Dessert, Diamonds and Deadly Secrets Read online

  “It’s not a problem,” I said. “By the way, you haven’t talked to a lady named Neve, have you?”

  Simon chewed his mouthful of steak thoughtfully. And then he said, “Yeah, she did call me. Why do you ask?”

  “What kind of stuff did she ask you?” said Beth. “Did she ask to meet you?”

  “Why would she ask to meet me?”

  Beth looked at me and cocked one eyebrow, as though to convey Neve’s ineptness. I said, “Well, usually it’s better to talk to people face to face during an investigation.”

  “Investigation? No, no.” Simon shook his head. “She called to see if I was still interested in the café. She wants to turn the place into a soup kitchen or something.”

  “Vegan soup bistro,” Beth said, smirking.

  “Oh, that makes more sense,” said Simon. “She was asking me whether I really thought a café would do well in a haunted site like that, where someone had just been murdered. Trying to keep me from buying the place.”

  Beth pinched her lips tight, and I shook my head disapprovingly. “What a way to discourage buyers. At this rate, she’ll be the only one making an offer to Mike.”

  “Yeah, well. Hauntings and ghosts don’t discourage me, and I think most people will forget about the murder after a while. I still think a café there’d do well.”

  “I know I’d prefer a café breakfast over vegan soup,” I said.

  Simon shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure anyone’ll be able to buy the place, really. Mike might not have time to sell if he’s busy with the trial and gets sent to prison.”

  “Oh, we don’t think he’s guilty,” I said lightly.

  “You don’t?” Simon sounded surprised. “You know, the day I went into the place to chat with Tim, he was having a huge argument with Mike. Mike was trying to convince him not to sell the place.”

  I looked at Beth and stifled a sigh. Just about everyone we talked to had some reason or the other to believe that Mike had killed his uncle, and I was beginning to wonder what else Mike hadn’t told us.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I see you’ve met Simon,” said Whitney, the proprietor of Sara’s Steakhouse.

  Whitney was a mocha-skinned woman with big frizzy hair and a body a few sizes larger than the Hollywood norm. She’d opened the steakhouse while I was still in high school, and over the years the place had grown more and more popular. Whitney was outgoing and knew most of her regulars by name, which was just one of the reasons that people kept coming back to her place.

  Beth and I had just settled down with our steaks and extra chili fries, but it was always nice to have a chat with Whitney.

  “So he comes here a lot,” I said.

  Whitney nodded. “Yeah. It’s great to see people driving down from Yarraville for my meals. What’s in the box?”

  “Pixie’s toys.” I explained about adopting the little Hahn’s macaw, and Whitney nodded sympathetically.

  “Horrible stuff about Tim’s death,” she said. “I added extra cameras indoors after that.”

  She pointed out the round-cased corner-hung cameras, and Beth said, “That makes sense. Did you know Tim well?”

  “No, not really. But his café was doing well, especially after he bought the small shop next door and renovated a few years back, knocking out a wall and combining both places. It used to look rather old and dark.”

  I remembered what Kandy had told us about being followed, and said, “Have you noticed anyone hanging around the place, a few days before Tim’s death? Maybe watching the café?”

  Whitney shook her head. “No, I had a bad cold about that time and didn’t come in to the steakhouse every day. Even then, can’t say I remember anyone hanging around.”

  I handed her one of my business cards and said, “Let us know if you think of anything.”

  “Will do, sweetheart,” she said, pocketing the card. “And good luck to you. Although it does look bad for Mike now. Been reading all about it in the papers. Poor boy.”

  ***

  After a long lunch at the steakhouse, complete with crème brûlée for dessert, Beth and I headed east to Elaine’s house. She lived in a cream semi-detached house on a street where the houses had midsized lawns with lots of toys strewn about on them. The early-afternoon sun glinted off the discarded toys and cast short shadows around the palm trees.

