Danger, Deceit and Dark Chocolate Cake Page 8

  The diner Owen had picked was sandwiched between a dry cleaner’s and a butcher’s. The diner’s windows were grimy, and the sign outside that advertised “Moe’s Diner” was missing the M.

  Inside, the griminess continued. I supposed the owner didn’t want to hire the extra staff member who’d be in charge of wiping down the white-tiled floors: there seemed to be two waitresses, and some people talking loudly in the kitchen beyond the counter.

  Owen was already sitting at one of the dozen-odd tables, waiting for us in the back. It was early for lunch, and there was no one else sitting next to us.

  “I appreciate you driving up here,” he said. “I’m on my way up to Yarraville, and I didn’t want to waste travel time.”

  “It’s not a problem,” I said politely, placing my laptop on the table between us. I had vague hopes of doing some work once the interview was over. “We know you’re a busy man.”

  He sighed. “It would be nice if I weren’t so busy. Less problems, more free time—that’s what I want.”

  “Your business isn’t doing well?” asked Beth.

  Owen grimaced. “It’s not horrible, but it could be better.”

  “Really?” said Beth. “I heard you’re doing a development in Yarraville and the builder just declared bankruptcy and quit. That must be hard.”

  Owen looked at her steadily. “Where’d you hear that?”

  Beth shrugged. “News travels. It’s a small town.”

  Owen rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Okay. There’s no point denying it. I’m having some difficulties with the development.”

  “That must suck,” Beth said. “And now the Black Cat’s not doing so well either, is it?”

  Owen frowned. “I don’t know what you mean. New places take some time to warm up.”

  I gave Beth a warning look. She tends to be outspoken sometimes, and I didn’t want her pushing Owen too far.

  I said, “That’s true, new places do take some time. But I’m sure things will pick up. We were there last night and the place was very busy.”

  Owen nodded. “It’s just a matter of time. This Yarraville development is just a glitch. We’ll fix it up soon.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “Well,” said Owen as a waitress appeared, “I’m hiring a new builder. And the banks have extended my financing, so I don’t need to stress.”

  We all placed our orders—three burgers and fries—and then Owen said, “But I thought you ladies wanted to talk about Vanessa, not my business.”

  “A bit of both, actually,” I said. “I was wondering if your insurance is all up to date.”

  Owen frowned at me, puzzled. “Insurance?”

  I said, “We heard you took out life insurance on Vanessa. Isn’t it a bit unusual for an employer to take out life insurance on a waitress?”

  Owen leaned back in his chair and surveyed us with cold, judgmental eyes. “Yes,” he said finally. “But Vanessa wasn’t just any waitress. She was a singer. Singers can be expensive. Lining them up, arranging gigs. I needed someone always there—I knew mornings would be busy, with the work crowd and the business brunch crowd. So I wanted Vanessa to be a permanent fixture. She could build up a following.”

  “Which she did,” Beth interjected. “She already had a stalker.”

  “That wasn’t my intention,” Owen said. “I heard about that. But I had nothing to do with a stalker.”

  “Well,” I said. “Either way, she must’ve been popular.”

  Owen nodded. “She’d worked as a waitress in my café, so I knew she was reliable. But people have a habit of flaking out on you.” He grimaced, clearly thinking of the builder who’d decided to opt out of the development. “So I got an airtight contract. I was going to make her popular. So I got all types of insurance on her.”

  “Like life insurance. That would pay you millions if she died.”

  “That’s true,” said Owen. “Six million, to be exact. I don’t believe in taking chances. And not just life insurance. I got disability insurance, too. So if she was still alive, but couldn’t sing for whatever reason, I’d get a payout.”

  “Like if she was in a coma,” Beth suggested.

  “Only if she couldn’t work for an extended period of time,” Owen said. “Why? You don’t think the insurance had anything to do with…”

  He looked from Beth to me, and I shrugged. “It’s interesting that you also took out disability insurance on her.”

