Slice and Dice (43 page)

“Right. Mort. You seem to know your way around this group. Have you seen a woman — about thirty-five? Long dark hair? Delicate features? Pretty? I was hoping to hook up with her today. We’re old friends.”

“Nope, sorry. Haven’t seen anyone like that.”

Smith continued to lode around die cemetery, but after a few more moments, he gave up. “Well, time to hit the bricks.”

“Sure, I understand.” Bram resumed his sad demeanor. “You know, I’m the kind of man who believes Sean is looking down on us right about now and smiling. Maybe he’s even laughing his head off.” He socked the thug on the arm. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Smith. See you back at the church.”

“Sure. Whatever.” After getting into his car and starting die engine, the man drove off.

Once the Firebird was out of sight, Bram dashed back up the hill. As he reached the top, he looked toward the headstone, but the woman was gone. “Damn,” he muttered, pushing his hands into his pockets and kicking a rock out of his way. Maybe it hadn’t been Marie after all. Donning a disguise would have been logical, but if she’d spotted him — and he felt certain she had — she would have stuck around.

He was about to give up and head back to his car when he saw the same blonde woman hiding behind die trunk of a large elm, motioning him over. Hurrying toward her, he saw that she was all light pink lipstick and blonde bangs, sort of Dusty Springfield meets Petula Clark. Even so, he was sure it was her. “Marie?” he said, stopping a few yards from the tree.

“Lower your voice and come with me,” she whispered. She led the way through the gravestones, down the other side of the hill and across a gravel road to where a Buick Riviera was parked. “Get in,” she said, slipping into the driver’s seat.

Once Bram was seated on the passenger’s side with the doors and windows locked, Marie sighed with relief. “How did you recognize me?”

“Are you suggesting you look different?”

“Come on, Baldric. Be nice. It’s been a rough week.”

He smirked at her. “The dark eyebrows were a big clue.”

Her eyes shot upward. “Oh.”

“The truth is, I had a hunch you’d be here today. That’s mainly why I came.” He continued to smirk, realizing how good it was to see her again. “What have you got on under that raincoat?”

“Four sweaters.”

“Good thing it’s a cool day.”

“Cool? I’m dressed for an ice floe in the North Atlantic. What do you think of the wig?”

“It’s definitely you.”

She laughed. “God, it’s good to see you again. I’ve missed you.”

Bram wondered if he’d missed her, too. He hadn’t thought about it that way, but maybe he had. “I’m just glad to see you’re all right. I thought maybe you’d left Minnesota by now.”

“I’m leaving today. My flight’s at three.” Glancing down at the straining buttons on her raincoat, she added, “I’m going to keep wearing the disguise for the duration. My vanity will just have to suffer.”

“Are you heading back to New Yoik?”

“No, I’ll be out of the country for a while.”

“Working on the book?”

She nodded. “Thanks for taking care of that private investigator.”

“Is that what he was?”

“I assume so. He glanced my way a couple of times during the funeral ceremony back at the church, but I guess the disguise must have worked. Constance is trying to track me down. Two of her muscle men almost nailed me last night at the Hyatt Regency in Minneapolis. Thankfully, I saw them in time to get away.”

“You sound like you’ve been having lots of fun since you dumped me on Wednesday.”

Now she looked annoyed. “I didn’t dump you. The last thing you needed was to get more involved in this mess. I care what happens to you, Bram. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“But if you get hurt, that’s okay.”

“No, of course not. But this is my job. You’re just an innocent bystander.”

He held her eyes. “Yup, that’s me, the last of the innocent bystanders.”

As if on cue, they both turned to look out the front window. The silence inside the car grew awkward.

Finally Marie said, “I bought myself an insurance policy last night. Constance won’t be able to touch me after today, not without the entire world knowing she was behind my broken knees or my sudden demise. Since the spotlight will be aimed straight at her, I’m betting she’ll back off.”

He glanced over. “What did you do?” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Why do you look like the proverbial cat that just swallowed the proverbial canary?”

She grinned. “The managing editor at the
American Inquisitor
is a good buddy of mine.”

“You talked to a tabloid?”

“If you buy today’s issue, you’ll see that Constance and I made the front cover. Beauty and the Beast.” She laughed.

“But what did you tell them?”

“A little of this, a littie of that. Enough to tantalize their readership and create a ready audience for my book when it comes out. And I made it very clear that I feared for my life, that while on the story my bodyguard had been murdered in a car bombing. I said that my information was explosive, and that if anything untoward or violent happened to me, the police would know where to look.”

Bram had to give her credit. It was a brilliant stroke. “Actually, Marie, there may be another secret in the Buckridge closet. My wife’s uncovered evidence that one of the Buckridges murdered George Gildemeister, a food critic at the
Times Register.”

She sobered suddenly. “I’ve been following that story in the paper. But the police think some restaurant owner did it.”

“Don’t quote me, but I’m pretty certain Nathan Buckridge will be arrested in the next day or two. He was at George’s apartment the night he died, and he lied to my wife about why he was there. Sophie discovered some information that proves one of Constance’s inner circle was paying George to write a negative review.”

“Of the Belmont?”

“You’re a quick study. Sophie’s theory is that George got cold feet at the last minute. That he threatened to blow the whistle on the Buckridges’ game.”

“But why would they want to shut down a restaurant?”

“Because they wanted to buy it. The Buckridge Culinary Academy currently owns nine restaurants around the country. I’m sure they’re always on the lookout for a place with a great location and reputation, but one that’s currently in trouble. With a nasty shove from the local food guru, the restaurant falters and finally closes. Then they rush in and buy it for a song, and nobody’s the wiser.”