  “It’s nice of you to see us,” I told her as we sat around in a stuffy living room. There were far too many club chairs and love seats for the space, and the drapes overshadowing the window were heavy and dark. An oil painting hung on one wall, depicting a mountainous landscape, and the place looked far too old-fashioned for someone like Elaine.

  Elaine looked to be in her mid-forties, with frizzy brown hair, the first signs of wrinkles, and wide-set brown eyes. As though in answer to my unasked question, she said, “I’m sharing this place with my aunt. It’s temporary. I’ll be moving out soon.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got money problems,” said Beth.

  “Not at all,” said Elaine. “I’ve been downsizing. Used to live in a big place up in Yarraville, but prices there have been going up. Sold my place and a bunch of stuff. Now I’m looking for a tiny duplex near the beach. Quality over quantity.”

  I looked at her skeptically. “How long’ve you been living here?”

  She grinned. “Almost a month now. My aunt and I get along. She makes a mean nasi goreng.”

  I smiled back. “I’d live with someone if they made me nasi goreng.”

  “I make you cakes all the time,” said Beth.

  “Yeah. But you don’t let me eat them for lunch.”

  “I don’t want people saying I’m fattening you up.”

  “Nothing sadder than a fat old white woman,” Elaine chimed in. “Life’s sad for those of us who like to eat.”

  I liked her. She didn’t seem like a woman who’d kill her former lover, even though she clearly had bad taste in men.

  “I can’t believe you slept with Timothy Broker,” Beth said.

  “I can’t believe it either,” Elaine said lightly. “We met each other through a baking class, even though Tim doesn’t do the actual baking in his café, most of the time. Didn’t,” she corrected herself.

  “Then why did you?”

  She shrugged. “I’d heard he was married. But one day…well, I’d had a few too many drinks, and it just happened. I was impulsive, for once. And then later, he pursued me. Said he was getting divorced. I believed him for a little while, too.”

  “So that’s his line,” Beth said. “That he’s leaving his wife.”

  “Exactly.” Elaine nodded. “I know all married men say that, but I actually believed him. Of course, I saw through him after a few weeks, thank goodness, and then I moved on.”

  “I thought you turned up at his house to yell at him?”

  Elaine laughed. “God, how embarrassing. I went out one evening with some girlfriends, and they talked about how women deserve to know the truth about men. I had a few too many tequila shots, and it seemed like I’d be doing Wendy a favor by letting her know what a louse her husband was.” She laughed again. “Of course, Wendy already knew what a horrible cheater he was. I heard later that he took her to Paris that weekend.”

  “You heard right,” I said. “Then why did you show up at his café again?”

  “Can you believe, that moron stole my macaron recipe? What kind of man does that? I ranted and raved, I made those fluffy, delicious macarons and I didn’t want him stealing them. He doesn’t deserve to have my recipe.”

  “And what then?”

  “Well, after a while he agreed that he wouldn’t sell them in his store anymore. I was okay with that, because I want to do a macaron delivery service to the cafés near the pier. All the tourists want macarons.”

  “I want macarons,” I said. “What flavors do you make?”

  “Coffee, pistachio, vanilla, raspberry, champagne, Earl Grey…” Elaine rattled off a list of flavors, and I made a ment
al note to go down to the pier cafés as soon as possible. And then Elaine said, “Of course, I haven’t started doing the deliveries yet. I’ve got a list of interested clients, though.”

  “Oh.” I was going to ask for some samples, but then I realized I was getting sidetracked from the main topic. “Right, back to Tim. So you weren’t mad at him anymore?”

  “Nah. That guy did what he did, and then he agreed not to steal my recipe. More fool me for falling for his lines. But at least he got me some bling.”

  I looked at her with renewed interest. “You’ve got jewelry he gave you?”

  She shook her head no. “Not anymore. I sold it to raise money for my business.”

  “So you’re still in the ‘trying to raise funds’ stage?”

  Elaine shook her head again. “No, no. I actually won a cancer raffle drawing a few weeks ago. I got two hundred grand. Now I’m just trying to be careful so I don’t waste that money. I want to start this business off right.”

