Shredding the Evidence (A Cookbook Nook Mystery 9) Read online

  I strode to the counter and dialed the precinct. The clerk advised me Cinnamon wasn’t available and wouldn’t be. She had been rushed to Mercy Urgent Care the moment she’d entered the precinct. I asked why, but the clerk couldn’t reveal that. I ended the call, my stomach roiling with concern.

  “What now?” Aunt Vera asked.

  “Cinnamon. Urgent care. I’m going.” I grabbed my purse.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.”

  • • •

  Mercy Urgent Care was one of two decent-sized clinics in the area. The place smelled Lysol clean. Doctors and nurses strode purposefully along the halls.

  I asked if I could see Cinnamon Pritchett but was told to wait in the waiting room.

  Wood-framed vinyl chairs and tables set with magazines lined two of the walls. A muted television with closed captioning was airing on CNN. Vending machines peddling snacks and hot beverages stood against the far wall. A somber orchestral piece I didn’t recognize was playing softly through a speaker.

  I hadn’t been sitting a minute when a nurse I’d met last December entered and told me to follow her.

  She led me to a room. The door was ajar. “Chief Pritchett is in there,” she whispered.

  I slipped inside and was surprised to see my father and Bucky, Cinnamon’s handsome firefighting husband, both in jogging outfits, sitting in chairs to the left of the bed in which Cinnamon lay propped up and alert, a few gadgets attached to her arms and chest.

  “How could you not call me?” I asked my father as I hurried to the right side of the bed and clasped Cinnamon’s hand.

  Dad started to speak, but I hushed him.

  “Your gown is less than flattering,” I said to Cinnamon. “Pale blue isn’t your color.”

  “Ha-ha,” she said wearily.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “Is the baby—”

  “I’m fine. The baby is hunky dory. I had a lot of nausea and started vomiting, so now I’m dehydrated.”

  “What brought it on?” I asked.

  “It’s normal for some. I’m here so they can fill me with fluids and send me home.”

  Bucky stood, towering over the bed. “Home,” he said. “Not to work.”

  Cinnamon smiled beatifically. “I heard the doctor. I’m not deaf, like Jenna.”

  “What’s that?” I cupped my hand around my ear. “Couldn’t hear you.”

  “Deputy Appleby will take charge of everything, darling,” Bucky added. “You relax.”

  “Don’t boss me around, mister.” Cinnamon aimed a finger at him. “Not if you know what’s good for you.”

  I breathed easier. She hadn’t lost her edge.

  Bucky grinned.

  “Shouldn’t you be at work, Jenna?” Cinnamon asked. “How did you know I was—” She paused and pursed her lips. “Let me guess. You contacted the precinct with a tip that you would only deliver to me.”

  My father suppressed a smile. A few years ago, he would have chided me, but now he understood my passion to seek the truth.

  “Actually, yes,” I said.

  Dad couldn’t help himself. He roared.

  “Don’t, Cary,” Cinnamon warned.

  Dad mimed buttoning his lips.

  “I was picturing the crime scene, and the shredded paper,” I began, “and that got me to thinking about the crumpled article that featured Eugene and Kylie, which made me flash on a conversation Rhett and I’d had with Eugene and his wife when we ran into them on Buena Vista Boulevard. We were all enjoying a bite at one of the vendors. Out of nowhere, Eugene blurted his alibi for Friday morning.”

  “Out of nowhere?” Cinnamon smirked.

  Bucky petted her shoulder. “Give it a listen.”

  She batted his hand away. “Just because you’re starting the academy, darling, do not think you know more than me.”

  I gazed at Bucky. “You’re giving up firefighting?”

  “I’ll do both, but living with a cop has been a challenge. I figure I should get into the business, if I know what’s good for me. I’ll learn the lingo. I’ll be able to offer my two cents without getting a tongue lashing.” Bucky had the most easygoing temperament of anyone I knew. He was a giver and lover, a perfect balance for someone as structured and Type A as Cinnamon. “You should join me, Jenna.”

  I grinned. “As if.”

  Cinnamon said, “He’s got a point. Maybe you should. Then you could become legit, too.”

  “Very funny.” I smirked. “I love my job.”

