Shredding the Evidence (A Cookbook Nook Mystery 9) Page 19

  I set up my easel in the kitchen nook and flipped open the sixteen-by-twenty sketchpad. Tigger toured my feet, making wailing sounds, asking what I was doing.

  “Thinking,” I said to him.

  More squalls.

  “First, a sketch of the crime scene.” I drew the studio, with the entry off the corridor and the windows at the front and rear of the building. The ballet barres to the left. The glass-enclosed office to the right. The wall of handheld weights and such between the office and lavatory. The pole for pole dancing in the far left corner. Cubbies to the right of the entry. Six reformers, set in two rows.

  Kylie, I noted, had been killed on the far left reformer. The crumbled and shredded paper had been scattered around that unit.

  Tigger’s tail crooked into a question mark.

  “I agree, kitty,” I said. “Who killed Kylie Obendorfer?”

  I wrote the question in pencil beneath the crime scene sketch. I didn’t have a photograph of Kylie, so I couldn’t post a picture the way police did on TV shows. Instead, to visualize her, I drew a caricature of her, highlighting her blonde locks.

  In my mind, there were three suspects with an axe to grind—Savannah, Midge, and Tito—but all of them had been exonerated. Alexa said the police suspected her, so I wrote her name and sketched her face. I jotted flat tire beneath her name and loved Kylie. Then I added motive?

  “Who else?” I said to Tigger.

  He mewed and scampered off to chase the bird toy Gran had given him.

  “So much for being Watson to my Sherlock, cat,” I gibed.

  I thought about Alexa’s parents. Eugene had provided an alibi. Why? Did he feel he’d needed one? I recalled the spat he’d had with his wife at the café. Discussing Kylie had clearly upset Audrey. Had Kylie really planned to leave her job? Had she truly found an investor, as Alexa had suggested? Had she intended to buy out Eugene?

  I wrote Eugene’s name on the board and added Audrey’s beneath it. I tapped the tip of my pencil next to her name. Audrey had been quite solicitous when Bailey and I had visited the house, showing us yearbooks and chatting up Kylie like she was family. Her sorrow had been real. Was I missing something?

  Beneath Kylie’s caricature, I wrote investor. Who?

  I thought again about the shredded paper. Maybe the red and black ink wasn’t writing or an image; it was just the color of the paper. Maybe that was why Cinnamon had acted circumspect about the contents.

  After creating a column on the right and giving it a header—Evidence—I jotted shredded paper and crumpled articles, then I created a bubble in the upper left and scribbled: Did killer or Kylie bring paper to scene? Does that matter? Articles involved Midge, Eugene, Savannah, and Tito. Who else?

  “Knock, knock, Jenna. It’s Tito, me, and the baby,” Bailey shouted, letting herself in through the front door.

  “In the kitchen,” I replied.

  “The house is looking good.” Tito pushed Brianna in her stroller through the archway. “I like the sea-blue color of the living room.”

  “That’s the original color,” I said. “We haven’t had time to paint everything yet.”

  “Well, I like it.”

  “We’re going neutral, but first we have to address a few problems. A leak and some dry rot.”

  “To be expected,” Tito said. “Unless you buy brand-new, every house has hiccups.”

  Tigger abandoned the bird toy and bounded to the baby. He stood on his hind legs to get a closer look and meowed.

  “Yes, Tig-Tig, she is pretty,” I said in response. “But, shh, she’s sleeping.”

  Bailey set a bottle of sauvignon blanc on the island. “We brought this.”

  “I decanted a bottle of pinot noir.” I pointed to it. “I’m serving spicy chicken kebabs.”

  “Red it is.” Bailey stowed the white wine in the refrigerator and poured some of the pinot into three glasses, then she studied the sketchpad. “You’ve been busy.”

  “So busy that I forgot to set out the appetizers. At least I preheated the grill.” I hurried to the refrigerator, removed the platter of provolone cheese, salami, and olives, and set it on the counter. I placed some cocktail napkins near the platter. “I hope you don’t mind simple food.”

  “I adore simple food,” Tito said, pairing a cube of cheese with a slice of salami.

