By Cook or by Crook (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) (10 page)

“I’ll come for the toast, but I don’t think we should play a match so soon after Nadia died.” She stood up. “I’m off to the treadmill. See you tomorrow.”

Val left the café to run errands. She drove into town to pick up the apron she’d ordered for Granddad and stopped at a roadside stand. Usually she spent a lot of time picking out fresh produce. Today she’d have to hurry to get back before Gunnar showed up for their tennis date.

An hour after leaving the club, she returned. As she toted vegetables and fruit from her car, she spotted Darwin on his way out of the club. He didn’t make eye contact with her. She stood inside the club’s glass doors until she saw Darwin pull out of the parking lot. He drove a light SUV, proof enough for her, if not the police, that he’d tried to force her off the road last night. She would take the chief’s advice and avoid Darwin from now on.

She stowed her produce in the fridge and headed for the locker room. She always kept shorts, shoes, and a racket there in case a tennis opportunity arose. She changed and returned to the club’s reception area to wait for Gunnar.

Luke Forsa strode in. He wore a navy T-shirt that emphasized his muscular build and advertised his mom’s diner.

She raised her racket by way of greeting. “Hey, Luke. What brings you here?” She’d never before seen him at the club.

“Thinking of joining. From what I hear, the club has a lot to offer.” He gazed at her as if she were the club feature he liked best. “I was hoping to check out your café too. Unless you’re dishing out food with a racket, it looks like I’m out of luck.”

“The café closes at two. You play tennis?”

“I never got into it.” He nodded toward the room full of exercise equipment. “The weights and indoor track are more my speed. I’m glad I ran into you. Someone at the diner told Mom that you were at the police station today. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s good.” As long as she didn’t mind the complete loss of privacy that came with living in a small town. “Who ratted on me?”

He grinned. “Mom didn’t say. Did you find out anything about the murder investigation?”

“Not really.” She tucked her racket under one arm. “I went to the police to report that someone forced me off the road last night.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“I didn’t get a look at the driver. He was in a light SUV.”

“Probably a tourist who’s used to wider roads. You gotta watch out for them. I hope you didn’t get banged up.”

“I’m fine. My car hit a few bumps.” While waiting for Gunnar, she could pick Luke’s brain. He might have a different perspective on Nadia than the club members did. “By the way, I’m writing an article about Nadia for the club newsletter. Maybe you can help me out. How well did you know her?”

“Hardly at all. When I moved back here two years ago, she sold me my house in Cove Acres.”

“Cove Acres? On the road between here and her house?” At his nod, Val conjured a vision of aluminum-sided tract mansions like mushrooms on bare flat land. Not as appealing as the modest old houses shaded by tall trees in Nadia’s neighborhood. “Did she stay in touch after the sale went through?”

He tilted his head from side to side. “Not with me, though she’d drop by the diner once in a while.”

The weight-conscious Nadia couldn’t have found much to her liking on the diner menu. “I’ve never seen her eat anything but seeds and leaves.”

“We serve salads at the diner, you know.”

Val still doubted the food had attracted Nadia. She might have gone there to troll for clients, senior citizens who wanted to sell their houses or tourists looking for weekend places. “I suppose she also wanted to check on Irene Pritchard’s boy. How’s Jeremy doing?”

“Nadia’s death hit him hard, but he still managed to come to work today. He’s a dependable worker. She did a good deed when she talked me into hiring him.”

“I’ll be sure to mention in the article that she helped young people.” Nadia’s good deeds, while perfect for the newsletter article, wouldn’t help Val find the murderer.

Gunnar came through the club entrance, an athletic bag slung over his shoulder.

“Here’s my tennis opponent.” Val motioned for him to join them.

She introduced the two men. They eyed each other warily and shook hands with taut forearms as if trying to crack each other’s bones. Neither cracked a smile. Were they engaging in the alpha male greeting ritual, or did they view themselves as rivals for her?

