Murder Most Finicky (28 page)

Chapter 57

Owens rushed forward and peered over the drop. Stan could tell by the defeated slump of his shoulders that Joaquin hadn't managed to grab hold of something and hang there waiting for help to arrive. Another cop reached for his radio and called for an ambulance. The others all moved into preserve-the-scene mode. Stan wondered vaguely if they'd need to call the coast guard to retrieve his body.

Genske, who'd rushed in with the group of police, took Stan's arm. “Are you okay? Was anyone else hurt?” she asked.

Stan shook her head.

“What happened to your feet?” Genske asked.

They both looked down. One foot was bloody. The toenail polish had scraped off several toes. She was pretty sure she'd ripped off a layer of skin.

“Stan!”

Stan turned. Jessie ran up the path at full speed. “What happened? Did they catch him?”

Stan shook her head. “He fell.”

“Fell?” Jessie's eyes traveled to the cliff's edge. She grimaced. “Ouch. Suicide? Or did he really fall?”

“Fell,” Stan said miserably. “He was talking but . . . he lost his balance.”

“Are you okay?”

Stan thought about that. Physically she was fine, feet aside. Mentally, she felt like a truck had run over her. She stared helplessly at Jessie, not sure how to answer.

“Hey, you have bare feet,” Jessie said.

“Don't remind me.”

“Here.” Jessie pulled her sneakers off. “I have socks on. Take these.”

Stan didn't even argue with her. Grateful, she pulled the shoes on. “What happened?” she asked Jessie. “You talked to Candace?”

Jessie nodded grimly and pulled her out of the way as the police swarmed the area. “Yes. Joaquin called her last week, before she left for her trip. He said he was working on tax stuff with Sheldon, getting a head start, whatever. He wanted to make sure he had all the personal property addresses right.”

“So he asked her to cross-reference them,” Stan said. “Pretended to make sure she didn't get put on the hook for any taxes. He knew from Sheldon that was her big issue.”

“Bingo,” Jessie said. “And that included Sheldon's apartment, and Kyle's old apartment Sheldon had rented in Candace's name because he didn't want anyone else who worked for him to know.”

“Which would explain why the pizza cutter was in that Dumpster,” Owens said. “That never made sense to me.”

“Joaquin thought it was Sheldon's Dumpster,” Stan said. “He said something about how Sheldon was supposed to take the fall, but Kyle would've been okay, too.” She felt sad for Joaquin. Which was absurd—he'd killed a man over a recipe—but he'd seemed so lost. If Joaquin—Felix—had put his energy into forgiveness and creating something even better, he could've had an amazing life. Instead resentment and jealousy had eventually killed him.

“How'd you land on him?” Jessie asked.

“He called Pierre's dog by his old name,” Stan said. “I thought it was odd because he'd only claimed to have known these guys for a year. I figured it was coincidence. But then there was this picture in the bakery,” she explained to Owens. “It wasn't clear, but the guy in the photo was familiar. Joaquin saw it, too, and named the guy as Felix Paulson, said he'd committed suicide. But I recognized the name—it was tied to Vaughn Dawes.” She shook her head. It was all so complicated, and her head hurt. “It looked like he'd gotten major plastic surgery, if he could hide in plain sight with these guys. Or maybe they really are that clueless and wrapped up in themselves.”

They were all silent for a moment. Then Owens turned to Stan.

“Why don't you go on back. You look like you've had it. Will you be around for a while?”

“Until I find my missing cat,” Stan said.

Jessie slung an arm around her shoulder. “Let's go. Jake's waiting. And we tracked down Kyle,” she said as they started walking.

“You did?”

“Yep.” But instead of looking pleased with herself, Jessie looked like she didn't like what she had to tell her. “Apparently he'd gone off the grid. With a woman.”

“No.” Stan covered her face with both hands. “My sister is going to lose it. How did he manage that?”

Jessie shrugged. “He called some girl he had on the side. Apparently he needed comforting because of the dead guy.” She rolled her eyes. “They took off to Nantucket for the weekend. Claimed they left their phones behind and had no contact with anyone to see or hear what was going on.” Her tone suggested she didn't quite believe it.

“In Lucy Keyes' truck.” Stan shook her head. “I don't want to be the one to tell Caitlyn.”

“Don't worry,” Jessie said. “Owens said she left word with the police to call her with an update when they found him. I'm sure she knows by now.”

