Danger, Deceit and Dark Chocolate Cake Page 2

  “Thanks for meeting me here,” said Bill. “I know it’s a bit louder than a normal coffee shop, but I thought it was appropriate, since Vanessa worked here.”

  I nodded and glanced around. The tables were far enough apart from each other that it was possible to have a private conversation, unless someone at the next table was intent on listening in. And given that it was a jazz restaurant, and most people wanted to listen to the music, I assumed that it would be okay to talk about the case.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” I said. “You mentioned that Vanessa was poisoned?”

  Bill nodded. “Vanessa worked here as a singer. I mean, she could sing pretty well. This is a twenty-four-hour place, so they needed lots of people to play music and sing.”

  I nodded. “It’s the new thing. Tourists need somewhere to go at all hours of the day.”

  Our drinks arrived, and Bill nodded. “Well, Vanessa was hired to be a singer. I mean, during the day, she sang for a few hours when the breakfast crowd was here and it got busy. Then, after a few hours, she went off stage, had a break, and worked as a waitress. You can’t sing for more than two or three hours without getting hoarse, and Vanessa needed work.”

  “That’s an unusual arrangement,” said Beth.

  Bill nodded. “I’ll tell you about the arrangement later. But anyway, yesterday at lunch, Vanessa ate the prawn ceviche here. And she got really, really sick. She was taken to the hospital with the worst case of food poisoning they’ve seen in years. She started getting internal hemorrhaging and brain swelling, so they put her into an induced coma.”

  Bill pinched his mouth tight and narrowed his eyes.

  I nodded sympathetically. I knew that an induced coma was only ever used in cases of extreme illness. “Did she get sick at work?”

  “Not really,” said Bill. “She felt a little sick, so she left her shift after lunch and went to her apartment. I went to see her after work, around six in the evening. She hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, but a while after I got there, she threw up and then she lost consciousness. I called an ambulance right away—the doctors told me that if I’d waited a little longer, she might not have made it.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw, and he stared angrily at a point just off the table.

  I said, “How’s Vanessa doing now?”

  Bill took a deep breath. “Not too bad, considering. The hospital says they’ll bring her out of the coma in a few days’ time, and then after that, she should be able to recover and get back to her regular life.” He smiled, but his eyes retained their sad, worried look. “Hopefully she’ll be okay soon.”

  “I’m sorry about this,” I said gently. “It must really suck.”

  “It does,” said Bill. “But I’m going to do what I have to.”

  Beth and I exchanged a look.

  Beth said, “Food poisoning does happen sometimes. I know it seems really bad, but people can actually die of food poisoning, especially seafood poisoning. I’m sorry this happened to Vanessa, but it doesn’t mean there was foul play.”

  Bill shook his head. “No. There was definitely foul play.”

  I said, “What makes you say that?”

  Bill glanced at the stage. The song ended, and the audience broke into soft applause. When the applause was over, Bill looked at me again. “Vanessa complained about a lot of things here. She said it might be haunted. There was a fire in the kitchen a few weeks ago, and the rumor was that the ghost had done it.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes. I’m undecided as to the existence of ghosts, but I didn’t think that a kitchen fire was indicative of someone trying to kill Vanessa. Or that a ghost would bother to set a kitchen on fire. I’d always thought that being a ghost consisted mostly of floating through walls and saying, “Whoooo!”

  Beth said, “The fire might not have anything to do with the food poisoning.”

  “Well, no one else got food poisoning,” Bill said. “And at least four other people ate the seafood ceviche that day. I spoke to the chef, and she said that nobody else got even a tiny bit sick from it.”

  I looked at him doubtfully. “Now, that’s a little suspicious.”

  “And on top of that,” Bill went on, “Vanessa complained about having a stalker. She said that some guy kept leaving her a single red rose at her apartment door, and sometimes they’d have creepy notes with them. It had to be someone from this restaurant, because the notes would sometimes say things about how great a singer she was.”

