Murder Most Finicky (17 page)

Chapter 33

Stan went downstairs and almost bumped into Joaquin, coming down the hallway holding a gorgeous cake.

“Hey,” Stan said. “That looks fabulous.”

Joaquin smiled proudly. “It did come out extra perfect, didn't it? I hope Sheldon likes it. I feel like he needs a smile.”

Oops. He didn't know that Sheldon had gone to the police station. “Yeah, he's not back yet,” she said.

“That's okay. He needed some playtime.” The elevator dinged.

“He's at the police station, Joaquin. The detectives asked him to go in for questioning.”

His face went pale and he swayed slightly on his pink sneakers. Stan reached out to steady the cake. That would be a tragic casualty. “You okay?” She felt bad for Sheldon's three young charges. Between Tyler and his crash course on crisis communications, Therese getting blamed for a leak, and now Joaquin learning his adored boss had been hauled off by the cops, none of them were going to be the same after this weekend.

“Why . . . what do they want with him?”

“Probably to see if he knows why one of his chefs is dead and two more are missing?”

“This is terrible. He can't handle that,” Joaquin exclaimed.

“He's going to have to handle it,” Stan said. “He doesn't have a choice.”

Joaquin looked like he might cry. “He's very sensitive.”

Sensitive?
“Does he have a lawyer you can call, just in case?”

Now Joaquin looked like he might pass out. “Lawyer?”

“Don't freak out,” Stan said, glancing around. A couple of people looked at them curiously as they passed by. “They didn't sound like they were arresting him. But just in case, maybe you should contact one?”

“Good idea. You're amazing. Can you ask Tyler? I need to go set up the table for when Sheldon returns.” He shoved the cake at Stan. “Tyler has the computer with all the contacts,” he said. “Let's plan on having a special dinner for Sheldon, even if no one wants to cook. We'll order in. But he needs something happy when he returns. Thank you, thank you!” he called as he jogged away.

“No problem,” she muttered, and jabbed at the elevator button. She made the trek to Sheldon, Tyler, and Joaquin's suite and raised her hand to knock. Then she realized the door was cracked open.

“Hello?” Peering in, she nudged the door back and opened her mouth to call for Tyler. Then stopped when she saw him. Well, the back of him. The front of him was lip-locked with Therese, whose hair was really the only part of her Stan could see. Yes, she was that skinny.

“Um.” She cleared her throat, then cleared it again more loudly when they didn't acknowledge her. “Guys?”

Tyler jumped back, startled. Therese pouted, then sent Stan a nasty look.

“Whoa. Hey, Stan. Need something?” Tyler said, running his hand through his hair. “Shoot, did something happen? Nice cake.”

Stan set the cake on the counter. “I do need something, actually. Can you get me the number of Sheldon's lawyer?”

“Lawyer?” Tyler stared at her. “What for?”

“He's at the police station.”

“No freakin' way,” Tyler breathed. “You hear that, babe?” he asked Therese.

Therese gave him a look, brushed by Stan, and left the room. Stan swore the other girl hissed at her on the way out. Kind of like Nutty when the dogs bothered him.

“Sorry about her. She gets cranky,” Tyler said.

“I can tell. I didn't know you guys were an item,” Stan said.

Tyler laughed nervously. “I didn't either. I mean, we aren't really an item. We're just, you know. Having fun.”

“Were you having fun Thursday night after we got here?”

Tyler's face turned red. “Yeah. So what?”

She shrugged. “I've been wondering where Therese had been all night. So she was with you?”

“Yeah. I really did go to a bar downtown. I brought her with me.”

“Did she stay here in your suite? Because she never came back.”

Tyler reddened. “Yeah, she did. Is there a problem with that?” he asked defensively.

“No problem. Just good to know.”

“Am I calling this lawyer?”

“I'd keep the number handy. And while you're thinking about it, you might want to get a statement ready about Sheldon's trip to the police station. I'm sure that'll be the next headline in the news.”

