Murder Most Finicky (18 page)

Chapter 36

But the universe had other ideas. When Stan went upstairs, Sheldon paced the floor in front of her door.

“Can we talk?” he said by way of hello.

No!
She wanted to shout, but didn't. “Of course. Want to come in?” Stan opened the door to the suite. “Have a seat.”

Sheldon sat at the kitchen table and smoothed his hair into place. “We have a problem.”

“That's been apparent since Thursday afternoon, Sheldon.”

“No, I mean a serious problem. Stan, I know I can trust you—right?”

Because Pierre being dead wasn't a serious problem?
“Sure.”

“Thank goodness.” He slumped into a chair. “Because I'm not sure whom I can trust right now. Or ever again.”

Stan's patience for the drama was wearing thin. “Get to the point, Sheldon. It's late and I'm tired.”

“You're right. I'm very sorry.” He sat up straight and breathed in some of his normal mojo. “Someone's setting me up for this murder,” he said.

“Why do you think that? Because the police questioned you?” Stan went to the fridge and took out two bottles of water. “What do you expect, Sheldon? He was killed at your house. A house no one else allegedly knew about.”

“Precisely! That's exactly why. And I believe that's what Detective Owens thinks, too. It's why he didn't want to talk here. He just doesn't know whom.”

Stan paced the room. “These are your people. Do you think it's someone in this group? Why do you think that? Does he have evidence? Do you?”

“No. But I feel it.” Sheldon clasped his hands to his heart. “There is a cancer in my world. Isn't it obvious? If someone wanted to kill Pierre, why would they do it at my house? A house no one knew about? Why wouldn't they have done it elsewhere? And how did the press know about Vaughn before it had even become clear she was missing?”

Stan remembered Tyler saying Sheldon was suspicious of Therese for leaking the information. Did he think she could have actually murdered Pierre, too, and staged a setup? Come to think of it, she wasn't really sure what Therese did. She'd been introduced as the “anything you need girl,” but Stan hadn't seen her do much this weekend.

Sheldon dropped his hands to his knees and leaned forward. “Kyle didn't have his Providence apartment anymore.”

Stan said nothing. She didn't let on that she'd gotten that information already.

“So why would the allegedly bloody weapon be in that Dumpster? Someone planted it there.”

Same thought she'd had. “Wouldn't that mean they were setting up Kyle, not you?” Stan asked, sitting at the table, trying to be casual. If Kyle didn't live in the apartment, and even if he did, what would the positive be for dumping the knife there if he'd done it himself?

“I don't know,” Sheldon admitted. “It doesn't make sense. But I can't shake this feeling.”

“Did Owens confirm that was the murder weapon?”

“The good detectives did not comment on that,” Sheldon said.

“Do you know what happened to Vaughn? Did they ask you about her?”

“Of course they did. They have no evidence of any foul play, other than her car at the Los Angeles airport, but I don't believe it. I think someone got to her with bad information. Of course, her absence makes my guilt look more pronounced. I summon chefs, they die or vanish. It's
diabolical
.”

“That's a lot of work, Sheldon,” Stan said. “Never mind the original murder, but tracking down this woman's flight, sending someone to apprehend her or talk her into vanishing.”

Sheldon didn't seem fazed by the amount of work. “I'm telling you, Stan. There is something going on here that's very suspect.”

“So why are you telling me? You've known all these folks way longer than you've known me.”

Sheldon smiled, but it was tinged with something that may have been sadness. “That's precisely why I'm telling you. I have no idea who it is or what the motivation could possibly be. But I know something is wrong. Perhaps if we're both keeping our eyes out, we may get to the bottom of it.”

Stan didn't like the sound of that. Sheldon clearly didn't trust any of his other people. “Tell me about Melanie Diamond.”

“What about her? She's a conniving woman who capitalized on a situation that was spiraling out of control. Other than that, I don't know her.”

“Who told you Pierre was using her?”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“Why don't you want to tell me?”

They stared at each other—a standoff, until Stan simply didn't feel like doing it anymore. “Whatever. You expect me to help you, but you're not forthcoming at all. So I can't.” She rose, about to head upstairs and leave him at the table.

“Wait, Stan.” Sheldon sighed. “You're right. I'm just so torn up about this whole thing.”

Stan waited.

“It was Vaughn Dawes.”

“Vaughn Dawes.” As Alice would say about the rabbit hole, curiouser and curiouser. She definitely felt like Alice this weekend. “I thought she and Pierre were tight.”

Sheldon shrugged. “Loyalties are fickle, oftentimes. They hadn't dated in a long time, but they did remain friends. I'm not sure why she told me, frankly.”

This whole thing was beginning to sound more than fishy. “What motivation would she have to do that?” she pressed. “Were they fighting? When did she tell Tyler?”

“My dear. I have no insight into people's motivations for most things. She told Tyler within the last month. While Pierre and I were having our . . . silent battle. I'm simply telling you what I know. So will you help me?”

