Murder Most Finicky (15 page)

Chapter 29

Stan hung up with Char, hefted her bags, and headed for the hotel entrance. Her cell rang again. Juggling, she dug around for the phone. A Connecticut number she didn't recognize flashed on the screen. She picked up anyway. “Hello?”

“Stan? Cyril Pierce.”

News traveled fast, even to Frog Ledge. “Hey, Cyril. What's going on?”

“I should be asking you that question,” Cyril said. “Actually, I
am
asking you that question. I'm getting a bunch of news alerts about a dead pastry chef, and I heard a rumor this is a guy at your retreat with Sheldon Allyn. The rumor started with Char, so I'm fairly confident it's true.”

Stan had to smile. It figured Char would spread the news. She paused outside the revolving door. “Are you looking for confirmation?” she asked. “Sheldon has a publicist, you know. I can connect you—”

“No, I'd rather talk to you,” Cyril said. “This is one of your specialties, remember?”

Stan sighed. “Right.” She listened to Cyril tapping keys. “What do you want to know? I probably can't comment.”

“That's okay; I'll ask anyway. So Pierre LaPorte, aka Peter Landsdowne, is dead. Foul play. Now there are two other chefs missing from the party. How are you feeling, given that you're in the midst of this drama as it plays out? Is the retreat continuing?”

“Let me take that one question at a time. We don't know for sure about the second chef being missing. That's an unsubstantiated rumor right now. As for the retreat, it is continuing. We have an event planned for Monday, so we're sticking it out despite the tragedy that's unfolded here. This is a dedicated bunch of chefs.” Sheldon would like that one.

“The police have declared Kyle McLeod a person of interest. Do you know him?”

“I met him Thursday for the first time.”

“Did he get along with the murdered chef?”

“Not sure.”

“Do you know of anybody who
didn't
get along with him? Like anyone who's at the retreat?”

“I really don't know. I never even got to meet him.” Stan swallowed against the memory of his blood on the white patio stone. She didn't think she should mention the snarky comments she'd overheard her fellow chefs make when they thought Pierre had arrived late due to a diva moment.

“What about Sheldon Allyn?”

“What about him?” Stan asked.

“Did
he
get along with the dead man?”

“They worked together. That's all I know.”

“Hmmm.” Stan heard Cyril scratching notes on his pad. “What else can you tell me?”

“Not much,” Stan said.

“What about Vaughn Dawes?”

“I don't know her.”

“She left Los Angeles—or was thought to leave Los Angeles—for Rhode Island. No one's heard from her since. She either never got on her plane to Rhode Island or something happened when she got there.”

Cyril simply repeated what she already knew, but put that way, it sounded even more sinister. “I wish I could tell you, Cyril. I don't know.”

“Do you think she and Kyle are in danger?”

“I couldn't possibly comment on that,” Stan said.

“Do you think you and the rest of the remaining chefs are in danger?”

“We're all on edge, of course, and feeling terribly upset about what happened to Pierre. I have complete faith in the Newport police to find the person or people responsible for this senseless act of violence.” She smiled triumphantly. She hadn't lost her touch after all.

Cyril chuckled on the other end of the phone. “You're a master. Now. Off the record?”

“Go ahead.” Stan set her bags down and leaned against the wall, enjoying the opportunity to be out in the sun and, though she'd never admit it, have this conversation with the quirky newsman. She and Cyril had bonded earlier this year and she'd grown rather fond of him. Plus, he kept her on her toes.

“I'm closing my notebook and putting my pen down,” Cyril said. He made a big show of rustling papers on his end of the phone. “I've heard from a reliable source that Allyn's crazy as a loon. True?”

Stan laughed. “Who, Jake?”

“Not this time. Other sources.” His voice sobered. “Stan, there's a good chance he killed this guy. You know that, right?”

“The matter-of-fact way you said that gives me chills, Cyril.” Stan rubbed her arms and watched the revolving hotel door. The last thing she needed was Sheldon to walk outside and spot her while they were discussing the possibility of him being a cold-blooded murderer.

