Shredding the Evidence (A Cookbook Nook Mystery 9) Page 16

  Audrey appeared to need a walk down Memory Lane. What harm could come from it?

  As the three of us nestled on the ruby red sofa, Eugene entered the room carrying a tray filled with floral teacups, a matching pot of tea, and a bowl of sugar and four spoons.

  “Help yourselves,” he said, taking a seat in the royal blue club chair.

  The doorbell chimed. “Can’t be Alexa,” Audrey said. “She has her own key. Would you answer that, darling?”

  Eugene ambled to the foyer and opened the door. From my vantage point, I could see Viveca Thorn step inside, her hair tucked beneath a baseball cap, her baggy sweatshirt over leggings hiding her lithe figure.

  Eugene said, “Viveca, what are you doing here?”

  “Alexa contacted me. She said she can’t afford to continue to pay me.” Viveca sneezed and dabbed her nose with a tissue. “I came to pick up my final check.”

  “Alexa isn’t here,” Eugene said.

  “That’s all right. She said she left it in an envelope in the kitchen.” She sneezed again.

  This time, Eugene blessed her and went in search of the envelope. He returned with it. “Here you go. I’m sure Alexa will provide good references.”

  “If only . . .” Viveca began. “If only I hadn’t gone to pick up sandwiches. If I’d stayed at the studio.”

  “Now, now,” Eugene said, “you can’t think like that.”

  “Maybe I could have prevented the murder.”

  “Or you could have been caught in the crossfire.” Eugene petted her shoulder. “It’s my belief that if a killer is determined to kill, the victim doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Viveca held up the check. “Please tell Alexa thank you for doing this.”

  “We Tinsdales honor our debts,” Eugene said.

  Viveca slogged out of the house.

  Eugene closed the door and rejoined us in the living room, sitting in the chair he’d vacated. “I suppose you heard.”

  “Poor girl,” Audrey said. “Everyone is suffering in the wake of Kylie’s . . .” Tamping down emotions, she opened a page of the freshman yearbook. “Now, where were we?” She tapped a picture of the girls dressed in poodle skirts and teased hair. “This is Alexa and Kylie, age fourteen. Going out for Halloween. They had so much fun.”

  I poured myself a cup of tea and added sugar. “The other night, when Rhett and I ran into you two on Buena Vista, you said you couldn’t think of anyone who might have killed Kylie.”

  “No one,” Eugene said.

  “Is there anyone who might have wished both Kylie and Alexa harm?” I asked.

  Audrey gasped. “What are you implying?”

  I mentioned the possibility that whoever had killed Kylie might have done so at the studio to destroy Alexa’s reputation.

  “Do you mean like a restaurant owner who Kylie might have reviewed badly but who also might have been one of Alexa’s clients?” Eugene asked.

  “That’s an idea,” Bailey said. “Or how about a rival from their past?”

  Audrey shook her head. “They didn’t have rivals.”

  “You said Alexa had been a loner,” I stated.

  “Yes, as a preteen, but when she met Kylie, she came out of her shell. Both of them were quite popular in high school and in college.”

  “They went to different universities,” Eugene said.

  “At any time did the two date the same boy?” I asked.

  A smile tugged at Audrey’s mouth. “Interesting that you should ask.” She flipped the page. “This is Alexa with her boyfriend, Zach, who later became Kylie’s boyfriend.”

  The caption below the picture read Overachievers.

  “Where is Zach now?” Bailey touched the photo with her index finger.

  “In New York,” Audrey replied. “He’s a successful stockbroker. Married to Marvin.”

  “Marvin?” I said.

  “Zach’s gay. He came out in his senior year.” Audrey poured herself a cup of tea. “He and Marvin are married and have two children.”

  Eugene said, “I knew all along he was gay, but parents aren’t supposed to have opinions.”

  “You did not know,” Audrey chided.

  That ruled out Zach wanting to hurt both Kylie and Alexa, I mused.

  “Did Alexa and Kylie share other boyfriends?” I asked.

  “A few. Tryce was the last one.” Audrey glanced at her husband. “Do you remember him, darling?”

