A Corpse in the Soup (19 page)

“Café Pinot is great. I love that place. I know you and Goldie will both enjoy it. Don’t even think about the cost, Angel. After all, we owe you.”

Goldie turned and said to Angel, “Good call, looks like you’ve gotten Godiva’s endorsement. Now let’s talk about important stuff. I’ll bet the food reporters were in orbit yesterday.”

Angel snuggled back into the plush leather seat. “Food reporters? Forget them. You should have seen the real reporters. This is a big story!”

During the rest of the drive Angel filled them in on the newsroom buzz about the chef’s murder.

While they were waiting for their lunch in the posh café, Godiva told Angel they needed a little more help researching the late Biff Wellington. Angel stepped up to the plate like Babe Ruth ready to knock one out of the park.

“I’m way ahead of you.” She pulled a file from her huge tote bag. “I figured that was why you asked me to lunch. Here, I made extra copies so we can all talk about this at the same time. The more I uncover the more I realize what a piece of work that guy was. I’m surprised someone didn’t drown him in his soup long before this.”

She handed the file to Godiva. “Between the new things I found and the stuff you already had, I think you ought to look for Wesley Wellington. He would be in his twenties by now and if anyone had reason to hate that jerk, I guess it would be his son. There’s some additional info on him in here,” she tapped the file, “but somewhere along the line he dropped out of sight.”

Godiva opened the file. “Look at all of this. I’m amazed. We had to dig around in those disgusting catacombs at the
Cotati Clarion
to uncover a fraction of what you’ve come up with.”

“Catacombs?”

“Oh, that’s what they call their morgue.” Godiva rolled her eyes. “Man, is it primitive. You wouldn’t believe it, Angel, they don’t even have a database. They still use handwritten ledgers.”

Goldie added, “We hit a dead end after Biff beat up his wife. How did you find all this other stuff?”

“Well, I have my sources: hospital records, county recorders, schools, and then I pulled a few favors from my boyfriend, Nathan. Didn’t I tell you? He’s working on the case. They even mentioned him in the news...Officer Neiderlander.”

Godiva’s green eyes flashed. “Neiderlander? That’s Nathan’s last name? When the news reports gave his name, I never put it together. Wasn’t he the first one on the scene?”

“You bet! I asked him to check some things in the police databases for me. You know, things that money and influence can keep out of the papers. Like the one there about the hooker that Wellington picked up on Sunset Boulevard last year. That man sure liked to beat on women. Nathan said it seems she refused to press charges after Wellington bought her a new nose and a very impressive set of new boobs. The nose was broken so that’s a given, but the boobs were a bonus for keeping quiet, I guess.”

Goldie huffed. “New boobs? Well, I’m sorry. I just don’t get it. If that happened in Alaska, she would have demanded a freezer full of king salmon.”

Angel shrugged her shoulders. “Welcome to the big city, Goldie.”

“So, tell me, has Nathan said anything about what’s going on with Chef Romano? Maybe it’s silly of me to expect him to share confidential information...”

“Look, you guys, if Nathan knew I was telling you any of this I’d be in big trouble.” She wiggled in her chair like a child in church, “Wow, I gotta pee. What if you just read something? Then I really wouldn’t really be telling you, would I?” Angel tapped the file and whispered. “Check the last page.”

She got up from the table and headed for the ladies’ room without looking back.

At the end of the file was a page with neatly typed paragraphs.

Lt. Adams thinks Romano’s arrest could make her career. The word is that she’s going after him with or without concrete evidence and doesn’t want to even discuss other suspects. One of the guys tried to make a suggestion about checking out someone else and she shut him up fast. Romano’s conviction would be a real feather in her cap. Maybe that’s why she’s wearing blinders.

She’s collecting a big pile of sworn statements about the hatred between Romano and Wellington. Lots of witnesses saw Romano in the studio around the time of the murder.

A reliable source said a mail clerk at Food Broadcasting called Lt. Adams a few days ago but couldn’t get through. That had to be Edgar Flappsaddle, the guy they found bludgeoned to death in Hollywood.

Lt. Adams is trying to find a link with Edgar so she can pin both murders on Romano.

Be careful, Lt. Adams doesn’t like people stepping on her toes even if she’s heading in the wrong direction!!!