Gunnar touched Val’s shoulder. “Ready to play?”

“More than ready.” Tennis was exactly what she needed to take her mind off murder—if only for a short while. “See you, Luke.”

“Don’t forget you promised to meet me for a drink.”

Luke’s parting shot hit its mark. Annoyance flitted across Gunnar’s face for a split second before he adjusted it to bland as vanilla pudding. Val had made no promises to Luke, but why tell Gunnar that? A bit of jealousy could stoke the fires of attraction. She’d learned a little about Gunnar’s character while playing with him as his mixed doubles partner. She’d know even more about him after playing against him.

Chapter 10

Val and Gunnar stopped for a break before the third set, with the score tied at one set for each of them.

Val refilled her water bottle at the cooler while Gunnar toweled off and sat on the bench alongside the court.

She approached the bench. “I have a theory that people reveal their true selves on the tennis court. In the heat of competition, their inhibitions fall away.”

Gunnar switched from sitting to lying on the bench. “Okay, Frau Doctor Freud. I’m ready for your analysis. How did I do in the tennis personality test?”

She gave him a mock sympathetic look. “Sadly, the test revealed you’re very deceptive. At the beginning of our match, you weren’t really trying to win. Then, after you lulled me into complacency, you brought out the big guns.”

“My ego likes your theory. I didn’t play badly. I just held back to gain a competitive advantage.”

“You’re also totally unpredictable. You kept changing tactics, even when you were ahead. That’s unusual. Most tennis players have their game and stick to it.”

“Better unpredictable than boring.” He sat up and patted the bench next to him. “Your turn on the analyst’s couch.”

She didn’t have enough room to lie on the bench unless she put her head in his lap, which might destroy his concentration for the third set . . . or hers. She sat upright. “What do you know about me as a competitor?”

“You’re way better looking than most of my opponents. That’s why I had trouble concentrating on the game.”

“So far, so good. What else?”

“You don’t give up. The more behind you fell, the harder you played. And you’re a good loser.”

“Ha. I’m a much better winner than loser, as you’ll see when we play the next set. The third set isn’t about superior tactics or good strokes. It’s about stamina.” She stood up to show she was ready to play.

He fixed her with his aquamarine eyes. “My stamina will surprise you.”

Her face grew warm. With any luck, exercising in the heat had turned it pink enough that he wouldn’t notice her blush. “I’d love to put your stamina to the test.” Nice that she hadn’t forgotten how to flirt though years had passed since the last time she’d done it.

He tugged at her hand. “Sit down, and tell me how you’re doing. Better than yesterday?”

Val parked herself on the bench. Yesterday in the car with him, she’d worried about a murderer targeting Monique. Now, the police were targeting Monique as the murderer, and Val had someone gunning for her too. “Better in some ways, worse in others. Last night, I drove to my cousin’s house. On the way there, an SUV driver stalked me and ran me off the road.”

He drummed his fingers on the bench slats and peppered her with questions. No, she didn’t know the make or even the color of the SUV, other than that it was light. She hadn’t glimpsed either the driver or the license plate.

“Anything distinctive about the SUV, a dent or something dangling from the rear view mirror?”

She shook her head. “I was too terrified to notice anything. I focused on controlling the car.”

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” He squeezed her hand gently.

She squeezed back, though she wanted to hug him instead. “You’re the first person to take this seriously. Everyone else brushed it off or gave me driving tips.” That included the man who changed her tire, the cop who took her statement, Maverick, and even Luke.

A chirp came from Gunnar’s athletic bag. He pulled out a cell phone and glanced at the display. “I gotta take this call. Excuse me.”

He put the phone to his ear and walked to the far end of the court. The instincts of a man who guards against eavesdroppers?

A minute later, he tucked the phone into a pocket in his shorts and returned to the bench. “I’m sorry. I have to leave. Something came up.”