  “How could I forget? ‘Tryce this, Tryce that.’ I think Alexa wrote a song about the boy.” Eugene groaned. “When she dropped him like a hot potato—”

  “Kylie swooped in.” Audrey set her tea aside and picked up the sophomore yearbook. She opened to a page of Kylie in a white jogging suit hanging on the shoulder of a handsome track star. “Tryce was a beautiful runner.”

  Good runner or not, I wondered how Kylie had felt, always getting Alexa’s seconds. Or had Alexa dumped Tryce because he’d fallen for her best friend?

  “And where is Tryce now?” I asked.

  “Living in Europe, married to a marathoner,” Eugene said. “He owns a sporting goods company. Does quite well for himself.”

  “No bad blood between him and Kylie or Alexa?” I asked.

  “Not a whit. He sends annual Christmas cards,” Eugene said.

  “Here we are. Junior year.” Audrey opened the yearbook and showed us more pictures. Alexa and Kylie working on the school newspaper. Alexa and Kylie at an academic debate. The caption beneath that one: The Winners.

  I took the yearbook from her and scanned a few pages, noticing one had been torn out. A ragged edge jutted from the interior of the spine.

  Audrey noticed me fingering the edge and said, “Alexa tore that out after Funny Bunny broke it off with her.”

  “Funny Bunny?” I repeated.

  Audrey tittered. “That was her nickname for him. Funny Bunny. What a card he was. The class clown. The page had a photo of Bunny yukking it up with a pair of his football buddies.” Audrey sighed. “I can’t remember Alexa ever laughing the way she had with him.”

  “Did Kylie date him?” I asked.

  “No, never.” Audrey shook her head. “She knew Alexa was as serious as a heart attack about him. The other boys didn’t matter, but Bunny was special.”

  “Why did he break it off?” I asked.

  “He became a vegan,” Eugene said.

  I gawked at Audrey. “Honestly?”

  “Bunny was adamant about not eating meat, to the point of being a zealot. Alexa baited him mercilessly.” Audrey turned to her husband for corroboration.

  “But that didn’t win him back,” Eugene said. “Bunny had lost his sense of humor.”

  Audrey tsked. “A week later, Alexa tore out the page and ripped it to shreds.”

  I flinched. So did Bailey. Did Audrey not know about the shredded paper at the crime scene? Eugene seemed oblivious, too.

  “Another lifetime,” Audrey said, and closed the junior yearbook. “Alexa reached out to Kylie for emotional support, and Kylie for all intents and purposes—”

  “Meant to come through,” Eugene said softly.

  Audrey sighed. “But she lost her parents around the same time, so she wasn’t there for Alexa.”

  “I heard about their deaths,” I said. “What a tragedy.”

  “It was.” Audrey’s voice caught. “The weather forecast predicted clear skies.”

  Eugene said, “The next thing you know, there were gale-force winds. Out of nowhere. The helicopter didn’t stand a chance. Kylie’s father was reviewing a site he’d wanted to build on.”

  “He built shopping centers,” Audrey said. “We thought he was rich, but we learned, with his death, that he had nothing. He was hugely in debt. We helped Kylie a bit, but she needed grants to finance most of college. A year ago . . .” Audrey faltered.

  Eugene said, “Bunny died.”

  “This time, Kylie was there for Alexa.” Tears welled in Audrey’s eyes. She took t
he yearbook from me, set it aside, and opened the senior yearbook. She flipped to the middle, turned a page, and gasped. Quickly, she closed the book.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Audrey, let me see,” I said gently, and pried the book from her hands.

  I browsed a few pages until I saw what Audrey must have seen, a picture of Kylie as homecoming queen, with horns drawn on the tiara and the word thief scribbled beside Kylie’s face. Why had Alexa defaced the photo? Had Kylie stolen money from her? Or a boy? Or the crown?

  “Audrey,” I said, “who was the homecoming king?”

  Audrey studied the marred photo. “Hmm. I’d never noticed before. That’s Bunny.”

  The front door slammed and Alexa bounded into the living room. “Mom, Dad, I’m—” Alexa stopped short and tugged the hem of her black workout shirt down over the matching leggings. “Hi, Jenna. Hello, Bailey. What brings you here? Ooh, is that your baby?” She rushed to the stroller and peeked in on Brianna. “She’s so cute. She looks like you, Bailey. Don’t you think?” Alexa stood up and gazed at the yearbook on my lap. “What are you doing, Mom?”

