A Soufflé of Suspicion Page 20

  When she swerved onto Camille’s street, however, I gulped. Her trip to the area was not a coincidence. She had come here on purpose. Why? At a snail’s pace she inched past Camille’s house. To prevent her from noticing me, I pulled to the side, as if I were preparing to visit someone.

  After a moment, Allie continued on and I breathed easier. I put my car into gear but drew to a halt because Allie had stopped beyond the white Victorian with the white roses. She parked and exited the car. Purse clutched to her chest, she hustled to Camille’s house.

  I pulled over and rested my elbow on the windowsill of my car and blocked my face with my cell phone. I doubted she knew I drove a Jeep, but better safe than sorry. I hoped she would ignore me, assuming I was a stranger reviewing messages or a lost driver consulting GPS.

  As she scurried up the path to the front door, I put the car in gear and swung into Irene’s driveway across the street. I glimpsed over my shoulder.

  Allie didn’t knock on the door. She peeked through a window and my insides snagged. Maybe she had killed Renee. Maybe she’d wanted to retrieve evidence that might implicate her. The sheriff could have overlooked something. She dug into her pocket and withdrew a set of keys. Where had she gotten those? Had Camille given them to her? Had she asked Allie to fetch something for her? If so, why had Allie parked down the street and not in Camille’s driveway? She opened the screen door and slotted a key into the lock.

  Before pushing the door open, Allie glanced over her shoulder. I hunkered down in my seat. Should I go in after her? No, that would be risky. If she was the killer, she could grab a butcher knife before I reached the threshold to the kitchen. If she wasn’t guilty and Tyson found out that I had followed her believing she was up to no good, I would never hear the end of it. Could he—would he—put me in jail for obstruction?

  I sat tight and waited.

  Minutes later, Allie exited, locked the front door, and darted down the street. Looking as guilty as all get-out, she popped into her car and tore off.

  Chapter 19

  When I returned to work, adrenaline was coursing through me. I pulled into the parking spot and heard a honk. Across the lot near the vegetable garden, Raymond was perched on his eco-friendly gardening cart, talking to a guest of the inn—the Crush Week woman who had done the Lucy experience at Grgich Hills Winery. He held up a finger for me to wait. He was tapping something on a cell phone. He handed the cell phone to the woman and pedaled his cart to me.

  “Hi, Mimi.” He dismounted. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No sightings? No skittish kittens?”

  “Errands.” Far be it for me to tell him I’d recently completed a reconnaissance mission. I would keep mum. He was a blabbermouth. Loose lips … “What were you up to over there?” I nodded at the guest who was aiming her cell phone camera at plants.

  “I was teaching her about a garden app: My Garden Answers. You point and snap a picture of a flower or plant, and the name pops up. She can then talk to a plant specialist. It’s so cool. She’s worried about plants in her garden that might harm her Shih Tzu. Poisons are everywhere in a garden, you know. Cyclamen, lilies, oleander.” Raymond ticked the names off on his fingertips.

  “Can any harm cats?”

  “Sure. Cats as well as dogs. Curious pets might eat the leaves or ingest seeds. The roots of crocus are especially bad, but don’t worry. I’ve seen your cats and they aren’t vegetarians.”

  “My cats?”

  “Scoundrel and Scooter.”

  “They aren’t my cats.”

  “If they stay in your house, they’re yours. That’s how I got mine.”

  “You have cats?”

  “Six. All strays.” He chuckled. “Man, have you got a lot to learn. But like I said, not to worry. Neither of them is interested in plants. They like meat. They’re hunters. See, cats lack taurine, and taurine is an essential building block of proteins. Without it, cats can’t survive for long, so they make up for the deficiency by being carnivores. Mice are the easiest prey. You’ve heard the term cornered like a mouse, haven’t you? But cats will go for birds and moles, too. Anything small and easy to catch.”

  “Swell,” I murmured, not excited to see what gifts the cats might bring me. Over the past year, Scoundrel had brought me a bird or two. With two cats, would I be the recipient of double the pleasure?

  Raymond placed a hand on my arm. “Mimi, you’re fibbing.”

  “About?”