“I'm not trying to scare you. I just want you to be careful. He planned this rendezvous and invited everyone. He could've planned Pierre's invite a little differently.”

She'd resisted that thought until now. “I don't know, Cyril. I don't know what to think. I can't imagine Sheldon . . . doing that to anyone. There are a lot of people who could've killed him. Including someone who had nothing to do with this weekend.”

Cyril made a noncommittal sound.

“When's your story running?”

“I have aversion online now. I'll update it.”

Which meant everyone in town would be calling her as soon as they saw it. Just what she needed. “Does Jessie know?”

“If she's reading my Web site she does,” he said. “I have a new Web site, did you know? It launched this week.” She could hear the pride in his voice. “I needed something more professional to go with my new office.”

“Look at you, Mr. Fancy. That's great, Cyril. Congrats.” Izzy Sweet and Jake were partners in the renovation of an old building in town, with the main floor slated for a bookstore. They'd also decided, after much debate, to turn the ground floor into an office for the
Frog Ledge Holler
operations. The town paper had gotten some huge press and major attention over the winter, which resulted in greater advertising opportunities and an actual revenue stream—a first for the one-man operation. Cyril suddenly found himself with the budget for a small staff. His one-room office above the flower shop downtown wasn't going to cut it anymore, and he'd decided to expand his reach. Izzy had been torn on what to do with the ground-floor space, which held appeal for a number of reasons. Cyril's operations were a perfect fit. “I'll definitely check it out later.”

“Oh, one more thing. Someone e-mailed a photo to me. It looks like your missing friend Kyle and a woman.”

“E-mailed to you?” Stan asked. “Like, a mass e-mail to reporters?”

“No. Like an e-mail directly to me. Unless this person sent them one at a time to other people.”

“What did the message say?”

“No message. Just the e-mail of the photo.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I wanted to see if you recognized the person. The picture has a date on it. Thursday. Taken some time during the day. Can I e-mail it to you?”

Stan's stomach turned. She had the sinking feeling that her sister's face might appear in her inbox. “Yes. This past Thursday? Like, the night of the murder?”

“You got it. Stand by.” She heard Cyril tapping keys, then he returned. “All set. Let me know if you recognize her. And call me back if you want to give anyone an exclusive when this breaks, hey?”

Stan promised, then hung up and checked her e-mail, trying to stop her heart from pounding so hard. She clicked on the picture and Kyle's profile filled the screen. His head was close to a woman's, and he looked to be in midsentence. But it wasn't Caitlyn. The woman's face was partially obscured by long dark hair, but Stan had no problem recognizing her.

It was Lucy Keyes.

Chapter 30

Stan strode into the hotel and up to the front desk. “Where's Lucy?” she demanded.

The clerk, an older woman Stan hadn't seen before, frowned at her. “Pardon me?”

“Lucy Keyes.”

“She's stepped out. Can I help you with something?”

Stan wanted to throw her phone at the woman, but worked hard to keep a smile alive. “No. I'll come back.” She turned and almost bumped into a Latina woman standing directly behind her. Sunglasses were perched on top of a cascade of dark hair, and her foot tapped an impatient rhythm in her wedge-cut sandal. Her expression indicated that she'd like to rip someone's head off.

“Sorry,” Stan muttered, and moved around her. The woman glared at her, then stepped up to the counter.

Stan jabbed the button for the elevator to Sheldon's floor. But she turned back when the woman said in a loud, Spanish-accented voice, “You say she's not here? I say bull! I wanna talk to
Miss Lucy Keyes
. And I wanna talk to her
now.
”

The clerk held her ground. “I'm sorry, she's not. I'm happy to take a message—”

“Do I need to make a scene?” the woman demanded.

You already are,
the clerk's face said. “Please step aside, ma'am, and we'll see if we can help you further.”

Stan walked back toward the front desk, curious now.

“Help me? I'll tell you how you can help me. You bring Lucy out here. You tell her Dahianna McLeod is here.” The woman stepped back, nodding with attitude. “She knows who I am.”

