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Authors: Liz Mugavero

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BOOK: Murder Most Finicky
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Chapter 23
Stan went back to her room before heading to the kitchen. They'd delivered Nutty's full breakfast while she'd been gone, so she made him a plate and brought it upstairs. When she went back down into the living area, she noticed Therese sleeping on the pull-out couch with pillows over her head. Maria was nowhere in sight. Stan trekked down to the hotel kitchen with her recipe notes and perused the cooking equipment while she waited for Tyler.
In the interest of keeping it simple yet giving the appearance of fancy, she planned to do a spin on one of the meals she'd made for her gourmet food line at the new pet clinic in Frog Ledge. Her friend and neighbor, Amara Leonard, and her fiancé, Vincent, had opened the clinic this past spring. The clinic offered a merger of Amara's homeopathic and Vincent's traditional veterinarian practice, as well as a small shelter and adoption area. They sold Stan's home-cooked meals, frozen for convenience, and her freshly baked treats. So far her salmon dish with baby red potatoes, a hearty butternut squash, and jasmine rice was the best seller. She planned to offer that to the Siamese with summer greens instead of squash. For the sake of choice, she'd offer beef and chicken versions also. Not much testing necessary, although the beef could be tricky depending on if the cat preferred rare or medium to well.
The desserts, though, would need some tweaking. The vanilla cat-noli needed to be perfect. So far, she'd only made cannoli for pups. She decided to whip up the strawberry cake first and let it bake while she worked on the cat-noli cream. But first, more coffee. She started some brewing.
Tyler showed up a few minutes later, computer in one hand and a large coffee cup in the other. He sniffed the air. “Sweet. More java.” He hopped onto the counter and flipped open his laptop. “Dude, it's starting,” he said. “I'm getting Google alerts left and right. Only about Sheldon so far. No calls yet, though.” He pulled out his phone to check.
Stan watched him as he raked his hand through his already messy hair. A nervous habit. “Are you doing okay?” she asked as she pulled out a mixing bowl and measured out flour.
Tyler shrugged. “I'm fine. It's no big deal. This job pays good,” he said defensively, as if he expected her to question him. “And it's usually not like this. I mean, no one's ever been
murdered
before. It's f-ed up, man.”
Stan smiled. “Hey, listen. You don't have to explain anything to me. I worked in a place for ten years that paid fabulous money. Unfortunately it was killing me and I didn't even realize it. They had to fire me before I figured it out.”
Tyler stared at her, his mouth slack. “I don't really want to get fired.”
“I don't blame you. It's no fun, even when you get a severance package.” Stan placed her hands on her hips and scanned the room. “You think they have vanilla beans hidden somewhere?”
Another blank stare.
“Never mind, I'll look.” Stan began opening cabinets and poking around. “Shoot, I need a piece of copper pipe.”
“What the heck do you need that for? You a plumber, too?”
Stan sighed. “No. I need it to shape the cannoli shell. Never mind, I'll find one. So tell me what you're planning for today. Are we keeping the statement we wrote about Pierre's death?”
Tyler hit a few keys. “I think we should. If that's all they ask about, that's the one we agreed on.”
Stan stirred the mix. “Okay. As for Vaughn, I suggest we don't comment until we get confirmation that she's truly missing. That's how I would handle it. We don't even know what happened, and to say anything else makes Sheldon sound guilty.” She shrugged. “I would just say we're anxiously waiting for news, and we're hoping and praying she's okay. My two cents.”
Tyler nodded admiringly. “You're smart.”
“I did it for a long time,” she said with a shrug. “Now what do you know about this other publicist?”
“Dude, she's hard core. She's in New York, where Pierre lives. This lady gets the
news
out and then some. I know someone else who's her client and he's in the news every day, almost.”
Stan figured that meant Melanie Diamond was either very good at her job or had a lot of great media contacts whose hands she washed regularly in exchange for favors. Or maybe both. “Why is Sheldon so convinced she's out to get him? And who is this mysterious friend who tipped you guys off?”
Tyler shrugged. “I don't know why. Sheldon's not saying much. To me, anyway.” He ignored the second half of her question.
“We need the dirty details if we're supposed to stay ahead of her,” Stan said.