She paced the room, twirling a lock of hair around her finger to help her think. “I'll keep my eyes open, Sheldon, but I'm not as convinced as you are that someone's trying to hurt you. I mean, they're all a little nuts, but from what I've seen, everyone is still taking Monday seriously and trying to figure out how we're going to make it work.”

Sheldon's eyes widened. “Monday. My God, you're right. I'm letting all of this distract me from why we're really here. I'm neglecting my purpose. I must go make sure everyone comes through for this dinner.” He stood and squared his shoulders. “I will use my own bakers from the shop if I have to. And the mansion chefs will help. I'll talk to my contacts.” He nodded. “With my oversight, we will prevail.”

Stan grabbed the opening. “Why didn't we just grab your bakers from the beginning, Sheldon? I mean, I know they would have to be pretty fabulous to work for you in the first place. It seems easier than finding someone from California. How many bakers do you have, anyway?”

Sheldon smiled, but it looked more like a lion baring its teeth. “Oh, my dear. You simply don't understand. Next to Pierre, Vaughn is
exquisite
. I do most of my own baking, you know. And closely supervise the young apprentices I have on staff. I will just have to be more diligent if they come in than I would've been if Vaughn was here. Of course, I'm hoping she will still turn up. Now if you'll excuse me, you're absolutely right. I have to put my attention on what I want, not everything that's wrong. And I want Monday to go off without a hitch, with some of the best food known to man! I know I can count on you to perfect your cat dishes.”

And with that, he swept out of the room and down the hall, leaving Stan wondering what had just happened.

Chapter 37

Stan slept like the dead and woke before her alarm. She had to leave no later than seven thirty to get to Providence to catch her train. She showered, dressed in a pair of cropped jeans, a T-shirt, and comfy Keds, and tied her hair in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She threw a sweatshirt and a couple protein bars into her oversized bag and propped her sunglasses on top of her head.

Nutty slept on, unaware of her plans. She stroked his back, a little worried at leaving him here with these wackos while she went to New York. She wanted to bring him with her, smuggle him in his carrier or something, but Maria would probably chase her out the door offering him prime rib. She had some weird Nutty fetish. Understandable in the sense that he was a pretty cool cat, but odd just the same. He opened one eye and looked at her.

“Will you be okay while I go out? It's going to be a late night.”

Nutty gazed at her with his sweet brown eyes. He looked totally unconcerned. Stan feared he was being lulled into submission by the king's treatment he was receiving here. He'd probably expect the same at home.

“Don't be opening the door to strangers. Stay tucked away in here, okay? Don't cave if they offer you food,” she said.

Nutty purred and regarded her skeptically.

“I know. It sounds nuts. But if you have any willpower, you'll be fine.” Stan kissed his head, rose, and left him to nap. Downstairs, she brewed some coffee. Therese, surprisingly, appeared in the kitchen just as she was filling her travel mug.

“Hey. Coffee's all set,” Stan said cheerfully.

Therese eyed her. “Where're you going?”

“Out for a bit,” Stan said. “Hey, anything new on Vaughn?”

“No,” Therese said. “She's such a
loser
. Totally got me in trouble. Hope she's, like, happy.”

Happy. Hopefully she wasn't dead. But that didn't seem worth pointing out to this little twit. “Have a great day,” Stan said, and pulled the door open, almost bumping into Joaquin. “Oh! You scared me.”

“I'm so sorry! I wanted to bring you girls a coffee cake.” He brandished a yummy-looking creation topped with fruit.

“Wow,” Stan said, eyeing it.

“Unfortunately, I'm bringing bad news with it.”

Stan froze. Therese did, too. They both looked at each other, for once sharing a kindred thought:
No dead people. Please.

Joaquin took a breath. “Marcin had to be taken to the hospital early this morning. For some of his . . . ongoing issues.”

“He went to the psychiatric hospital?” Stan asked.

“He went to the emergency room. From there, he'll likely be taken for an evaluation, yes. Leo will let us know.”

“So he had a breakdown,” Stan said.

Joaquin sighed. “It sounds like it, yes.”

“That stinks,” Stan said, thinking of his outburst the previous night. “But if he was a danger to himself or others, it's for the best.”

Joaquin nodded sadly. “We're shaping up for a limited menu Monday. Here. Have some cake.”

Stan looked at it wistfully. “I have to go.”

“Let's cut you a piece before you go,” Joaquin said, leading her back into the kitchen. “Wherever it is, it'll be worth it to be late if you have cake.”

 

 

Ten minutes later Stan left with her second piece of coffee cake wrapped in a napkin.
What the heck. I'll need strength for this day.

She made it to the train station in forty-nine minutes, bought her ticket, then only had to wait five minutes until the A
LL
A
BOARD
sign clicked into place next to her train, the high-speed Acela. The regional was too slow on normal days. Today, it would've been painful.