  Her mother licked her lips. “I was showing the girls pictures of you and Kylie in high school, and, um, we stumbled on—” Audrey tapped the defaced photo. “Did you do this to the photo?”

  “Oh, that.” Alexa jutted a hip. “What a joke. Kylie had really ticked me off the day we got our yearbooks. She refused to sign mine until I apologized for saying she looked fat in her homecoming dress. Except she did, so I wouldn’t. It wasn’t flattering. Is an empire silhouette dress ever a good choice? It creates such a tummy pooch.” Alexa demonstrated by sweeping her hand over her stomach. “So Kylie retaliated by breaking into my locker and taking my best pair of running shoes.” Alexa’s gaze swung from me to Bailey. “We had the same-sized feet,” she added, in explanation. “So I wrote thief in my yearbook, and when she finally deigned to sign the yearbook, she saw what I’d written and went ballistic.” Alexa snorted out a laugh. “It was so funny. She was as red as a—”

  Alexa clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, crap, what is wrong with me? Mom?” She gazed at her mother, her eyes flooding with tears. “Mom? I’m sorry. She’s dead. How could I say such horrible—” The floodgates burst.

  Audrey bounded off the sofa and hurried to her daughter. She gripped her in a hug and patted her back. “I know, sweetheart. We all miss her.”

  Alexa peered over her mother’s shoulder. “Kylie and me. We were besties. And rivals. For life. If only Tito hadn’t had a lesson.”

  Bailey shot to her feet. “He didn’t kill her, Alexa.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply—” She blanched. “I know he’s in the clear. Jenna mentioned it when we ran into each other yesterday. I simply meant that maybe Kylie wouldn’t have come by the studio to confront him. Why else would she have been there?”

  “To work out,” Bailey said.

  “Wrong place, wrong time?” I asked. “Could the killer have been after you?”

  “Me? No. Not possible.” Alexa’s eyes widened. She gazed at her mother and father. “It’s not, is it?” She sank into the other club chair and wrapped her arms tightly around her rib cage. “If the killer wanted to kill me, will he try again?”

  “No, sweetheart, you’re safe.” Eugene strode to his daughter and clasped her hand.

  I drew near to Alexa. “What have the police told you?”

  She released her father’s hand. “I didn’t tell you this, Mom, Dad, but the police asked me for my alibi.”

  “They can’t possibly think you’re the killer,” Audrey said.

  “What utter nonsense,” Eugene sniped. “You loved Kylie.”

  “Yes, but it was my studio. My equipment.” Alexa placed a hand on her chest.

  “What about the private client you met?” Audrey threw a helpless look at her husband.

  “She confirmed that I was at her house.” Alexa bolted from the chair and paced to the bay window. She pivoted. “But she couldn’t confirm that I had a flat tire or that I’d fixed it myself. She’d left by then. I showed the police the tire that’s still in my trunk, but that’s not enough. They suspect me.”

  “Ridiculous.” Audrey rushed to her husband and daughter. Over her shoulder she said, “I’m sorry, Jenna, Bailey. You’ll have to go. Eugene and I need to confer with Alexa and decide whether we need to hire an attorney.”

  “I don’t need an attorney,” Alexa cried. “I didn’t do this.”

  Chapter 16

  “I’m here, Jenna,” Harmony Bold rapped on the front door as she swept into the house. I’d left the door hanging open. “Hello?”

  I entered the living room from the kitchen. I’d desperately needed a glass of water after the walk back from the Tinsdales’. Tigger trotted alongside me. He cozied up to Harmony and batted her leg with his tail.

  “Are you allergic to cats?” I asked.

  “Nope. I’ve got three.” Harmony bent to scratch Tigger and stood up. “Where do you want to sit?” She raised her briefcase and portfolio. “We’ll be going over party décor. I have quite a list of possibilities, and if we have time, photographers. I’ve got an hour.”

  “Let’s settle in the kitchen.” I led the way.

  “Nice place,” Harmony said, taking in the surroundings.

  “It’s a work in progress.”

  “So’s my place, and I’ve been there five years.” Harmony set her things on the antique white kitchen table, removed her navy blue blazer, and hung it on the slat-back chair.