  “That’s another odd thing,” I admitted. “But it still doesn’t mean Vanessa was poisoned.”

  Bill ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t believe me. Even though no one else got sick.”

  I looked at Beth, who shrugged slightly.

  “It doesn’t really prove anything,” I said. “Our fees aren’t low, and we might be looking around for no good reason.”

  “I can afford the fees,” Bill said. “I just want to hire someone good.”

  “Well.” I hesitated. The money would be nice, especially now that I had a choosy, new-toy-loving parrot to cater to. “But you have to accept that we might not uncover anything useful.”

  “That’s fine,” said Bill. “All I ask is that you look into it.”

  I couldn’t really ask for anything more from a client, so Beth and I told him that we’d be happy to take the case. I found a copy of my investigative contract in my bag, and Bill signed it and handed it back.

  “We’ll need to hear more about what was going on,” I told him. “Let’s start with Vanessa. How long have you two been dating?”

  “Just over five months now,” said Bill. “I met her at a friend’s party. She’s beautiful and smart and kind, and I love her more than anything. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her—that is, if she agrees to marry me. I haven’t asked her yet. That’s a secret, till I figure out how to ask her.”

  “What do you do?” asked Beth.

  “I’m a lawyer,” said Bill. “I work in estate law. It’s not very exciting, but it pays the bills. Anyway, I read about you guys in the Santa Verona Sun. Aren’t you going to join the SVPD as consultants?”

  “That’s what the police chief told us,” I said. “But the time’s not right yet.”

  Bill nodded. “Anyway, I met Vanessa at a party, and we’ve been together since.”

  “Tell me more about Vanessa.”

  “Well, like I said, she’s beautiful and smart. But I guess you want to know some other stuff.” Bill frowned thoughtfully and pursed his lips. After a minute, he said, “Well, Vanessa grew up in Michigan. She came here on vacation once and fell in love with the place.”

  I could understand that. Santa Verona, with its pristine beaches, Spanish architecture, and year-round sunny weather, is easy to fall in love with. It’s not so easy to live here, though. “She didn’t have a hard time getting a job?”

  Bill shook his head. “No, she used to be a waitress in Michigan, and she got a job in a café a few days after she moved here. She got that studio apartment near the beach, and she’s been living here for almost two years now.”

  “What about you?” I said. “How long’ve you been here?”

  “Almost three years,” said Bill. “I used to work in LA, but they wanted to expand the Santa Verona office. So they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and here I am. Living and working here.”

  I nodded. “So you and Beth are both recent transplants.”

  “I guess you could say that,” said Bill.

  Beth said, “How did Vanessa like working here?”

  Bill looked around. “She liked it at first. She thought it was nice to get paid for singing, which used to just be her hobby. But then she heard the rumors that the place was haunted. Apparently, a few years ago, the place used to be a popular bistro. Until one of the regulars became obsessed with a waitress who worked here, and murdered her. They say the waitress’s ghost haunts the place. Some of the other girls who work here say that the ghost’s out to get the peop
le who work here.”

  “Why would a ghost do that?” Beth said.

  “I’m not sure,” Bill admitted. “It does sound kooky, but a lot of the waitresses got freaked out.”

  “Including Vanessa?”

  Bill shrugged. “At first, Vanessa wasn’t worried. She wasn’t a big believer in ghosts. But a few of the other girls were talking about quitting, and then the fire happened… and that’s when Vanessa got worried about the place being haunted.”

  “When was the place sold?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure when the original bistro—the one where the waitress got killed—closed down,” said Bill. “But the jazz restaurant’s pretty new. It’s only been around three months.”

  I nodded. “And how did the kitchen fire happen?”

  “As far as I remember,” said Bill, “it was at three in the morning, when there weren’t many people around. The place was evacuated and the fire department got everything under control easily. The place was only closed two days for repairs before they were up and running again.”

