Murder Most Finicky (27 page)

Chapter 54

Stan had her hand on the kitchen door when someone grabbed her arm. Gasping, she turned, ready to claw and kick her way free. Then she realized it was Leo.

“Leo!” She threw her arms around him. “So glad to see you!”

Leo hugged her back but looked at her curiously. “Me too, me too. Is everything all right?”

“Fine. How's Marcin?”

Leo shook his head. “Sick, I'm afraid.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“It can't be helped, my dear. I've been in denial, I'm afraid. Now it's time to own up to my life.” He smiled, but he looked exhausted. “Let's get this nightmarish event over with, shall we?”

Stan nodded. “Amen to that.”

They walked into the kitchen together. “Look who I found,” she called cheerily.

Sheldon, Maria, and Joaquin turned and clapped.

“New blood,” Alice said approvingly, snapping a photo of Stan and Leo. “Let's get you in some of these shots!”

She led him away. Stan surveyed the kitchen. Sheldon's other bakers had arrived, so there were six additional chefs, plus Joaquin. They'd started all the ovens. Pots boiled on stoves, vegetables sautéed in cast iron pans, oil cheerfully spattered out of hot skillets.

“Perfect timing!” Sheldon declared. “The reporter just arrived, and Tyler is working with him. Therese is assisting. I think we're in delightful shape. Don't you, Stan?”

“Yeah. Great,” Stan said.

“Yes.” Sheldon rubbed his hands together, not even registering her lack of enthusiasm. It was like he'd forgotten about their whole conversation. Such a strange man.

She went back to her station. One of the mansion chefs-on-loan hovered, watching Joaquin whip something in a bowl. He handed her a bowl of gorgeous, perfectly whipped cream.

“That looks amazing,” she said.

He bowed slightly. “Happy to serve.”

“He's a genius,” the other chef said. “You're all geniuses. I can't wait to see this meal.”

Joaquin placed his whipping spoon on the counter. “I'm going to see what Leo needs.” He smiled at her. She smiled back. His gaze seemed to last longer than usual. Stan pushed the thought away.
We just have to get through this afternoon. Detective Owens will come. It will be fine.

 

 

Sheldon stuck his head in the kitchen right at three to let them know the investors were arriving and they needed to get out and mingle. Stan laid a tray of treats just out of the oven on the counter to cool and untied her apron. She couldn't wait to get outside. Between the photographer's incessant shooting and Joaquin's stifling presence, she couldn't breathe. She kept hoping Owens would walk through the door, but he didn't. She didn't dare check her phone in front of them, and if she ran to the bathroom every five minutes that would look suspicious, too.

With everything going on in her head, she hadn't rehearsed what to say to her mother when she arrived, wearing her investor hat. She couldn't decide between
Hey, where've you been?
,
Hi, how are you?
, or
How could you agree to do this?

Probably option two, given everything else going on. She stepped out into the blinding sunlight. At least it was another beautiful day. More beautiful to think Detective Owens would show up any minute and solve this case, she'd find Nutty, and she could go home to Jake.

She lowered her sunglasses over her eyes and surveyed the small crowd gathering. She didn't see her mother yet, but a woman with a pink suit and matching hat held a cat carrier. The Siamese. She waited to feel anxious, but it didn't come. Maybe because she'd already told Sheldon to stuff it. She watched Joaquin, over by the bar. He spoke in low tones with Sheldon. From the way they were gesturing, they were discussing table setup. Joaquin's eyes strayed to Stan, as if he felt her watching him. He waved.

Stan waved back, swallowing the fear curdling in her throat. She resisted the urge to check her phone, but after she went out to meet the cat, she was definitely heading into the bathroom to get a status update. Owens had been on them the entire weekend; now all of a sudden he'd vanished into thin air, too. It figured.

She made her way over to the cat woman. Pamela Mulcahey, Sheldon had said. She introduced herself.

Mrs. Mulcahey looked her up and down. “You're going to feed my Charles?” she asked haughtily.

“I certainly am,” Stan said.

“Well, I hope he enjoys it. Right, my boy?” She held up the carrier. Stan peered inside. Charles was a Siamese snowshoe. He looked as haughty as his owner, sitting on a purple pillow, coolly regarding Stan. She put her finger to the cage. He didn't even deem to sniff.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Stan said. “I can't wait to see how Charles feels about his dinner.” She turned and hurried away, searching for everyone's position. Sheldon worked the crowd with Joaquin by his side. Tyler trailed after a man with a notebook. Leo and Maria spoke with a couple who looked very familiar. A minute later she realized why, when the woman turned and shaded her eyes from the sun. Her mother and Tony Falco, the unpopular mayor of Frog Ledge. She quickly turned away. She didn't have time to talk.

