Murder Most Finicky (16 page)

Chapter 31

Stan left Lucy in her tiny office and took the back stairs to the second floor, trying to avoid the lobby and Dahianna McLeod. From there, she took the elevator to Sheldon's suite and banged on the door. No answer. She texted Tyler.

 

 

A beat, then Tyler wrote back.

 

Sheldon took off. I'm out for a bit
.

 

So much for their SOS that she needed to get back right away. The heck with this. She had cat-noli to bake. She went back to the ballroom and shoved the secret door open, expecting mass chaos, with the rest of the group fighting for the oven. Instead, opera music soared from the kitchen. Curious, she approached cautiously, not wanting to interrupt hotel staff if they'd needed the room after all.

To her surprise, she found Joaquin wearing a neon green apron, surrounded by baking paraphernalia. As she watched, he sang along to some aria, throwing his hand up in the air as he reached a particularly high note. Flour drifted from his hands into the air and landed on his brazen red hair. Spinning around to grab something from the fridge, he noticed Stan and cringed guiltily.

“Oh, dear. Hello there. I was just being a little silly.”

“Don't apologize on my account. At least someone's enjoying themselves,” she said, throwing her bag on the counter. She thought about pouring herself a drink, but dismissed the idea. She had to stay sharp until she could figure out what was going on around here.

“Bad day?” Joaquin shot her a sympathetic look as he took out milk and eggs.

“You could say that. Where did Sheldon go? Where is everyone else?”

Joaquin shook his head sadly. “I don't know. He was very upset. Tyler and I thought it best to let him have some space.” He broke eggs into a bowl and worked to keep a smile going. “I'm not sure where the other chefs are, but they haven't been getting in much practice. It's a shame. Anyway,” he said coyly, “if you like apple pie and chocolate fudge cake with mocha creme, your day is about to get better.”

Stan's eyes widened. “Get out. Chocolate fudge cake? Mocha creme?”

“Would I lie to you?” He winked and deftly added ingredients into a large silver mixing bowl, pausing to pick up a small red leather notebook off the counter. Stan recognized it. Moleskine. Her favorite kind. He brushed off the flour, flipped to a page, and skimmed his finger down some lines of scribbles, then slid the notebook into his apron pocket. Today his nails were pink.

“Not about that, I hope. I had no idea you were such a cook. Maybe you could make something for the dinner. Has Sheldon asked you? Or have you talked to him? You know, in case this Vaughn person really doesn't show up?”

Joaquin shook his head. “I'm just playing around. I like to dabble in cooking, and working for Sheldon has reinvigorated my interest. Plus I've wanted to make something chocolaty and delightful for everyone, because I feel like we're all very sad and stressed. Would you like coffee?”

“Always. What's your take on all this craziness?”

Joaquin worked what looked like cocoa powder into his milk mixture and took a whisk to it, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I've worked for Sheldon about a year now, and I've seen a lot of things,” he said. “I think Pierre had gotten into some unfortunate situations and this, sadly, is the result.”

“What kind of situations?”

Joaquin put his spoon down, looked around, then stage-whispered, “Drugs.” He raised his eyebrows knowingly. “He'd been lucky to get his drug bust squashed, but it didn't stop him. I know Sheldon was concerned about the goings-on at the bakery. And Pierre's attitude had been on a downhill slide, too. He was discouraged with what he considered a slipping career, and acted out.” He moved to the coffeemaker and loaded beans into the grinder.

So that must be true. Joaquin was the second person she'd heard it from. “Was his career really slipping?”

Joaquin shook his head vehemently. “Only in his mind. He thought he needed to be on the cover of all the magazines to really say he'd made it. But his dedicated patrons would disagree. So many people would only eat his pastries. And he did charity work, which to me is better than any magazine cover. As a matter of fact, as my first real task for Sheldon when I was hired, I organized a bake-off charity event. Pierre was there from the beginning, pitching in, offering his yummies for a good cause. Amazing chef. Such a loss.” He finished prepping the coffee, turned the machine on, and went back to the cake.

“How long have you known him?”

“A year and a half or so? That's when I started working for Sheldon.”

“Was he seeing anyone? Didn't he used to date Vaughn?”

