5 Windy City Hunter (7 page)

“Andy said Martha was down here in the lobby wringing her hands right before the police arrived,” he said. “She was muttering it was all her fault, but Andy didn’t know what she was talking about. When he tried to ask her about it today, she turned on him and said he was making things up and trying to accuse her.”

Darby entered the building and looked at the three of us with our solemn faces. “Su-san,” he said. He enunciated both syllables with his voice going higher on the last one. He clearly said my name in a reprimanding tone.

“We’re not talking about anything, Darby,” I said tying to defend myself. “Emma was filling me in on what a good looking man your uncle is.”

He looked at Emma, and she promptly blushed. I wasn’t sure if he believed me.

“Ok, you kids,” Terry said slapping his hand on the counter. “I know you’re going over to the Wilder Hotel tonight, so you’ll see Benny later on, but I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good time and stay safe.”

In the elevator, I looked at Darby and said, “See, he knows where we’re going tonight. He must have Santa Claus powers.”

Darby laughed and said, “They have our agenda at the desk. It’s no secret where we’ll be for the next two days.”

I yawned. It wasn’t even 5:00, and I was yawning. I couldn’t wait to get into Uncle Jack’s bed for a nap.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” I said to Darby. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. It was as though I was thinking the thought, and it came out of my mouth simultaneously. He didn’t respond, but a frown crossed his face. “We were talking about the murder. But nobody knows anything. Terry and Emma were telling me about Martha and her -”

“Susan!” Darby snapped, cutting me off. He turned to face me and said, “Thank you for telling me the truth, but I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to know anything about any of it. We are not getting involved. You are not finding out anything, even if it’s just gossip. When someone talks about Mrs. Fisher, you have to excuse yourself. Ok?”

“Yes,” I said in a small voice.

I knew he was one hundred percent right, and I didn’t know why I couldn’t let this go. It seemed so big and right under my nose. It wasn’t like Darby to not go along with me when I wanted to find something out, but now that I was married, I knew he felt a responsibility to Mick to keep me safe and out of trouble, so he was shutting me down at every turn. There was also the cooking competition to think about.

The elevator doors opened, and I felt like I was walking in molasses to the condo door. I yawned loudly. My nap couldn’t come fast enough.

I woke at 6:30. The room was dark. I leaned over to the nightstand and switched on the lamp. I snuggled back into the pillows for a few minutes to allow the grogginess of the nap to pass.

There was plenty of time to get ready before heading over to the hotel for the reception. I missed being away from him, but I couldn’t be too melancholy when he was enjoying much-needed time with his parents and with Alex. They would be home next Friday, and we would have plenty of time for parties and fun with friends. This would be our first Christmas together. I smiled and came fully awake at the thought of the festivities to come.

I sat up at the edge of the bed for a few moments before sliding my feet into my slippers and heading out to the kitchen for something to drink. The food at Ditka’s had left me with a big thirst.

The condo was quiet and darkened with the exception of the Christmas tree. The overhead lighting had been turned down to just a glimmer of light, while the tree with its white twinkly lights dominated the room. Darby was sitting in the chair with his head turned. He appeared to be deep in thought as he stared out the window onto the evening winter scene.

“Hi,” I said to him. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

He didn’t speak right away, and I could tell his countenance was subdued. “I wanted to think for a while,” he said.

“About what?” I asked. “Are you worried about the cooking contest? It’s going to go just fine, you know. I have such a good feeling about it, and I think you could win.”

He smiled a half-hearted smile. “No. I’m not worried about the contest at all,” he said. “I have some other things on my mind, but nothing I want to talk about.”

Something was wrong, but I had no idea what it was. What could have happened in the last hour and a half? Did he have a fight with Nate? I didn’t want to pry. I looked around the room to see if there was anything to give me a clue, but there was nothing. Glancing at the door brought back the memory of hearing the door handle and seeing the man in the middle of the night.

“Darby, I forgot to tell you what I saw last night,” I said.

The slight excitement in my voice gave me away, and he promptly responded, “If it has anything to do with Mrs. Fisher, I don’t care if you saw a circus act come parading through our condo last night. I don’t want to know about it.”

I sighed and nodded my head. He was serious, and this wasn’t the time to press the issue

“One more word about Mrs. Fisher,” he said, “and I’m putting you on a bus home. I can bake a cake without you, Susan. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.”

I was devastated. Darby had never ever spoken to me like this. He had been upset and yelled at me before, but this was cold and bordered on mean. Tears rushed to my eyes, but in the dimmed room, I don’t know if he noticed them.

“Go on,” he said. “Go get ready. I’ll use the bathroom when you’re done.”

I didn’t say anything. I rushed out of the room and into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Tears poured down my cheeks. This was supposed to be a fun weekend, but it was turning ugly. First the murder, then the things I’d seen, and now Darby was shutting me out and being mean. I had no one to talk to about any of it.

My hormones took over and ran with the tears. Soon, I was sobbing. I gathered up my clothes for the evening. I opened the bedroom door and saw Darby standing in the living room. The sobs and the noise increased. As I walked into the bathroom, I heard him say, “Susan, please.”

I ignored him and shut the door behind me. In the shower, the tears kept coming. Yes, he had hurt my feelings, but not enough to make me cry this hard. I couldn’t stop the tears, so I allowed them to flow. By the time I was out of the shower and dried off, I felt better. It was as though I had cried out every bit of stress that was in my body.