  “Well, it sounds like a great plan,” I said. “Good thing you’re not planning to blow the money on fast cars and loose women.”

  Beth said, “Do you know anyone else who might’ve wanted to hurt Tim?”

  “Not really. I’m afraid things don’t look good for Mike. And maybe some customer got really annoyed because he couldn’t get a table at the café on Sunday morning?” She shrugged. “Who knows?”

  Beth said, “And where were you, when Tim died?”

  Elaine smiled. “I was over at John’s Bistro, having a great steak with a nice red wine. I was there till late at night. You can ask anyone who works at the bistro.”

  “We’ll do that,” said Beth. “Not that we suspect you of anything. You’ve been really helpful.”

  I said, “You haven’t talked to a tall blonde woman named Neve, have you?”

  Elaine shook her head. “No, who’s that?”

  “It’s this…” I tried to think of a complimentary way to describe Neve.

  “It’s someone poking around about Tim’s death,” said Beth. “She’s not very experienced yet.”

  I wondered if we should say something to Elaine about not needing to let Neve know the whole picture, but I decided to let it go. I’d play fair with Neve, no matter how she went about things. “In any case,” I said out loud, “she’ll probably be bored with the investigator gig after a while. Maybe she’ll start her vegan soup bistro after all.”

  “Wow,” said Elaine. “I’m sure she’d love to sell some of my macarons at her bistro.”

  I smiled. “I suppose vegan soup-drinkers need desserts, too. Would you do me a favor, please, and let me know if Neve comes by to chat with you?”

  Elaine nodded, and I left my card with her as Beth and I headed out to see Mike again. It was time to return the key to the café and see if he could think of anything else that might be helpful to our investigation.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You don’t mind if I take the stand mixer, do you?” asked Beth.

  “Be my guest.” Mike handed the key back to us. “Just make sure you don’t take anything else. I think buyers want the place with all the trimmings, so they can run the café. I’m going to talk to a real estate agent or two. They might be able to help me get a better price.”

  “So you’re really serious about selling the place,” I said. “What about Neve?”

  Mike shrugged. “I don’t owe Neve anything. She offered to help with the investigation. I’m not the one promising her the café. Unless she can pony up the cash.”

  I said, “But you’ve already had a few offers to buy the place.”

  “Yeah,” said Mike. “And with a bit of marketing, I’ll probably get a few more offers.”

  “Speaking of,” I said, “has Simon Macchio called you yet?”

  “Simon who?”

  “Macchio. He seemed pretty keen on buying the place.”

  “Nope. No calls from him, or anyone with that name.”

  “Well, he’s got your number, and he might give you a buzz.”

  “Sure,” said Mike. “The sooner I sell the place, the sooner I get the money.”

  “You never told us you had a fight with your uncle about not selling the place.”

  Mike shrugged. “It didn’t seem important.”

  “Well, everything’s important.” I tried to keep my annoyance in check. “Have you ever considered how bad it looks for you?”

  “Everything looks bad for me,” Mike mumbled.

  “Well, why’d you fight with him?”

  Mike shrugged. “I didn’t have an easy time getting jobs, okay? At least with my uncle, I knew that even if he yelled at me and he wasn’t paying me much, as long as I pulled a few espresso shots, my job was safe. But if he sold the place, the new owners might not keep me on.”

  “Nepotism for the win,” said Beth drily.

  “Look,” said Mike, rubbing his forehead, “I had no idea he was going to leave me the café. It’s not like I killed him to keep him from selling the place.”

  I sighed. “Well. Anyway. And how’s Neve doing? Have you talked to her since yesterday?”

  “Not really,” said Mike. “I assume she’s doing her job.”

  My cell phone buzzed, and I looked down to check the message. I looked at Beth and said, “Well, it seems like Neve is doing her job. Elaine just texted me that she talked to Neve.”

  Beth shrugged. “At least she’s not insisting that the three of us go together.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Small miracles.”

  “Speaking of,” Beth said. “We need to get going. I promised two separate women that I’d do cakes for their baby showers, and I need them done by tonight.”