“Oooh!” Joaquin abandoned his batter and leaned on the counter, chin in his floury hands. “I don't know! Do tell.”

“I don't know either. I don't know them, remember? I'd just heard that. Through the gossip mill,” she said.

Joaquin looked disappointed at not getting the 411. He finished making his mocha creme and layered it into the fudge cake.

Stan watched. “Can I make my vanilla cat-noli creme the same way? Yours looks fluffier than I can ever get mine and I wanted to try something new for this meal.”

“Of course you can! Are you using ricotta?”

“Yogurt. Low fat.”

“And how are you mixing?”

“By hand.”

“Well, that's the problem!” He snapped his fingers, then looked around. “Ah, there we go.” He pointed to the food processor. “Let's whip up your mixture and then we'll put it in there, shall we?”

“Sure.” Stan gathered her vanilla extract, almond extract, and yogurt from the fridge. “Maybe I'll add some berries,” she decided, pulling out the blueberries. She measured and mixed, then handed it to Joaquin.

“Okay. Let's see now.” Joaquin spooned the mixture into the machine, then lightly pulsed it until the texture turned smooth and creamy. “Voilà!”

“Wow. I never thought to use a food processor because I thought it would get too runny. That's fantastic.” Stan tasted it. “Delicious. Thank you.”

“Anytime. The blueberries must make it superb.” Joaquin nodded approvingly and took two mugs from a cabinet. “I've learned a lot from Sheldon.” He poured them each coffee, handed Stan hers, then added milk and sugar to his.

“I'm sure. I was looking forward to getting pastry tips from Pierre, too.”

Joaquin nodded, then his face turned serious. “I'm sad for you, that you didn't.”

“Yeah, I'm kinda sad about it, too. I'd heard such great things about his work. Did he mentor you, too?”

“Unfortunately, no. He was very busy, and spent the majority of his time in New York, where Sheldon and I divided our time between here and Boston. Sometimes Shel would send the heli to get Pierre—”

“Heli?”

Joaquin grinned. “Sheldon has a helicopter, yes.”

Stan raised her eyebrows. “Wow. This pastry thing is more lucrative than I thought.” And so much for Caitlyn's belief that Kyle didn't have access to that mode of transportation. If he'd needed to make a fast getaway, would Sheldon have arranged it for him? She made a mental note to mention that to Detective Owens next time he came around.

“You're not kidding,” Joaquin said with a knowing smile. “Why do you think I want to be mentored by the best?”

“Good thinking,” Stan said. “Did Pierre use it often?”

“When Sheldon summoned.” That wry smile again. “Shel likes to be in charge, if you hadn't guessed. But not lately. Like Shel said, there'd been some trouble.”

“Did Sheldon let all his prize chefs use it?”

Joaquin laughed. “Oh, no. It wasn't like that. He only used it for dire situations. Truth be told, Sheldon didn't love the helicopter. He only bought it because someone suggested it. He sent it for Pierre to help him out, get him back and forth quickly.”

“Why just Pierre?” Stan asked.

“Aside from Maria, Pierre is busiest,” Joaquin said with a shrug, then grimaced. “
Was
busiest. And Sheldon liked to have him available. It did make the other chefs jealous, though. Especially the core group, like the ones here.”

“Maria,” Stan guessed.

“Well . . .” Joaquin glanced around to be sure no one had come in. “Marcin, more often.”

“Marcin? Really?”

“Yes. But any cause he had to be angry at Pierre, he took.”

“Why?”

Joaquin sighed. “You heard about Marcin's problems. Unfortunately, I think he partly blames Pierre. For the financial ones, anyway. When Marcin and Leo started their new restaurant, they asked Pierre for help. To do a special dessert of the week or something in hopes of attracting more customers, since they were fairly new at it. Pierre said he would, but he wasn't good at follow-through. One week in particular, he'd given them desserts for their menu and then failed to send the desserts. It was a big mess. Of course, that wasn't the only trigger for Marcin's . . . issues. They were a long time coming, and this just added fuel to the fire. You know how it is when things go terribly wrong, and sometimes you fixate on one thing? I fear that's what happened to Marcin.” Joaquin shrugged. “His breakdown happened not long after. I think he always held a grudge against Pierre after that.”