Chapter 58

Stan limped back to The Chanler with Jessie. The police had closed off the Cliff Walk in both directions while they spoke with witnesses, gathered what evidence they could, and began the process of recovering Joaquin's body.

Jake paced the lawn near the gate. She'd never been so happy to see him in her life as she hurried through the gate. She caught the relief, elation, and something else—love?—that passed over his face as he opened his arms to her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of him. He felt safe and warm. Like home.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment, then he said softly near her ear, “You're killing me. You know that, right?”

A laugh bubbled up in her throat and she stepped back to look at him. “At least I keep your life exciting.”

“Something like that.” He looked her up and down. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Your shoes don't match.”

They both observed Jessie's sneakers. Stan shrugged. “Could be worse,” she said.

“What about him?”

She shook her head. The stress of the day finally hit her, and tears bubbled up again. She swallowed them. “Where's Sheldon?” she asked instead, not wanting to lose it yet. “Is he okay?”

“He's over there,” Jake said, jerking his head toward a small circle behind them. Stan caught a glimpse of Sheldon, a puddle of despair in the middle, Maria holding him up. “He's not taking the day's events well.”

Stan felt a little badly for him. Nobody deserved to have their assistant revealed as a murdering psychopath. But before she could go over to see him, her mother appeared at her side, dragging Tony behind her.

“Kristan. Tony and I have been frantic ever since we heard you took off like a maniac after that awful boy.”

“You certainly gave everyone a fright,” Tony said, leaning over to kiss Stan's cheek.

“Did you get hurt?” Patricia's gaze fell to Jessie's sneakers, dreadfully mismatched to Stan's dress, and lingered.

“I'm fine, Mom.” They looked at each other, a million things passing through that one look. “We have a few things to catch up on.”

Her mother nodded. “We do.”

“How's Caitlyn?” Stan asked, but her cell phone started ringing. She glanced at the readout. Lucy Keyes. “Hang on, Mom.” Squeezing Jake's hand, she stepped away and answered.

“Can you come back to the hotel?” Lucy asked.

Stan's heart sank. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Nutty wants to see you.”

“Nutty? He does?” She probably shrieked but didn't care. “You found him?”

“We did. He was in Sheldon's suite.”

Sheldon's suite. And Joaquin's. Stan thought back to yesterday when she'd left for New York. Joaquin and Therese had been in her suite. Joaquin could've been suspicious about what she knew even then. Maybe he'd taken Nutty as leverage. Regardless, she was about to get her cat back. “I'll be right over,” she said.

She hung up and went over to Jake. “Lucy found Nutty. Can we go get him?”

“She did? Thank God.” He hugged her again. “I was so worried. We started looking and then Jessie got that call and we rushed over here.”

Stan didn't know whether to laugh or cry again at his reaction. He was amazing. And all hers.

“Then can we go home?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” Jake said.

But as they turned to go, Patricia Connor tapped Stan on the shoulder. “Honey? Can you wait a minute? I have something to talk to you about.” She looked at Jake. Something passed between them.

Stan looked from one to the other. “What's going on?”

“Your mom has something to ask you,” he said, squeezing Stan's hand.

Now she was suspicious. What could Jake and her mother possibly be conspiring about?

“I've decided,” her mother said, “not to invest with Sheldon. But I do want to invest in a worthwhile, up-and-coming business.” She paused, clearly wanting some kind of encouragement to continue.

“Okay,” Stan said, not sure why her mother felt that now was the right time for this conversation. The adrenaline rush had started to wear off and she felt exhausted and sad and just wanted to see her cat. “What did you want to do?”

“I want to work with Jake and help you start up your store.” Patricia beamed at her. “Since it looks like I'll be in Frog Ledge more often now, I thought I should invest in something close to home. You see, Tony's asked me to marry him.”

Chapter 59

 

The flash made Nutty squirm. Stan held him tight on her lap. “One more, I promise,” said Tyler Hoffman from behind the camera.

Next to him, Cyril Pierce watched with approval. “I think we have plenty to choose from.”

Tyler nodded and put the camera away. Nutty jumped off Stan's lap and rubbed against Tyler's legs. Tyler scratched his head absently as he put his gear away. “I'll see you back at the paper,” Tyler said to Cyril, then headed out Stan's front door, leaving Stan with Cyril and his open steno pad.

