Murder Most Finicky (11 page)

Chapter 21

Stan hung up and hurried over to Lucy. She recognized her companion now. Their bellhop from last night, Jackson. Lucy held a cigarette near her lips, smoke snaking out of it. Their conversation trailed off when they saw her, and Jackson stepped protectively in front of Lucy.

“Hi,” Stan said. “I wanted to catch Lucy for a second.”

Lucy stepped around Jackson's shoulder. “Hi there. It's fine, Jackson,” she said. “You can go back to work.”

With a last not-so-friendly glance at Stan, Jackson handed Lucy a set of keys and went inside. Lucy pocketed the keys, dropped her cigarette, and ground it out with her shoe. “What can I do for you? How's that handsome cat?”

“Nutty's fine, thanks. Listen, I just wondered if you had seen one of the guys from our party. Kyle McLeod. He left sometime last night and no one's seen him since. We're all getting worried.”

Lucy's lips tipped up in a sardonic smile. “Yeah, the cops who were in here looking for him seemed worried, too.”

“That would be Owens and Genske?”

Lucy nodded. “You've met, I see.”

“Yeah. They've been questioning all of us in Pierre's murder. Did they get anything off the surveillance tapes?”

“You know I can't discuss that.”

Their gazes held, each sizing the other up. This close, Stan could see the cracks in that perfectly applied makeup, the dark circles peeking through her under-eye concealer. Lucy Keyes was human after all.

Lucy finally broke the stare and checked out the parking lot. “Look,” she said finally, turning back to Stan. “I haven't seen Kyle since you all arrived last night. I don't know where he went. But if they're looking at him for this murder, they're dead wrong.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “You sound sure of yourself.”

“I'm quite sure of myself,” Lucy said. “I've known Sheldon and some of his people, like Kyle, for a long time.”

“Did you see Kyle leave last night?”

“No.”

“Do you know if anyone called him a cab, or a car service?”

“Again, no. And even if someone had, we have privacy policies.”

I bet you do.
“Do you know anywhere he could have gone?” Stan asked.

“Sheldon asked me the same question. I'll tell you what I told him. We give our guests the privacy they desire when they stay with us. The same privacy he expects when he stays here.”

“How long have you known Kyle?”

“A few years.”

“You know him well?”

“Well enough.”

“He wouldn't have stayed here much though, would he? Given that he has his own apartment nearby?”

Lucy cocked her head. “Why so curious, Ms. Connor?”

Because he's sleeping with my sister.
“Because I'm suddenly part of this group that may or may not have a murderer in it. I want to know who I'm dealing with. They could be going about this all wrong, Lucy. He could be in danger, too,” Stan said, thinking of Caitlyn's insistence. “Have you thought of that?”

Lucy looked out over the parking lot again, as if searching for an answer. “I have. But I don't have an answer for you either way. I haven't talked to him. I don't know where he's gone. I certainly hope he's okay. As for the rest of you, the police are going to stick close until this is solved, so be vigilant and we'll do the rest. Believe me, everyone's taking this very seriously.”

“That's good to know,” Stan said. “If you hear from Kyle, will you tell someone?”

“Of course I will. Listen, Ms. Connor, I have to run. And if Kyle shows up here, we'll certainly tell him that you all are looking for him. But that's really all I can do.” She turned and hurried away, her turquoise heels sounding more like jackhammers in the quiet lot. But she didn't go to the silver SUV, which was nowhere in sight. She went directly to a blue Honda, fumbled with the lock, and finally slid in. The car pulled out quickly and disappeared into the night. Stan frowned, remembering the keys Jackson had handed her. Lucy didn't look the type to drive a Honda. Plus, she hadn't been driving the Honda last night. Had to be Jackson's car.

Why was Lucy driving Jackson's car? Where was her own?

Impulsively, she dialed Jessie Pasquale's mobile. Jake's sister answered on the first ring.

“Pasquale.”

“Hey. It's Stan.”

A beat, then she said, “Hey, Stan. I thought you were away this weekend?”

“I am. But I wondered if you might be able to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Jessie's tone had turned slightly guarded. Stan didn't blame her. She'd developed a bit of a reputation around Frog Ledge.

“Do you have any way of finding out what kind of car is registered to someone? Like by their name?”

“Just their name? No reg number?”

“Right.”

“Who and why?”

Shoot. She hadn't thought that far ahead. The truth wouldn't do, so she needed to figure something out fast. Jessie's BS meter was well tuned from years of being a cop. And just because Stan dated her brother didn't mean she was entitled to special treatment, as Jessie had not so delicately pointed out on many occasions. “Well,” she said. “A friend here was wondering what his ex-wife was driving these days. He, uh, thought he saw her cruising by his house.”
Lame . . . so lame.