“Who's got dirty details? If it's us, I hope we have coffee, too.” Leo walked in wearing denim shorts and a red T-shirt that said “Kiss the Cook.” Stan figured it would've been too much to ask to get through the weekend without seeing that saying somewhere. Tacky, but it worked for Leo.
“We sure do have coffee,” Stan said.
“I think I love you.” Leo found a mug, poured, and sipped. He sighed. “Ah. Just what I needed. You two are getting an early start,” he said to Stan.
“Yeah, I figured I'd take stock of the kitchen, get some things going, figure out what else I needed so I can go out later. Tyler's working on media statements.” She put the strawberry cake in the oven and took out another bowl and the ingredients for the cat-noli cream.
“Yes, I planned to do the same. I thought this cooking thing would be more of a joint effort, but the plan went a little south.” Leo shook his head. “I guess we'll do what we have to do and it will all be fine. So tell me about the dirty details.” He winked.
What was the harm? Sheldon had said they were bringing everyone into the loop anyway. “I'm helping Tyler with some public relations.”
“Oh, that's right! Your first career. Sheldon told us you were multitalented.”
“Yes.”
And apparently one I can't let go of.
“She's good at it, too,” Tyler said.
“Sheldon is concerned with the news breaking about Pierre that his other publicist is going to put out a negative statement. Given their recent . . . disagreements.”
Leo laughed out loud. He had to put his coffee mug down and bend over at the waist, he laughed so hard. Stan glanced at Tyler. He shrugged.
“Did I say something funny?” she asked.
“Oh, sweetheart, no,” Leo said, wiping tears from his eyes. “It's not you. I can just picture Sheldon telling you there's been ‘a couple of disagreements' when really it's surprising they've been able to keep up pretenses.” He sobered. “I shouldn't joke given the tragic events. But Sheldon and Pierre were not on each other's Christmas card list, let's put it that way. All you have to do is check out their Twitter feeds to understand the passive-aggressive nature of their relationship.”
Interested now, Stan laid her mixing spoon down and turned to him. “They battled it out on Twitter? In public?”
“They did it with class, but most people who know them can read between the lines. It wasn't pretty.”
“Did they get any backlash in the foodie community?”
“Any that affected their bottom lines? No. They both have large followings. Pierre, especially. He was the best of the best. Everyone knows that.” He lowered his voice and looked around. “Even better than Sheldon,” he said in an exaggerated whisper.
Stan glanced at Tyler, but he seemed busy on his computer. “Better than Mr. Pastry?” she asked. “Wow.”
“Shhhhh!” Leo cast another glance behind him. “We don't want that getting back to Mr. Pastry. The wrath!”
Stan raised an eyebrow. Maybe she had the wrong impression of Sheldon after all. She'd seen him get snarky, but she'd not yet encountered his alleged wrath.
Perhaps Pierre had.
Tyler's phone rang. With a pained look, he jumped down and moved to the corner of the kitchen to take the call.
“Sounds like people may have been jealous of Pierre,” she said, opening the oven door to check on the cake. Nearly perfect.
“That could be.” One more look over his shoulder at the doorway, then at Tyler to make sure he wasn't listening. “Like Maria,” he said in a low voice. “Maria couldn't stand Pierre. She wanted to be Sheldon's number two and no matter how much they fought, Pierre never lost that spot in Sheldon's eyes.” He smiled at Stan's raised eyebrows. “Contrary to what Sheldon wants you to think, we're not all besties.”
Stan tasted the cream. It didn't have enough zing. And it wasn't creamy enough. “Maria seems very successful,” she said, looking around for an electric mixer. That might help.
“She is. But no matter how well she did or how much she sucks up, he always runs back to Pierre. It makes her crazy.”
“Do you think Pierre was going to leave Sheldon's enterprise?”
Leo went to the fridge and took out some vegetables. “I don't know that. I haven't talked to Pierre directly in about a year.”
“Did you know Pierre long?” she asked.
“We met some years back at a competition in Key West. We worked together on a charity dinner after that, then lost touch for a bit until Sheldon brought us together again.”
“You guys get along?” Stan gave up on the mixer and took her spoon back to the bowl, mixing with a vengeance, one eye on Leo.
“Oh, sure. I get along with everyone.” Leo smiled, but Stan caught a guarded look in his eye.