But before she got inside to call Owens again, she saw a familiar face slip out of the patio doors with a couple of the arriving guests. The detective had dressed in a suit to blend in, but he was still recognizable. He met Stan's eyes across the lawn. She wanted to weep with relief. He shook his head slightly, as if to deter her from coming over.

Shoot. She had to get to him. But she didn't want to alert everyone else. She stayed where she was, still scanning the crowd. She saw Sheldon talking with her mother. He studiously avoided her eyes. But Joaquin wasn't anywhere near him. Stan's heart skipped. He'd probably gone back inside to fool around with more food, she reasoned. Or maybe he'd sat and she couldn't see him.

Or he'd caught sight of Owens? He had to be suspicious, after she'd questioned his identification of Jaws.

Frustrated, she pulled her phone out, thinking of sending Owens a text across the lawn, when she saw a text message teaser light up her screen. Jessie.

Chapter 55

Stan glanced up, trying to look casual despite her pounding heart and the cold sweat dripping down her neck. Owens's back was to her. She still couldn't spot Joaquin. If he had a clue they were on to him, he'd vanish into thin air and this whole mess would never get solved.

That couldn't happen.

He must've gone back inside. Maybe he planned to head out the front entrance. She started toward the door, moving through the thick of the party. More people had arrived and the yard was full. All across the lush lawn people sipped cocktails and servers in black tie passed hot hors d'oeuvres.

And then Stan saw a shock of red hair, in the middle of the crowd near the fountain. If the woman with the big hat hadn't bent over to pick something up, she would've missed it. Joaquin had somehow managed to blend in, but now he moved fluidly through the crowd toward the back of the yard. As Stan watched, frozen, he glanced over his shoulder.

He met her eyes for a split second, then turned and moved faster.

She started toward him. The crowd spanned the length of the yard, so it was slow going. Joaquin was going to slip down the back stairs from The Chanler's grounds onto the Cliff Walk, and from there he could get anywhere. He could turn the corner and disappear into the crowds on Memorial Boulevard, or he could vanish down the Cliff Walk and up one of the other staircases onto another adjacent street.

He picked up his pace, breaking free of the crowd, not looking back, just focused on getting out. This yard was huge, and he had a good head start. And a lot of people cover.

Stan texted Owens with shaking hands:

She kicked off her shoes and took off at a run through the yard. A woman with a tray of tiny meatballs in single-serving plates froze when she saw Stan coming. Stan tried to avoid her but clipped the tray on her way by. The meatballs—closely followed by the server—hit the grass. Sauce splattered onto Stan's dress. She kept running. Joaquin had vanished down the small outdoor stairwell when she'd taken her eyes off him in the meatball confusion. She followed, figuring he'd opt for the main road.

But when she got to the stairs, she saw a high, orange construction gate blocking the Cliff Walk entrance. Sheldon must've paid extra to stop as many gawkers as he could. He couldn't block off every entrance, but he could limit the traffic from the main one.

She turned right and began running down the Cliff Walk, almost barreling into a woman and her little girl walking. The woman stared at her, then her eyes traveled to the orange gate with minor alarm apparent at being trapped.

“Did you see a guy run by? Bright red hair, big shoes?” Stan asked.

The woman looked uncertain, then nodded and pointed behind her. “That way.”

“If you see him again, call nine-one-one,” she said, then kept going. She couldn't run even if she wanted to, between the people and the narrow path. The pavement burned her bare feet, and rocks and who-knew-what-else sliced into her skin. She didn't care. She focused on one thing only—catching up with Joaquin.

Behind her, she could hear shouts, but she didn't stop to look. She prayed Owens was coming. She skidded around tourists clogging the path, lingering over the ocean views, feeling like she was traveling through molasses. Why were so many people still out in this heat? Sweat had plastered her dress to her body. The sauce splattered on her dress probably looked like blood. Her hair had turned into a mess of frizz, and she shoved it out of her eyes as she searched for Joaquin's shock of red hair. Would he still have his platforms on trying to run on this narrow pathway, or had he ditched his shoes like she had?

She stepped on something sharp and cursed, stopping to rub her foot. Blood smeared on her hand. Great.

Then from just around the next bend, a scream.

Chapter 56

Stan broke into a run again, but it was more like a hop. She ignored the pain in her foot, dodging people who stopped and stared. In her disheveled state she must've been quite a sight. Rounding the bend, she saw a woman sprawled in the path in front of her. Stan stopped and bent down. “Are you okay?”

