Toasting Up Trouble (A Dinner Club Mystery) (6 page)

The next morning, J.J. went through it all again, this time for Skye’s benefit.

“Oh man, that’s so terrible,” Skye moaned and sat back in her chair. “He’s dead. You’re a suspect. And we’re left with an incredibly high bill to pay, what with his conniving last-minute addition. I know”—she held up her hand—“I shouldn’t be so crass and uncaring. But it is all part and parcel. How are you holding up?”

“Well, I was feeling fine. But what do you mean, I’m a suspect?”

“It stands to reason. It sounds like you were the last one to talk to him, and you did argue. I think anyone who had anything to do with him later that night could be a suspect. I know you didn’t do it, which goes without saying.”

“Well, thanks for that. I was a bit shaky yesterday, especially when I went to the police station to give my statement and then sign it. Just being in that building can make you feel
guilty. And then later in the day I got the all clear to go back to the estate and remove all the party stuff. The police were still working out in the yard, and I had an escort walk me from my car and back. The same for the cleanup crew. I was lucky they were able to come at a moment’s notice. It was really creepy, though.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Oh, and one more thing: I didn’t mention the argument.” She’d totally forgotten—well, partially forgotten—and then felt she had to hurry up writing the statement for the officer standing at the corner of the desk.

Skye looked at her, head tilted, eyes wide, and an “are you nuts?” expression on her face.

“I will tell them next time. If there is a next time.” She crossed her fingers, hoping her involvement with the police had ended.

Skye just shook her head. “Did you talk to Mr. Portovino? I wonder how he’s taking it.”

“He was there and talked just long enough to mumble something about it being dreadful, but that was about it. His daughter, Angelica, went into hysterics when she heard, apparently. However, the promise of a new car calmed her down. Or so one of the maids told me.”

“Huh. Healing powers for sure.”

Before J.J. could answer, the office door flew open and two uniformed police officers walked in.

“Ms. Josephine Tanner?” the older one asked, looking from Skye to J.J.

She raised her hand slightly in answer.

“Detective Hastings would like you to accompany us down to the station. He has a few more questions for you.”

J.J. gulped and immediately hoped they hadn’t noticed. Her hand shook slightly as she reached for her purse. “Of course.”

She glanced at Skye and raised her eyebrows. Skye made
the universal “call me” sign. J.J. nodded and followed the officers out the door.

J.J. sat ramrod straight in the wooden chair, staring at the navy cloth baffle behind Detective Hasting’s desk. Although it was totally blank, she kept hoping something would materialize to draw her attention away from having to deal with the fact that she was back at the police station, this time for a formal interview. She wondered if they used different terms for suspects as opposed to bystanders.

Eventually, Hastings stopped reading her statement and put it down on his desk on top of his notebook and several other loose papers. He sat looking at her in silence for several minutes. She tried returning his stare but then felt her eyes being pulled back behind him to the baffle. Still nothing showing.

“That appears complete, Ms. Tanner.”

She relaxed a little. That voice. She’d always had a thing about British accents. He sounded like such a Boy Scout. She wondered if they had those in England. It was a comforting voice, anyway. Helpful. Reassuring. He crossed his arms on his desk and leaned forward. She tensed again.

“Now, tell me, what have you left out?”

“What do you mean?” Her heart started pounding, and she was sure he could see her white Chico’s shirt fluttering.

“Well, for starters, the entire part about your argument with the deceased. Was there anything else?” Hastings leaned back in his chair and picked up his coffee mug. After taking a taste, he spit it back into the mug.

J.J. opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. What to say?

“What were the two of you arguing about?”

“You mean as we were leaving?”

He frowned, and she was certain he also growled. “Yes.”

“Umm, we were discussing the evening’s event.”
Keep to the facts. Do not ramble on.

“And did this include the raising of voices?” He picked up a pencil and started lightly tapping the desktop.

“Umm, I might have gotten a bit carried away.”

“You were arguing.” It was a statement.

J.J. swallowed. “Yes.”

“About what?”

“About a dish that Mr. Marcotti had snuck onto the menu after I specifically told him not to do so.” J.J. held her breath, wondering what would come next.

“I see. And, why would that lead to you being so angry?”