  Next, I removed the pan holding the marinated shish kebabs from the refrigerator. “Let’s go outside. You relax while I barbecue. Tito, bring the cheese platter.”

  Bailey pushed Brianna out, anchored the wheels of the stroller, and tucked the blanket beneath the baby’s chin, after which she took a seat at the patio table. “What a week.”

  “You’re telling me.” I brushed the grill with olive oil and set the kebabs on top.

  Tigger did a figure eight around my ankles.

  “Move, kitty.” I nudged him with the heel of my sandal. I didn’t want spicy tomato sauce dripping on him.

  Getting the message, he leaped into Bailey’s lap and begged for a cuddle.

  Bailey scratched Tigger’s ears. “Having seen your sketchpad, I can see you’re mulling things over. I’m trying to think of other suspects, too.”

  “Kylie’s parents are dead,” Tito said, “and she didn’t have any siblings.”

  “Was there anyone else with whom she was on the outs?” Bailey asked.

  “Other than the folks she riled at the newspaper and a few restaurateurs?” Tito shrugged. “Who knows?”

  I said, “I’m sure Cinnamon is following those leads.”

  “You know”—Bailey sipped her wine—“Audrey Tinsdale talked about all the boyfriends Kylie inherited from Alexa. Did she have a current one?”

  Tito said, “If so, he hasn’t surfaced. I haven’t seen her with anyone in at least a year.”

  While rotating the shish kebabs a quarter turn, I thought of Savannah, who’d had a crush on Kylie. Had she caught Kylie flirting with someone? Had— No, she was innocent.

  Tito leaned forward on his elbows. “Jenna, I saw your board inside. You don’t honestly think Audrey had anything to do with Kylie’s death, do you? She’s such a sweet lady.”

  “Yeah,” Bailey said. “Remember how torn up she was when she was showing us those yearbook photos?”

  I nodded. “I can’t come up with a motive for her. On the other hand . . .” I told them about the spat I’d witnessed between Eugene and Audrey at the café, and Audrey saying you can’t trust her in an acid tone. “When I asked Eugene about it, he told me that the woman in question was Kylie. He explained that Kylie was getting ready to quit her job.”

  “Why would that upset Audrey?” Tito asked.

  “Maybe she felt all employees should be loyal to Eugene while he was undergoing financial struggles,” Bailey theorized.

  Tito said, “Or maybe Audrey thought Kylie was playing Eugene, not really leaving but saying she would so she could angle for a raise.”

  I shook my head. “The vibe I was getting was that Audrey wanted Kylie to leave sooner rather than later. When Eugene said Kylie needed a little more time to get her affairs in order, Audrey shot to her feet.”

  “Poor Audrey,” Bailey said. “She must be on pins and needles with Eugene having to sell a lifelong business, not to mention the police considering Alexa a suspect.”

  “They do?” Tito raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s her studio. Her fingerprints.” Bailey nudged Tigger off her lap. “They won’t rule her out.”

  “Someone must have seen her changing her tire,” Tito said. “Maybe Flora could start a phone tree on her behalf.”

  “Great idea.” Bailey took a sip of wine.

  “I can’t imagine the conversations behind closed doors at the Tinsdales’ house.” I twisted the kebabs another quarter turn. “Is Audrey accusing Eugene? Is he blaming her? With Kylie leaving, I asked Eugene if he would be letting go of others, namely Tito. He told me Tito was solid.”

  Tito exhaled his relief. “Good to know.”
>
  “Unless Eugene sells,” Bailey reminded him.

  “True.” Tito paired another piece of cheese with salami. “What will I do if—”

  “Shh.” Bailey placed a finger against his lips. “We do not talk about what-ifs, remember?”

  I revolved the shish kebabs one more time. “Remember how I told you that Kylie had sought out an investor so she could buy the paper?”

  Bailey folded her arms. “Maybe that’s why Kylie wanted to leave, so there would be no conflict of interest when she came back with an offer.”

  “Except she didn’t come back with an offer,” I said. “Do you think someone killed her so she wouldn’t be able to invest?”

  “What are you implying?” Tito asked.