She made her way to the platform, climbed onto the train, and found one of the double-row seats empty. She sank gratefully onto the bench, propped her feet up, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. It felt so good to be out of the hotel and away from that motley crew. Her only anxiety was Nutty.

She pulled her phone out and checked her neglected e-mails. Treat orders had been pouring in since she'd left Thursday morning, and from the cheerful reply e-mails from Brenna, it looked like she had everything under control. Jake's little sister had quickly become indispensable to Stan's business over the past year. She did everything from baking to creating new flavors to organizing deliveries and ordering supplies. Stan relied on her for pretty much everything. And, she was helping dog and cat sit this weekend. She owed her a phone call. Brenna had tried to call her yesterday and things had been too crazy for her to respond.

She dialed her number now. It rang once before Bren picked up. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “How's it going over there?”

Clearly Jake hadn't told her anything. Good. Better she didn't worry. And she tended to not be part of Char's gossip circles. “Hey yourself. Things are going fine,” Stan lied. “What are you up to? Drowning yet? I saw all the orders. My goodness, we're busy!”

“I know, isn't it great? Here you go, Scruffy. Sorry, just giving the pups some samples. Say hi to Mummy, guys! They're not talking much. Too busy eating,” Brenna said. “I'm doing some chicken pot pie per Amara's request. And that new client? The one from the place in Madison? She ordered five dozen of your wild berry pupcakes. She loved your flyers.”

“Five dozen? Wow. And that's a new flavor on the menu.” As her demand had risen, Brenna had set her up with a graphic designer friend who had helped with an official logo, branding, and information sheets on all her products. They'd been immensely helpful in getting the word out about her offerings. “That's great. You're up early—I hope you're not feeling too overworked.” She really should get home, instead of running around New York chasing down crazy chefs. There was too much to do and Brenna also worked at the pub almost every night, in addition to keeping the orders timely. “I'm sorry, Bren.”

Brenna laughed. “Are you kidding? This is great. We're having a ton of fun. We all miss you, of course,” she added. “So what are you cooking up down there?”

Just some adultery and murder. And a few cat-noli.
“A fish plate and vanilla blueberry cat-noli. Strawberry cake. All test dishes. How's Jake?”

“He's busy. He misses you.” Stan could hear Brenna's grin over the phone. “It's cute, actually.”

“Yeah?” The words sent a nice warm feeling through her body. He'd told her himself that he missed her, but it was nice to hear from someone else who had observed it. He really missed her. It was sweet.

“Yeah. So is he officially moving into your house, or what? I'm kinda thinking I need my own place, and I'm happy to take over his apartment.” Brenna had been living in Jake's guest room for the last two years after moving off-campus to finish her degree.

Stunned, Stan's mouth dropped open. She didn't quite know how to answer that question. Jake stayed at her house more often than not, unless there was something big going on at the pub for which he needed to be right upstairs, but they hadn't actually talked about making it official. Which Stan knew was largely her fault—she'd been the slow-moving half of their relationship. But she had to admit, it sounded pretty darn good to have him there all the time.

“I don't know, we haven't talked about it,” she said.

“Well, you should,” Brenna said. “And I'm saying that for selfish and unselfish reasons. I think he totally wants to but doesn't want to push you. I'm sorry, I don't mean to stick my nose in your business. But I love you two together. And I would love my own place.”

“I love us together, too,” Stan said, staring out her window. Brenna was right. It was time to man up and get this relationship moving in the right direction. “We'll talk about it when I get home.”

“Good. Then I can start having my new boyfriend over without feeling like my parents are chaperoning.”

“New boyfriend? I've only been gone three days!”

Brenna laughed. “He was around before then. I didn't say anything because, you know, sometimes things don't work out, right? But it looks like he's here to stay, so it would make my life easier, too.”

“What's his name?”

“Scott.”

“Where'd you meet him? What's he do?”

“What are you, another big sister? I'll fill you in when you get home. I promise.”

“Well, good. I'll work on it. I promise, too,” Stan said.
Right after I find this missing chef and perhaps help solve a murder case. And get a cat investor on board so Sheldon can have his show. Unless he's arrested for said murder first.

“Stan?” Brenna had asked her something and she hadn't even heard.

“Sorry. What?”

“I said what do you want me to tell the Madison lady? Friday?”

“Sure, if it's not too much for you to work on while I'm gone.”

“Not too much at all. Getting back to work now. Don't worry about me and have a great time!”

Stan thanked her and hung up, watching the landscape fly by. Day three, and her homesickness hadn't abated. Brenna had raised a good point about her living arrangements. Left to Stan, she and Jake wouldn't have had that conversation for a long time. Life was complicated. Who knew she'd move to a teeny, tiny town and fall in love with a hot pub owner who actually seemed to love her back? And now that Brenna had raised the question, she realized she'd been waiting for her own answer for a long time.