  “Then why are you trying to do mine?” Cinnamon quipped.

  Bucky petted her shoulder. “Easy, tiger.”

  “Go on about Eugene, Jenna.” Cinnamon twirled a hand. “Neither he nor his wife have been on my radar.”

  “Even though Eugene’s picture was included in one of the crumpled articles?” I asked.

  “I told you. I asked Mr. Tinsdale about that. He said he was there when Kylie received her award. That was it. He didn’t have a clue why the article was among the mess. He suggested that perhaps the killer had left the article to point us toward the convention attendees.” Cinnamon twisted to adjust the pillow on her bed and settled back down. “Appleby and I thought that was a worthy lead, so we’ve been in contact with many of them, but we’ve come up empty. Your turn.”

  I filled her in on the possibility of an affair between Eugene and Kylie.

  “Are you kidding?” my father asked. “Eugene is Kylie’s boss and twice her age.”

  Cinnamon rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Cary, what century do you live in? Haven’t you been paying attention to the news? Men in power and the MeToo Movement? Abusing and using women who hope to climb the corporate or creative ladder is a timeworn theme and often a good reason for murder.”

  “Of course, it’s just that”—Dad opened his hands—“I know Eugene. He’s a fine man. He’s worked alongside me on Habitat for Humanity houses.” My father often donated his time to charitable causes.

  “Not all people who volunteer are saints,” Cinnamon chided.

  “Firemen are,” Bucky countered.

  “Good try!” Cinnamon started to cough.

  The nurse said, “Okay, everyone out. Now. Chief Pritchett needs her beauty rest. So does the baby.”

  Bucky kissed Cinnamon on the cheek and exited with my father.

  Before I could leave, Cinnamon clasped my hand. “Tell Appleby everything you know, Jenna.”

  I flinched. Had I heard her correctly?

  “Yes, I’m deputizing you, but don’t let that go to your head,” she went on. “This is a one-off. We have nothing to go on. We need help with this investigation. I’m willing to bend a little.”

  “About the shredded paper, can you tell me what was on it?”

  “My techs are trying to piece it together. It’s been a chore. Whoever sliced and diced it did a royal job on it. A professional shredding machine was used.” Cinnamon squeezed my hand hard. “Again, this is hush-hush between you, me, and Appleby.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say the baby is making me do it. Okay?”

  I smiled. “It’s our secret.”

  • • •

  When I returned to the Cookbook Nook, Bailey charged me, gleeful and worried all at the same time.

  “How is Cinnamon?” she rasped.

  “Dehydrated but fine.”

  “Phew.”

  “She told me to—”

  “Me, first.” Bailey gripped my forearms. “Tito is at the café with Eugene. Tito told him he wanted to talk business. Eugene agreed to meet.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tito wants you to stop in. He has some news. He figures you should hear it, so you can tell Cinnamon, if it proves helpful.” Bailey nudged me. “Gran, your aunt, and I have the shop under control. Go.”

  I rushed down the breezeway while smoothing my hair with my fingers. What had Tito learned? Did it warrant having Deputy Appleby present? No, I’d listen and then contact Appleby.
>
  Tito and Eugene, both dressed in suits, were sitting at a table for four in the far corner. Most of the other tables were occupied. A few single customers were browsing through cookbooks they’d borrowed from the built-in bookshelves.

  I weaved through the tables and said, “Hi, Eugene. Tito. How are things going?”

  “Join us,” Tito said.

  I signaled the waitress. She drew near the moment I sat. I asked for a glass of water and a refill on coffee for Eugene. She returned within seconds with the order.

  When she left, Tito said, “Eugene and I were discussing the sale of the newspaper. As you might imagine, he’s quite upset about having to do so.”

  “I am.” Eugene toyed with the knife in his place setting, flipping it repeatedly. “However, I informed Tito that we might have an investor after all.”

  Tito sipped his tea and regarded me over the rim. “It’s Peter Pomerance.”

  Eugene gaped. “How did you—”

  “Jenna told me you’d reached out to one of Audrey’s students, who happened to be a trust fund baby,” Tito replied. “I checked out Audrey’s website. She put up pictures of her students’ work. I saw one by Peter and thought, Aha. His grandfather had been in the newspaper business. Peter was bound to have an affinity for it. So I contacted him, and he confirmed my guess.”