Chapter 34

Stan finally left the hotel for the police station to get her sister. As she started Caitlyn's SUV, she wondered if they'd finished with Sheldon yet. What a disaster. Things weren't looking good all around, yet Stan didn't feel like they were any closer to solving the murder. Plus, now she had to figure out how to tell her sister that Kyle and Lucy hadn't been over when she'd gotten together with him, never mind that Kyle hadn't even been renting the apartment he'd said he was renting while he lived off Lucy. He was lucky he was missing—if he were here, Stan would smack him.

She turned out of the hotel parking lot and drove down the long driveway, finally emerging into the heart of Newport as her mind worked through the puzzle. Something was missing here. A big piece. But darned if she could put her finger on it.

Taking a right onto Ocean Avenue, Stan happened to glance in her rearview mirror and saw headlights right behind her. Tall ones. Like from a truck. Thankfully it wasn't completely dark yet. She kept her eyes on the mirror and felt a jolt of adrenaline when she recognized a white pickup truck, close enough to her bumper it could've pushed her.

Coincidence? Stan doubted it. Nerves soaring, she hit the gas and took off down the street, making a fast left turn with no signal. The truck clearly wasn't expecting it, but at the last minute corrected and made the turn. Stan took another two or three turns, watching the truck the entire time, driving in a big circle to see if it would stay on her tail. It did. Anger replaced fear now. There was enough going on in her world without this added stress. Stomping on her brake, she reached for her phone and dialed 911.

“I'm on Maple Avenue in Newport and a white pickup truck is tailing me,” she said when the dispatcher answered. “I've seen this truck three times over the past two days, including earlier today, and I'm feeling unsafe.”

“Do you have a license plate number, ma'am?”

“I can't see it,” Stan said, kicking herself for not taking it down when she'd seen it in the coffee shop parking lot, or when it had followed Caitlyn to the hotel earlier.

“Okay. Stay in your vehicle, ma'am. I have a unit nearby.”

“Should I keep driving?”

“Go slow,” the woman advised. “They should be there in one minute or less. What kind of car are you driving?”

Stan told her. “Ask Detective Owens to come, if he's available,” she said, then disconnected. A moment later, she saw flashing lights flying up the street behind her.

She pulled over in front of someone's house. The pickup truck did the same. The cop car pulled in sideways and partially behind the truck, blocking him in. She watched, fascinated, as two cops approached on each side of the vehicle, hands poised over their weapons. The cop on the driver's side spoke, then Stan saw hands coming out of the driver's side window, demonstrating that he had no weapon. The officer opened the door, still standing slightly back, and let the driver step out of the car, his colleague coming around the front of the car. The cop had him face the truck and put his hands against the side of the roof. He was tall enough to reach.

Another cop car shot up the street and pulled up in front of her car. The cop got out, conferred with his colleagues, then came over to Stan. She buzzed the window down.

“You placed the nine-one-one call?” the officer asked.

“I did.”

“This guy was following you?”

“Yes. For the second time today. Well, earlier he was following my sister in this same car. Did you call Detective Owens? Who is this guy? Is he dangerous?”

The cop turned when one of the others called his name. “One second,” he said to Stan, and walked over. She leaned out of the car window to get a better view of what was happening behind her. And frowned. The driver was no longer assuming the position. Instead, he faced the cops. And they were laughing.

What was going on here? Stan shoved the car door open and got out. “What do you think you're doing?” she said to the cops. “This guy was stalking me and my sister and you're standing here having a good laugh about it?”

“Ma'am, not at all,” the last-to-arrive cop said. “If we can explain—”

“No wonder people don't feel safe when they get restraining orders or tell you about being stalked,” Stan went on, her voice rising, “if this is what happens. I guess it's all just one big boys' club though, right?”

“Ma'am,” the cop interrupted, more sternly this time. “This is Ryan Holder.”

Stan stared at him. “So?”

Another car pulled up. They all stopped to watch Detective Owens emerge. He walked over, his keen eyes taking in the scene before him. He nodded. “Evenin',” he said, as if this were a normal meeting.