  “What flavors?” I said.

  “Vanilla and carrot-walnut,” she said. “C’mon. Maybe some cake-tasting will help you think better. Maybe you can figure out who really killed Tim over a slice of carrot-walnut cake.”

  Beth was right about two things. One, I’d never say no to cake-tasting. And two, I really did need to think things through. There was no point talking to any more people until I pieced together all the information I’d learned so far. I thought I could see a shadow of who the killer might be, and I knew I was close to figuring it all out.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I wanted to chat with Beth as she baked, but I also wanted to spend time with Pixie. I would’ve taken Pixie over to Beth’s apartment, but I was worried that Beth’s tabby, Molly, would show too great an interest in Pixie.

  So instead, Beth brought all her baking stuff over to my apartment, and we chatted as we worked. Well, mostly Beth worked and I watched. She whisked eggs, beat in sugar, added flour and worked her magic. She finished the vanilla cakes first, put them in the oven, and worked on the icing.

  Pixie watched as Beth worked. Occasionally, she made loud purring noises. I’d attached two of the toys I’d found in Tim’s café to her play stand, and she hung out there, chewing on the plastic beads and leather strings. Occasionally she flew into her cage for a sip of water and then back to her stand to finish her destruction of the toys. I’d bought a bag of almonds in their shells, and I gave her one; Pixie attacked it violently, splitting the almond shell in half with her beak.

  “So far,” I said, keeping an eye on the icing that Beth was mixing up, “the thing that really jumps out is that Tim was killed right before he could sell his café.”

  “Seems like the killer didn’t want him to sell.”

  “Plus, when Tim walked in, they were busy breaking up some chairs. They’d probably have moved on to the counter after that, and then the kitchen.”

  “So whoever wanted to buy it would be discouraged,” said Beth, busily stirring up her icing.

  “Exactly.” I felt a moment’s hesitation. “You don’t think it was Mike trying to vandalize the café, do you? After all, he seems to have had the most to lose if the café was sold. Maybe he wanted to vandalize it, and then his uncle walked in.”

  “But he wouldn’t h
ave killed Tim. He’d just have run out.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he panicked. There was no way out, unless he ran past Tim, and maybe Tim stopped him.”

  I could see that Beth didn’t want to believe the worst about Mike. She was still hung up on her high school crush as she remembered him—handsome, with a life full of promise ahead of him. But life hadn’t turned out the way any of us had expected in high school, and now Mike was a disillusioned divorcé with a child who lived in a different city. He had no job prospects and not much to look forward to.

  “Who else would’ve wanted Tim not to sell?” asked Beth.

  “There’s Neve,” I said, frowning. “But maybe I’m being unkind.”

  “Isn’t it suspicious that she’s trying to solve the murder just so she can buy the café? She’s even calling up other interested buyers and warning them off.”

  I didn’t want my emotions to get the better of me, but it did seem that Neve had her own ulterior motives for working the case. I was sure that one of her motivations was to show me up, but perhaps she was also motivated by the possibility of financial gain.

  “Maybe Neve killed Tim,” said Beth. “And she thought she could charm Mike into selling her the place.”

  “Nobody knew that Mike would get the café,” I said. “And can you imagine Neve swinging a sledgehammer? Nuh-uh. She’d be far too worried that she’d break a nail.”

  “Or get dirt on her perfect clothes.”

  “What about Simon?” I said. “He’s another buyer. Maybe he’s the one trying to discourage the others.” It was a stretch, and we both looked at each other doubtfully.

  “Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way,” Beth said. “Maybe selling the café had nothing to do with this whole thing.”

  “Or maybe Mike really did know that his uncle would leave him the café.”

  “In that case, maybe Neve knew, too.”

  “Okay, let’s put the café aside for a minute,” I said, grabbing a teaspoon and reaching over to try the icing. “Mmm. This is delicious.” I finished my spoonful of icing, but Beth wouldn’t let me taste any more, so I pouted for a few minutes.