  I’d met Peter once, at a function at the Aquarium by the Sea. Nice man. A crossword puzzle aficionado. Not the man I’d seen on the beach with Audrey.

  “Jenna said you and Audrey met with him the morning Kylie was killed,” Tito went on.

  Eugene gawked at me. Had he thought I wouldn’t mention our conversation to anyone? “Yes, that’s right,” he stammered.

  “Wrong. Peter wasn’t in town that day.” Tito folded his arms on the table. “He was in San Francisco presiding over a board meeting. He spent the night in the city Thursday.”

  Eugene swallowed hard. “I must have been mistaken.”

  “Audrey, too?” I asked. She’d confirmed their appointment.

  Eugene stared daggers at me. “My wife . . .” He addressed Tito. “What do you want to know?”

  “Sir, there was a crumpled article about the NNA convention at the crime scene. In it was a photo of you with Kylie.” Tito tapped the table. “That prompted me to reach out to a few of my buddies who attended the convention.”

  I said, “Tito, I spoke with Chief Pritchett. She said the police questioned many of them and came up empty.”

  “Not all. Not my guys. Anyway”—Tito sat back, resting his hands on the table—“one of my buddies said he thought there was something going on between you and Kylie.”

  “No.” Eugene thumped the table so hard that his silverware bounced.

  “A picture is worth a thousand words,” Tito said.

  “Don’t be glib, young man,” Eugene said. “The police asked me about that article. I told them the photograph commemorated a moment of celebration. Kylie had won a Food Critics Society award.”

  “Was that all the photo commemorated?” I asked.

  Eugene blinked. “What are you implying?”

  “When you had dinner at Intime on Thursday night, Kylie teased you, saying, ‘What happens at the NNA stays at the NNA.’ Your wife didn’t look pleased.” I sipped my water and nudged the glass out of the way. “Then, early Friday morning, you and Audrey argued here, after which she stormed out, and you told me you’d been discussing Kylie quitting her job. But that wasn’t true, was it? Audrey guessed you and Kylie were having an affair.”

  Eugene moaned. “We weren’t. That’s a lie. We . . . Okay, yes. We did have sex. Once. At the convention. It was horrible and something I’ll regret until the day I die . . .” He moaned, realizing his bad choice of words again. “Kylie.” He shook his head. “She was always such a nice girl, although a bit of a challenge. Dogged and driven. She and Alexa invariably tried to outdo one another. Get the best grades. Date the same boys.”

  Faster, faster was Kylie’s motto. Be brave, be bold was Alexa’s.

  Eugene worked his tongue inside his mouth. “A year ago, my wife and I . . . our marriage was struggling. We started couples therapy.” He rotated his knife nervously on the table. “Out of nowhere, Kylie started coming by my office more often. She said she was a good listener. I’m not sure where she got the idea Audrey and I were . . .” He released the knife. “Alexa might have told her about the problem, I suppose. Anyway, I assumed Kylie was trying to befriend me, you know, take sides, because I was her boss.” He traced his finger along the edge of the table. “But then, a few weeks later, she began lashing out at me. Demanding things. A higher salary. A bonus every few months. I told her the newspaper couldn’t afford that and asked why she’d turned on me. She’d laughed scornfully. ‘Family,’ she said over and over. ‘Your high and mighty family.’ I didn’t understand. And then, a few weeks ago, at the NNA convention, she . . .” He sighed. “I’m not exactly sure what happened. I drank something. After that, I was putty in her hands. We had sex.”

  “Did she drug you?” I asked.

  “Possibly. I’ve never been much of a drinker. Kylie led me to her room and seduced me and took pictures. She vowed she would show them to Audrey if I didn’t pay her what she was worth.” Eugene licked his lips. “As I said, Audrey and I were at odds, but I didn’t want a divorce. So, to keep Kylie quiet, I gave in to her demands. I paid her what I could every few days. That seemed to appease her.”

  “Did you reveal any of this to your wife?” I asked.

  “Not at the time, and then a week ago, when Kylie told me she was quitting, I thought that was the end of it.”