Val said nothing for a moment, hoping for details about that “something,” whether it related to family, job, or another woman. No matter. She’d make the best of it. “So you’re forfeiting? I’ll take the win any way I can get it.” She thrust out her hand for the end-of-match handshake.

“You’re a good sport.” He shook her hand and then held it a few seconds longer than usual. “Can I make it up to you by taking you to dinner Friday night? You pick the restaurant.”

A real date, unlike Luke’s let’s-get-together-for-a-drink-sometime. “I’d like that. How about the crab house on the waterfront?”

“Sounds good. Pick you up around seven?”

“Perfect.” She could make sure that her grandfather ate a good meal before she left with Gunnar.

She showered in the locker room, drove home, and found her grandfather in the kitchen. He stood over a pan with butter sizzling in it.

She turned the flame off under the pan. “Hi, Granddad. What are you doing?”

“Melting butter. What are you doing?”

“Keeping the butter from burning.”

“About time you came home. Everything’s almost ready.”

She spotted six white potatoes turning brown on the counter, their peelings mounded in the sink except for errant ones clinging to the backsplash, faucet, and dish drainer. “That’s a lot of potatoes for two of us.”

“I know that, Smarty Pants. Ned went fishing this morning, caught rockfish, and brought us one. I asked him to join us for dinner. He needs a break from institutional food.”

“Great. I haven’t seen much of him since he moved to the senior village.” She eyed the potatoes. “That’s still a lot of potatoes for three people.”

Granddad held up an index card. “Your recipe here calls for six spuds and five ingredients. It tasted pretty good when you made it. I don’t want to mess with it.”

Val messed with the recipe herself whenever she made it for him, substituting olive oil for half the butter to reduce the cholesterol. He didn’t know that, of course. “How about I make the potatoes, and you deal with the rockfish?”

“After a beer.” He took a bottle from the refrigerator, poured the beer into a glass, and sat at the small kitchen table.

She cut the potatoes into quarters. “Why didn’t you go fishing with Ned?”

“Let’s just say I had other fish to fry today. What have you been doing?”

Whenever she asked a question he didn’t want to answer, he countered with a question of his own. He wouldn’t tell her anything about his day, but she had lots to tell about hers.

She explained Monique’s predicament without mentioning the burned racket or the murder weapon. As she coated the potatoes with flour and Parmesan cheese, she summarized what Bethany and the chief had told her and outlined her suspicions of Bigby.

By the time she stopped talking, the potatoes were roasting in the oven, she was assembling salad ingredients, and her grandfather had finished his beer.

“Don’t start on the fish yet, Granddad. I want to show you something.” She fetched the Personali-Tees shopping bag from the vestibule and handed it to him. “There’s a gift for you inside.”

Granddad’s face lit up like a small boy’s on Christmas morning. He pulled out a khaki apron with
CODGER COOK
printed in red across the front. He grinned, put the apron on, and tied it in the back. “It fits real good. Thank you.”

“It fits in every way.” Except maybe the “Cook” part. “You’re welcome.”

“I want to look at myself in the mirror.” He returned a minute later without the apron.

Did he only pretend to like it? “Why aren’t you wearing your gift?”

“I’d rather get fish guts on my old clothes than a nice clean apron. I’m saving that for a special occasion.” He took the rockfish from the refrigerator.

“If I buy you another apron, I’ll prestain it to make sure you wear it.”

Granddad unwrapped the fish and set it on a large cutting board. “Getting back to business, you’d like to pin the murder on Bigby, the big cheese, but he doesn’t even have a whiff of a motive.”

She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “Freshly caught fish has no smell either, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t fish. Despite what Bethany said, I think Nadia dumped Bigby as a partner.”

“Didn’t you say Nadia dumped Bethany as a partner too? You don’t think she’s guilty.”

“She doesn’t have the courage to commit a murder. Bigby has the personality to eliminate anyone in his way. I compared his handwriting with the anonymous note Monique received. Bigby sent that note.”