  “Hey,” said Owen, his eyes narrowing in anger. “I wouldn’t hurt her to get insurance money, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “You needed the money,” said Beth. “Things went really badly wrong with your development.”

  “I don’t need the money that badly,” said Owen. “I wouldn’t hurt someone to get it.”

  “People have done crazier things,” I said.

  Owen shook his head. “Vanessa was poisoned on Sunday, right? I didn’t even go to the restaurant that day. You can ask anyone.”

  I looked at him doubtfully. He might’ve snuck into the kitchen from the parking lot entrance. Or maybe he’d paid one of the waitresses to add something to the ceviche.

  “You don’t believe me,” Owen said, not missing my expression. “Fine. You can call the people I was with. I was out with six friends, hiking all day. You got your phone ready? I’ll text you their info, you can call them and ask about me.”

  I waited till Owen had texted me all six of the numbers. He seemed pretty confident in his alibi, and I didn’t want Owen to get defensive and cover his tracks. But he certainly did have a strong motive. “I don’t want to accuse you of poisoning her,” I said. “But it seems to me like you’re the one who’d benefit the most from her death.”

  Owen shook his head. “I don’t even need the insurance money.”

  We fell silent for a few seconds as the waitress arrived with our orders, and then we dug into our burgers and fries.

  After a few minutes, Owen said, “The Black Cat’s been getting some really good press in the business papers, and I’ve gotten all kinds of offers to buy it out. These people know how much a good business can bring in, and I could’ve just sold the Black Cat off if I was so desperate for cash. I don’t need to go around collecting insurance money.”

  “And what about the fire in the kitchen?” said Beth between bites of her fries. “You might not have wanted to hurt Vanessa, but if the fire hadn’t been put out in time, you could’ve gotten some insurance money from that.”

  Owen looked at us steadily. “I had nothing to do with the fire. The fire department said it was faulty wiring.”

  “You could create a fault,” Beth argued. “Maybe a toaster didn’t go off. Or something like that.”

  “I had nothing to do with the fire,” said Owen. “And I hate that it happened. I’m having a tough time with the Black Cat. Tougher than I expected.”

  “How so?” I said. “It looked busy last night.”

  “I’m sure the popularity’ll go up,” said Owen. “But the staff—oh my God. It’s been difficult hiring them and keeping them on. First, there’s rumors about some waitress’s ghost in the place. Pure hogwash. Then the fire happens, and I hear people saying that maybe the ghost caused it. Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?” He looked at us, but before we could answer, he went on, “The fire was terrible for morale. Half the staff wanted to quit, but I promised I’d raise their wages, so they didn’t. A ghost.” He snorted. “And now, there’s this Vanessa poisoning. If you two hadn’t come along, looking into who poisoned her, I’m pretty sure the girls would be saying that the ghost did it.”

  I thought back to Xenia suggesting that maybe the ghost—what was her name, Alyssa?—might’ve had a hand in the poisoning.

  “It is odd,” said Beth. “This ghost gets a lot of credit.”

  “Well,” said Owen, “if you girls find out who poisoned Vanessa, I won’t have to worry about the ghost anymore.”

  I nodded and bit into my half-finishe
d burger, and Beth said, “So are you still thinking of selling the place? I know you need the money.”

  “Not anymore,” said Owen. “The financing’s been rearranged, so I’m okay for now.”

  “But you had lots of offers?” Beth said.

  “Sure,” said Owen, nodding. “Lots. Really good ones.”

  “Like—from who?” said Beth.

  Owen looked off into the distance, trying to remember. “I can’t recall exactly, but some of the big names in business here. Matthew Norris and Howard Rocheford,” he said, naming two prominent Santa Verona businessmen. “And a few others I can’t remember.”

  “We’ll have to chat with them to check your story,” Beth said.

  Owen smiled. “Sure. If you can get an appointment with either of them. They’re quite busy people.”