“I wasn’t so angry. All right, I guess I was. It was a very expensive item and the budget was already at its limit. I’d told him that. He chose to ignore it.”

Hastings leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Just how angry were you?”

J.J. wondered just how much to tell. All of it, she guessed. She took a deep breath. “As I said, I was upset by the additional cost that he’d snuck in there. So, I told him he would have to absorb the cost. And then he threatened that if I followed through on my threat to expose him, he would spread the word that I was totally incompetent.”

“He was a powerful man in his industry?”

J.J. nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. She was reliving the conversation. What a jerk. Not a good thing to voice in the present circumstances.

“So, we’ll say that made you extremely angry?” Hastings sounded almost sympathetic, but that could have been the accent.

J.J. nodded again.

“Whoever killed Marcotti was plenty mad at him. There was a lot of rage in the stabbing.”

J.J. gasped. “I didn’t do it. You have to believe me.” She
thought about what he’d said. “He was stabbed? I couldn’t. I could never stab somebody. How gruesome.”

“Every murder is gruesome, Ms. Tanner. You can go for now. I’m sending an officer with you to collect the clothing you wore Saturday night.” He held up his hand to prevent her responding.

But J.J. just stared at him. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. She couldn’t believe this was happening. To her. To Marcotti. She finally nodded and stood shakily. A female officer appeared and, after getting her instructions, escorted J.J. out the back door, the way she’d come in.

J.J. sat in silence the entire way to her place. When they got in her apartment, the officer followed her to her closet, where J.J. had hung her dress while waiting to take it to the dry cleaners.

“And your shoes?” asked the officer.

J.J. handed them over, and the young woman left. J.J. looked in the bedroom mirror and watched as the tears rolled down her cheeks. After a few minutes, she took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and said to her image, “Suck it up. You didn’t do it and they’ll figure it out. You have nothing to worry about.”

Indie had wandered in sometime during the process and now wound his sleek body around her legs. She crouched down to pick him up and sat with him in her lap, stroking his back until he finally had enough. She watched as he jumped off her lap and stalked into the kitchen, no doubt needing some sustenance after all that.

Her gaze strayed around the living room. It was her sanctuary, had been her sanctuary ever since she’d fled Montpelier and her disastrous engagement. She’d even decorated the apartment in blues and white, beach colors that were a reminder of childhood and the summers spent on the East Coast at her grandparents’ cottage. So much for a haven from the nasties of the world. Not even the entire wall of books, mainly mysteries
but also her treasured four shelves of cookbooks, could cheer her up.

She sighed and glanced out the window, groaning when she realized it had started pouring sometime after they’d arrived at her apartment. Ordinarily, she loved the sound and smells of rain; however, right now she was in the mood for neither. She also realized her car was parked in the lot behind the office, so she had two basic options for getting back to the office: by foot or by cab. Her other possibility for a ride was her neighbor, Ness Harper. He might just be home, and better yet, being a retired cop and all, he might be a sounding board for what had just happened. Hopefully, he was home. And hopefully in a good mood.

He answered on the fifth try.

“Yeah?” He opened the door a crack, just enough for J.J. to realize Ness was still in his bathrobe.

“Hi, Ness.” She leaned toward the opening, wanting to make sure he saw who it was standing there. “I’m really sorry to bother you but I have a very big favor to ask.”

She paused. He said nothing. That didn’t surprise her.

“Uh, I need a lift to work.”

“Why?”

“It’s pouring outside, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“My question was why. Where’s your car?”

She took a deep breath and hoped to get through the explanation without having to dwell on it, because she was afraid if she did that she’d get the shakes or start crying again. “Uh, a body was found outside the event I organized Saturday night, and the police just had me in at the station to answer some questions. The officers picked me up at work and drove me to the station, then one of them brought me here and took away the clothes I was wearing that night.” She sighed and realized her voice was shaking. “And left me here.”

Ness Harper opened the door wider and stood blocking
the doorway, arms crossed and legs slightly apart. “And just why do those blockheads think you’re a suspect?”

“Because I was the last person to see him?”

“There’s gotta be more.”

She tilted her chin and straightened up. “And we’d had a rather loud fight outside just before leaving.”