“Uh-huh,” Jessie said. She didn't need to say she also thought the reasoning was lame. But to Stan's surprise, she didn't turn her down and hang up the phone. “I'll make a call.”

“You will?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I totally do. Thank you so much. Her name's Lucy Keyes.”

“I'll call you back,” Jessie said, and disconnected.

Chapter 22

Saturday morning, Stan woke with Nutty's tail wrapped around her head, tickling her nose. His morning routine. The dogs would be awake soon, too, and they would want breakfast. She stretched, then opened her eyes. And realized she wasn't in her room. Or her house. She was still in Newport. Three days and counting. Pierre was still dead, Kyle still missing. Sheldon wanted everyone cooking today with happy smiles. A new pastry chef would be in the house. The news about Pierre—Pete—would break any second if it hadn't already. She pulled a pillow over her head.

But Nutty insisted that he couldn't wait to eat by pawing at her face and meowing.

“How on earth can you be hungry with all the food Maria's giving you?” She wouldn't be surprised if Maria stole him out of her room at all hours to feed him pasta.

He sat back, tail flicking, clearly offended. She swore he looked heavier than when they'd arrived two days ago.

She reached for her phone to see the time. Not even six. With a sigh, she flipped onto her side and gazed out the window into the early morning light, thinking about the day ahead. Nutty, annoyed by her slight, moved to the end of the bed and turned his butt to her.

Stan forced herself out of bed, put out some treats for her starving feline, and made a mental list while she showered. She wanted to get to the kitchen early, whip up a few dishes, and hopefully buy herself some free time later to make some calls for her sister. Caitlyn would be calling any minute looking for a status update. She dressed and combed out her long hair, working some antifrizz cream through to combat the humidity. She was digging through her suitcase to find the pair of sandals she wanted when someone rapped on her door. Expecting Maria, she got up and opened it a crack.

Not Maria. Tyler. He looked exhausted again, and panicked. “Hey,” she said with some apprehension. “How did you get in here?”

“Therese let me in. Can you come to our room? There've been some . . . developments.”

“Like what? Did the news about Pierre go out?”

“Just come. Please.”

“Can I get my—”

“Now,” he implored, yanking her out of the room.

She barely had time to put her shoes on, for the second day in a row. These people were so pushy. She followed Tyler along the same circuitous route she'd traveled with Sheldon yesterday to get to their suite. Tyler used his card to let them in. It smelled like fresh bread and eggs. Joaquin beamed at her from the kitchen. “You're joining us for breakfast?”

“I guess so,” she said. “It smells delicious.”

Sheldon sat at the table with a glass of orange juice. “Stan. You're looking dapper this morning.”

“I was heading to the kitchen early,” she said. “Hoping to get some samples of my food for Monday in the can first thing. What's going on?”

“Two things,” Sheldon said. “One, the police released Pierre's name late last night to the press. The first reports are starting to post. I expect Pierre's publicist is going to say some negative things about us in the process.”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “His publicist?” She looked at Tyler. “Isn't that you?”

“Tyler is
my
publicist,” Sheldon said. “That means he discusses my chefs when we have joint ventures or other news. Pierre apparently had another agenda and needed to find another publicist to push it for him.”

“Who's the publicist? What kind of agenda?” Stan asked.

Sheldon's lips were pursed again, signaling his disturbance. “It's all part of the double-timing I told you about before. Exploring his options with that common motorcycle gangster.”

Stan could barely keep her eyes from rolling. These guys were so dramatic. And Sheldon had ignored the first part of her question. “Who's the publicist?”

“Her name is Melanie,” Tyler said. “Melanie Diamond. Her firm is called Gem Communications, in New York.”

“Did you know before now that he had his own publicist?”

“We learned this recently,” Sheldon said. “It didn't seem relevant until now. But we should be ready to expertly negate whatever they try to throw at us.”

“Okay,” Stan said. “But there's nothing yet.”

Tyler shook his head.

She suppressed a sigh. “You said there were two things. What's the second?”

Tyler and Sheldon exchanged looks. “Vaughn Dawes.”

“The other chef. Right. I forgot about her. Is she here?”

“No, she's not.”

“Oh. Is she coming late?”

“She's missing.”

Stan frowned. “Missing? What do you mean? Missing like Kyle?”

“We don't know. She drove to the airport in Los Angeles, parked, checked her bag, and vanished. No one saw her after that—well, potentially the people on the plane did, but we have no way of knowing. She never emerged from the gate with the rest of the passengers. Therese waited at the airport until nearly two
A.M.
to make sure she hadn't missed her connection and arrived late.”