  “I know,” I said, “but at least they’re not ghosts.”

  Owen laughed. “Yes, well, I’ll be happy when that rumor’s put to bed.”

  “I guess that’s where we come in,” I said.

  “Absolutely,” said Owen. “I’m happy to help in your investigation if it means the other waitresses don’t start believing that a ghost’s trying to kill them.”

  I smiled, and the thought crossed my mind that Owen might be telling the truth. Despite his obvious financial benefit if he got an insurance payout from Vanessa’s death, he seemed to be really annoyed at the ghost.

  “Speaking of real live people,” said Beth, “do you know a waitress named Sally Smith?”

  “Sure,” said Owen. “Melissa hired her a few weeks after we opened the place. She ran the resume by me, and I sat in on the interview since I happened to be in that part of town. I remember her. The girl had moved out here from Texas, had no references, but was happy to work for free for two weeks, just to prove she could do the job. She seemed hardworking and enthusiastic.”

  “So you hired her?” I said. “Even though she had no references?”

  “I believe in giving people chances,” said Owen. “Everyone needs to start somewhere. The girl said she went to community college in Texas, then she dropped out for a few years to take care of her mother. She seemed like a good kid.”

  I frowned and looked down at the remaining few morsels of my burger. Owen seemed like a nice enough person, and it was kind of him to give Sally a chance. Her story seemed pretty heart-wrenching, but I wasn’t sure if it was true.

  “It was nice of you to hire her,” I said finally. “You didn’t try calling her family back home?”

  “No,” said Owen. “I figured that if she could do the job, I didn’t need to ask nosy questions.”

  “And what about Neve?” I said. “She’s singing for free.”

  “Right.” Owen glanced at his watch. “I meant to send you a text; she’s happy to sing for free and it’s nice to save some money. She’s got references and it seems like I can’t go wrong with her. Not for a few days, at least.”

  I didn’t have anything to say to that—I’d heard Neve sing, and she was certainly impressive.

  “If that’s all you wanted to ask,” Owen said, “I really should get going. I need to meet some contractors at the Yarraville site. With any luck, we’ll be able to restart everything and get things running smoothly.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”

  I wondered if he’d been telling the truth about Sally Smith, but he didn’t seem to have any reason to lie.

  As Owen paid his bill and walked off, I flipped open my laptop.

  “Sally Smith’s still bothering me,” said Beth. “Are you sure you’ve looked up everything on her?”

  “There’s something I didn’t look up yesterday,” I said. “I was so excited to see that she used to be Patricia Soutre that I forgot to check if she’s ever filed charges against anyone else.”

  I scrolled through the database, entered some information—and then, there it was. Sally Smith’s secret.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Beth and I hurried back to the Black Cat as quickly as we could.

  It was just after lunchtime, but when we rushed inside, it was strangely empty. A trio played soft music on the stage, and the dim lights created a nice ambiance, but there were only a few occupied tables.

  We waved hello to Melissa, who was manning the bar, and speed-walked over to where Sally was sitting, reading something on her phone.

  Beth and I sat down opposite her, and she looked up at us, annoyed.

  “Are you on your break?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “But I should be getting back to work.”

  “The place doesn’t seem busy at all,” Beth said.

  Sally leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “There’s always work to do. Putting plates away, cleaning up the tables. When the place isn’t busy, we get ready for the next wave of customers.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “But this’ll only take a minute.”

  I paused and thought back to what I’d just discovered. Sally Smith hadn’t just changed her name once. She’d changed her name twice.

  Before becoming Sally Smith, she’d been Patricia Soutre, and before she’d become Patricia Soutre, her maiden name had been Patricia Smith. When I’d performed a search using her maiden name, I’d come up with a police report she’d filed before her marriage.

  “Well?” said Sally, looking at me steadily.

  “Patricia Smith,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Once filed a domestic dispute report against one William Soutre.”

