Murder Has a Sweet Tooth (5 page)

WHEN STACIE, THE YOUNG LADY WHO’D INTRODUCED
herself as our server at Swallows that afternoon, disappeared into the kitchen, Eve took the opportunity to smack her lips. “Baileys chocolate cheesecake. Yum!” It wasn’t at all like Eve to be so obvious (at least in public) when it came to how much she enjoyed food, but believe me, I understood.

The Baileys chocolate cheesecake at Swallows is to die for.

Though Eve didn’t know what I was thinking, I cringed.
To die for
was a bad expression considering what happened to Vickie at the restaurant.

Rather than think about it, I talked through my logic for this visit with Eve. It was better than staring at the kitchen door, waiting for Stacie and drooling like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

“Yes, the cheesecake is fabulous,” I admitted. “But remember, it’s also a perfect excuse for us to be here.” I patted the table we’d found in the corner. It was late on Wednesday afternoon, and even though Jim was worried about Alex, he was hard at work at Bellywasher’s. Jim is a professional, remember. It would take more than an investigation to make him abandon his duties at the pub. After we left police headquarters, Jim asked me to look into what happened, and since I was worried about Alex, too—not to mention how worried I was about what all that worry was doing to Jim—I agreed to take on the case. Naturally, Eve wasn’t about to be left behind.

Which made me wonder why she wasn’t even listening.

Instead, Eve’s eyes took on that glassy look they get when her head’s in the clouds and her imagination is getting carried away with it.

“Baileys chocolate cheesecake would be perfect,” she crooned, and when I looked at her in wonder, she rolled her eyes. “For the wedding, of course! My goodness, Annie, you’ve only got three weeks before the big day and you haven’t even made a final decision about the cake. Clara’s going to need to know. And soon.” Clara was a woman who made some of the pastries served at Bellywasher’s.

“Clara knows I want simple,” I reminded Eve. “She knows Jim and I want to keep the entire wedding low-key.”

“But there are details to consider, Annie. Fresh flowers on the cake? A fountain? Oh, a fountain!” Eve’s eyes glazed and I thought I’d lost her, but she snapped herself out of it before she could get too carried away on a cascade of fountain daydreams. “Porcelain figures? You know, a bride and groom? It’s all important. And you can’t know what you’re going to do about any of it until you decide once and for all what kind of cake you’re having. Chocolate cheesecake, that’s one delicious detail!”

“We don’t need it.” I said this in a way that sounded sincere, even though I am of the mind that everyone
always
needs chocolate cheesecake. I’m pretty sure it’s one of the basic food groups. “I had a big, splashy wedding the first time. I’m not making that mistake again.”

“The big and splashy part had nothing to do with how things didn’t work out between you and Peter,” she said, even though she didn’t need to point it out. I am nothing if not reasonable. I know the fancy gown and the limo and the flowers and the videographer had nothing to do with the fact that my marriage to Peter had gone kerflooey. That had happened thanks to the girl Peter met at the dry cleaner’s—and the undeniable fact that Peter is a weasel. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do big and splashy again,” Eve added.

“No.” I was as clear as I could be. It didn’t pay to beat around the bush with Eve. “We’re keeping it simple. That’s why we’re having the ceremony and the reception right at Bellywasher’s. No big church extravaganza. No reception it’s going to take us three years to pay off. Simple ceremony. Simple foods. I can’t expect Marc and Damien to spend the evening in the Bellywasher’s kitchen cooking when they should be enjoying the party. That’s why I’ve been thinking . . .” The idea had just occurred to me in the middle of the night before, and I hadn’t had a chance to run it by Eve yet. Excited, I leaned forward.

“I want to cook something special for Jim,” I told her. “You know, to serve at the wedding.”

Can I blame her for looking incredulous? I cannot. Even so, I found myself feeling a little offended.

“Hello, Annie!” Eve waved a hand in front of my face. “You and cooking? You don’t exactly get along. Remember the exploding stove? And the burned-beyond-belief chicken wings? And the—”

“Which is why it’s such a great idea.” Yes, I am ever practical, but apparently, when it comes to love, even the most practical woman can get a little crazy. I’d made up my mind and nothing was going to change it. Not even the thought of going near a stove and (gulp!) turning it on.

