Hot Stuff (26 page)

“The funeral is supposed to be on Saturday. But they can't have it until they release the body, and since they haven't—” I could hear Em choke up on the phone. She paused, her voice cracking, “They won't release her because Ted doesn't want the autopsy report out. So now they may have to postpone the—”

“Funeral?”

She was silent on the other end.

I wanted to be as supportive as possible. I also wanted to know if there was something being released in those reports that would influence the investigation. If there was another cause of death besides the knife wounds or if the Deitering lady had lied to us, then we were looking in the wrong direction. We'd been guaranteed two weeks. Maybe we could stretch it to three. And I was sure of one thing, I did not want to be washing dishes for another week. No way.

“So there's no indication when they will release her?” Pretty much what Cheryl Deitering had told us.

I could hear the break in her voice. “No. I don't know if
there's something else, Skip, but how long can they keep this up? She was killed with that knife and why isn't that enough?”

She was the one with access to the lead cop. Apparently, he wasn't telling her everything he knew.

“Have you talked to Amanda's mom?”

“She's not handling it well. Wants to constantly know if you have any new information. She told me about your visit, and now she prays for you, hoping you give her some closure. She loses it from time to time, Skip.”

I was certain that was the case. The lady, Amanda's mom, seemed very fragile. I wasn't surprised.

“You and me, are we going to the funeral together?” I still couldn't tell. Maybe she wanted Ted involved. “I just wondered how you wanted to handle this.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

“Of course. Of course, we go together. We were the last of her friends who saw her alive. No, we go together. Maybe James should go and—”

“Maybe he shouldn't. Maybe I shouldn't.”

“Why, for God's sake?”

“Because we weren't supposed to have a close connection with her. Because as far as the staff is concerned, we are new em -ployees who don't have a history with Amanda. And there's a good chance that there will be employees at that service.”

As soon as I said it, I had second thoughts. I was reminded of the people who weren't exactly her friends. Kevin Kahn, the jeweler; Juan Castro, the dishwasher; Joaquin Vanderfield, the sous chef; even Kelly Fields, who sounded like someone who wasn't as close to Amanda as she had pretended to be.

“I didn't even think of that, Skip. Doing this undercover thing can get a little confusing, can't it?”

“Okay. We're going to get this thing figured out, Em. Let's
give it some thought.” I filled her in on the visit to Cheryl Deitering.

“It sounds like you're no further ahead there.”

“No. She was very clear about her role. She didn't have any guesses. She would present all the evidence, and it was up to someone else to tie it all together. She did say there was only one attacker. Anything else from Ted? Any confidential information he's been willing to share?”

“It's not like we talk all the time, Skip. I told you, this thing isn't going anywhere. Okay?”

“So he hasn't leaked any more information?”

She hesitated. “Well, maybe we did talk briefly. On the phone. He said that he'd reviewed the security CDs from that night.”

“Oh, my God. Those cameras. Outside the walk-in cooler.”

Again, a stupid oversight from a detective firm that was still green.

“Yes. And there's a camera outside the back door. Did you know that?”

I didn't.

“But they didn't show anything unusual.”

“So the camera focus wasn't on the murder.”

“He didn't show me the videos. He just mentioned that they'd reviewed them and they didn't show anything out of the ordinary.”

“So, they're at the police station? The videos?”

“They made copies.”

“The originals?”

“In the restaurant, I would guess.”

CDs? I almost laughed. Selling security systems for a living, I knew nobody used CDs anymore. We sold Drop 'n' Lock, a cloud-based service to upload and store security videos.

I looked at James, sprawled on the couch. “Hey, roommate, you and me, we've got to find the CDs that go with those restarant security cameras.”

Glancing up from the
Ellen DeGeneres Show
, he nodded. “Hadn't thought about those.”

“Skip?”

“Yeah, Em?”

“I told you. They found nothing.” She hesitated. “So I asked him if we could view them.”

“Great. Maybe we'll pick up something that they didn't see.”

“Nope. Ted said they were not going to release them.”

“You just said there was nothing on them with any relevance.”

“I think they want to see them again, fresh eyes.”

“Why not ours?”

“Skip, he's feeding us some information, but there's not a lot of trust built up.”

“So we'll get them from Bouvier.”

“Good luck. They've given Chef a written notice that no one is to view those videos until they clear them.”

“What? That makes no sense. We're fresh eyes, and we are getting to know the staff. We could—”

“I get the impression that if someone voluntarily lets us see those videos, they could be breaking the law.”

I didn't think Bouvier was above breaking the law. But if he refused to show them to us, then we had no recourse. If, on the other hand, he didn't know that we'd found the CDs, then he couldn't be held liable. My twisted logic coming into play.

“Maybe he didn't know what to look for.” I would love to find something on those recordings just to rub Ted Conway's face in it. To walk into his office and say, “Hey, Conway, look what you missed.” It would be total satisfaction. I know, I tend to be full of bluff and bravado, but I wanted to squash him as much as I wanted to solve the murder.

“Skip, are you thinking what I think you're thinking?”

She was like James. She usually knew what I was thinking.

“Don't even tell me,” she said. “But, if you do stumble on them, if you're going to view them, I want to be there.” Em was once again energized.

