By Cook or by Crook (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) (9 page)

“He teaches tennis at the club. I can’t totally avoid him, but I’ll try.”

“Don’t repeat anything I told you about those rackets, the burned one or the weapon. That information’s under embargo. I don’t want anyone convicted by the media.”

She walked with him back into the building. “I’ll keep quiet. Monique’s life will be hell if word gets out about the racket burning.”

“That should have crossed her mind before she did it. Your granddaddy doesn’t think much of her side of the family, says they always act without thinking.”

Val pressed her lips together to cork an angry retort. “Monique’s father moved to Canada during the Vietnam War. I’m sure he didn’t exile himself without thinking long and hard about it. And the way Granddad treated ‘her side of the family’ gives me more reason to stand by her.”

The chief escorted Val out of the building. “But how well do you know her? You may be seeing what you want to see, not what’s really there.”

Could Val have missed a violent streak in her cousin? A week ago, she would have said no. Since then, Monique had set a racket on fire. An act of revenge, yes, but one that caused no physical harm. Killing someone, though, was in another league. “If Monique confesses to the murder, Chief, I’ll admit I really didn’t know her.” But not until then.

Meanwhile, Val would need an excuse to find out more about Nadia. What had she done in the days before the murder? Had she argued with anyone? Who could have seen the charred racket in the twenty-four hours between when it burned and when Nadia was murdered? Answering those questions might lead to murder suspects other than Monique.

Val drove from the police station to the club. She expected to find Bethany frantic for help with the lunch crowd. Apparently, though, Bethany’s experience with six-year-olds gave her the skills to handle hungry customers. Val left her to it and waylaid the club manager. She gave him the catering menus and prices, explaining that Nadia had requested them for the tennis team party. He glanced at them and said he’d give Val a catering contract.

Val owed Nadia for that, but how do you pay a debt to a dead woman? She convinced the manager that the club newsletter should run an article about Nadia and offered to write it. He accepted her offer.

Now that she had a license to snoop, she would talk to real estate developer Bigby O’Shay, Nadia’s former mixed doubles partner and Bethany’s brother. Val had seen the hostility between him and Nadia. Though Bethany had insisted her brother would never hurt Nadia, Val wanted to judge that for herself.

Chapter 9

Outside the town limits, Val drove past billboards announcing the opening of a new gated community, Bigby O’Shay’s latest venture. Bethany’s brother used his own initials when he named his developments—Bay Overlook, Broad Outlands, and now Bayport Oaks. Club members called him B.O. behind his back, but not to his face.

The woman in the sales trailer at Bayport Oaks told Val to follow the construction noise to find Bigby and warned her that he might be too busy to talk.

Val would take up less of his time if he’d answer her key questions: What caused the friction between him and Nadia? When was the last time he saw her? Did he know what the charred racket looked like? She had good reasons not to ask that last question. The chief had barred her from mentioning the racket. Bigby wouldn’t tell the truth if he had anything to hide, and she might be putting herself in danger if he was the murderer. She’d have to treat the interview more like risotto than instant rice, adding ingredients gradually while stirring gently.

She spotted a husky man on a dirt path, got out of the car, and waved.

Bigby strutted toward her, a clipboard under his arm. His dusty shirt clung to his sweaty body. “What can I do for you, Val?” he bellowed over the roar of an earthmover.

“I wanted to talk to you about Nadia.”

“I heard you were at her house yesterday morning with the police. Did you find out how she was killed?”

“The police aren’t telling anyone. I’m here because I’m writing an article about Nadia for the club newsletter.”

“What kind of article?”

“A short tribute. You know, what was special about her, that sort of thing.” Val fished props from her bag, a pen and a small scratchpad. “As her mixed doubles partner, you must have known her pretty well.”

“Look at those guys.” Bigby gestured toward a bulldozer driver who’d just idled the engine and climbed out of the cab. “Taking another break. It’s a miracle I get any houses built. What do you want from me, Val?”

“Tennis was an important part of Nadia’s life. I want your perspective on her as a doubles partner.”

“We had a good run, won a few tournaments. Nadia had a great forehand and went after every ball.”

With both of them going after every ball, they must have collided on the court. Val looked up from jotting notes. “Yet you stopped playing together.”

“Yeah, she was a great tennis player, but not the best partner for me. We couldn’t agree on strategy, not even who should play which side of the court.”

Val tucked her notepad away to encourage him to speak more freely. “Tennis at the club won’t be the same without Nadia. I keep thinking about the last time I talked to her, Sunday night after mixed doubles. When did you last see her?”

Drills whined and hammers banged. Bigby studied the partially finished house where the noises originated, scratched his neck, and looked back at Val. “Can’t remember.”