They closed the file and pushed it back to Angel’s side of the table just as she slid into place. Not another word was said about that particular memo.

Godiva scrunched her brow.
Hmmm, wonder if Edgar talked to Caesar...

Godiva looked at Goldie, eyes widened.

They both became aware that Angel has asked the same question twice. “So, are you ladies going to the funeral? Should be a three-ring circus with all the media coverage, but probably a good place to pick up more information. It’s tomorrow, you know.”

The sisters exchanged glances. “Hadn’t really thought about that. Actually we didn’t even ask where it’s going to be.” Goldie took another forkful of her tiramisu.

“That’s easy. Services at the Good Shepherd Church on Little Santa Monica and then they’ll plant him at Forest Lawn. I’m sure they’ll give him a spectacular sendoff.” She waved her arms with a theatrical flair and then returned to the subject at hand. “Want me to see what else I can dig up on Wesley?”

“Angel, you’re a gem. Yes, please see what you can find. Caesar will have to make a showing at the funeral and he might expect Chili to go. Still, I’m sure he could use as much morale support as possible, so I guess we’re going...”

Goldie finished the sentence. “...and, of course we’ll keep our eyes and ears open.”

After dropping Angel back at the
Times,
Goldie said, “Let’s stop at Food Broadcasting and see if Chili can get us an address or phone number for Candy Vanderloop.”

Godiva gave her sister the thumbs up. “Good thinking, Sis. We should also talk to that frightened young gofer Mom and Unk saw during the big blowout. Maybe he saw something and was too scared to tell the police.”

“Let’s just hope if he saw anything it wasn’t your handsome Latin lover plunging a knife into his rival’s back.”

The studio was still decorated with yellow police tape marking the crime scene around the office and set of the recently departed Aerobic Chef.

Goldie smiled at the red-eyed receptionist as they approached the desk. “Hi, Millie, remember us?”

“Oh, one of you is God...umm...I mean G.O.D...and isn’t one of you Chili’s mom?” She looked at each in turn. “Of course I remember you. You asked about poor Edgar, but it was too late!” Her voice trailed off, her chin trembled and she sobbed into a disintegrated tissue. “And Wellington, too. Gone, both of them. It’s been so hard...”

Goldie smiled, oozing sympathy. “Actually, we’re here to see Chili. Is she on the set?”

“Well, you know Chef Romano’s office and kitchen set are off the same hallway as Biff Wellington’s...at least what used to be his office and set.”

Godiva noted that the young woman’s hands were shaking. A tear slid down her cheek and Goldie offered her a clean tissue from her purse. Millie dabbed and continued. “Anyway, they couldn’t get into that area so Chili and the Chef went over to his place to work on Friday’s show. The police said their team would be finished and we’d be able to film by then.” Her lip fluttered and she suddenly put both palms up to her eyes to staunch another flow of tears.

Goldie got Millie’s attention. “Uh, dear, maybe you can help us. It’s probably confidential, but since I’m Chili’s mother I was just going to ask her to get this information for me. I’d rather not bother her at the Chef’s house so would you know where we could reach Candy Vanderloop and also that young man who was Chef Wellington’s gofer?”

The woman snuffled and looked at them. “You must mean Chris Cross. Poor kid, he only worked here a few weeks, and now this. They’re both on leave...” She looked from one sister to the other. “You know, I’m really not supposed to do this...but...”

Jotting addresses and phone numbers on a slip of paper, she passed it to Goldie. “If you ever say you got this from me, I’ll swear on a stack of bibles that I never even spoke to you. It could cost me my job, you know.”

They thanked her and headed back home to sort out the pieces and plot their next move.

As soon as they walked in the door, Flossie called out from the study, “Okay, jailers. Sterling’s in the garden and I’m still here under house arrest. Is it time to let this nosey old bird out of the cage yet?”

“Of course, Mom. We just want to keep you out of trouble. That’s all.” Goldie patted her mother’s shoulder.

“So, what have you been doing all day?” said Godiva peeking into the study.

Flossie waved a paper in the air, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. “Working. That’s what. Someone has to keep up with your mail while you go gallivanting around.”

“Mom, I’m only gallivanting, as you put it, because Goldie and I busted our butts to get ahead of the game. I’ve got four more columns ready to submit. What’s that paper?”