Stan turned to him. “Thank goodness. This man has been following me and my sister around. This is the third time I've seen him since yesterday. And these officers seem to think it's funny. This could have something to do with Pierre.”

Owens regarded her calmly. He looked at his colleagues. “That true?”

“No,” the cop who had first approached the pickup's driver's side door said. “Well, the part about him following her is true. We don't think it's funny. But we were trying to explain who he is.”

“And who's that?” Owens asked.

“Ryan Holder.”

Owens showed no sign of recognition either.

“The PI,” the other cop said. “Don't you remember? He worked that missing kid case after the dad tapped him? Ended up solving it, hate to say it.”

Ryan Holder smiled. He pushed off the side of the car and approached Stan, hand extended. “I'm very sorry to frighten you,” he said, those droopy eyes seemingly sincere.

Stan folded her arms, rebuffing him. “Why were you following me? Or did you think you were still following my sister?”

“Your sister,” he admitted.

“Why were you looking for my sister, then?”

“I was hired to do so.”

Stan groaned inwardly. Of course. A private eye. Only in her sister's world. All the cops were watching her now, including Owens.

“By whom?” she asked, although she feared she already knew the answer.

“That's confidential information.”

“Was it her husband?”

Holder said nothing.

“Great. Fabulous. Did you get what you needed? Although if you were any good you'd know she's at the police station right now.”

Holder turned his hands palms up. “Hey, we all have our off days. I wasn't expecting you to switch cars.”

One of the cops snickered. Stan shot him a dirty look, then turned back to Holder.

“You should really be more considerate when you're tailing women,” she said. “Unless you're trying to scare them to death. Did Michael pay you extra to do that?”

Without waiting for an answer she spun on her heel and went back to her car as the rest of them dispersed to their vehicles and Ryan Holder climbed back into his truck. She'd just cranked the engine on when Owens appeared at her window. “Got a second?”

“Not really. I have to go pick Caitlyn up at the station. I'm presuming she's still there?”

“She is. Genske was talking to her when I left.”

“Sheldon still there, too?” Her gaze followed the white pickup truck as it traveled down the street and turned out of her line of sight, the cop cars right behind. Maybe they were all going to the bar.

“He is. I had to put him on hold to come out here. Heard you met McLeod's wife.”

She glared at him. “Yeah. She's a gem. My sister in trouble?”

“Not if she didn't do anything. She swears she didn't see or hear from him after he vanished.”

“She's freaking out.”

“I can tell. McLeod isn't worth it, though. Seems like he's got a few ladies on the side.”

She leaned her head back against the seat, feeling suddenly incredibly tired.

“Your sister may have her hands full with Mr. McLeod's wife. I almost wished I had something to hold her on, because you know that woman will go cause some kind of trouble for someone.”

Despite herself, Stan wanted to laugh. The whole thing was crazy. “I'm going to get Caitlyn,” she said. “Thanks for coming out, Detective. Sorry to interrupt your night.”

“Be careful out there, Ms. Connor,” Owens said, stepping back. “We still haven't caught the killer.”

Chapter 35

By the time Stan picked up Caitlyn, her sister had graduated from freaked out to zombie calm. Which would change when she told her about the PI.

“So, we can swap cars back,” Stan said carefully. She took a deep breath and glanced over at her sister. “I was right. You were being followed.”

Caitlyn made a pitiful sound. “By . . . whom?”

Stan braced herself. “A PI. Michael hired him, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes. She said nothing, just leaned her head back against the seat. Stan kept driving.

“Where were you and Kyle meeting the last few months?” she asked finally.

Caitlyn opened one eye and looked at her. “Why?”

“Just tell me.”

“He took me to a bunch of different places. Fun, new hotels or B and Bs. He said he wanted to keep it fresh.” She turned her head to look out the window.

“Had you been to his apartment lately?” Stan asked.