The woman nodded, pushing herself up. “Some guy in a crazy outfit shoved me down. He looked . . . disturbed.”

“Stan!”

She turned at the voice shouting her name. Owens raced toward her.

“He on the move?”

Stan nodded. “It's only a half mile to Narragansett Ave., the next big mile marker. But he could go up one of the smaller exits.”

Owens squinted ahead into the sunlight. “Try to keep anyone from continuing down the path in this direction,” Owens said to the woman. “I have more police coming. Stan, stay here.” He started moving again, also awkward in his suit and dress shoes.

“No way,” Stan muttered, and took off after him.

They didn't have much farther to go. Around the next bend in the path, they found Joaquin. He'd slowed on the dirt shoulder of the path, close to the edge of the rocks, breathing heavily. He wasn't the most in-shape person Stan had seen, and this was a distance to run if you weren't used to it. Especially in platform shoes. He teetered dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, bushes and trees his only barricade against the ocean below. Not all points of the Cliff Walk were high, but this piece dropped straight down onto the rocks.

Owens stopped, his hand shooting out to curtail Stan's forward movement. “Joaquin,” he said. “Stop. It's over.”

Joaquin fisted his hands in his red hair. Despair and panic had turned his soft, chubby features into a grotesque mask. “Stay away from me!” He took a step back. Just behind him, the dirt and greenery gave way to thin air and deep, blue sea. “I don't know why you couldn't have just let Golden Boy Kyle take the fall. It was supposed to be Sheldon. It
would
have been Sheldon, if everyone had stayed out of it! But Kyle would've been fine, too. He was one of
them
.”

Owens's hand rested on the butt of his gun. “What do you mean, one of them?” he asked.

Stan held her breath, hoping Joaquin would succumb to the conversation. It might get him away from the edge. But he said nothing.

“Joaquin, it's okay,” Owens tried again. “Come away from the edge of the cliff. Let's talk it out.”

“Talk. Ha!” Joaquin glanced over his shoulder and took another uncertain step. “I don't want to talk.”

“What do you mean, it was supposed to be Sheldon?” Stan asked, taking a step forward and avoiding Owens's eyes. She didn't want him to stop her.

“Because he knew about Pierre! He knew and he didn't do
anything
!”

“Knew what about him? What did Pierre do?”

Below them, the ocean crashed against the rocks. The sound of children further down the path, blissfully unaware, reached her ears, a startling contrast to the scene unfolding in front of her.

“What did he do? He stole my career,” Joaquin said simply, and Stan saw a glimpse of a sad little boy, probably a misfit, who'd finally found his path in life only to find out it had been blocked off by a natural disaster. “He stole my prize recipe and used it to woo Sheldon. I'd been working on it for years. Vaughn helped me. We were going to unveil it together at her restaurant in LA.”

Stan could feel Owens's eyes moving back and forth between them. For the moment, he said nothing. “I don't understand. I thought you've only known Sheldon and his chefs for a year.”

He laughed, a brittle sound that made her skin crawl. “As Joaquin Leroy, yes. But before that, I was a chef, too. I worked with Pierre. And Sheldon. But you know that. You saw our picture. Tell me, what gave it away? The picture or the dog? Stupid dog. I blew my own cover. Jaws never liked me.” He shook his head in disgust. “Felix Paulson. That was me. I killed him off, you know. Got some plastic surgery, started over. But they had to be punished.” He focused on Stan again. “Do you know they never even realized who I was? Not even Pierre. I had to tell him before I killed him.”

From somewhere out of Stan's sight, she heard shouts. The other police, running up the path. She could see Owens assessing when to make a move and sent him a mental message to wait. “So he stole your recipe and took your chance away?” she asked, keeping her gaze focused on Joaquin.

“Yes!” Joaquin cried, taking a step toward her. His foot wavered on those silly shoes and the uneven terrain. “Finally someone understands. And Sheldon took him on, and he became his star pupil. Later, his star chef. And I failed at everything I touched after that.” He looked so sad, so defeated. Stan wanted to reach out, pull him away from the edge of the cliff.

Then everything happened at once, in slow motion.

A contingency of Newport police rounded the corner, guns drawn. Owens's eyes flickered to them and he cursed.

“Stand down,” Owens commanded.

But Joaquin saw them coming, too. Startled, he took a step back, eyes wide and fixed on all those guns facing him. His foot caught a rock, or a branch. Stan wasn't sure which. But he lost his footing, and with those silly shoes he couldn't regain it. Stan watched, horrified, as he stumbled backward. He tried to right himself, hands flailing wildly as he grabbed for purchase but only found air.

He almost caught himself.

Then he fell from view.