“It would be a total and complete surprise for Jim,” I said, convinced.

“Yeah, Bellywasher’s burning down on your wedding day. That ought to do it.”

I forgave her the sarcasm. After all, she was right.

And I was so enamored of the idea, I was beyond being able to listen to reason!

I scooted forward on my chair. “I was thinking I’d make some traditional Scottish dish. You know, like—” Since I hadn’t had the chance to give it much thought and I wasn’t familiar with any traditional Scottish dish beyond the biscuit cake Alex had made for me, I was stumped.

“Oatmeal?” Eve suggested.

Do I need to point out that I was thinking of something a little more upscale and a little less breakfasty?

I pretended to consider the idea anyway. Just so I didn’t hurt Eve’s feelings. “I’m going to look online,” I told her. “I’m thinking it should be something I can make at home. Then I’ll smuggle it into the restaurant the day before the wedding, and have Marc and Damien serve it. It will knock Jim’s socks off.”

I knew better than to respond to the slow upward slide of Eve’s eyebrows. She was thinking that if it was anything like my usual cooking, it might knock Jim’s socks off, all right. Literally.

“I’m going to try really hard this time,” I said, defending myself, though I knew I didn’t have to. Eve understood. That’s what best friends are for. “I’m going to practice until I can make whatever it is I’m going to make absolutely perfectly. You’ll see. It’s going to be fabulous.”

It was another reason Eve is my best friend. She actually believes me when I say things like that. She propped an elbow on the table and cradled her head in one hand. “You think there might be a traditional Scottish recipe for chocolate cheesecake?” she asked. “That would be fun.”

“There’s more to fun than cheesecake,” I told her. I actually might have believed it if Stacie didn’t walk out of the kitchen at that moment. She headed back our way—two pieces of delectable cheesecake poised on the tray in her hands—and I realized there were pluses even to murder investigations. I was at Swallows without Jim for the first time ever. I didn’t have to share my cheesecake.

I actually might have enjoyed pigging out if I didn’t keep thinking about Alex and how miserable he looked when we said our good-byes at the jail.

When Stacie set our pieces of cheesecake in front of us, I signaled to Eve to keep the oohing and aahing to a minimum so I could do what we’d come to Swallows to do in the first place. (Which was not—just in case I need to point it out—to eat Baileys chocolate cheesecake.)

“So . . .” My fork poised above the drizzle of dark chocolate that made a fancy, curlicue
B
on top of the cake, I looked up at the college-age girl with pitch-dark pigtails. “Is this where the murder happened?”

Stacie closed her eyes for a moment. No doubt she was praying for patience. “That’s all anybody can talk about today,” she said, and I bet her bosses were as tired of hearing about it as Stacie was, because she kept her voice down and looked toward the woman standing behind the hostess station before she said anything else. I didn’t need to work in a restaurant to know that Stacie had been instructed to keep talk of what had happened there the night before to a minimum. After all, murder is bad for business. She sighed. “Everybody who comes in here today is asking about the murder.”

“Well, you have to admit, it is pretty interesting,” Eve blurted out, and I blanched because, let’s face it, when most people think of murder, they think of words like
disgusting
or
frightening
or
horrifi c
. But then, most people haven’t been embroiled in as many investigations as we have. The next second, I thought about Alex, about how pale and anxious he was when last I saw him. I’d bet my piece of cheesecake he didn’t think Vickie’s murder was
interesting
.

“What Eve meant,” I said, giving her a long look so she could pretend to be repentant, “is that it’s such a shame. We’ve been here a few times before and we never thought . . .” As if I hadn’t taken a long, hard look around when I walked in—and believe me, I had—I took a long, hard look around. Swallows wasn’t nearly as quaint or as cozy as Bellywasher’s, and I didn’t like it nearly as much, but then, when it comes to Bellywasher’s, I’m more than a bit prejudiced. Still, Swallows is a pleasant enough place. Its walls are painted a minty green that’s perfect with the oak floors. It has a wide front window that looks out over the street, clean, modern lines, and a sleek bar that takes up all of the wall opposite from where we sat. There’s a tiny stage just inside and to the left of the front door and a dance floor in front of that.

