlife. Drinks, meals, and cover charges were way beyond my financial means. If we went out to anyplace fancy, it was Dutch treat or Em paid. I was in the heart of a huge entertainment center, but I never participated. Sooner or later, one of our schemes needed to pay off.

“The but is she wants to know a little more about me. Like maybe I'm a serial killer or something.”

“She's probably going to Google you.”

He grinned. “That's my thought.” Looking down at his phone, he said, “Let her. No big deal. I mean, there's not much on there about me. Facebook information, and there's stuff about my degree and Cap'n Crab. You know, some credibility about my cooking prowess.”

If you're going to enter into a relationship, it made sense to do a background check. The girl was smart. And as simple as a Google search was, I was reminded that we still hadn't checked out everyone from the staff. I'd have to get Em on that.

“Speaking of killers,” and we were, “did anybody call about the knife? The forensic unit or Ted, the cop?”

“Mine? You're talking about my knife, or the one that appeared with the apron in my locker and ended up in the Dumpster? Or are you referring to the knife that Bouvier had Chef Marty give me last night?”

Obviously, I was talking about the knife in the locker, but there were a lot of knives in play.

“The one from your locker, James.”

“No. I haven't heard anything. I'm not that concerned, Skip. I figure if they want my explanation, I'll hear from them.”

I sat down beside him on a worn webbed lawn chair and explained my morning travels. I described the confrontation in the jewelry store and the emotional conversation with Amanda's mother.

“Busy guy.”

“Two nights in the kitchen, James, and we still don't have any idea what happened. We've got to get more aggressive. Ask more questions. We can't just wait until something falls in our laps.”

“And people will start to get suspicious. It's tricky, my friend. I agree, we're not where we need to be, but like Chef Jean said, we've got to convince the staff of our cover story. We start asking too many questions and—”

“But the positive side is we're getting there, man. I talked to the setup guy, Mikey Pollerno. He got me looking into the boyfriend angle. We know the dishwasher has disappeared. We also know that Joaquin Vanderfield took a hike the night after the murder, and he is pissed that he was passed over for the head chef job on South Beach. I think they all need a background check. We can get all of that online.” We really did have a lot of loose ends to work on. “Plus, we should find a way to interview Kelly Fields. Reportedly, she was one of the few people Amanda was close to.”

“Ah, the beautiful pastry queen. I may have to take that on myself.”

“Keep it professional, James.”

He smiled. “I'm a sous chef, Skip. Got to stay in touch with my staff. Oh, and by the way, while you were out harassing a local retailer, I called Em this morning and asked if she'd look into background checks on these guys.”

He could read my mind. “Really? What did she say?”

“She was already on it, doing some computer stuff. Some outfit that charges by the name, but she says you can find out if somebody spit on the sidewalk. Pretty thorough.”

“I guess you've got to spend money to make money.”

“And the sous chef Vanderfield?” A question he was going to answer.

“I don't know what background checks will find, but this guy is brilliant. I don't like him, Skip, but he seriously knows his way around that kitchen. And he can throw a plate together that would be acceptable at Buckingham Palace, in a matter of minutes. I hate to admit it, but this guy would shine as a head chef.”

“Really? Because I was getting some seriously bad vibes.”

“Last night, he's doing this sauce, and it's like he's almost making it up, calling for butter, sliced button mushrooms, ground nutmeg—”

“James, fine. He's a great chef.” I really didn't care about the recipe.

“But this thing with the jeweler, Kevin Kahn, I think you're off on a tangent.” He stared out toward the brown water that floated in the ditch behind our complex. Waterview complex. “It's a coincidence that the detective gets involved a second time with Em and Amanda. Just that. A coincidence. There's no way some sixteen-year-old kid whose dad sells diamonds is responsible nine years later for a murder at L'Elfe. No way.”

“I'm not saying he killed her, James, but there's something more to it. This thing goes deeper than we're digging. I'm going with my gut on this. And Em refuses to discuss it because she's still protecting Amanda. I can't explain it, but I feel certain that's why she won't share what happened that day.”

“Em is protecting a dead girl's reputation. That's your take on this whole thing?”

“It is.”

“And you think that if she spills the beans, tells us why she's so secretive, it will be a big clue as to who killed Amanda Wright?”

“I do.”

James shrugged his shoulders, hit send on his phone, and stretched out his legs.

“Want to wager?” he asked.

“James, we're talking about Em's friend. Somebody you dated.”

“We went out twice, amigo. That's hardly dating.”

“You know damned well what I'm saying.”

“The jeweler and the stolen diamond have nothing to do with this murder, Skip. Obviously Em doesn't think so either. If that story has anything to do with the death of Amanda Wright, I'll buy beer for a month. If it doesn't—”

“James, I'm telling you, it's not something you can just—”

“Beer for a month, Skip.”

I let out a slow breath. “Done.”

The call came at noon. We'd cracked our first beer of the day when my ringtone jangled and I answered with, “Hi, Em.”

“Ted has information on the knife.” Just like that.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He wants you two to come to the forensic lab and talk to one of the investigators.”

“I thought this was an undercover operation. Now we're meeting investigators?”

“Skip, all I know is he wants to meet with you. It's east of the Miami Airport in Doral.” She recited the address, and I concentrated hard. Enough to remember it and enter it in my phone.

“When?”

“Now.”

James was watching me intently.

“Any chance it was James's knife?”

It was quiet on the other end.

“Meet us, Skip. He'll explain everything.” She hung up.

“They've got information, right?”

“They do. And I have no idea what that information is, but you know what I don't like?”

“What?”

“It's Ted. All of a sudden it's Ted instead of Detective Conway or Conway. And she said, ‘meet
us
,' like they're a couple. It's just a little strange.”

“You're jealous of a cop?”

“A cop who has a steady job, probably a pretty good pension, is a good-looking older dude? Yeah.”

“That's his future, Skip.” James sipped from his bottle. “It's bland, predictable, and boring.”

Slamming the bottle down on the cheap vinyl table, he stared at me, eyes opened wide.

“You, on the other hand, you've got a blank canvas in front of you. The colors, the textures, the patterns, and lines, they haven't even been invented yet. That's what Em finds attractive about you.”