By Cook or by Crook (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) (24 page)

Chapter 26

Val stared at the gun, her hands rigid on the wheel. Her heart pounded like a tom-tom.

“Drive.” Luke slid across the bench seat and shoved the barrel of the gun against her ribs. “Don’t go out the main entrance. Take the gravel road at the end of the street.”

Val’s mouth dried up. She gasped for breath.

“Drive, bitch!” He poked her harder with the gun.

She started the car, turned on the wipers and the lights, and shifted into reverse. Could she escape from the car? Her seat belt was buckled. Even if she slowed down or stopped, she wouldn’t be able to make a quick leap. Better to keep driving and wait for a chance to attract someone’s attention. Eventually, this road would intersect a main artery with more traffic on it. Luke wouldn’t risk shooting her with witnesses around.

“Take a right up ahead.” He pointed to a narrow lane.

Damn. No main road after all. She shivered in a cold sweat. Would the gun go off by accident if she hit a bump on the unpaved road? Luke held it steady, his finger on the trigger.

“Would you put that gun away? It makes me nervous.” Maybe she could trade on his attraction for her. She slowed down. Their eyes met. “Luke, please. You can trust me.”

“Where’d you find that list of addresses?”

She froze. “Addresses?”

“Give up the bluff. I hear everything that goes on in Jeremy’s apartment.”

“What, you bugged his apartment?”

“He belongs to me. If someone tries to turn him against me, I’ll find out. That’s why I moved him next door.”

Val remembered Luke saying the move was Nadia’s idea. He’d hoped to conceal his interest in monitoring Jeremy. “And everyone thought you were being kindhearted, fixing up an apartment for him.”

“That’s me. Kindhearted. Taking care of the village idiot.” He shifted the gun so it no longer gouged into her. “It’s such a neat set-up. A dimwit carries piles of money, never notices, and wouldn’t take it even if he did. Then some coffee spills, and I got a pair of nosy bitches poking around.”

A jolt of fear hit Val. She couldn’t expect better treatment than the other nosy woman. Luke didn’t have a soft spot for her. He’d wanted her information not her company, asking her for an update on the murder investigation every time he saw her.

He rummaged in her tote bag with his free hand. He pulled out the spiral notebook and flipped the pages. “Ah, here it is. Nadia said she had my customers’ addresses. I couldn’t find it in her house. Where’d you get it?”

She’d better not mention Kimberly, or he might go after her too. “Nadia left it behind at the club.”

“She was wrong about one of these addresses. The mortgage place ordered subs once a week. No special pick-ups or deliveries there.” He put the notebook in his jeans pocket. “I could understand it if she wanted a piece of the action, but her ‘free Jeremy’ crusade made no sense.”

“Why didn’t you let him go? He can’t be that important to you.”

“Once he was out of it, there was nothing to keep her quiet. She could go to the cops anytime. I couldn’t let that happen. Mom depends on me.”

The good son. “I see. You’re just taking care of your mother.” That’s how he salved whatever little conscience he had.

“Make a right turn up ahead. Nadia didn’t feel a thing, you know. I opened a bottle of expensive wine, like the one she gave me when I bought my house from her, and slipped a sedative in her drink.”

Luke, the good murderer. Could Val say anything to convince him not to murder her? “Nadia had a personal interest in Jeremy. I don’t. I’m not a meddler like her.”

Luke poked her with the gun. “Don’t take me for a fool. You want to nail Nadia’s murderer. I knew you were trouble when you baited Darwin about the hit-and-run and arson.”

“Until he tried to set my house on fire, I didn’t think he was guilty of anything except stupidity.”

“Stupidity is right. I paid him to make sure there was no trouble at my poker game. One night he brings a Hispanic with him. The guy waves a gun and holds me up for the night’s take.”

Ramirez. “You sent Darwin after him.”

“I told him to get my money back and make sure the guy never comes to the game again. So what does he do? Runs the guy over.”

The last pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. If Nadia ever told the police about the money Luke collected via the diner’s deliveries, they’d look into his income sources. Not only his sports betting operation might come to light, but also his high-stakes poker game and Darwin’s role as muscleman. Under police questioning, Darwin could claim that Luke ordered him to eliminate Ramirez.

“Darwin went to you for help, didn’t he? Last night after he tried to set fire to my house.”

“He was afraid you recognized him. He figured the cops were watching the roads. Wanted me to take him by boat to Annapolis, where he had friends who’d hide him.”