Now Marie looked positively entranced. “Will you keep me informed about this? It’s very important. I need all the details.”

“Sure, I suppose. You’ll have to give me an address where I can reach you.”

She pulled out a card and wrote the address on the back.

“London,” he said, looking up at her.

“It’s a lovely flat in Chelsea. You’re welcome to join me, you know. Anytime.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Of course. What was I thinking?” Hesitantly, she touched his hand. “I just wish we’d met years ago.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference. You wouldn’t have been willing to settle down with a boring old radio guy.”

She lowered her eyes. “How did you get to know me so well in such a short time? You’re right. I love what I do. It’s the most exciting job in the world. I’m never going to be in one place very long, and that’s what makes me such a bad relationship risk. You’re well rid of me.”

He stared at her. Finally he said, “I guess this is goodbye then.”

“I hate goodbyes. Don’t make this awkward, Bram. Just wish me well and go. You know I wish you the same.”

But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Holding her hand to his lips, he said, “It’s been quite a ride.”

“It has,” she agreed.

“Maybe when you come through town on your next book tour you’ll let me interview you again.”

“If you’re lucky.”

He smiled. “Stay safe, okay?”

“I will.”

He stared at her a moment longer, his feelings more mixed than he would have ever thought possible. “You’re a strong woman.”

“I am,” she said, tenderly touching his cheek. “If I weren’t, I’d stick around and fight for you until I won, and then I’d make the rest of your life miserable. Count your blessings, Baldric.”

After a few more seconds, he said, “Goodbye and good luck.” Opening the door, he got out, leaned down to take one last look at her, then set off up the road. When he knew she couldn’t see him any longer, he bent down and rested his hands on his knees, feeling for all the world as if someone had just whacked him in the stomach with a baseball bat.

Sophie couldn’t believe her luck. She’d finally found it, the clue that would identify the real murderer of George Gildemeister. If she hadn’t decided to finish looking through the box George had given her, she never would have discovered it. But now that she had, she had to follow it to the finish, even if it led straight to Nathan. It was such a small matter, she could easily understand why the killer had overlooked it. By the time the deed was done, he’d probably forgotten he’d even left it behind.

After Bram left for the funeral, Sophie had come down to her office to get in a few hours of work. She’d tried to reach Nathan all morning, leaving notes in his mailbox and on his voice mail. She’d even gone up to his suite and slipped a note under his door. So far, he hadn’t responded. Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. When she finally did talk to him, she hoped she would no longer be in the dark.

Once she’d finished going through George’s files and the box was empty, she discovered that in the bottom, much to her surprise, a cigarette butt remained. Under other circumstances she might have overlooked it, but since George was so antismoking — he never allowed anyone to smoke in his presence — she had to wonder where it had come from. She picked it up and looked at it. It was a little longer than a normal butt, as if someone had put it out before it was finished. The filter tip was tan and had a gold rim near the bottom. Below the band was a tiny picture of a clock with two men on either side. She had no idea what brand it was. Then it hit her how the butt had come to be in the box.

This was how she envisioned it. Sophie called George at four last Sunday and said she’d stop by around eight. Sometime after her call, he must have dumped the last of his filea% the cardboard box and placed it outside his door. Then, at six-thirty, Harry came by unexpectedly. George buzzed him up and offered him a glass of wine just to prove he was magnanimous and forgiving, that he had no hard feelings even after the vicious letter Harry had sent to the paper. For the next few minutes Harry vented his anger. George listened and eventually hustled Harry out the door. Harry had mentioned that he’d had the distinct impression that George had been expecting an important visitor.

Somewhere between the time Harry left and the time Sophie arrived, George had another visitor, possibly two. If Nathan was telling the truth, if he’d walked in and found George already dead, then the person who came direcdy after Harry but before Nathan must be George’s murderer. The timing would have been tight, but it was possible. Sophie believed it was one of the Buckridges, someone who’d come to pay George off for the negative review. But the question was, which Buckridge? She figured that whoever arrived after Harry had been smoking a cigarette. Since all of the Buckridges were hooked, the assumption wasn’t a stretch. George probably demanded that he, or she, put it out before entering the apartment. The visitor probably crushed it out, made sure it was cold, then tossed it in the nearest trash — the box sitting next to George’s door.

The visitor then entered. They talked. George must have done something upsetting. There was another argument, the second one the neighbors heard that night. And finally the visitor murdered George.

Sophie didn’t believe that George’s death had been premeditated. The murder weapon had been snatched from the counter simply because it was there, within easy reach. If someone had intended to murder George, it seemed unlikely that he or she would do it at George’s apartment where neighbors might notice the comings and goings of visitors. Not that the murderer hadn’t improvised brilliantly by taking the murder weapon with him or her and then planting it in Harry’s neighbor’s garbage can. Harry was the perfect patsy. He had motive, opportunity — and the knife was the means. If Sophie could find out which Buckridge smoked the brand of cigarette she’d found in George’s file box, and if her theory held, it seemed to follow that
that
person was guilty of a homicide.

Emily had mentioned that she liked the menthol variety. Nathan smoked Marlboros. The rest of the family … who knew? But she was about to find out.

Making a quick call to the weekend housekeeping manager, Frances Lester, Sophie explained the situation. She asked if the rooms on the tenth floor of the north wing had been cleaned yet. Luck was with her. Frances said that the maids were currently on eleven. That’s when Sophie asked Frances to personally go up to rooms 1004, 1027, and 1031. She instructed her to place whatever cigarette debris she found in separate plastic bags, label each bag with its room number, and then bring all of them down to her office.