Stan stepped over to her. “Excuse me. Did you say you're Dahianna McLeod?”

The woman turned on her, fire flashing in her brown eyes. “Who are you?”

“I'm Stan Connor. I'm a chef who worked with Kyle—”

She didn't even get to finish the sentence. She sensed the rage emanating from the other woman, but didn't expect what happened next. Dahianna stepped forward and slapped Stan across the face.

Stunned, Stan stepped back, her hand flying to her stinging cheek. “What the—”

“Ma'am, do you want me to call the police?” The clerk grabbed the phone. Other guests milling around the lobby stopped to stare at the catfight unfolding before them.

“You too?” the crazy woman screeched. “He was sleeping with you. too? Bad enough this one”—she jerked her finger toward the counter—“
Miss Lucy
, who won't come out of her cave. But another one? I'm so embarrassed. I've never been so embarrassed in my life!”

Stan doubted that.
Nice to meet you, too, Dahianna McLeod
. No wonder Kyle'd been seeing her sister on the side. And all the other women. She stepped forward, jabbing her finger into the woman's shoulder. “Don't you ever touch me again. You have no idea what you're talking about, either. I was
not
sleeping with your husband, if that's who Kyle is.”

Kyle's crazy wife started shouting something back at her, but a man wearing a security jacket came out of a side door and made a beeline for them. “Ladies. I'm going to have to ask you to leave,” he said firmly, grabbing each of their arms and propelling them to the door. “This behavior is unacceptable in this hotel.”

“I'm a guest here!” Stan shook him off. “She's the crazy one.”

“Leave me alone!” Dahianna McLeod fisted her hands. “I want to talk to Lucy.
Now.
” She turned her glare on Stan. “Since you lost track of him on Thursday night, I don't think you rate as high as that tramp did.”

“Hey,” Stan said. Just because Lucy had that salon-finished hair every day didn't mean she couldn't rate as high on the hot scale.

The security guy ignored what they both had to say. He went to shove them through the revolving door, but was stopped.

“Thanks, Dennis. I'll take it from here,” a voice purred from behind Stan.

They all whirled to see Lucy Keyes. She wore a green pencil skirt, black lacy top, and multicolored open-toed stilettos. And, of course, her hair was perfect.

“You!” Dahianna advanced on Lucy, finger pointed. Her too long nail jabbed at the air. Dennis immediately stepped between them, but Lucy stepped past him.

“Listen, Dahianna,” she began, but Dahianna wasn't hearing any of it. She just continued shouting at Lucy, to the point where Stan couldn't understand her.

This was so stupid. Stan'd had enough. Whoever Kyle was sleeping with or not sleeping with, there was still a murder that needed to be solved. And the fact that two people were missing. “Stop!” she yelled finally.

All heads swiveled toward her. Dahianna actually shut up, too.

“Enough, for the sanity of everyone in this lobby,” she said. “I need to talk to Lucy. You'll have to wait.” Before Dahianna could respond, she grabbed Lucy and pulled her toward the nearest hallway.

“Dennis, take her somewhere to cool down,” Lucy instructed, following Stan. “Then we can decide if we need to call the police. This way,” she said to Stan.

They went through a door into a small stairway and down one flight. “In here,” Lucy said, nodding toward a door. She flashed an ID at a black box. A button on the box turned green and Lucy pushed the door open. Stan followed her inside. The door closed behind them with a
snick
.

They were in a small office with no windows. Lucy pulled the chair out from behind the desk and motioned for Stan to sit in the guest chair. “Thanks for the reprieve,” she said with a small smile. “That one's a little . . .” She tapped her temple.

“You know her,” Stan said.

“Of her,” Lucy corrected. She reached into her bra and extracted a cigarette, then seemed to remember where she was and didn't make a move to light it, instead twirling it between her fingers. “She's . . . got some issues.”

Stan pulled her phone out and opened the e-mail from Cyril. “What's this about?” She thrust the phone in Lucy's face.