He looked at her a few seconds before replying. “Okay. Just give me a minute to throw some duds on. I’ll knock on your door.” He closed his door in her face.

J.J. went back into her apartment. She was used to the abrupt manner in which Ness dealt with people. They’d shared the elevator one night shortly after she’d moved in, and he’d told her that he’d had his fill of people in his thirty-five years working as a cop. Now all he wanted was to be left alone.

She usually tried to abide by that, although her first invitation to him to share a spaghetti dinner at her place had been snapped up. And since then, he’d had her over for pizza a couple times, and more recently he was trying out new recipes on her. She still respected his privacy and never pried into his life, present or former, but realized he was someone she could count on. As he’d just proven.

It took less than five minutes for him to knock on her door. She grabbed her purse and raincoat, and ended up trailing him down the hall. He didn’t speak again until they were out of the parking lot.

“Who’s the dead guy?”

“Antonio Marcotti. He owns Bella Luna, the Italian restaurant on Hart Street.”

“How’d he die?”

“He was stabbed. Repeatedly.”

“Crime of passion.” He looked at her when he came to a stop sign. “Were you passionate about the guy?”

“Me? No way. I was mad at him because he tried to stiff me with a high-priced dish, but not mad enough to kill him.”

“No hanky-panky going on the side?”

“Ugh. No.” She shuddered at the thought.

“Okay. I’d advise you to stick to the facts next time you’re being interviewed, and don’t offer anything extra. Got it?” He pulled up in front of the office.

“Next time?”

“Oh yeah. They’re not finished with you, not if they’re checking your clothes for traces of blood or anything else that might prove you did it.”

J.J. felt the tears about to fall again. She gave her head a shake. “I am innocent.”

“Well, then don’t sweat it. If they get it wrong, we’ll set it right.” He sounded a little less gruff, so J.J. looked over at him. She wanted to give him a hug but thought better of it.

“Thanks, Ness. Thanks for the lift and the advice.” She hopped out of the car.

“’snothing.” He waited until she’d closed the door, then pulled a U-turn and sped away.

J.J. dashed into the building and watched as Ness’s gray Chevy sedan turned the corner, not headed back home, but toward the city. Maybe to the police station?

“Do the police have any ideas or suspects, except for you?” Skye asked after listening to J.J.’s account of her morning.

“They’re not really into sharing, Skye.”

Skype jumped out of her chair and enfolded J.J. in a hug. “Don’t worry. You didn’t do it. Who could believe you’d do such a thing? And really, being ticked off with a person, even though he was a slimeball, is hardly a big enough motive to kill that somebody.”

J.J. sighed. “That’s what I think, but who knows what the police think? Ness Harper said it sounded like a murder committed in passion or something like that.”

“Passion? Hm. Was Marcotti playing around on his wife? Maybe coming on to somebody on his staff? Or even bothering a guest?”

J.J. shrugged. “I have no idea. I just know it wasn’t me. Now, we’d better give some thought about damage control. Make It Happen wasn’t mentioned in the newspaper article this
morning, but it’s sure to surface soon. And if my name gets mentioned as a ‘person of interest’ or whatever they call them, it might not be so good for business.”

“Now, don’t you go worrying about that. We’ll just issue a statement, if necessary, keeping it short and sweet. Something to the effect that Mr. Marcotti’s catering services were used at an event organized by Make It Happen and our condolences to the widow. Something like that. He was married, I’m assuming?”

“I have no idea. I know nothing about the guy, but I know who would.”

“Evan.”

“Right.” J.J. headed for the door. “I think I’ll just go have a chat with Evan and see what I can find out. I also want to get his take on the fast one Marcotti pulled.”

J.J. ran down the stairs, although the two-inch heels on her black leather boots made it tricky going. She knocked on the door to Design Delights and walked in without waiting for an answer. Evan Thornton looked up from the newspaper he was reading and stood to walk over to J.J. He looked so solemn that J.J. almost smiled. He hugged her, then settled her in a chair.

“I was just reading about the murder,” he said, rushing over to pour her a cup of tea. “That’s so dreadful. Absolutely unthinkable. Here, have some of my special chai tea, guaranteed to soothe all irritations, and tell Evan all.”

He passed her a cup and sat down with his own, pulling his chair over until they were almost knee to knee.