  “You’re not fine. Something has gotten under your skin. You’re perspiring and your gaze is darting every which way.”

  I blotted my upper lip with my fingertips. “I’m hot. That’s all. And parched.” Liar, liar. “Maybe I’ll go to Chocolate and pick up a cool drink before returning to work.” I didn’t add: And to collect my thoughts before returning to the kitchen and Allie.

  “Okay. Take care. Drink lots of water, too. If you need to talk, I’m here.”

  As Raymond remounted his cart, I said, “Hey, Raymond, it’s nice of you to always help the guests. I really appreciate it.”

  “Glad to do it. I love educating people. What better way to make them stewards who will preserve the earth, right?”

  As he drove away, I hurried down the road to Chocolate, eager to get my hands on one of Irene’s iced chocolate sodas.

  To my surprise, Felicity was standing near the doorway, sneakily peeking through the sidelight. Sneakily, I believed, because she could have easily peered through the door’s larger window. Parker’s office was located nearby. Was he inside the café? Did she think he was bold enough to meet his lover at the café in broad daylight?

  “Hi, Felicity,” I said.

  She whipped around. Her cheeks were tear-stained. She quickly donned a pair of chartreuse sunglasses that matched her sundress. “Mimi, it’s you! You surprised me.”

  “Are you going inside?”

  “Um”—she bit her lip, deliberating—“I’m trying to decide. Is it too hot for coffee? I think it might be too hot for coffee. What do you think? Too hot?”

  “I’m going to order an iced chocolate soda.”

  “Ooh, that sounds good. May I join you?”

  “I’m taking mine to go.”

  “Sit with me for a few minutes. We should get to know each other better.”

  “Uh, sure. I’ve got a few minutes.” Just a few.

  I walked through the entrance first and held the door for her. She strolled in, her gaze riveted on Parker, who was sitting at the counter. A mug of a steaming beverage sat in front of him. A guy in a red plaid shirt sat beside him. Parker was telling him a story. The guy’s shoulders were shaking from laughter. To my surprise, Rusty Wells, who almost matched the décor in his tan festival outfit, was sitting beside the guy in plaid. He was staring straight ahead, finger circling the rim of his coffee cup. He must have been seated before Parker entered, and even though he clearly did not like the councilman, had decided not to cede ground.

  When Parker finished, his buddy drummed a rim shot on the counter. “Ba-dum-dum. Funny one!”

  “Mimi, order me an Earl Grey tea, black,” Felicity said.

  “I thought you wanted something cool.”

  “Tea. Thanks. Tell Irene to put it on my tab. I have to go to the restroom.”

  I gawked. She had a tab? I didn’t have one, but then I liked to pay cash for everything when I could. No debt was one of my mottoes.

  As she walked briskly down the hallway, her high heels clickety-clacking on the tile floor, I sidled up to the counter to the left of Parker.

  He rotated his head to see who had encroached on his space and frowned. At me? Or at seeing his wife heading toward the restroom?

  “Hello, Parker,” I said.

  His buddy swiveled on his chair. “Hi, Mimi, how’re you doing?” He was a vintner who regularly visited the bistro.

  “I’m well. How about you?”

  “Super.”

  “Hi, Rusty,” I said.

 
; “Mimi.” One word. No warmth.

  “Hey, Mimi, do you want to hear a good joke?” the vintner asked. “Parker just told it to me.” Mimicking Parker’s tone, he said, “This country is great. It’s the only place where you can borrow money for a down payment, get a first and second mortgage”—he ticked the joke beats on the countertop—“and call yourself a homeowner.” He guffawed. “Isn’t that hysterical?”

  “And true,” Parker said. “It wouldn’t sound nearly as hip to call oneself a debt owner.”

  “Ha-ha,” the vintner chuckled.

  Parker leaned forward and said to Rusty, “So, who’s running your farm while you’re manning the festival?”

  Rusty stared daggers at Parker. “My sister.”

  I snickered. Even Rusty had a sister?

  “What’s so funny, Mimi?” he snapped.

  “I was wondering whether I’m the only person on the planet without a sister. I’m feeling sort of shortchanged.”

  “I don’t have one,” Parker said. “I’m an only child.”