“It’s a good one.” Flossie’s eyes sparkled. “A real good one. Listen.”

Dear G.O.D.,

I am a married man who has been carrying on a chat room love affair. I know it was wrong, but my wife is so boring and frumpy. The woman I chatted with on the Internet was exciting. She said she was a world traveler and an artist. I told her I was a single millionaire, an airline executive and an art collector. We finally arranged to meet at a fancy restaurant, and guess what? My secret lover turned out to be my wife! She says I cheated on her and lied to her, and now she wants a divorce. Isn’t she guilty, too? What should I do?

—Chat Room Charlatan

Godiva smiled. “Good work, Mom.”

Flossie put the letter in the red basket and said, “You see darling, that guy learned a lesson. Sometimes appearances can be deceiving.”

CHAPTER 35

Godiva groped for the clock radio as rap music bounced off her bedroom walls.
Damn. Where’s the snooze button?

The next blast jolted her out of a zombie-like state. Her arm snaked toward the offending sound once again.
A few more minutes.
Godiva hit the button, stretched and tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use. She forced her eyes open and frowned at the luminous green numbers.

Seven o’clock.
She pulled her pale blue silk robe around her, fluffed her hair, rubbed her eyes and headed for the bathroom.

It wasn’t long before the aroma of freshly brewed coffee drew her downstairs. As she lurched toward the kitchen, Guadalupe met her with a mug of imported French roast.

Goldie sat at the kitchen table, deep in thought. She had already showered, dressed and applied minimal makeup—her normal bit of eyebrow pencil and blush.

How does she look so damn perky?
Godiva blinked furiously trying to wake up a little more as she leaned against the marble kitchen counter and propped herself up on one elbow. She grumbled, “Look at Little Miss Rarin’-To-Go. What’d you do...get up in the middle of the night?”

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Congeniality. Top o’ the mornin’ to you, too.”

“Hmmpph.” She focused on her sister’s face for a moment. “No makeup. Back to the basics, huh?”

“Sorry. I promise I’ll put your makeup lessons to use when it’s appropriate, but really Godiva, I feel so much more comfortable this way.”

Godiva frowned and emptied the mug. Almost awake now she took another look, assessing her sister’s softly draped charcoal gray dress, lighter gray vest made of something that looked like a crocheted tablecloth, bright batik scarf and Indian bead earrings. Definitely Goldie.

“I like your outfit,” Godiva offered as she slid into the closest chair.

Goldie raised one eyebrow. “Wow, are you okay? I thought I heard you say you liked my outfit. You would never say something like that unless you were talking in your sleep.”

Godiva chuckled. “Well, it’s nothing I would wear, but it’s better than most of your creations.”

Goldie finished her cup of tea. “Listen, Godiva, I’ve been sitting here for an hour already trying to come up with a strategy based on what we know.” She held up the yellow legal pad so Godiva could see that it was filled with notes. “We need a plan. Not only at the funeral, but we have to decide what our next steps will be.”

Godiva looked over the list as she nibbled at a sesame seed bagel topped with cream cheese, just a tiny bit of pink lox and some tasty capers. “You’re right, Goldie, and we don’t have a lot of time to figure it out.”

They brainstormed until Godiva glanced at the kitchen clock and stood up. “We’ve got a little more than an hour before we leave for the funeral.” She wagged her finger at Goldie’s note pad. “Why don’t you get all that stuff sorted out while I get dressed?” Before Goldie could answer, she was gone.

Forty-five minutes later Godiva glided down the stairs, makeup perfect, sporting a black Calvin Klein suit with a fitted jacket, pearl gray silk blouse and simple gold necklace and earrings. Her matching shoes and handbag were light gray polka dots on black leather. Goldie couldn’t help but give her an approving look. “Wow. That outfit’s a knockout. They’ll definitely be able to tell us apart today!”

Godiva settled in next to her sister. “Okay. So what have you got so far?”

“Well, we know that Wellington had a nasty temper and bullied and beat up anyone who was weaker than him, especially women. His reputation for violence goes back at least as far as Darla’s polka festival story. I figure it all started when he punched out the doctor in the delivery room for slapping his little bottom.”

Godiva laughed. “Yeah. It’s a safe guess that he’s pissed off more people through the years than we could ever locate.”