J.J. took a sip and then told the entire story once again. When she had finished, Evan looked shocked. Then he placed his teacup down carefully on the desk and started pacing.

“I feel so responsible. I knew he could be a bastard in business dealings, but I never ever thought he’d pull a fast one like that on you. Truly, J.J., I should have warned you
off when you first mentioned him.” Evan looked so distressed that J.J. reached out to touch his arm.

“I believe you, Evan. I’m shocked about what he did to us, of course, but it’s now taken second seat to his murder. And what’s worse from my perspective is that I’m a suspect.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. I was the last person to see him. We walked out to our cars at the same time, and we were arguing. I’m sure his staff heard us as they scurried to the van, trying to escape the scene. Probably the butler heard, also. Then next morning, he’s found dead in his car. Knifed.”

“You wouldn’t use a knife.”

“Oh, thanks, Evan,” J.J. said. “What would I use?”

Evan looked horrified. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, using a knife is very up close and personal. And it takes a lot of strength, I’d think. You’d really have to hate the guy to do something like that, and I know that lets you out. You’d only just met him. I’m thinking that kind of hate take years to build. Besides, you wouldn’t harm a fly.”

J.J. raised her eyebrows.

“Okay, a spider maybe, but not a fly.”

J.J. started laughing. “Thank you for the testimonial, Evan. But it would be better if you could come up with another suspect. Can you think of anyone who might fit that bill? You worked with him on the restaurant reno for several months. Can you remember anyone, maybe a supplier or a contractor or even one of his staff, who might have a hate on for him?”

Evan sat and thought, finally shaking his head. “There were some encounters of the yelling kind, for sure, but I can’t come up with any one single person who seemed that upset. Of course, we had our set-to but that was it. I’ll bet it was something personal, like the husband of someone he was sleeping with.”

“He was married, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, but he was also Antonio Marcotti. He had quite a reputation with the women.” Evan went over to pour himself another cup of tea.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Why would you?” he asked, his back to her. “The food business is a very insular little community. And then there’s his Italian connections. I’ve heard he was a big wheel in that community, too.”

“Hm. Do you think his wife,” she shrugged, “you know . . .”

He turned around and went back to his desk. “Knew about his affairs or kill him?”

“Either. Both.”

“I met Gina Marcotti a couple of times when they were thinking of using my services to decorate their home. She was really into my ideas but totally ignored Marcotti when he was around. So maybe she did know, but I think she just didn’t care enough about him to get upset. Which probably means she didn’t kill him, either. I understand it’s all her money anyway, so I guess she gets to do all the choosing at home. They have quite the palatial digs. But I’d love to get my hands on their color scheme. That’s all it would take to give the place some high-class glam.”

J.J.’s eyes wandered to the clock on the opposite wall. “Oh man. Look at the time. I feel like I’ve wasted the entire day. Where did it get to?” She held up her hand. “Don’t answer that. I know, unfortunately. Guess I’d better get going. Thanks, Evan.”

He nodded. “Keep the faith. They’ll catch who did it.”

J.J. certainly hoped so. She returned to her office and found a note on her desk from Skye, who was at a meeting downtown with a supplier and would call later.

J.J. looked outside and felt cheered that it had at least stopped raining. It seemed something could go right. She looked at her computer and then out the window again. She
knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on work. Not today. She locked up and headed for home.

Eight o’clock. Less than ten minutes since J.J. had last looked at the wall clock. Time was dragging tonight, and she couldn’t seem to concentrate. She’d tried brainstorming some creative ideas for Olivia Barker and the retirement party she was organizing, however that hadn’t worked. Next, she’d tried some visualization with the recipe for beef—now turkey—pizzaiola from
nigellissima.
Again, not into focusing. Even the latest mystery by one of her favorite mystery authors, Victoria Abbott, couldn’t hold her attention.

She should just admit it and deal with it: she was scared. She was not a murderer, but the butterflies started fluttering in her stomach whenever she thought back to being interviewed in the police station. She needed to have faith in the system, but she readily admitted she didn’t. Not when it was her reputation—her life—at stake. She needed to talk to someone who knew the ropes. She knew that Alison was on duty, so not her. But Ness Harper was at home. She’d indulged her senses in the aroma of sauerkraut wafting from his apartment when she’d walked past the door earlier.