As soon as Darwin attracted police scrutiny, Luke had to get rid of him, pushing him overboard far short of Annapolis. And Luke planned the same end for her. She had a vision of the medical examiner slicing into her bloated body. Her throat burned. Her mouth filled with something bitter. She had to make her move before they reached Luke’s boat.

She glanced sideways. He sat in the middle of the bench seat, and he wasn’t belted in. Chef Henri, also without a seat belt, had gone to the hospital with a bunch of broken bones. Like Henri’s vintage car, this old hatchback had no airbags. Could she do on purpose what she’d done by accident a few months ago? Could she duplicate a crash? Not as precisely as Luke had duplicated a racket to use as a weapon. In this crash she might suffer more than minor injuries, but anything beat what he planned for her.

She scanned the road ahead and saw the faint glow of headlights. Perfect. She’d want someone to call for help when she crashed the hatchback.

Her palms sweated on the steering wheel. If she kept talking, Luke might not notice her growing anxiety. “Where did you get the wood racket?”

“From Mom’s attic. It was my father’s.”

Of course. “Your mom told me he played tennis.” And Luke had said she never threw anything away.

The headlights of the approaching car glimmered. A few hundred yards ahead, a tree with a hefty trunk stood in a field, just off the road to the right.

She pressed on the accelerator.
Come on, hatchback
. Once she went off the road, the car would have to go fast not to bog down in the mud.

“Slow down!” Luke yelled.

She eased off the road toward the tree still fifty yards away.

Luke grabbed the wheel, forcing the hatchback to swerve to the left. Val saw nothing but the headlights of the oncoming car.

Chapter 27

Val flashed back to the icy road last winter. Seconds before the accident, Chef Henri fought her for the steering wheel as Luke was doing now. This time she wouldn’t let the man sitting next to her take charge.

Adrenaline surged through her. She wrenched the wheel back to the right and slammed on the brakes.

The tires squealed. The car skidded off the road, throwing Luke sideways. Val aimed the right side of the car toward the tree trunk. No way to avoid it now. She took her hands off the wheel, covered her face, and braced herself.

The car whammed into the tree trunk. Her body pitched forward and snapped back.

She opened her eyes. Luke was slumped on the seat, his head tilted sideways. Blood gushed from his forehead. He must have hit the windshield. Val unbuckled her seat belt with a shaking hand.

Where was the gun?

Val spotted it on the floor between Luke’s left leg and her tote bag. Luke groaned. She thrust the gun in her bag and opened the car door.

A middle-aged man and a pudgy woman hurried toward her from across the road. The woman carried a huge umbrella in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

The man helped Val get out of the car. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay, but he needs an ambulance.” She pointed to Luke. “And I need the police.”

The woman held the phone up. “I’ve got 911 on the line.”

 

 

After the café closed Monday afternoon, Val reached up to put a bowl on a top shelf. Pain stabbed her neck and shoulder like a long-bladed knife. She moaned.

“Let me do that.” Monique came around the counter. “I’ll clean up here. You sit down, drink your iced coffee, and finish telling me what happened last night.”

Val could talk about it with barely a shiver now. The first few times she’d described the crash, to the police and Granddad last night, and to Bethany and Chatty this morning, she couldn’t stop trembling. She’d decided to tell Chatty nothing about Nadia’s research into cosmetics. Legally Chatty could set whatever price she wanted for her products. Val would never buy the products, but any woman undaunted by those prices had money to burn.

Val climbed onto the stool that Monique had just vacated. “Where did I leave off?” The painkillers made her groggy without killing the pain. At least they dulled it a bit.

Monique slid the iced coffee toward Val. “You told me about the crash. How badly was Luke hurt?”

“Nothing major wrong with him, just a gash in the head and a concussion. The hospital released him this morning, and the police have him in custody. They’ll charge him with Nadia’s murder.” Val hoped he hurt as much as she did or, better yet, more than she did. “Sorry your hatchback won’t recover.”

Monique waved away the apology. “It died for a good cause. Nadia must have been crazy to let Luke into her house. Why didn’t she go to the police instead?”

“She just wanted to get Jeremy away from him and didn’t expect Luke to kill her for that. She took him for a small-time crook. That’s all he was until Darwin killed Ramirez, making Luke an accessory to a major crime.”

“This morning Maverick told me why he wouldn’t go back to the poker game. He saw the gun Ramirez brought to the game.” Monique wiped down the food prep counters. “Some people call gambling a victimless crime, but if Luke hadn’t run a poker game, three people would be alive.”