“I think it's great you have Tyler working for you,” Stan said. Tyler's family ran the Happy Cow Dairy Farm down the street. When Tyler's father had been killed last year, it had been rough on his oldest son. But the teenager had bounced back and found a home working with Cyril expressing his hidden talent as a photographer.

“I think it's great I can finally have staff,” Cyril said with a small smile. “And stories like yours are definitely keeping me on track.”

Stan rose and returned her chair to the table. She moved to the coffeepot and busied herself loading Izzy's coffee into the machine. Cyril's enthusiasm was dampened only by the fact that his latest big story involved more tragedy.

A cacophony of barking jarred her out of her thoughts. The front door opened and she heard the sound of nails scrabbling over hardwood, then four dogs bounded into the room. Nutty, who'd been quelling his indignation with a freshly baked treat on the counter, glanced up disdainfully as the canines raced in, sliding and skidding and falling all over each other. Benedict, Stan's orange cat, bolted out of the room and raced for the stairs.

“Hi, guys!” Stan dropped to her knees and hugged as many of the pooches as she could fit. Scruffy, her schnoodle, licked her nose. Duncan, Jake's dog, did his usual jumping routine. Gaston, Pierre's orphaned pooch who had charmed Jake into claiming him before Nikki could drive over to get him, followed suit. Henry, the pit bull, sat politely waiting for Stan.

“Is the photo shoot over?” Jake appeared in the doorway, a cardboard box in hand.

“Hope so. Nutty's done, anyway,” Stan said.

Cyril snapped his notebook closed. “I think the interview is done, too. Stan, I'll follow up if I have any questions. Thanks for this exclusive. It's going to be huge for my ratings.” He nodded at Jake as he passed him. “Welcome home.”

Surprise passed over Jake's face. “Thanks, man.” He watched the quirky newsman leave. “Did you tell him I was moving in?”

Stan shook her head. “He's a journalist. He knows everything. Or at least as much as Char tells him.” She rose and went to him.

He dropped the box and hugged her tight. “How was the interview? Rough?”

She shrugged, her face still buried in his neck. “He already had all the information that's been coming out. He just wanted my firsthand experience.”

Joaquin—Felix Paulson—had planned his revenge for a long time. After a brief period of stalking Pierre, he'd gotten smarter, dropped off the radar, and changed his looks and his name. Then he showed up in their lives as the helpful, starry-eyed apprentice. After his death, the police found Pierre's luggage in Joaquin's apartment, as well as his missing red Moleskine notebook with the nearly indecipherable ingredients to Pierre's legendary new recipe.

Stan found the whole thing incredibly sad.

Sheldon, who'd been devastated the day of the doomed investor dinner, had bounced back quickly after his investors disappeared with their checkbooks, not wanting to fund a scandal. But The Food Channel had called him anyway. Nothing said ratings like a chef involved in murder, mystery, and madness. Stan heard he'd inked a two-year deal for a cool three million bucks. She had no idea if he still planned to back bakeries, but she'd sent him a note that hers was no longer up for grabs. He hadn't responded.

“Hey.” Jake pulled back and tilted her chin up. “I know it's hard. But it's all over. Okay?”

He waited until she nodded, then stooped to pick up his box. “I'll put this upstairs, then we have to go meet your mother.”

Her mother was heading to Main Street in half an hour so they could powwow on the storefront that would be home to Stan's new pet patisserie. She should feel ecstatic, she knew. She was free from Sheldon. But instead, she felt sixteen again, at her mother's mercy.

“Jake, I'm not sure how I feel about this,” Stan said. “I don't think I want my mother having a say over my business.”

“That's why I'm the sixty-percent investor, and she's the forty.” Jake winked. “Don't worry, babe. I've got your back.” He disappeared upstairs.

Stan watched him go, her heart full. Of course he had her back. She shouldn't have doubted it for a second.

Scruffy stood up on Stan's leg and barked at her, an adorable
woo woo
that melted Stan's heart every time. She scooped up the little dog and kissed her head. Nutty flicked his tail disdainfully. The other dogs chimed in barking, wanting their fair share of attention. Upstairs, Jake would be coaxing Benedict out of his hiding place as he moved in. To their house.

Smiling, she headed upstairs to change. It would be important to dress appropriately for her first business meeting with her mother.