“You sure she didn't just change her mind?”

“My people don't change their minds about things like this,” Sheldon said in a tone that left no room for argument. “This weekend is the opportunity of a lifetime. And even if she had, she would've called.”

“So you think she's in trouble? Have you reported it to the police? Or has her family reported it?”

“We haven't reported it. I don't know if anyone else has. But that's not the point. It's going to leak to the press along with his death. I
know
Pierre is behind this.”

This guy had lost his mind. She should pack up and leave now. Take Jake up on his offer. “Sheldon. I know it's been a rough couple of days, but Pierre is dead.”

Tyler made a choking sound. Sheldon glared at her. “Don't be smart with me. I know that. He had a whole scheme going on how to ruin me. His publicist is simply picking up the thread now that he's gone.”

Joaquin swept in with plates. “Despicable, isn't it?” he said to Stan. “Scrambled eggs with chives and goat cheese, home fries, and freshly baked bread. I do hope Vaughn is okay. She's a sweetheart.” He set plates in front of Stan and Sheldon and went back for his and Tyler's.

Stan used the time to pray for patience. “So you think he set up this whole thing? Left instructions on how to destroy you if he died? Paid her to disappear? Had his publicist stage a kidnapping? What, Sheldon? That doesn't even make sense,” she said, answering her own question. “Even if he knew he was about to die, how would he know you would call her to fill in for him?”

“Of course I don't think Pierre expected to die. But if his . . .
vile
co-conspirator is behind this, she coerced Vaughn in some way. Which would mean she's fine, and simply under the influence of a person with ill intent.”

Despite having no caffeine in her system, Stan fought to follow Sheldon's thought process. “Did Pierre know Vaughn? How do you know she knew the same publicist?”

“I'm so relieved I don't have to do this job,” Joaquin said to no one in particular from the kitchen. “It's way too stressful for me. Even just listening to the strategizing makes me exhausted. And hungry.”

Stan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. These guys were like the Three Stooges.

“The food community is small,” Sheldon said. “But that's not our focus. The focus is what all this is going to do to us. We have very important peoples' eyes on us. We have to make this . . .
publicist
look like the lunatic she is. Which means we have to
expose
her. Tyler.”

Tyler slid in front of the computer. “On it. Thanks, man,” he said to Joaquin as he put his plate down.

Stan took a bite of her food. It was phenomenal. “This is great, Joaquin.”

“Thank you!” He blew her a kiss. “There's coffee, too.”

“Thank God.” Stan got up and went into the kitchen for a cup. “How did you find out he had a publicist again?” she called to Tyler from the other room.

“A trusted friend,” Sheldon said.

“Care to share who that friend is?” Stan asked, returning with a giant mug.

Sheldon shook his head before Tyler could say anything. “You wouldn't know them.”

“And you're sure this person has their story straight? They're positive Pierre was her client?” Stan sat and picked up her fork again.

“Of course I'm sure,” Sheldon said, insulted. “My sources don't give me false information.”

The food kept Stan from losing patience. “What do you need from me, Sheldon? Because I need to bake. I thought the dinner was pretty important, but if no one is cooking and testing food, it's not going to be as successful as you want.”

Sheldon thought about that. “I need you to help spin the Vaughn story. But you're right. Tyler. Take your operation into the kitchen to discuss with Stan while she works. We'll have to tell the others today anyway, so they're prepared for the worst. But you can get some work done now before anyone else is up. God knows the rest of this crew won't be up until lunchtime,” Sheldon muttered. “You would think I was running a bed-and-breakfast for wayward chefs.”

“By the way,” Stan said, scraping the last of her eggs off the plate, “is everything okay with Marcin? He seemed angry last night.”

The three of them exchanged a look. “Marcin has some . . . troubles,” Sheldon said. “Financial troubles. Mostly due to his illness.”

“What's wrong with him? I don't mean to pry, I'm just curious,” Stan said. “Anything the rest of us should be conscious of?”

Another furtive look. “He has some psychological issues,” Sheldon said finally. “I hate to gossip, but I did notice he's been disagreeable.”

Tyler tapped his temple with one finger and rolled his eyes.

“Now, Tyler. We mustn't be mean. The poor man had a nervous breakdown a couple years back. He spent some time in a hospital. It was very hard on Leo. They had just opened a new restaurant, and ended up losing it not long after. Leo was running back and forth trying to manage, cook, be there for Marcin—it was a terrible time. In the end, he just couldn't keep it all afloat. That's why this weekend is also very important to them,” Sheldon added. “It's a chance for them to start fresh. I know Marcin is likely worried that this . . . issue with Pierre will derail them again.”