“What about Marcin?” she asked. “Is he friendly with Pierre?”
“No,” Leo said, and his tone indicated he had nothing more to say about it.
“Hey, guys,” Tyler said. They both turned toward him. He'd just finished his call and looked a bit worse for the wear. “That was the AP. They got a tip about Kyle and they're running with it. The police have changed their statement to say that he's wanted for questioning in Pierre's murder. It's going live as we speak.” For the first time, the indifferent look was gone from his face. He looked like a scared kid. “Do you really think Kyle did this? That he killed Pierre?”
Chapter 24
Thankfully, Stan had just taken her cake out of the oven, because she forgot all about it as the three of them gathered around Tyler's computer and read the AP news alert.
Reports that Pierre LaPorte, famed pastry chef of La Chocolate Bakery in New York City, has died have been confirmed by his publicist. LaPorte was reportedly in Rhode Island for an event Thursday when he was found dead at a private home on Sunset Avenue.
Police are searching for a colleague of LaPorte's in conjunction with his death. Kyle McLeod, owner of the Green Dream in Boca Raton, had been in Rhode Island for the same event. McLeod has not been seen since Thursday evening.
A picture of Kyle smiling in front of a counter full of vegetables accompanied the article.
Stan looked at Tyler. “The Pierre piece is what we expected. And no Vaughn yet. It's a nightmare for Kyle, though.” Caitlyn must be losing her mind. And Kyle's wife.
Stan's phone vibrated in her back pocket. She pulled it out. Caitlyn. “'Scuse me,” she muttered, and went into the empty ballroom. “Hello?”
“Where have you been?” Caitlyn demanded, sounding too much like their mother for Stan's comfort. “Have you seen the news?”
“I have,” Stan said.
“Krissie, come on, you have to tell me. Do you know if Kyle's okay? Have you heard anything? What are they going to do to him?” Her voice shook with unshed tears.
“I can't talk right now,” Stan said. “Can you meet me later, around lunchtime?”
“I'll be at the coffee shop,” Caitlyn said, and hung up.
Stan stood for a moment holding her phone, thinking. Owens must've gotten fingerprints or some other incriminating evidence off the bloody pizza cutter to put out the statement about Kyle. Evidence that he couldn't ignore. But something about it bothered her.
If Kyle had killed Pierre at noon, the earliest time in the window Owens's coroner had estimated, he would've had to drive all the way back to Providence to toss the weapon behind his own apartment, then get back to Newport in the summer traffic. The trip took roughly an hour each way. More if there was traffic, which there likely would be given the Jazz Festival. He theoretically could have made it back by three, but unless he was a master murderer who did this all the time, he'd have to be rattled. The guy who'd been waiting blindfolded in the mobile pastry truck when she arrived hadn't seemed rattled in the least.
Or, he could've hidden the bloody pizza cutter somewhere to dispose of later. After the body was discovered and he slipped out of the hotel, he'd have been under pressure to get rid of it. He would've needed to get back to his car, retrieve the weapon from wherever he'd hidden it, then get to Providence to ditch it. Seemed like a lot of work. Unless he had a vehicle at his disposal. Like Lucy Keyes's silver SUV.
But even if he did, why would he pick his own Dumpster to get rid of the pizza cutter when the Providence River was right around the corner? Maybe he wasn't thinking straight. Again, that didn't fit with the even-tempered, laid-back guy who'd sat with her in the living room waiting for the detectives to return Thursday night.
She wanted to know where Sheldon had been, both before the murder and after they'd returned to the hotel. He'd been forthcoming with Stan about his recent issues with Pierre, but Leo'd made it sound ten times worse. Like they couldn't even stand to look at each other. That didn't sound like someone devastated about his prize student being murdered in cold blood.
Maybe she was being naive about Sheldon. His harmless, quirky personality could all be an act that he was using to his advantage. Jake certainly didn't like him. And unlike the rest of them, Sheldon had unlimited access to this house. If he had killed Pierre, he could've set up Kyle. And then . . . gotten rid of him, too.
She shivered, almost dropping the phone when Maria appeared in front of her. Stan hadn't heard her come in—surprising since Maria was a large woman.
“I made meatballs for Nutty,” she said. “Did you see them?”