“Not in a while. He didn't spend much time there. He said he'd gotten some crappy neighbors and didn't want me in the building, especially by myself.” She still didn't look at her sister. Stan got the sense Caitlyn was trying to deflect something.

“Why did you go to the Newport Premier?” she asked her sister.

Caitlyn sighed. “Why does it matter?”

“It does.”

Caitlyn turned to look at her. “To see Lucy Keyes, okay? I'm not stupid, Stan.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I knew they had a history. I wanted to know if it was still going on and I . . . didn't think Kyle would tell me the truth.”

So Caitlyn had talked to Lucy. Stan wondered if Lucy had figured out she and Caitlyn were related. “So what did she say?”

“That she was just helping him out.” Caitlyn's tone was bitter.

“Maybe she was,” Stan said gently as they pulled into Caitlyn's driveway.

Caitlyn jerked her shoulder in a shrug.

“Do you want to stay at the hotel with me?” Stan asked.

“No. I need to be with Eva. And I need to face the music.”

Stan felt a pang of pity for her sister. Caitlyn wasn't used to this kind of thing. She usually preferred to live vicariously through other people's drama without being the center of attention herself. “Call me if you need me,” she said.

They swapped cars and Stan drove back to the hotel, her mind drifting back to the mysterious Melanie Diamond. The more she thought about her, the more she became convinced she held the key. Or at least some answers that might lead to the key. But calling her wasn't going to work. Too easy to hang up, or avoid her entirely.

Face to face, though . . . Stan parked, the plan forming in her mind. Maybe a trip to New York was in order. That way she could visit Pierre's bakery, too, to see if there were any clues. And if she left early enough tomorrow, she could get down and back in one day. Sheldon would be so wrapped up in his problems he wouldn't be worried about who was cooking. She could catch a train out of Providence. And maybe she could recruit some help.

Stan dialed the number three times before she let it connect. She kept hanging up to refine her pitch, sure she'd get hung up on at best, or the death silence, which was worse.

Since winging it didn't sound like the best idea, she let the call go through. “Hey,” she said when Jessie answered.

“Hello again,” Jessie said. “What now? Some other friend needs to find out who's driving what car?”

Stan grimaced. She could never tell if Jessie was kidding. She decided to proceed as if she were and laughed. “No. But I did have a different favor to ask. Are you off this weekend?”

Now Jessie's tone became guarded. “I am.”

Stan blew out a breath. “I need some help. In-person help.” She imagined the mental groan and forehead smacking going on at the other end of the phone.

But to her credit, none of that came through in Jessie's response. “With what?” she asked.

“I need to go to New York tomorrow.” She gave her a rushed Cliffs Notes version. “And I need you to find an address for this publicist. I doubt she'll be at her office on a Sunday, and I can't find a listing for her.”

Jessie said nothing during Stan's spiel, not even honing in on the parts she'd glossed over, like the fact that the police were looking for her sister's boyfriend in earnest, and that her sister and said boyfriend were both married to other people. When Stan finished, Jessie remained silent for so long Stan wondered if the phone had cut out on her.

Then she spoke. “You know you're getting involved in something you shouldn't, right?”

“Totally,” Stan said.

“You have no idea what the real story is with these guys. They could be dangerous. Clearly someone the dead guy was involved with
was
dangerous.”

“Understood,” Stan said.

“So you just decided to call me and screw up my weekend off.”

“Well, when you put it that way . . . yes.”

Jessie sighed, long and loud, sounding like a balloon deflating. “My kid wanted to go play mini-golf.”

Now Stan felt bad. “I'm sorry. Look, it was a shot in the dark. I thought you might know the best way to get some answers. I feel bad for my sister, and everyone here is scared and worried. But I don't want you to neglect Lily.”

“What train are you taking?” Jessie asked.

“I'm going to take a morning train out of Providence. I have to check the schedule.”

“Let me know which one. I'll pick it up in New Haven.”

Stan almost dropped the phone. “Sorry?” She had expected a lot more resistance than this. Maybe Jessie wasn't feeling well.