“And he wouldn’t be in custody.” Val sipped the last of her iced coffee. “Last week he said that Nadia did a good deed by helping Jeremy get a job. I remember thinking she wasn’t killed for her good deeds. But in a way, she was. She tried to protect Jeremy.”

Monique came around the counter and sat next to Val. “Nadia was a strange mixture of good and bad.”

“Like most people.”

“I’ve forgiven her, you know, for what she did with Maverick. But I don’t know if I can forgive myself for what I did to her. If I hadn’t set fire to the racket, maybe—”

“No. Luke would have killed her anyway. He’d have used a different method.”

“But I wouldn’t have been the chief suspect. I’m grateful for what you did, Val. You risked your life to help me.”

Val swiveled the stool to face her cousin. “We’re family.”

“Yes, and you belong here in Bayport. Don’t even think about leaving.” Monique stood up. “Need a lift home?”

 

 

Val thanked Monique for the ride and climbed out of the van. No sign of Granddad’s Buick. Maybe he’d gone fishing, taking advantage of the first pleasant weather in a week. She breathed in the clear air, stood under the oak tree in the front yard, and peered at the blue sky through the leaves. The tree had roots so large they surfaced in the lawn. She propped her foot on a sturdy root.
I belong here.

A truck from the Treadwell Nursery rumbled along the street. It stopped in front of the house, reversed, and backed into the driveway.

Val crossed the lawn and shouted over the engine noise. “What are you doing?”

The driver poked his dreadlocked head out of the truck window. “We got plants here for 175 Grace Street.”

Her grandfather wouldn’t buy plants. “Are you sure you have the right address?”

“Deliver and plant. That’s what it says here. It’s all paid for.” The driver waved his clipboard at her and jumped from the truck. “The name on the order is . . . Gus. Anybody here by that name?”

A peace offering from Gunnar. She couldn’t refuse it. “You’re at the right place.”

The driver and his assistant unloaded plants from the back of the truck. Val checked out the daylilies. Healthy and fuller than the ones that had fallen in combat Saturday night. Instant garden. Better than no garden. Yes, she’d let other people lay down roots for her, as long as she decided where they should go.

She pointed to the flower bed. “Plant the daisies in front and the daylilies behind them.”

She was still directing the planting when Gunnar appeared in the driveway. Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected to see him ever again and wasn’t sure she wanted to.

His brow furrowed. “I heard about the crash, Val. Are you okay?”

“I’m so stiff I move like the Tin Man. The doctor says it’ll ease up.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “The chief told me you left for Washington yesterday.”

“I rushed back here as soon as I could. I wouldn’t have left if I thought you were in danger.”

“I wouldn’t have let you stay.” She gestured with her thumb to the flower bed. “What’s with the plants? Damage control by the DEA or the IRS?”

Gunnar shook his head. “Thank Great-Aunt Gretchen.”

“Can we just stick to the truth?”

“It
is
the truth. Look.” He pulled a folded envelope from his shirt pocket. “They finally probated the will. I think Gretchen would like it if some of her money went toward a garden.”

Val scanned the letter from a law firm. According to the terms of Gretchen Swensen’s last will and testament, Gunnar could expect a legacy. Val wasn’t completely convinced. You could make letterhead on a laser printer.

He searched her face. “Don’t tell me you didn’t believe in Great-Aunt Gretchen.”

“Let’s leave that aside for the moment. You didn’t need to spend her money, or yours, on my garden.”

He shrugged. “Call it a way of making up for mistakes.”

The way she’d tried to make amends for prejudging Nadia? “I finally realized you can’t make up for mistakes. You have to forgive yourself and move on.”

“I could do that better if you forgave me.”

“Oh, you’re forgiven, but not because of the plants. Having a gun poked in my ribs put everything in perspective. Let’s go sit on the porch.” His radiant smile made her feel better than the painkillers she’d swallowed.

“Chief Yardley briefed Vince and me on what happened. That was a lucky accident you had with Luke holding a gun on you.”

“I’m lucky he went to the emergency room, not me.” She hadn’t told anyone she’d aimed the car at the tree, not even the police. The less said about the crash, the better. “Were you right about Darwin selling drugs from his backroom?”

“He had steroids and party drugs hidden in his storage area among the shoeboxes. Unfortunately, since he’s dead, he can’t lead the DEA to his suppliers.”

Val climbed the porch steps. “Was Luke involved with drugs too?”

“The police have no evidence that he even knew about Darwin’s drug dealing. They’ll get Luke for the murder, thanks to you.”