“If I find them tonight, and if you view them with us, aren't you breaking the law?”

I could hear a soft laugh. “Tell me it's some soft porn. What a surprise when we find out it's not.”

“Could be sex in the walk-in cooler? Maybe a waitress and the dishwasher?”

James's head spun around.

“Better not be the current dishwasher,” her voice had an edge.

“No.”

“Skip, if you're thinking about taking those CDs, please, be careful. Please. Do you hear me?”

“We will.”

“You bring them to my condo. We'll view them as soon as you get off work.”

“Oh, so you think I'm going to go back and wash dishes again? Tonight?”

She sounded much brighter than she had at the beginning of our conversation. “I think it's in your blood, Skip. You are just starting to realize how much you like it.”

“I don't live out of my car.”

“Your car would be a step up from that ratty apartment you and James live in. Am I right?”

I knew she was right. We said our goodbyes and hung up.

“Dude,” James gave me a nod. “I only got about half that conversation, but we're going to solve this murder. Before the cops. And, when we do—not if we do, but when we do—we'll have a pot full of moolah. We'll be the investigation team that everyone will be calling. We are going to make a shitload of money. Do you understand me, amigo?”

Walking up to the pastry station, I touched Kelly Fields on the arm and she turned away from a large bowl of butter.

“Skip. I wanted to talk to you.”

“And I wanted to talk to you.”

“Listen,” she wiped her hands on her apron and furtively glanced around her, as if to make sure no one was within hearing range. “I hope you didn't say anything to anyone about our stopping for a beer.”

Only James, Em, and the detective.

“I may have said something to James.”

“I know it was just a meeting to get information, but it was after work, and it was for a drink and—”

“That's all it was. A meeting.”

“Yes. But it could be construed as a date and I really can't have anyone questioning that.”

“Kelly, it wasn't a date.”

“I'm getting back with Drew. I think I told you that we'd separated, briefly, and I just don't want anything to go wrong.”

I nodded, as if I understood what the problem would be. Actually, I did. It wasn't as if Em and I hadn't broken up numerous times over the years.

“I'm glad you're getting back together.”

“We are, Skip. Everything is going to be fine.”

“And I would ask the same favor. Don't mention our meeting to anyone, okay?”

She nodded, and I knew the conversation was over.

The evening rush started late, and I could see James working side by side with his nemesis, Joaquin Vanderfield, the two of them pouring white wine into sizzling pans, deglazing as my friend called it, after searing pork loins. Flames leaped around the skillets, steam from the hot metal and the wine was sucked into the stainless steel hood, and I could have sworn they were in competition with each other as they worked their craft, sprinkling seasonings and spraying some sort of marinade on the meat. I had no idea what it all meant, but I did know that James was a pretty good cook. Apparently, he could hold his own with Joaquin Vanderfield.

“Hey, my boy, you chattin' up the pastry lady?”

Mikey Pollerno stood there watching me, his hands in his pockets.

“Chatting up?”

“You know, you seem pretty friendly with her and all.”

I wondered if he knew we'd gone for a beer.

“You got to be careful of that one.”

“She doesn't seem to be that dangerous.”

“She thought the lady sous chef was after her husband.”

“What?”

“Just sayin', the Wright girl makin' eyes at Kelly's husband didn't sit well with her.”

“So?”

“She thought maybe the husband was interested back. Just sayin'.”

With that, he walked away.

The clanking of dishes, the clinking of silver in the runners' trays let me know that the crowd was picking up. As they slammed the plastic trays down on my stainless counter, I scraped, rinsed, and shoved the plates and utensils into the steamy machine, realizing how much I hated the task. If I hadn't had another purpose, if I wasn't playing mind games with the working staff, I think I would have gone insane. On the flip side, playing mind games with the staff was probably going to drive me insane. I was screwed either way.

Halfway through the evening, I glanced up and saw James standing by my side and staring down the hallway that ran to the locker room.

“Those security videos, they're in Bouvier's office?”

“They must be.”

“It's locked.”

“I assume.”

“Pard, we've got to look at them.”

“And for some reason, Chef can't show them to us. The cops have told him to keep them private.”

“Yeah, well, something like that shouldn't stop us.”

“It shouldn't.”

He glanced back down the hallway once more. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out two thin rods of metal.

“Large paper clips, my friend.”

“James.” He could be such an idiot at times. “You're crazy. We're not picking locks with paper clips.”

He held the bent metal pieces flat in his palm. “This one I bent in the shape of a tension wrench.” He pointed to the L-shaped bend. “And this, with the wavy end, I made as a rake.”

“What are you talking about?”

“YouTube, pardner. This guy went through the entire process. You make these tools out of large paperclips and when you use them in tandem, voilà. The lock opens.”

“You got this off of YouTube?”

“Me and four hundred thousand other people. Do you believe it? There are a lot of dishonest people out there, Skip.” He smiled, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Let's say you can make it work.”

“I tried it, dude. On our apartment door.”

“I would guess that those locks were made in the eighteen hundreds. A bump on the mechanism would probably open our door.”

“It worked. And the guy in the video, who appeared to be a total doofus, even he opened his lock.”

“We've still got another problem.”

“What's that?”

“Three cameras that catch all the action in the hall.”

“Yeah, I've thought of that.”