She was just about to open her apartment door when someone knocked on it. Through the peephole, she spied Ness.

“Wow, talk about the same wavelength,” she said, pulling the door open. “I was just coming to see you.”

Ness grunted and pushed past her to the living room patio door. “Come here. Turn off the light in here while you’re at it.”

She did as she was told and peered over his outstretched arm, which held back the drapes a crack. “What am I looking for?”

“What do you see?”

She leaned forward until her forehead touched the
windowpane. “Umm, a dark car across the street. A light car on this side of the street. Nobody out walking. Is that it?”

“The dark car. It arrived just as you got home and has been parked there ever since. No one exited it.”

She turned to look at him. “I don’t get it. Oh, do you think whoever is in that car followed me? I didn’t notice it or anyone for that matter.”

He grunted. “It means he’s good. So you don’t recognize the car?”

“No. I don’t think so. But it’s dark, even with that streetlight close by, and I can’t really see it that well from here.”

“It could be the police, but I somehow doubt it. There’s no reason for them to be following you.” Ness headed to the door. “You wait. I’m going to see who it is and what he wants.”

J.J. stared at the door from which Ness had just exited for less than a minute, and then she grabbed a sweater and her apartment keys and followed. She’d reached the front sidewalk when she saw Ness strolling along the sidewalk, then in a move she’d never thought him capable of at his age, dash around the car and yank open the driver’s door.

“Get out of that car and keep your hands where I can see them.” His voice was loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

J.J. went scurrying across the road as a dark-haired male exited the car. He had his hands up in front of him as he turned to face Ness. They were about eye level with each other, but the other guy was definitely younger. J.J. took him to be about her age.

“Just take it easy,” the stranger said. “I’m going to reach across with my left hand and remove my ID from inside my jacket. Okay?” He kept his movements slow and his eyes on
Ness as he pulled out and opened his wallet. He held it up for Ness to read.

“Says you’re a PI. How do I know that’s not fake?” Ness growled.

The stranger sighed. “Look. My name is Ty Devine. I’m fully registered as a private investigator in the state of Vermont. Take a closer look at it. Feel the damned logo. It’s raised.”

Ness did both, then grunted. “So what are you doing tailing J.J. Tanner?”

J.J. had inched up behind Ness as he was speaking. Without looking at her, he said, “I thought I told you to stay put.”

“I want to know, too. Answer the question, please.” She realized her voice was shaking and wished she hadn’t opened her mouth.

Devine looked from one to the other. “I’m looking into the Antonio Marcotti murder.”

J.J. gasped. “But why follow me?”

“Who’s your client?” Ness demanded. “And why follow her?”

“You know I can’t tell you my client’s name, but what I can tell you is I’ve been involved in this case before the murder. I was in the vicinity the night it happened, and I witnessed Ms. Tanner arguing with Marcotti, get into her vehicle, and leave. Marcotti was still alive at that point.”

“What? You saw that?” J.J. said, her voice much stronger and louder. “Why didn’t you tell the police? Then they’ll know I didn’t kill him.”

“I did tell the police. It just took me a day or so to do that. I needed to ensure certain things before doing that.” He leaned back against his car.

“In other words,” Ness said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “you had to make sure your client was okay with your sharing the fact that you were tailing Marcotti? What’s the problem? The wife think her husband was fooling around on her?”

J.J. shot a glance at Ness. “You got that out of what he just told you?”

“What else would it be? You didn’t confront Marcotti and kill him yourself, did you?”

Devine started laughing. “Good try. I left right after Ms. Tanner.”

“So, you were following her? Does the wife think J.J. here was the mistress?”

“What are you saying?” J.J. shrieked. “You’ve been following me for a while? You think I had something going on the side with the guy? Are you nuts?”

Ness shushed her, and she realized an older couple walking their schnauzer were suddenly scurrying faster to pass them.

“Let’s go inside and finish this conversation,” Ness suggested, looking pointedly at Devine.

Devine shrugged. “All right by me.” He locked his car and followed them up to Ness’s apartment.

Ness pointed to the living room. “Ness Harper’s the name. Do you want coffee?”