  I frowned, not sure how the fire fit into Vanessa’s poisoning—if she’d been poisoned at all. Of course, now that we’d agreed to investigate the case, I’d have to act on the assumption that Vanessa had indeed been poisoned. But where did the fire fit in?

  Beth said, “Did the fire department say what caused the fire?”

  “Just faulty wiring somewhere,” said Bill. “But everyone thinks it was the ghost.”

  “So maybe the ghost poisoned Vanessa,” said Beth flippantly.

  “No,” said Bill. “This was someone else. The hospital told me she got botulism.”

  “What’s botulism?” I asked, looking at Beth.

  Beth had majored in biochemistry and spent a few years working in a lab, before she’d moved back to Santa Verona and started A Piece of Cake. If anyone understood poisons, it would be Beth.

  “Botulism poisoning is what you get if you consume the toxin botulinum,” Beth explained. “It’s a rare kind of toxin, but it happens naturally in seafood that hasn’t been prepared properly.”

  “Like a prawn ceviche,” I suggested.

  “Exactly,” said Beth.

  “But you could add this toxin—botulinum—to food separately, too?” I asked.

  Beth nodded. “Yep. Botulinum is sold in powder and liquid form. It’s used to create Botox, and we all know how popular Botox is.”

  “But wouldn’t you have to go to a doctor to get Botox?” I asked. “And hang on—so you’re saying Botox is basically a kind of poison?”

  “It is,” said Beth. “But in small doses, when it’s used as a beauty product, it’s not too harmful. But if you take the powder and add it to food, and then you eat that food—well, then you’d get botulism.”

  “Which is deadly?” I asked.

  “It can be,” said Beth. She glanced at Bill, who was listening seriously, even though I was sure he’d already heard about this from the doctors. “If you take too much of it. Or if you don’t see a doctor right away.”

  “That’s what the doctors told me,” said Bill. “That if I hadn’t acted quickly, it would’ve been too late.”

  “But she didn’t eat anything after lunchtime,” I said. “And she threw up in the evening. That’s a long time to get sick.”

  “Botulinum is slow-acting that way,” said Beth. “You don’t feel the effects for four to six hours. And then—bam! You’re sick, and the poison’s taking over.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I can’t believe people put this stuff in their faces.”

  Beth shrugged. “Beauty’s got a price.”

  “Where would you even buy botulinum?” I said. “I can’t believe you can get something so potent over the counter.”

  Bill shrugged. “Online, maybe? You can get just about anything online.”

  “There are online pharmacies and places,” said Beth. “There are some women who want to get Botox, but they want to do it in the privacy of their homes. So these online stores cater to them—you can buy botulinum, mix it up, and inject it into your forehead. Super private.”

  “Unless you use it to poison someone,” said Bill, his lips twisted downwards. “I can’t believe someone did that to Vanessa.”

  I thought back to the stalker and wondered if this could be the handiwork of an obsessed man. “Did Vanessa file a police report on the stalker?”

  Bill shook his head. “No. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she didn’t take it too seriously. She didn’t get the roses every day—just every now and then. And the notes with the roses were pretty harmless. They’d just say things like, she was a good singer. Or she was pretty. Nothing really worrying.”

  I frowned and looked at Beth, who shrugged. While the behavior seemed innocuous, I couldn’t overlook it now that Vanessa had been poisoned.

  “It doesn’t seem like threatening behavior,” I admitted. “But since you think Vanessa was poisoned, we’ll have to consider that this mysterious stalker might be a suspect. Was there anyone else who might’ve wanted to hurt Vanessa?”

  Bill shook his head. “No, not that I can think of. Vanessa hung out with the waitresses from the restaurant, and she seemed to get along with everyone.”

  “Excuse me,” said a familiar-sounding voice from behind us. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

  Beth and I turned around and glared at Neve.

  Chapter Four

  “What’re you doing here?” said Beth, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “Have you been following us?”