“Do you think he could've killed him over that?” Stan asked with a shiver. Missing desserts?

Joaquin shuddered. “I never thought about that. I don't know. I have seen his mood grow very dark lately. It concerns me. And Leo is such a good man, always trying to compensate. I think he's in denial,” he finished in a low voice.

Stan thought about that. The story seemed weak as far as motive, but Joaquin was right about people, even those without mental illness or psychiatric problems, fixating on a person or situation they felt had screwed up their lives. Sometimes those stories took a very bad turn.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Joaquin said. “But then when he was late on Thursday—”

“He was?”

Joaquin nodded. “At the very last minute, Leo called me and said Marcin had something to attend to, and wouldn't make it at the agreed-upon time. Tyler had to wait for half an hour. Again, I can't speak to where he was,” he said, holding up his hand. He laughed nervously. “These terrible police detectives. They have us all suspecting each other.”

Chapter 32

Joaquin put his fudge cake in the oven, set a timer on his phone, and excused himself. Grateful to have the kitchen to herself, Stan baked a couple of different sizes of cannoli and filled them with her new, improved blueberry cream. Praying Nutty liked it, she took some samples of that and the strawberry cake to offer him. On the way up she checked in at the front desk. There was no sign of Dahianna McLeod, but Detective Genske sat on one of the sofas in the lobby. She saw Stan and waved, making it impossible for Stan to slip past.

“Hi,” she said, veering over.

“Afternoon. What's new?”

“Nothing. Are you here because of Kyle's wife?”

Genske raised an eyebrow. “We were here to meet Kyle's wife earlier. We're back to see Sheldon now.”

“Oh,” Stan said. “By the way, did you know about the helicopter?”

Genske regarded Stan. “Tell me more.”

“Not much to tell, but Sheldon apparently had a helicopter he often used to fetch Pierre.” She shrugged. “I thought you should know.”

“Thank you. That's helpful. Did you meet Kyle's wife, too?”

“I did,” Stan said, her hand going to her cheek as if Dahianna's handprint could still be visible.

Genske smiled a little. “You seen Sheldon?”

“Not since early this morning.”

“Huh,” Genske said. “He upset about anything?”

“I think he's upset about everything,” Stan said. “He's concerned about the publicity on Vaughn Dawes's nonarrival, for one, and the fact that suspicion is being cast on him. Has she officially been reported as missing?”

Genske spread her hands. “I have no knowledge of that. Her family and friends would've reported it locally.”

Stan's phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out. Tyler.

 

 

Genske watched her curiously.

“Okay. Well, I have to run,” Stan said. “Have to taste-test my treats on my cat.”

“Good luck. Hey, if you see Sheldon, tell him we're looking for him, will you?”

“You got it,” Stan said, and turned to go.

“One more thing?” Genske said.

Stan gritted her teeth, but managed to change it into a pleasant smile by the time she turned. “Sure.”

“Are you related to Caitlyn Connor Fitzgerald?”

The sigh of defeat almost escaped her lips, but she held it back. “Yes. That's my sister.”

“Really? Have you seen her lately?”

“I have actually. We went for a walk this morning. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. I've heard her name linked to Kyle McLeod,” Genske said, her eyes steely. “But I figured if you knew any of that, you'd have told us. Right?”

“Of course,” Stan said in her best I can't believe you even have to ask tone. “My sister is happily married.” The lie made her tongue itch as she said it, but she had no idea what else to say.

“Hmmm,” Genske said.

Stan ducked into the elevator, relieved when the doors slid shut between her and the detective.

Her relief was short lived. When she got off the elevator and let herself into the suite, Sheldon and Maria were at the kitchen table, nursing coffees and cookies. Homemade, of course. Sheldon jumped up when he saw her. His normal shiny suit and perfect hair were both missing. He wore a pair of jeans, loafers, and a fitted T-shirt, and none of his usual primping was apparent. He didn't even have any makeup on. Things must be dire.

“Sheldon. The cops are looking for you.” Stan jerked a thumb toward the door. “One's in the lobby and the other's at your suite. Tyler just texted me.”