  “Why was Kylie leaving her job?” I asked.

  “To pursue something new, she said. She didn’t tell me in what field.”

  I said, “Alexa believed Kylie wanted to buy the newspaper. She said Kylie told her she’d found an investor.”

  “She’d what? She’d found a . . . a what?” Eugene let out a caustic laugh. “Man, that’s rich. How stupid could I be? I”—he thumbed his chest—“had to be the investor. I was paying her hush money. Oh, crap.”

  Yes, that made total sense.

  I said, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “Who else can I blame?” Eugene lowered his chin. Tears trickled down his cheeks. “I’m not sure why Kylie zeroed in on me. I’d never done anything but treat her with respect.”

  Tito cleared his throat. “Sir, I hate to say it, but extortion is a pretty good motive for murder.”

  Eugene vehemently shook his head. “I didn’t kill her. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Does Audrey know everything now?” I asked.

  Eugene peered from beneath his moist eyelashes. “Yes. Last Friday morning I told her. Every last detail. We exchanged words. We were rehashing it the other day when . . .”

  When I’d overheard them.

  I tapped the table with my index finger. “The killer included that article with the photograph of Kylie and you to point a finger at you.”

  Eugene nodded.

  “Or to implicate Audrey,” Tito suggested.

  “No. Oh, crap, you don’t think—” Eugene hiccupped. “Audrey had nothing to do with this. Nothing.”

  I said, “Sir, I’m sorry, but if you and your wife weren’t with Mr. Pomerance, then neither of you have an alibi.”

  “Audrey does. She went to see our therapist. She went there directly after our fight. She met with him this morning, too. He’ll corroborate her whereabouts.”

  “Sir, I saw Audrey earlier,” I said. “She wasn’t with her therapist. She was on the beach with a nice-looking man.”

  “That’s him. The therapist. He gives her an hour of therapy, and she teaches him to paint. When money runs low, you learn to barter. Quid pro quo, isn’t that what it’s called?” Eugene scrubbed a hand along the side of his head. “Audrey lied about our meeting with Peter to protect me.”

  “So you don’t have an alibi?” Tito asked softly. Compassionat
ely.

  “I was alone. At home.” Eugene’s shoulders rose and fell. After a long moment, he gazed at Tito and then me. “If it helps, I was online talking to someone. A woman. I’m not proud to admit it, but with all our troubles, Audrey has locked me out of the bedroom. I’ve turned to online dating sites to . . . chat.”

  “Will this woman testify on your behalf?” Tito cut in.

  “I don’t know. She’s married, too. I’ll ask her.”

  “I think the police would keep your communications confidential,” I said.

  Eugene blotted his nose with his napkin. “I wish I could turn back the clock. I wish I could get the photos Kylie took. I wish I’d never hired her. If only I could make things right with Audrey. I was such a fool.”

  Chapter 20

  Eugene paid the bill and slogged out of the café.

  Tito walked with me through the breezeway to the shop. “You know,” he said, “my pal from the NNA convention said Kylie was bragging about how she kept all the scathing restaurant reviews she had yet to post in a safe at her place. The photographs with Eugene might be in there.”

  “Uh-uh, yeah, not,” I said, getting his drift. “We are not going after them.”

  “Whoa!” Tito held up both hands. “That’s not what I meant. I’m saying you should tell Cinnamon.”

  “She’s in the hospital, recuperating from dehydration.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “And it’s Eugene who should tell the police.”

  “Don’t you think if Eugene had known about the safe”—Tito thumbed toward the Nook Café—“he would have brought it up?”

  “Why didn’t you mention it?”

  Tito shrugged. “I didn’t want him doing something stupid. Call it professional courtesy.”

  “The photos and any other evidence Kylie kept will point a finger at him.”

  “I know,” Tito said, “but if Eugene’s alibi pans out, he’ll be in the clear. No matter what, the police should know about the photos. Maybe Kylie was blackmailing someone else.”

  Tito’s parting words made me realize it was time to visit Deputy Appleby and bring him up to speed. Had Cinnamon alerted him to my visit? Would he be welcoming or dismissive?

  I advised my aunt and Bailey where I was headed and hurried to the precinct.