  “I don’t know. Something doesn’t fit the scenario.” I removed the shish kebabs from the grill. “I’ll be right back.” I bustled into the kitchen, plated our dinners, and returned in minutes.

  As I set the plates on the table mats, I muttered, “That darned shredded paper.”

  Bailey said, “What about it?”

  “Cinnamon won’t say what was on it.”

  Tito said, “I don’t blame her. That’s police business.”

  “Who brought the paper to the crime scene?” I asked, voicing the question I’d noted on the sketchpad. “Kylie or the killer?”

  “The killer, of course.” Bailey leaned forward, her gaze riveted on her husband. “And I’ve got a theory about who that might be.”

  Tito said, “Don’t keep us hanging.”

  “Viveca Thorn might have worked at the studio for only a month, but what if she had a previous history with Kylie that we don’t know about? Kylie got around. She did reviews up and down the Central Coast.”

  I whistled. “That hadn’t occurred to me. Viveca knew Alexa had left for a private session. Maybe she texted Kylie and asked her to come to the studio.”

  “And erased the text.” Bailey tapped the table.

  I darted inside and jotted Viveca’s name on my murder suspect board with a list of possible motives: Loved same person? Business deal gone wrong? What else? Then I returned.

  The baby stirred. Tito tended to her. “Shh, cara.”

  Using a knife, I slid the shish kebab meat off the stick onto my plate and sliced a piece in half. “Back to the crumpled paper. They contained articles.”

  Tito moaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  “There was a picture of Kylie and Eugene in one,” I said. “At the NNA convention.”

  Bailey said, “The chicken is perfect, by the way. Really moist.”

  “Thanks.” I forked a piece of chicken but didn’t eat it as the memory of Audrey and Eugene’s argument hit me again, full force. The way Audrey had bounded to her feet when Eugene said Kylie had needed to get her affairs in order. “Gosh, you don’t think . . .” I swung my gaze from Tito to Bailey.

  “Think what?” Bailey peered at me earnestly.

  “You don’t think Eugene and Kylie had an affair, do you?”

  Bailey gasped. “Kylie was his daughter’s age and Alexa’s best friend.”

  “Like that makes a difference,” I said snidely.

  “I know someone who went to the convention,” Tito said. “I could ask around.”

  I set down my fork. “What if the crumpled article about the two of them was brought to the studio to slut-shame Kylie?”

  “Brought by Audrey?” Tito asked.

  “I doubt Eugene would have wanted the affair to be out in the open.”

  Bailey winced. “What if Kylie brought the article to threaten Eugene, saying she’d tell Audrey, but he killed her?”

  Tito pushed his plate away. “And he wrote the words on the mirror?”

  I frowned. You should have reformed. What had the killer been implying?

  “When Rhett and I ran into Eugene and Audrey the other night,” I said, “I remember Eugene giving us his alibi, unsolicited. Neither of us had asked for it. Audrey confirmed it, but she came across stilted, as though she were lying on his behalf.”

  “Where did Eugene say he was?” Bailey asked.

  “They—he and Audrey—had met with one of Audrey’s students, a trust fund baby who wants to invest in the newspaper.”

  “Have the police followed up on that?” Bailey asked.

  “I didn’t mention it to Cinnamon,” I said. “She wants me to stay out of her investigation.”

  “I could check it out.” Tito offered. “Do you have a name?”

  “I don’t.”

  Bailey rubbed her knuckles along Tito’s jaw. “I know I told you not to pursue this story, but you will find out, won’t you, my love? Yes, I know you will. You are a brilliant investigative reporter.”

  Chapter 19

  I tossed. I flailed. I had nightmares about confetti, which morphed from docile shredded paper into machine-gun fire and cannonballs and bombs, all of it peppering the mural I had yet to paint on the wall. I awoke with my besieged brain trying to spell the word strafing.

  Tigger, who usually stayed by me through thick and thin, had positioned himself on the second pillow, far from my writhing body.

  “Sorry, buddy.” I scratched him under the chin. “Mama had bad dreams.”