  Sally flinched and looked away. She narrowed her eyes, clenched her jaw, and looked back at me.

  When she didn’t say anything, I went on softly, “The case was dismissed. You married William six months later. Changed your name.”

  Sally stared at me, her eyes stony, her spine stiff. “It’s not a crime to get married.”

  “I’m sorry about whatever happened,” I said. “None of it was your fault. You didn’t know how bad things would get.”

  Sally pressed her lips into a thin, straight line.

  “It must’ve been very difficult,” I went on. “Your husband was violent and abusive. But he was a cop, and his father was the sheriff. You couldn’t escape.”

  Sally gulped and looked down, and her shoulders slumped. “What do you want?” she mumbled, not meeting my eyes.

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I’m not going to tell anyone about this. I guess I’m just curious—you told Vanessa about all this?”

  Sally nodded. “Yes. I didn’t know what to do. When I left—I ran away, I was scared. I don’t have parents or family. He must’ve picked me because I’m weak.” She blinked back tears and rubbed her nose. “At least no one else got hurt because of me. He wanted kids. I couldn’t let him hurt my kids.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes watery and desperate. Instinctively, I reached out and squeezed her hand. “It wasn’t your fault,” I said.

  Sally shook her head. “No. It was. I knew what he was, but he kept promising he’d change.” The words rushed out, as though she’d been dying to tell someone else. “He was so sweet. Like that rhyme, when he was good he was very, very good. But when he was bad…”

  Her words trailed off. I said, “You did the right thing. Leaving him.”

  “I couldn’t go to anyone for help.” She looked at me, her eyes frantic. “Nobody believed me, and even if they did believe me, they couldn’t do anything. So I ran.”

  I nodded. “You were very brave.”

  She shook her head. “No, I was a coward. But I did what I had to.”

  “Where does Vanessa come into all this?”

  “I told her, mainly because she seemed nice. I had to tell someone. And then Vanessa said her boyfriend was a lawyer. He could help me get legal help, get protection, get divorced. I do want to get divorced. I want to move on with my life and meet someone and get married and have kids and do the whole shebang, but not just now. I need time.”

  “And Vanessa wouldn’t give you time
?”

  Sally shook her head. “No, in the end she understood. And I guess she didn’t tell her boyfriend, since he didn’t say anything to you two.”

  She glanced at me and Beth questioningly and found the answer she was seeking. “I don’t care if he knows, I guess. I just need some time.”

  “To get prepared,” Beth suggested.

  Sally nodded. “Exactly.”

  I looked at Beth and gave her an inquisitive look. Beth smiled warily, and we both knew—Sally couldn’t have had anything to do with Vanessa’s death. She was on the run from violence herself and would never try to perpetuate it. Unless we were missing something.

  I tried to phrase the next question as delicately as possible. “Do you think your secret might have had anything to do with Vanessa’s poisoning? Anything at all?”

  Sally shook her head. “I really don’t think so. I wouldn’t hurt her, if that’s what you’re asking. Vanessa was my only friend here. It was nice to have a friend.”

  I believed her. But I had to ask. “Is there a chance that William might have tracked you down? Maybe he had something to do with the poisoning.”

  Sally laughed humorlessly. “If William tracked me down, I’d know. He wouldn’t waste time trying to hurt someone else.”

  I looked at Beth seriously. Her expression was grim and reflected the way I felt.

  Finally, I said, “Thanks for telling us the truth.”

  Sally watched me closely. “You won’t tell anyone else?”

  “No,” I said. “We won’t. We don’t think you had anything to do with Vanessa’s poisoning. But if you think of anything else, or if you ever need our help, let us know.”

  We said goodbye to Sally and went to say hello to Melissa and grab a list of all the staff at the Black Cat. There were a few waitresses we still hadn’t talked to, and Beth and I were determined to spend the next few hours interviewing anyone who might’ve seen or heard anything to do with Vanessa’s poisoning.

  Chapter Twenty-Two