Granddad pointed his knife at her. “Why would he bother doing that if he was gonna kill Nadia?”

“I guess he wasn’t planning to murder her when he wrote it.”

“You’re talking about a man who buys up land years before he starts building on it, and you’re saying he’s not a planner?”

“Business sense doesn’t apply to emotional matters. Two different parts of the brain at work.” She whirled the lettuce in a salad dryer. “He dodged my questions about Nadia. I’m always suspicious when people don’t give straight answers. Monique’s husband, for example, misled her about where he was the night of the murder. He could have killed Nadia.”

“Why?”

“To get rid of a demanding mistress and frame his wife.”

Granddad sliced deftly into the fish. “Let’s dissect that motive. If Monique’s arrested and convicted, where does that leave him? With two brats to raise on his own.”

“Depending on how Monique and Maverick set up their finances, he might get control of the fortune she inherited from her mother’s uncle. That leaves him with two brats and a lot of money.”

“Not after she pays her legal team. With a high-priced lawyer, she could even beat the rap, but how much of the money would be left? Maverick’s better off now with a joint checking account than he would be with the cockamamie scheme you thought up.”

Val bristled at his criticism. “Why wouldn’t he tell Monique where he was the night of the murder?”

Granddad cleaned out the insides of the fish. “Because he was with another woman.”

Val leaned against the counter and watched her grandfather handle the knife. He’d gutted her murder theories as thoroughly as he’d gutted the fish. “You have any better ideas?”

“The way I see it, there are five obvious suspects, and you missed four of them.”

“At least I got one right.”

“Half right. Let’s start with the two that have the strongest motives. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, as the saying goes.” He scraped the fish and sent its translucent scales flipping in all directions. “Monique’s husband scorned her for Nadia, and Nadia scorned Bethany as a tennis partner.”

Val moved the salad bowl out of the range of flying fish scales. “If you knew Bethany better, you’d realize she couldn’t pull off a murder.” Especially a murder like Nadia’s, which required careful planning and execution, not to mention a strong stomach. “And you’re prejudiced against Monique.”

“Well, you’re biased in favor of women. Long as you have a male to accuse of murder, you won’t even consider a female.” He scraped scales rhythmically without missing a beat. “You’ll be happy to know I got a few men for you. The usual suspect is the victim’s ex. He’s number three on my list.”

“Joe Westrin.” The police might not investigate the usual suspect if they were convinced Monique committed the murder. “I saw him with Nadia at the club. They looked more like old friends than bitter exes.”

Granddad examined the fish under the lengthwise slit he’d just made. “You never know what’s festering inside.”

“You have a point. I’ll try to reach Joe tomorrow and sound out some club members about the Westrins’ marriage and divorce.”

Granddad put his knife down and faced her. “Stay out of this, Val. It’s okay for us to talk about it, but I don’t want you getting in the way of a murderer. Leave it to the police.”

“I’m not going to confront anybody. I’ll poke around the edges and tell Chief Yardley what I find out.”

“I once poked around the edges of a sweater your grandmother knitted and unraveled the whole thing. She wanted to kill me, and she wasn’t a murderer. What do you think happens when you start unraveling a murderer’s sweater?”

“I’ll keep my knitting needles handy.” Val sliced tomatoes for the salad. “Who’s your next candidate?”

“Maverick. You had the right man for the wrong reason. He’s sitting pretty with a rich wife and a mistress on the side. When the mistress tells him she’s pregnant, she’s toast.” Granddad rinsed the fish. “Mind you, she might not have been pregnant. She only had to say she was for Maverick’s motive to kick in.”

Unfortunately, that latest scenario gave Monique another reason to kill Nadia. Val didn’t like any of her grandfather’s theories. She clung to the hope that his fifth suspect would serve as the magic bullet shattering the police case against her cousin. “Who’s the last person on your list?”

He put the fish down and caught her eye. “Gunnar.”