Lucy examined it, and her face paled. She handed it back to Stan. This time, she lit the cigarette. “Where did you get that?”

“It was e-mailed to a reporter I know. Taken Thursday during the day, apparently. Before everything went down.”

Lucy shrugged, but her hand shook as she brought the cigarette to her lips. “I told you I talked to him Thursday.”

“Are you seeing him?” Stan asked.

Lucy blew smoke and fanned it with her hand, trying to avoid setting off the alarms. “No. Not anymore.” She paused. “But he was staying at my house when he was in town.”

Stan frowned. “I don't follow.”

“Kyle and I were an item for about a year,” Lucy said. “Against my better judgment. I broke it off about six months ago, because his . . . home situation became quite precarious.”

Six months ago. Caitlyn had been seeing him longer than that. Stan tamped down her anger on her sister's behalf and focused on the woman in front of her. “Precarious how?”

Lucy leaned back and crossed her legs, drumming her fingers on the desktop, and arched an eyebrow at Stan. “You have to ask?”

“Well, he did marry her,” Stan said pointedly.

Lucy's mouth tipped up in a smile. “Touché. There's a kid involved, so he's afraid to leave. It's kind of a mess. He's been trying to get out for a while. He migrated here to work on this restaurant. We met, the rest is history, as it often is.” She shrugged. “I broke it off, but Kyle's financial situation has been less than stellar. He thought this restaurant with Sheldon would get going faster than it did and he'd have money, but it didn't and he couldn't afford his rent any longer. He let the apartment go and begged to stay with me. I was tempted to put him up here so I didn't have to deal with it, but that was too close for comfort. Plus I need my job and didn't want to put myself in jeopardy.”

“Wait. He doesn't have that apartment anymore?”

Lucy shook her head. “Couldn't afford it. Sheldon helped him out for a few months but couldn't keep it up.”

“When did he give it up?”

“It's been a month or so now.”

“And he lived with you?”

“He stayed in my guest room.”

Then why was the bloody pizza cutter in his Dumpster if he didn't even live there? And where was he meeting with Caitlyn?

“What?” Lucy said.

“Nothing. Did Sheldon know he was staying with you?”

“He warned me against getting involved with Kyle,” she said with a small smile. “But I figured I could handle it. I don't think he knew Kyle stayed with me. I never told him. I don't know if Kyle did.”

“Does he have your car? I know the SUV is yours,” she said before Lucy could come up with a story.

“You an undercover cop or something?” Lucy asked with a small laugh. “Yeah, Kyle has it. He knew where I kept my spare keys. I went out to get dinner the night of the murder. He must've seen me get back and figured I'd be here for another four or five hours. He took the truck and left me a message not to be mad, that he'd bring it back.” Her smile was cynical. “He didn't say when.”

Stan sent her a skeptical look. “You really didn't talk to him after the murder?”

“Nope. Cross my heart,” she said, drawing the symbol with the tip of her long nail.

“And the security tapes didn't tell the cops anything different.”

“We have a security cam out front, not out back. Nothing showing him leaving out front, so I presume he left through the back door.”

“So he did leave on his own. Or do you think he was under duress?”

Lucy shook her head slowly. “He didn't call from his cell phone. There was a lot of noise in the background and I could barely hear him. Just said he'd be back. I haven't heard from him since.”

“Are you absolutely sure it was him?”

She thought about that. “At the time I didn't give it a second thought. That's something Kyle would do, quite frankly. But now that you mention it, the connection was pretty bad. I don't know.”

“Did you report the car stolen?”

Lucy shook her head. “I figured that would add to his problems.”

“Did you tell the police he has it?”

Lucy shook her head again. “And I'm afraid that ship has sailed. It's a little late to ‘remember' that now, don't you think?” She used air quotes. “They'll probably get me on aiding and abetting.”

Stan looked her square in the eye. “Do you think he killed Pierre?”

“Honestly,” Lucy said, “I have no idea what the hell is going on.”