  I threw on my running gear and jogged on the beach barefoot, trying to figure out why I’d dreamed about explosives. I drew to a halt when it dawned on me that learning the truth about Kylie’s relationship with Eugene might be explosive and could destroy the Tinsdale family. I couldn’t make assertions that weren’t true. Would Tito find out what had really happened?

  As I was making a U-turn near the Pier, I spied Audrey Tinsdale and a nice-looking man carrying easels down the nearby steps to the beach. The two were talking intimately, heads quite close together. A notion occurred to me. Was Audrey the one having an affair and not Eugene? I recalled Audrey saying that pole dancing made her feel sexy. She also told her daughter that new beginnings were vital for creativity. Was she ready to fly the nest? If that were the case, did that remove her from my suspect list? I mean, why kill Kylie O if she was ready to leave her husband anyway?

  Audrey whirled around and, catching sight of me, frowned. Had she felt me staring at her? Did she intuit that I considered her a suspect?

  I waved cheerily. Audrey responded in kind.

  Edgier than I’d felt in months, I raced home and took a steaming hot shower. By the time I’d dressed in jeans, a T-shirt with the word Thankful in puffy letters written on it, and a super-soft hoodie, I felt better. Slightly.

  I telephoned Cinnamon at the precinct. She wasn’t in yet. It was too early. I didn’t want to ring her cell phone, so I left a voice mail sharing the ideas Bailey, Tito, and I had conjured up about Viveca Thorn, as well as my thoughts about the opened rear window and the possible entry to the studio via ductwork. I didn’t add that we’d wondered whether Eugene had had an affair with Kylie or that I’d seen Audrey with another man minutes ago. I could tell her all of that when she returned the call.

  If she returned the call.

  Praying our illustrious chief of police would contact me sooner rather than later, I sat at the kitchen table and nibbled an English muffin topped with mascarpone and jam. A little sweet paired with a smidgen of protein was just enough to get me going. If I had an appetite later, I would beg Katie to make me a healthy lunch.

  When Cinnamon didn’t touch base, I gave up on my vigil and slogged to the Cookbook Nook. I set Tigger by the children’s table and made a pot of coffee. Caffeine would be a much-needed beverage today. Then I queued up heartfelt music, starting with “The Thanksgiving Song” by Mary Chapin Carpenter. What we could all use today, per the songwriter, was the gift of loving kindness. Amen.

  Twenty minutes later, Gran and Aunt Vera arrived, Gran dressed in a pumpkin-colored cashmere dress and my aunt in a bronze caftan.

  “Don’t the two of you look ready for the season,” I said. “I’m setting out all the new titles we have for the holiday, including All Time Best Holida
y Entertaining by America’s Test Kitchen.”

  “I love that one,” Gran said. “I’ve tried the Brussels sprout salad with warm bacon vinaigrette. Delish.”

  “I’ve got my eye on the brie en croute,” I said. “The picture of it, with the cheese oozing out the center, is amazing.” I aimed a finger at her. “Also, we will be receiving a shipment today of aprons and children’s cooking sets.”

  “On it.” Gran saluted and stored her purse by the register.

  My aunt drew near and studied my face. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

  I forced a smile. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t kid a kidder. Your eyes are squinty and your skin is sallow.” She clutched my elbow and led me to the vintage kitchen table. “Sit and talk.”

  “There’s no time—”

  “There’s always time to find peace in your heart. We don’t have customers. What’s rattling you?”

  I told her about last night’s dinner conversation. “I know you care for Eugene, but we have to find out the truth. Did he or did he not have an affair with Kylie, and if so, did he kill her to quiet her?” I added that I’d seen Audrey with another man on the beach this morning. I didn’t want to read anything into it, but said that something Audrey had implied yesterday made me wonder.

  My aunt fingered her phoenix amulet. “The cards never lie,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember Eugene’s reading? The cards said intense love or intense hate could be involved. What you describe—the possibility—involves both love and hate.”

  I sighed.

  “You have to tell Cinnamon what you suspect,” my aunt added.

  “I left a voice mail for her to call me.”

  “A message is not good enough. You must have a one-on-one chat. I realize she keeps you at bay, but, in the past she has appreciated your help. If she tells you that she has already delved into the Tinsdales and ruled them out, you can rest easier.”