A lie for sure, but his hesitation made him look innocent of murder. If he’d killed Nadia, he’d have answered more quickly with the story he intended to tell the police if they asked the same question. But some guilty people don’t prepare for police interviews, never expecting to get caught.

Val still had no idea what caused the antagonism between him and Nadia. “You must have dealt with Nadia outside the club. With both of you in real estate—”

“Different ends of the business.”

“Did Nadia enjoy a good reputation in the real estate community?”

His face grew redder. “Sounds like you’re trying to dig up dirt on her.”

Val glanced around at the denuded landscape. Nothing but dirt here. “I need to understand Nadia to write the newsletter article.”

“I said all I got to say about her. If you want more intimate details, go see Maverick Mott.” Bigby turned away.

No surprise that he knew about Nadia’s affair after Monique’s tirade at the club, but why the sneering tone? The affair must have bugged him, or he wouldn’t have mentioned it.

Bigby pointed at an idle bulldozer, and yelled, “Hey, Luis. What’s going on over there? Why ain’t you working?” He swung around and thrust his clipboard under Val’s nose. “Know what this is? A list of what I have to do today. I’m building houses here. I got no time to talk.”

She glanced at the clipboard. Heck, his to-do list wasn’t all that long. He just wrote big. Big man, big mouth, big writing. Val felt a jolt like an electric charge. Monique’s anonymous note had similar large letters on the same type of lined, yellow paper.

If Val ever hoped to extract information from him, she had to leave on good terms. “Sorry I bothered you when you’re busy.”

His eyes narrowed as if he doubted her sincerity, but just for a moment. Then his face relaxed. “You hear anything about a service for Nadia?”

Val detected a genuine emotion behind the question. “Not yet.”

“Let Bethany know when you do. She’ll tell me.”

Bigby left her, stomped toward an idle bulldozer, and yelled at the idle man beside it.

On her way back to the car, Val spotted a sheet of yellow paper crumpled near a ditch. She turned around to make sure Bigby couldn’t see her, grabbed the page, and thrust it into her handbag. Back in the car, she unfolded it. It listed names and assigned tasks, a work roster in Bigby’s characteristic large print. She compared the page to Monique’s anonymous note. To the untrained eye, the writing looked the same.

Val left Bayport Oaks with her questions unanswered about Bigby’s rift with Nadia and his access to the charred racket, but at least she now knew he’d sent the anonymous note. Somehow he’d uncovered Nadia’s affair with Maverick and done his best to break it up. Why? A grudge or jealousy? Either made a good motive for murder.

Val couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather cast as a murderer than Bigby. Even before watching him browbeat his workers today, she’d disliked him for his tennis court behavior. When he shoved his partner aside, argued over close points, and hurled his racket to the ground, he showed how selfish, overbearing, and uncontrolled he was. But few court bullies resorted to murder. Before bringing up Bigby’s name with the chief, Val needed to know more about his relationship with Nadia. Clearly, he hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but his sister might, given a little coaxing.

Val drove back to the café. By the time she arrived, Bethany had already gone, leaving crumbs on the bistro tables and smears on the eating bar. Val wiped down the surfaces and inventoried the fridge contents. Plenty of yogurt and juice for smoothies, not many fruits and vegetables. A trip to the roadside stand would take care of that problem. But first, she needed to eat. Between talking to the police and to Bigby, she’d forgotten lunch. She made a turkey sandwich with garlic cheese spread and dried cranberries. As she sat at the counter eating, Bethany dashed in.

The splotches on her face matched her pink top. “I came back to clean the tables. I was in such a rush I forgot to do it.” Her voice crackled with tension.

“Relax. I took care of it.” Val peered at Bethany’s red-rimmed eyes. “You look like you’ve been crying. Where have you been?”

“The police station. After what you said yesterday, I decided to tell them what happened between me and Nadia. Then they couldn’t accuse me of hiding anything. While I was talking about her, I started crying. I’m going to miss her. The policeman who was with me was so nice. He brought me a box of tissues, and some coffee and a doughnut.”

“Which policeman?”

“The one with the shaved head.”

Val nearly choked on her sandwich. She washed it down with iced tea. “Deputy Holtzman? He was nice to you?”

“Uh-huh. Too bad he was wearing a wedding ring. All the attractive men are already married.”

Val now had proof of what she’d previously only suspected—that Bethany needed her eyes examined. Far from being attractive, Holtzman could take the blue ribbon in the county fair’s Ugly Dude contest. His personality had matched his looks yesterday, but not today. What had changed him? His first day on the case, he’d grilled everyone as a potential suspect. By the time Bethany walked into the police station, though, he already had his suspect. Would Val’s defense of her cousin carry any weight with the chief if his helper from the sheriff’s office built a case against Monique? Not unless Val could build a case against someone else. First at bat, Bigby O’Shay.