“Never mind that. Thank goodness you're here. Have you seen? Heard? This woman wants to destroy me! Tyler has been on the phone answering calls most of the day. We've sent out another statement with some adjustments, including a line that we're working closely with the local police to do everything they can to find the killer and, of course, to locate Kyle and Vaughn. But of course there's fallout! My name attached to this . . . this . . .
debacle
is fallout!”

Stan deposited her baked goods on the table. “It's good that you added that statement. I think that's all you have to say. Give it any more attention and you look guilty.” She watched him closely for any sign of said guilt, but he was barely listening to her as he obsessively checked his phone, muttering about “having to stop her.”

Maria took another cookie. “I can't bear to hear any more,” she said to Stan. “This is terrible, what they're trying to do to him. Just terrible.” She took a huge bite.

Stan ignored her. “Are you going to talk to the police?” she asked Sheldon.

Sheldon froze. “Why?”

“They have more questions.”

“They'll have to wait,” Sheldon said. “I have some things to attend to.”

“I don't think they're in the mood to wait,” Stan said. “I'd go talk to them if I were you.”

Sheldon's face lost a little color, but he straightened his sleeves. “Fine. I'll go.”

Maria made a sad noise around a mouthful.

Sheldon patted her shoulder. “Please tell everyone I'll be back shortly and not to worry. I want them cooking and baking and conquering the world!” He gave a weak attempt at a Sheldon battle cry, arm raised in a victory fist, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. Stan followed him to the door. He tried to keep his head high, but by the time he'd reached the elevator he looked . . . smaller. Like an old man.

Stan quietly closed the door behind him.

“You want a cookie?” Maria asked.

“Sure,” Stan said. “What the heck.”

 

 

Stan felt no guilt as she munched on cookies, some kind of chocolate chip creation with hints of espresso. While she enjoyed it, Maria got a text from Sheldon that he'd been asked to go downtown with the cops.

“What!” Maria stared at the phone, then at Stan. “He can't go!”

“He has to, Maria. It will look really bad if he doesn't.”

“This is preposterous! Sheldon is not a murderer!” She burst into tears and fled upstairs. Stan heard her door slam. She shook her head and finished her cookie. Then she took Nutty's treats upstairs. He was awake, sitting on the window bed watching a bird fly back and forth outside. His regal tail was in full fluff mode.

“Hey, baby. Brought you something.” Stan presented the bite-sized cat-noli and cake to Nutty. He approached cautiously, as cats often did with new food, and sniffed.

Stan watched anxiously. He kept sniffing. Then . . . he walked away.

Stan's mouth dropped. He had to be kidding. Strawberry cake? Blueberry vanilla cat-noli? “You're killing me,” she said. “How am I supposed to feed this to a Siamese if you won't even eat it?”

He looked at her as if to say,
Not my problem
, then hopped back onto his window. Stan flopped onto the bed and closed her eyes. What a disaster this weekend had been, and there were still two days left. She should call Jake. He would make her feel better. Maybe she should call him and see if he'd pick her up. As if on cue her phone rang. But it wasn't Jake. It was Caitlyn.

“Hey,” she said.

“You were right,” her sister said in a funny voice.

“About what?”

“A cop showed up here. They know about Kyle.”

Stan thought of Genske's question in the lobby and swallowed hard. The detective was probably on her way upstairs to arrest her, too, for withholding information.

“They're taking me in for questioning,” Caitlyn said, and her voice broke. “Eva's here, and my nanny, and Michael will know. If he doesn't already. You know how the neighbors talk. It's all over. I can't believe this.” She started to cry and hiccup.

“Where are you right now?”

“In the bathroom trying to pull myself together.”

“Listen. Tell them what you know. It's not much, right? They want to find Kyle. That's their endgame. Once they understand that you don't know where he is, they'll forget about you. But just to warn you, Kyle's wife showed up at the hotel today.”

“What?” Caitlyn's shriek wasn't as effective in a whisper, but she gave it a good try.

“Yeah.” Stan didn't mention Lucy Keyes. Her sister had enough to worry about right now. “I'll tell you later. Listen. Go with them but don't say anything. Call Mom's lawyer. I'll come get you. Okay?”

“You will?”

“I will.”

“Thanks, Krissie.” With another hiccup, Caitlyn disconnected.