“I said, I'll pick it up in New Haven. Down and back in one day, right?”

“Right. Totally. Yes.” She hesitated. “Forgive me for saying this, but is there a catch?”

Jessie chuckled. “A catch?”

“Yeah. I, um . . .”

“Didn't expect me to say yes? My brother called me. He gave me some intel into what was going on. I half expected this, knowing you. And then there was the reg lookup. I didn't buy your story, for the record.”

Stan didn't know whether to yell at Jake or thank him. Or take offense at Jessie's last comment. She decided to let it go and accept the help. “Regardless, thank you.”

“Yeah. Don't mention it.”

“And what about—”

“The publicist? Yeah. I'll look her up, too. Might as well completely abuse my power.”

 

 

Cheered for the first time since Thursday that she might actually get somewhere, Stan hurried into the hotel and straight to the ballroom for dinner. When she pushed open the secret door she found a full kitchen with a frenzied vibe despite the soothing classical music playing through the built-in speakers. Whatever vision Sheldon had dreamt up about them all working together preparing an entire menu full of meals and smooching each other along the way had gone right into the grave with Pierre. Not to mention Joaquin's desire to welcome Sheldon back with a relaxing dinner. Instead of a zen kitchen right out of
Foodie
magazine, their workspace had deteriorated into a messy, burnt-smelling battle zone, with the stench of overcooked fish hanging in the air.

Sheldon was nowhere in sight, nor was Tyler. Stan could only imagine the activity in the realm of Sheldon Allyn Enterprises. Here, however, was a different problem. Leo and Joaquin were pressed against the counter, watching wide eyed as Maria and Marcin faced off. Marcin looked completely insane, eyes bulging, hair wild, brandishing a grilling fork.

“You made me burn my bass!” he yelled.

Maria jammed her hands onto her ample hips as she prepared to fire back, but Stan could tell the fork unsettled her.

Stan dropped her bag and cleared her throat. “What's going on?”

All eyes except Marcin's turned toward her. Marcin kept his angry gaze square on Maria with an intensity that gave Stan the chills. “Marcin's lost his mind, clearly,” Maria said. Her defiant tone belied her fear, but her eyes stayed on the fork.

Leo winced. So did Stan. Probably not wise to say that to someone with a mental illness. Joaquin remained frozen in place. His eyes cut to Stan helplessly.
Do something!
they seemed to beg.

Marcin barked out a laugh and feinted a jab with the fork in Maria's direction. She jumped and screeched. Marcin muttered something about fat and stupid, threw the fork on the ground, and flounced out of the kitchen. Stan heard his feet pounding through the ballroom.

They were all silent for a moment, looking at each other. Then Leo mumbled an apology and followed his boyfriend. Stan bent to pick up the fork. Joaquin snatched a cast iron pan with blackened fish off the stove and turned the heat off, breathing a sigh of relief. Maria glared at them.

“He's crazy, you know,” she said to no one in particular.

“Everyone's under pressure right now, Maria,” Stan said, tossing the fork in the sink. “I'm sure he'll come around and apologize. If he needs to apologize,” she added with a pointed look.

Maria's hands went back to her hips. “Of course he needs to apologize. He barged in here like a child let loose in my Italian cookie shop and went into a
fish frenzy
. Shouting about grilling sea bass, with no regard for the delicate flavors of my carbonara that he'd damage in the process!”

Stan didn't really care whose fault it was. She wasn't about to sign up to broker a truce, either. Maybe Marcin
was
off his rocker. Maybe Maria was, too. She didn't care anymore. She just wanted to get through this weekend alive and unscathed, then go home and never see any of them again. “That's too bad,” she said simply, stooping to pick up her bag.

Joaquin poked at the sea bass. “If anyone likes blackened sea bass, we can have that over salad,” he said, forever the optimist.

“I think I've lost my appetite,” Stan said, and excused herself. This day had gone on for way too long already. She'd go order room service and try to get some sleep before her big adventure in New York City tomorrow.