She patted the stool next to hers at the counter. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”

Bethany eyed the seat as if it were electrified. “I can’t stay long.”

Val couldn’t fathom Bethany’s skittishness. “This won’t take long. I’m writing an article about Nadia for the club newsletter, and I need your help.”

“In that case . . .” Bethany slid onto the seat.

“I want to mention Nadia’s work as a real estate agent in my article, but only if she has a good reputation. Yesterday you told me that Bigby called her ruthless. What made him say that?”

Bethany pressed her lips together. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead.”

Which is what people say when they’re about to do just that. “And I don’t intend to write anything bad about her, but we all know she had her faults.”

Bethany looked down at her hands, her fingers tightly interlaced. “I asked Bigby why he wasn’t playing with her anymore. He said she kept nagging him to put her in charge of sales at his new development. But of course, he couldn’t do that. He always works with the same agent. So Nadia got mad at him.”

“And that’s why she dropped him as a doubles partner.”

“It was the other way around. He dropped her when he realized what she was really after.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why should Bigby resent Nadia just because she wanted a job in his company?” And why would Nadia want to sit in a sales trailer? Maybe she had problems at the realty office where she worked. Val made a mental note to go by Nadia’s office tomorrow.

“She was coming on to Bigby, acting like she was attracted to him, but all she wanted was to advance her career. Wouldn’t you resent someone who did that to you?”

“I’d especially resent it if I found that person attractive.” So would Bigby. With his hopes of a romance with Nadia dashed, he might have written that anonymous letter out of spite.

Bethany gnawed on her thumb. “Can I still work here even though I didn’t clean up before I left?”

Ah. She was worried about being fired. The wound from being “fired” as Nadia’s tennis partner hadn’t yet healed. Bethany needed to be needed. Val had felt the same way after her car crash led to a career crash.

She squeezed Bethany’s arm. “I can’t manage without you, and I should have given you a checklist for closing. In fact, I could use your help tomorrow if you can work.”

“I have a dentist appointment first thing in the morning. I can work after that.”

“Good. I’ll open the café for breakfast. Come in when you can.”

“Okeydoke. See you then.” Bethany slid off the counter stool.

A minute after she left the café, her physical opposite came in—Althea Johnson, svelte, dark-skinned, and twice Bethany’s age. She was the tennis team member most likely to grieve for Nadia. Always serious, she looked downright grim today with deep vertical lines scoring her forehead.

Val embraced her. “I’m sorry. You were close to Nadia. This must be hard on you.”

Althea adjusted her tortoiseshell glasses. “I can’t believe she’s gone. Do you have any idea how she was killed?”

“The police aren’t saying. Sit down.” Val led her to one of the four bistro tables in the café. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”

Althea shook her head. “I’m about to get on the treadmill and run until I drop. Otherwise I won’t sleep tonight.” She took off her glasses and cleaned them with the hem of her T-shirt. “I remember the day I met Nadia five years ago. The first thing she asked was if my parents named me after the great Althea Gibson.”

“Did they?”

“Uh-huh, and they put a racket in my hand at an early age. Too bad I wasn’t as talented as my namesake.” Althea’s frown lines softened. “Were you named after anybody?”

“The patron saint of chocolate. I was born on February 14th and named Valentine. You got a racket to go with your name, and I got velvet and lace dresses.”

“I bet you rebelled against that.”

Val nodded. “Tomboy since preschool. Did you rebel?”

“I gave up tennis for decades.” Althea tightened the laces of her running shoes. “Nadia got me back into the game. She coaxed me to join the club and the tennis team.”

Val understood Althea’s soft spot for the person who made her feel welcome. “Monique did the same for me. I think she put in a good word with the club manager so I’d get the café job.”

“Really? I know Nadia did. The manager was going to give the café contract to Nadia’s neighbor, Irene Pritchard, until Nadia convinced him you’d do a better job.”

Val could scarcely believe it. “Nadia never told me that.”

“She didn’t want it to get back to Irene. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. Keep it to yourself.”

“I will. Why would she prefer me to Irene? She barely knew me.” But Nadia may have known her neighbor too well. Irene’s tea shop had gone under, possibly because of bad management or mediocre food.

“Nadia liked to exert her influence. Some people call that meddling. I’d give a more positive spin to her interference in this case. She gave you a chance to prove yourself.”

Or she seized a chance to stick it to Irene for whatever reason. Val couldn’t slough off her opinion of Nadia as self-serving. For the first time, though, she felt bad about leaving her out of the dinner party she’d thrown for the team’s other unmarried women. Val had invited Bethany and Chatty because she wanted to know them better. She couldn’t say the same for Nadia.

“Thanks for telling me, Althea.” Thanks for the guilt trip. “We’re meeting here for a farewell toast to Nadia tomorrow at six. Before the team match.”