  “Aw, man, that sucks,” the vintner said. “I’ve got eleven siblings.”

  Irene waltzed up to the counter. “What’ll it be, Mimi?”

  “One Earl Grey tea, black, and an iced chocolate soda. Put the tea on Felicity Price’s tab.”

  “My wife is here?” Parker said, trying but failing to feign surprise.

  “She went to the restroom,” I said.

  “I didn’t know you two were buddy-buddy.”

  “We’re—” Lie, Mimi. “We need to get better acquainted. Ooh. I see a free table. I’m going to nab it.”

  Parker clutched my elbow. “Are you prying her for information? Are you trying to see if she knows anything about Renee’s murder?”

  “Any treats, Mimi?” Irene cut in.

  Parker must have forgotten she was standing there. He released me like a hot potato.

  “Two croissants.” I pulled twelve dollars from my purse and handed it to her. “Keep the change.” If Felicity didn’t want her croissant, I’d take it to the bistro for Heather.

  I excused myself and strode to the vacant table, eager to put the tense moment with Parker behind me. I tilted a chair against the table and unfolded the napkins. By the time I returned to the counter, Irene had already set the tea and soda down.

  Parker said, “Irene will bring the rest of your order over in a second.” He paid for his beverage, pushed the cup aside, and rose to his feet. “Take care, Mimi.”

  The vintner and Rusty echoed him. “Yeah, take care, Mimi.”

  As I was carrying the drinks to the table, Felicity emerged from the hallway. She skirted past the counter and gave Parker a peck on the cheek. When he didn’t reciprocate, she flinched but recovered and strolled across the café to where I was seated. Seconds later, Parker and his pal exited.

  “Fancy seeing my husband here,” Felicity said as she settled into her chair and grabbed two packets of sugar-free sweetener. One went flying in my direction and skidded off the table. I bent to retrieve it. When I resituated myself, I handed the packet to her. “Thanks,” she said and dumped the contents of both packets into her tea. She wiped her hands on her napkin. “Where were we?”

  “You wanted to get acquainted.” I took a sip of my soda. The coolness was refreshing.

  Irene arrived with our croissants. “Here you go.” She set them down and moved on.

  “So, Mimi”—Felicity stirred her drink—“I heard you were talking to Sunny Sally about me.”

  “Sally Somers?”

  “The theater mom who lives and breathes yellow. Yellow clothes. Yellow furniture. Yellow housewares. Heck, even her house is painted yellow and her garden palette is yellow. Hence the nickname Sunny.” Felicity giggled like a schoolgirl. “Don’t worry. I’m not gossiping. It’s a small town. Everyone talks.”

  “She told me she was your personal shopper.”

  “On occasion. Sally also told you I was sick at the theater the night Renee died.” She sipped her drink and looked over the rim of her glass. “Were you asking about me, Mimi?”

  “No.” Far be it for both her and her husband to think I was prying. “We were talking about her daughter performing in Cats with Philomena. Sally offered the rest.”

  Felicity bobbed her head. “The porcelain bowl and I became fast friends.”

  My stomach rumbled something fierce. Was I suffering sympathy pangs? I took another sip of my soda.

  “Must have been something I ate,” she went on. “But enough about that subject. Ugh.” She took a sip of her tea and set the mug down. “Let’s talk about that new gal you have working for you.”

  “Yukiko?”

  “No. Allie O’Malley. Like I said, everybody around town talks, and the more time I spend at the festival, the more I’ve learned about her feud with Renee. Allie has quite a past. She—” Felicity spanked the table daintily with her fingertips. “Stop it, Felicity.” She wriggled her nose. “Heavens, I really must get control of myself. I promised Parker that I would set a good example for our daughter and not gossip. Fourteen-year-olds can be so impressionable. No. More. Gossip.” She twisted an imaginary key in front of her lips. “Let’s talk about you.”

  I hated to admit it, but I was dying to know what she knew about Allie and her past, especially after following Allie to Camille’s.

  “I’m absolutely in love with Bistro Rousseau,” Felicity went on. “I don’t say that about many restaurants. How can Parker and I help your business grow?”

  “We’re doing great. We’re sold out every night this week.”