  Neve smiled sweetly. She’d been sitting at the table behind us, and now she dragged her chair over to our table.

  “Just practicing my surveillance skills,” she said innocently. “Can’t let them get rusty.” She extended one perfectly manicured hand to Bill. “Hi, I’m Neve. I’m training to be a private investigator.”

  “Bill.” He shook her hand, looking slightly mystified, and then he turned to me. “Are you guys working together?”

  “No,” Beth and I chimed together.

  “We know Neve,” I said quickly. “But she’s definitely not working with us.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Neve, smiling at me like we were the closest of friends.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “What are you doing, following us around? Are you trying to get work like this?”

  I wanted to throw a fit about entitled, clueless women who tried to steal our clients, but I decided that it would be best to act professional in front of a new client.

  Neve tilted her head to one side. “Like I said, I was just doing some surveillance.” She turned to Bill. “I couldn’t help but overhear about Vanessa and the stalker. I’m so sorry about all this. You must be going through hell.”

  “It hasn’t been easy,” Bill admitted warily.

  “I can help,” Neve said. “I’m happy to work for free while I build up my private investigations business.”

  Bill looked at us questioningly, and I shook my head. “No. Even if she works for free, Beth and I can’t do it. Too many cooks, you know.”

  “We can talk to more suspects together,” said Neve. “Set up sting operations if we have to.”

  “I don’t want you meddling with our case,” I said. “I don’t want you tipping off suspects and messing up evidence.” I turned to Bill. “We can’t have her ruining our hard work.”

  Bill nodded and turned to Neve. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but if the two investigators I hired don’t want you around, I’m going to have to respect their wishes.”

  “I understand that,” said Neve smoothly. “But if I happen to uncover anything new, would you reconsider your stance?”

  Bill looked at her doubtfully, clearly unsure of how to respond. “I suppose so,” he said finally. “As long as Mindy and Beth can do their job.”

  “Alright, then,” said Neve, looking pleased with herself. “Now you’ve got Neve on your team. It was lovely meeting you, Bill.”

  She turned to Beth and me, gav
e us a little finger wave, and stalked off.

  I shook my head. “Unbelievable.”

  Bill said, “What was all that about? Will she really help with the investigation?”

  I looked at him and smiled. “As long as she doesn’t interfere with the actual investigation, she can do whatever she wants. Just don’t expect much from her.”

  He nodded. “Good luck. I hope you find whoever tried to poison Vanessa.”

  Chapter Five

  “Can you believe the nerve of that woman?” I asked my mother.

  Beth, my mother, Aunt Kira, and I were all seated around the dining table. My mom’s house was a ten-minute drive up from the beach, and she and Aunt Kira shared the place. The house had last been renovated twenty years ago, which meant that the bathrooms and kitchen were functional but not stylish.

  The dining room had heavy white drapes and Van Gogh prints on the walls. Aunt Kira kept talking about replacing the heavy wood dining table with something more modern and stylish, but she never got around to doing it. She hated shopping, and she spent most of her time doing freelance coding work for well-paying clients.

  “She just wants some work,” said my mom. “Have some more salad. I made it with that new dressing.”

  I dutifully helped myself to some more salad. Beth had already moved on to the pasta, and in between shoveling food into my mouth, I said, “I wish Neve would get some other work. Why does she even want to be a PI?”

  “She thinks it’ll be glamorous,” said Aunt Kira. “She’s always wanted to do something glamorous. Like being a movie star. Her parents even got her a nose job for her eighteenth birthday. Way to support your little girl—help her get plastic surgery.”

  “She does look good, though,” said Beth. “She looks like a movie star.”

  “Who’s forced to work as a receptionist at her daddy’s friend’s law firm,” I added unkindly.

  “You’re almost thirty,” said my mom. “I’m sure Neve doesn’t want to think that her life’s going to be drab and boring. She sees you and Beth appearing in articles in the Santa Verona Sun, and she wants people to write about her, too.”