She sat in a cushioned wicker chair. No glider. Too many moving parts. Today she didn’t want any of her parts moved. “Luke told everyone he kept the diner going for his mother when he was really using it as a front for gambling.”

“And a way to launder money. He rang up phantom cash sales.” Gunnar sat on the glider. “The juice from sports gambling gave him a steady income most of the year. Spring through fall, he ran a poker game for locals and guys who came here to fish and hunt.”

“How much was that worth to him?”

“Five bucks a hand times twenty-five hands an hour. Depending on the number of tables, he could take in as much as five thousand a night in cash. Enough money he’d want protection.”

“Enter Darwin, the muscleman.” Enough rehashing. “What’s next for you, Gunnar? Is your assignment in Bayport over?”

“Like I said, I’m leaving my job to open an accounting practice and study acting. You didn’t believe me, huh?” When she said nothing, he continued. “I always told you the truth, but I couldn’t tell you the whole truth.”

Val still had her doubts. She’d fallen for too many stories lately. “If you were serious about acting, you’d head to New York.”

“Broadway, here I come? Not yet. I can study acting at the University of Maryland. There are community theaters around here and lots of theaters in the Baltimore-Washington area.” He leaned toward her, his elbow on his crossed knee and his chin cupped in his hand. “Can we start from scratch? As friends. With the whole truth.”

She held out her hand to shake on it. “As friends.” A good first step.

He pointed toward the sidewalk. “Your grandfather’s back.”

Neither of them had noticed the Buick pull up at the curb.

Granddad climbed the porch steps and gave Gunnar a half wave. “Hope you’re not staying long. My granddaughter’s hurtin’ and needs some rest.”

“I was about to go.” Gunnar stood up. “Feel better, Val. I’ll call you.”

Her grandfather took off his fishing vest and tossed it on the glider. “I thought he left town already.”

“He may stick around, Granddad. He’s talking about opening an accounting practice here and studying acting.”

Granddad looked like a silent movie actor miming surprise, his mouth agape and his hands in the air. “Him an actor? With that face, he better stick to voice-overs.” He folded himself into the wicker chair that matched hers.

“I have something to tell you,” she said. No one else would appreciate it. “While I was driving with Luke, I remembered every detail of the accident last winter. The car was spinning on ice. I turned into the skid and got traction. Chef Henri panicked, grabbed the wheel, and sent the car spinning again. His fault, not mine.”

Granddad gave her a thumbs-up. “Now you can finally let it go.”

She nodded. No more guilt. No more fretting about whether she’d tried to maim Henri. She felt like a new person. Unlike Granddad, she didn’t have a new name to mark her rebirth. “So, Codger Cook, did you try all the recipes for your column and meet the deadline?”

“I got them in on time. I tried them when you cooked them. Didn’t need to fiddle with them myself, except to add my secret sauce before I turned them in.”

“You mean you added a dollop of attitude to my recipes.” Like Chatty added a smidgen of dye to make her cosmetics unique.

He folded his arms and sat back. “I call it style.”

“Style matters. I’d have known Luke was the murderer sooner if I’d paid attention to Nadia’s style of writing names. The night she was murdered, she was on the phone with a client, taking notes on a house, when Luke called. She wrote F-O-R-S-A-L on her notepad under the house details.”

“For Sal?”

“I thought it was the start of a ‘For Sale’ ad. When I went to her office, I saw how she wrote her clients’ names on the master schedule, always the person’s last name and first initial. All caps with no spaces or punctuation.”

Granddad tapped his forehead. “Forsa L—Luke Forsa. I can see why you missed that.”

“I even had a second example. Nadia jotted the name of her other caller, Mrs. Z, the same way. I gave Mrs. Z’s name to a real estate agent, who told me I added an extra letter to it. If only I’d checked, I’d have found out the extra letter Nadia wrote was Mrs. Z’s first initial, K.”

“That wouldn’t convince a jury Luke was guilty.”

Val shifted in her chair, felt her muscles protest, and stifled a groan. “By itself, it proves nothing, but it reinforces the other clues—the weapon, Nadia’s car switching, the notes in her spiral book, and what Luke didn’t say. He never asked how Nadia was murdered.”

Granddad held up his hand with fingers splayed. “Five clues. It took you a while to figure them out.”

“I guess solving murders, like cooking, takes practice.”

While Granddad could practice cooking any time he wanted, Val couldn’t expect more shots at sleuthing. What were the chances of another murder in a peaceful small town?