  “Because of the festival and Crush Week. What a boon.” She smiled solicitously. “But that can’t last.”

  I blotted my lips with a napkin. “Even before either event began, word-of-mouth was bringing in plenty of business.”

  “Well, if I can’t help you, then tell me about that handsome Nash Hawke. What plans do you have for him?” She lifted her croissant and bit off the end.

  “Plans?” My stomach churned. Not in a good way. I took another sip of soda.

  “Ting-a-ling. Wedding bells?”

  “Oh, gosh, way too soon for that.”

  “He and I were chatting at the festival the other day, and he seemed very into you.”

  “He did?”

  “Don’t let him get the idea you aren’t interested, darling.” She shook the remainder of her croissant at me. “Think of the big picture. A man roams if he doesn’t feel he’s your be-all and end-all. That’s what Parker is to me, and he knows it.”

  After hearing her teary revelation at the competition and witnessing her subsequent barb about the color orange at dinner, I figured she was trying to convince herself that everything was hunky-dory between them.

  “How’s it going with Oscar?” I asked.

  “Oscar?” Her voice rose in a girlish manner.

  “Your interview. Did you finish it?”

  “Why, yes, we did. How sweet of you to ask. He’s such a delightful man.”

  Where did Oscar Orsini fit into her big picture? Flirting with him hadn’t made Parker jealous.

  My stomach roiled again. My face grew hot and moist. Suddenly the room started to spin. I felt like I was going to be sick.

  Quickly, I begged off with Felicity, and not wishing to carry any sort of illness to the bistro, hurried home. Did I have the flu? No. Maybe I had eaten something tainted, but what? I hadn’t taste-tested anything before the noon crowd arrived. I’d only nibbled on cheese for lunch. I hadn’t taken the teensiest bite of the croissant at the café.

  As I pushed through the front door of my cottage, I pictured the soda sitting on the counter at Chocolate. Had Parker or Rusty, even though he’d been sitting a couple of seats away, put something in my drink when I was securing the table for Felicity and me? Both had told me to take care. Had that been a warning?

  I rushed to the bathroom, grabbed a bottle of ipecac from the medicine cabinet, and downed the appropriate amount. Within seconds it d
id its magic. Minutes later, I felt worlds better. My stomach ached, but I was no longer perspiring and my dizziness had subsided. I wasn’t going to die.

  Even so, I called Jo.

  Chapter 20

  Sitting beside me on the sofa, Jo sort of blended in, dressed in her taupe pencil skirt and pretty cream-colored blouse. She patted my hand. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “As if.” As if was one of her favorite sayings. “Your skin is pale. Your eyes are glassy.”

  “I’m okay. Promise.” My stomach ached and I had a slight headache, but I could return to work. I didn’t have to look good to do so.

  “Somebody poisoned you.” When we spoke on the phone, I told her what I thought had happened.

  “Maybe it was food poisoning.”

  “From something you ate at Chocolate? Not a chance. Like you and me, Irene is a stickler for safety. If word gets out about a food issue”—she snapped her fingers—“reputation ruined! By the way, I searched the Internet on my way over, and I’m wondering if you were poisoned with strychnine.”

  “C’mon. If someone dosed me with that, I’d be dead.” I rubbed my abdomen.

  “No matter what, if it was intentional, then it was a warning like the flowerpot and the scare you got the other night when you thought someone was creeping around your place.”

  I gulped.

  “Maybe a few self-defense classes would be in order,” Jo suggested.

  “Would that have kept me from drinking a chocolate soda?”

  She glowered at me.

  “If you’ll recall,” I went on, “I took defense classes in San Francisco. I know all about attacking soft targets. I can trap a hand and create an arm bar, and I’m darned good with elbow break-and-releases.” Remaining seated, I mimed a demonstration on an invisible attacker.

  “Okay. Got it. Your San Francisco stalker made you a tough cookie.”

  I hadn’t really been stalked when I’d lived in San Francisco, but creeps had followed me twice. Knowing how those types thrived on attention, I’d ignored them. Due to their overt interest, however, I’d invested in a series of six self-defense classes. Every now and then, I practiced my moves in front of my goldfish. They watched with fascination.