  “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks. Let’s get to it.” Harmony flipped open the portfolio. “As you know, having so many friends who’ve recently married, choosing a color scheme is vital to the entire wedding. I like bold colors, like red, blue, and yellow, but others prefer pastels or even white.”

  I sat in a chair. Tigger leaped onto my lap.

  “White is what Rhett and I had discussed for the décor,” I said. “It’s so romantic. We’ve even discussed serving all white food.”

  Harmony scrunched her nose. “What do you consider white food?”

  I grinned. “Shrimp, calamari, white cheeses, tea sandwiches, cauliflower, turnips, oysters, mushrooms, garlic.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Harmony snickered. “Let’s serve plenty of garlic at your wedding. Not.”

  “Exactly what I’d said when Rhett and I’d chatted about this before. But white food is elegant.”

  “You’re set on this?”

  I tilted my head. “Unless you convince me otherwise.”

  Today, I wouldn’t make any firm decisions. I wanted to review all the choices with Rhett. I figured once he had his new staff on board, he’d be able to make more time for us. For now, Harmony and I were going to go through the paces. But, no matter what, taking a step forward was progress.

  “Okay, let’s look at white décor palettes.” Harmony opened her book and flipped to a section tabbed White. “Here we go. White bistro chairs and tables. White clematis and roses and baby’s breath. You realize there will be some green involved because of the floral choices.”

  “Yep.”

  “Spanish moss might be nice to add.”

  “Ooh, I like this.” I traced a finger over a picture of a white table with white china, white placards, white flowers in hurricane candle glasses, lots of lit candles, and a white chiffon runner. “We’re having an evening wedding.”

  “I know.” Harmony flipped to another page. “Do you want your bridesmaids all in white?” She showed me a picture of a bride in a gorgeous white gown and her bridesmaids in sleek, long white dresses.

  “Hmm. That is a lot of white. It’s not like any of us are virgins.” In fact, all the women who’d be in my wedding party were married.

  Harmony grinned.

  I worked my tongue inside my mouth. “Maybe we should consider using more green. It’s one of my favorite colors. What do you think?”

  “Emerald gre
en is quite classy. So is asparagus, fern, and pear green.”

  “Asparagus?”

  “Yep, it’s a color. Any of those go nicely in a vineyard-like setting, such as Napa.” Harmony browsed her book. She stopped on a page that displayed an image of a bride racing through a shower of white confetti. “Confetti or rice?” she asked. “Confetti is a lot less messy, in my humble opinion.”

  My insides jolted. The shredded paper at the crime scene had resembled confetti. Had the killer shredded multicolored paper with nothing on it—no words, no pictures—to confound the police?

  “Jenna, are you okay?” Harmony rested a hand on my arm.

  “Yes, fine. My mind went elsewhere. Rice,” I said. “Let’s go traditional. Next?”

  • • •

  “It’s the last night of Food Bowl week,” Lola said. “Can you believe it? Time whizzed by these past few days.” She led my aunt and me to the rooftop of the Pelican Brief Diner. “Hasn’t the entire event been wonderful? The restaurant has done double the business compared to this time last year. Word is that this is the hottest ticket in California right before the holidays.” Lola, who had ceded all cooking duties to her staff, had dressed for the occasion in sequin-studded denim jacket and jeans. “How about you? Is the Cookbook Nook booming?”

  “We knocked it out of the park on Monday,” Aunt Vera said. She’d donned a sea-blue Nehru jacket over slacks and radiated confidence. “Katie’s six-hour lunch event at the Nook Café was a huge hit, and nearly everyone wandered into the bookshop afterward to make a purchase.”

  “Which reminds me”—I tapped my aunt’s arm—“we have to go over orders tomorrow. With Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up . . .”

  “You’re reading my mind.”

  “But tonight,” Lola said, “it’s all about me. Prepare your taste buds.”

  Like the restaurant below, Lola had set the rooftop with wooden tables and chairs and sawdust on the floor. Rustic but chic.

  “Hello. Welcome!” The hostess, a perky California-born Latina who was dressed like a sailor—all the waitstaff wore nautical attire—said, “The bar is to your left; food stations everywhere.” Like a flight attendant, she motioned with two fingers. “Smooth sailing. May the wind be at your back.”