“Never in a million years would I think this was the kind of place where a murder would happen,” I said.

“Well, it didn’t exactly happen here. Not right inside,” Stacie said. “The police found the woman’s body out there.” She tipped her head in the direction of the alley we’d tried to check out before we walked in. Since there was crime scene tape draped between Swallows and the building next door and a uniformed police officer making sure no one crossed it (not even Eve, who did her best to charm him into making an exception), we didn’t get very far.

“They found a suspect, too, right? That’s what we heard on the news.” I’d coached Eve on the way over, and she played her part perfectly. She didn’t have to pretend to sound horror-struck, but she did manage to make it seem as if she’d never been so close to a murder before. “The woman’s body was out in the alley, and so was the guy who they think killed her. You must have been so scared when the cops showed up!”

“My shift doesn’t start until eleven,” Stacie said. “I wasn’t here when it all went down. From what I heard, there was a whole lot of blood.”

Just thinking about it made me second-guess my cheesecake. I didn’t want to ask for details, but I had to. Sure, it’s my nature to be thorough, but let’s face it, there were other things to consider. I knew Alex, and I was certain he wasn’t a violent man. More importantly, I knew Jim, and with all his heart, Jim believed Alex was innocent. If Alex’s word meant that much to Jim, then it meant that much to me, too. All I had to do to make everyone happy and ensure justice was done was prove that Alex wasn’t the killer.

With that in mind, I knew I couldn’t trust Eve to ask all the right questions. I took over. “So you weren’t here when the cops arrived,” I said, reinforcing the information Stacie had already given us. “But somebody was, right? Somebody actually saw it? The body? And the blood? And the guy they arrested?”

“He didn’t exactly see it.” Stacie looked over her shoulder at the bar. The only employee over there was the bartender, so I knew that was who Stacie was talking about. She bent close enough for me to get a good look at the tattoo on her neck. It was the Tasmanian Devil. “Truth be told, Jason didn’t even know anything was going on until he saw the police cars outside. At least that’s what he told all of us when we came in. But Jason’s pretty slick when it comes to getting tips. He knows that the better the story he tells, the more people will drink, and the more they drink . . .” Stacie made a face. “We’re supposed to pool our tips and share them at the end of the shift. But I’ve seen Jason over there. He’s talking up a storm and customers are slipping him money. He puts it right in his pocket. Every time he tells the story, he adds more detail and he makes it sound more gruesome. By the time tonight rolls around, he’ll claim he was there watching when the guy slit that woman’s throat.”

Both Eve and I had wedges of cheesecake on our forks. We didn’t need best-friend ESP to think the exact same thing. Two bodies with one mind, we set down our forks. While Eve took a big gulp from the cup of coffee in front of her, I cleared the sour taste from my throat and said, “So Jason didn’t even know the body was there. Don’t you think someone would have noticed?”

Stacie shook her head. “Nobody ever uses that alley. The kitchen door leads out back, not into the alley. That alley doesn’t even go anywhere. I guess it used to, before they built those condos back on Ninth Street. Now the alley’s just a dead end.”

“But someone must have known the body was there.” It was the first time the idea occurred to me, and I threw Eve a look to signal her that it might be important at the same time I wished I’d thought to ask Tyler about it. “If nobody uses the alley, how did the cops find the body in the first place?”

Stacie’s shoulders rose and fell, and when the hostess looked our way, she grabbed a nearby coffeepot and pretended to refill my cup. I had a feeling she wasn’t as worried about the hostess finding out what we were talking about as she was about being accused of loafing. “All I know is what I heard when I got here. Jason gets here early to stock the bar and make sure everything’s ready for the day. He didn’t have a clue that anything was wrong. Not until the cops pulled up outside. When they did, he went out and took a look. He’s the one who said that stuff. You know, about all the blood.”

“Wow.” I pretended to think about what she said, but I didn’t have to think long. I knew exactly what I wanted to ask next. “They were in here together last night, right? That’s what I heard. You heard it, too, didn’t you, Eve, on the TV news you watched this morning? We heard that the victim and the suspect ate dinner here together last night.”

Stacie had stalled as long as she could. Another look from the hostess and she replaced the coffeepot and stepped back from the table. “I couldn’t say. I’m only here during the day.”