“I didn't,” Stan said, slipping her phone into the pocket of her jeans. “We were catching up on the news.”
Maria gasped. “What happened?”
“They identified Kyle as a suspect.”
Maria made the sign of the cross. “That's terrible. Why would he do it?”
“We don't know for sure he did,” Stan said. “I think they're focused on him because he's not here. It does look suspicious, but we don't know the whole story.”
Maria shook her head grimly. “It's terrible. Just terrible. I don't know what Sheldon's going to do about this dinner.”
“The dinner?” Stan asked. “He should be more concerned about the murder, in my opinion.”
“Oh, I'm sure he is. But now he'll have to find another replacement. By the way, is Vaughn here? Or is she still sleeping?”
“You'll have to ask Tyler. He's in here.” She rose to head back into the kitchen.
Maria followed. “What? Was she delayed?”
“Tyler?”
He looked up from his computer.
Stan went back to her cat-noli cream. “Maria's asking about Vaughn.”
Tyler froze. “Uh, she's not here yet.”
So much for him preparing a statement.
“Did she miss her flight? What's going on?” Maria demanded, hands on hips.
“She's vanished into thin air,” Leo said helpfully. “
Poof!
” He pantomimed a magician waving a wand.
“What in the name of everything holy are you talking about?” Maria looked from Stan to Tyler and back to Leo.
Tyler seemed to have lost his ability to speak.
“She never showed up,” Stan said. “No one knows where she is. But that's not for prime time.”
Maria grabbed at the counter as if having a dizzy spell. “This is terrible. Do you think . . . someone is targeting us all?”
“Oh, don't be so melodramatic,” Leo said. “It's a publicity stunt. I'd put money on it.”
“That's what Sheldon thinks,” Stan said. “But we should consider she might be in trouble. Just like Kyle could be in trouble. We have no idea what happened.”
Or Kyle could just be guilty, and kidnapped her, too. But why?
Maria pulled herself together and went to peruse the contents of the refrigerator. Leo continued cutting up veggies and throwing them into a sauté pan. Stan frosted her cake and was just about to wrap it up when Marcin finally rolled in. He looked like he'd been up half the night drinking. Leo went over to him, took him by the arm, and pulled him into a corner.
“Are you going upstairs?” Maria asked. “Bring these to my Nutty. It's a special batch. They have no dangerous spices.”
“That's very kind of you,” Stan said, taking the plate.
“Anything for our furry friend.”
“I need to go out for a bit,” Stan said. “Anyone need anything?”
Leo returned from his huddle with Marcin. “I could use some leeks,” he said.
“Are you going to the liquor store?” Tyler looked up, hopeful.
“I could,” she said. “Will that help you or hurt you when we need to put together another statement?”
“Help me,” Tyler said, and she couldn't tell if it was an answer to her question or a plea. “I need some Shiraz. We drank the other two bottles from last night. Well, Maria did, mostly.”
“Hey,” Maria said. “It's been a stressful couple of days.”
Stan made a note on her phone. “Hey, Tyler. Walk me out?”
He jumped at the chance to leave the computer and obliged. Once they'd left the ballroom and were in the main hall, Stan spoke. “Did you come to Newport with Sheldon on Thursday?”
Tyler shook his head. “I drove up from New York alone. I had something going on that morning. Sheldon was here, in Providence.”
“Were Joaquin or Therese with him?”
Tyler nodded. “They both were. We had a staff meeting Thursday morning. I called into half of it. Finalizing plans for the weekend, doing a seating chart for the dinner. Joaquin had to do a final meeting with the Chanler staff to make sure everything was set.”
“So they were with him all morning?”
“Most of it, I think. But I didn't get here until one.” He looked at her curiously. “Why?”
Stan ignored the question. “Thursday night when we were here . . . Did Sheldon stay in the suite the whole night?”
Tyler instantly looked guilty. “I . . . don't know. I went out.”
“Where did you go?”
“Downtown. A bar. There was live music and I just wanted to chill.”
“When did you get back?”
“Around two. Right before Sheldon came to get you.” He hesitated. “He was just getting in, too. He had the same clothes on that he'd worn that day. And he seemed really agitated.”
BOOK: Murder Most Finicky
11.72Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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