Twenty minutes later, I was wearing a new outfit I had bought for the Christmas season. It was a long-sleeve, deep maroon, shift dress with scarlet bands of color at the bottom and at the neckline. Slit pockets on the sides made it perfect for a reception when you sometimes didn’t know what to do with your hands.

I tugged black tights on beneath the short dress followed by knee-high, black suede boots. Looking in the mirror, I felt pretty, and my face showed no sign of the flood of tears I had just shed.

As I came out of the bathroom, Darby came out of his bedroom. He was still subdued, but the look on his face was much softer now.

“Susan, honey, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. You do understand why I think we shouldn’t say another word about Mrs. Fisher, don’t you?” He was pleading now.

“I do,” I said. “And I’m fine. Really. It was the hormones. Just like the laughing, I couldn’t stop the crying, so I just let it go. We’re good. Honest.”

“You’re killing me with these moods you know,” he said.

I thought I sensed a snappishness to his voice. Tears welled up in my eyes. He hung his head as I went into my bedroom and closed the door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Barbie! Ken! So good of you to come!”

I looked behind us, but as no one else was looking at the tall, lanky stranger coming our way, I could only assume he was talking to me and Darby … and I couldn’t have been more surprised to see him.

He had to be the same guy I saw at the Quickie Foods gas station on the south side of the city yesterday. His features were similar and he had the same dark hair. He was wearing a black and white checkered vest, and on his feet were black tennis shoes with pink laces. There couldn’t possibly be two men of the same build who wore black shoes with pink shoelaces.

A wave of dread came over me. First Wes from the gas station and now this guy. It was too weird and too much of a coincidence. This was something I would normally talk with Darby about, but I knew if I tried, he would send me home.

Darby laughed and stuck his hand out to return the offered handshake. “Hi, I’m Darby Tapley,” he said. “Number seventy-nine.”

“Craig Nettles,” the other guy responded. “Number eighty-one. I guess I’ll be across from you tomorrow.”

This was weirder still that out of one hundred contestants, he would be cooking so close to us. Darby and I had been on the lookout for our neighboring contestants, and this would put Craig on the station across from us and one over to the left.

“Susan Hunter,” Craig said slowly as he leaned in to look at my name tag. “Nice to meet you,” he said as he stuck his hand out for a handshake with me.

“Actually, it’s Susan Raines,” I said as I shook his hand. I turned to Darby and asked, “Why does everyone think my name is Susan Hunter? It happened at the condo, and my name tag is wrong here, too.”

“Well, it should say Barbie,” Craig said again with another laugh. “And yours should say Ken,” he said to Darby. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen two prettier people together. You look like giant dolls.”

I didn’t know if he was simply friendly and a funny guy, or if he was mildly insulting us, but Darby was laughing. He and I always did make a nice-looking couple when we were together. Not as great as Mick’s dark looks next to my fair ones, but Darby and I could almost pass for brother and sister, and he did look pretty great tonight. His hair was tousled to perfection, and the bright lighting of the room made his steel blue eyes sparkle more than usual. He was wearing black jeans and a deep scarlet sweater paired with a black, collared shirt underneath. We matched well, and Craig seemed to think the Barbie and Ken angle was funny.

We had already said hello to easily more than fifty people. There was a wonderful mix of contestants and assistants. We had met a 22-year-old girl who was making a pot roast pot pie, and an 80-year-old man who was making a shrimp, bacon, and cheese appetizer. Everyone was excited, and the reception felt like a holiday party.

We had been on our way to the hors d'oeuvres tables for a second round of scrumptious food, created by some of the finest chefs in Chicago, when Craig stopped us.

Darby turned to me and said, “I don’t think Uncle Jack knows you’re married. I don’t talk to him very often, and I don’t know if it ever came up, so when he gave Terry our names, he must have given yours as Susan Hunter. And I probably made a mistake on my entry form for the contest. I know it’s been almost a year, but it’s such a habit to write Susan Hunter, I must have written it that way on the form. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a problem,” I told him with a smile. “I was just surprised to hear it and see it on this trip.”

“Where are you two from?” Craig asked.

“Northeast Ohio,” Darby said. “And you?”

“Right here in the Windy City,” he said. “I love these cooking contests, and I enter them all over the state. I actually enter a lot of different kinds of contests. There’s good money to be made.”

Craig was right about that. Darby had an opportunity to win $10,000 in his category, and $100,000 if his cake was deemed the Grand Prize Winner overall.

“Do you enter contests for a living?” I asked.

“Just about,” he replied. “I’m a starving artist. I paint for a living, but I enter sweepstakes and contests all the time, and I’ve been able to supplement my income with them. When I win prizes that aren’t money, I sell them on Craigslist or eBay.”

“What kind of painting do you do?” Darby asked.

“I call it Nettling,” he said with a huge smile. “It’s a new style with oils that I developed myself, so I named it. Think pointillism, but with a tiny stroke or swirl rather than a point.” He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to me. “I have my first show Sunday evening at the Shaw Gallery over on Rush Street. You guys should come. I’ll leave your names at the front desk, and,” he looked directly at me before saying, “I’ll be sure to have your name listed as Susan Raines.”

He was really quite likable, and I had to smile.

“Thank you,” I told him. “We could probably do that, don’t you think?” I asked Darby. “We’re not scheduled to fly out until Monday morning, and this will give us something to do Sunday night after sightseeing during the day.”

Darby was nodding his head and smiling. “I think that’s a great idea,” he said.

“Super,” Craig said with a big grin. “I’ll be sure to add you to the list of my guests, and if you see something you like, everything will be for sale.” He paused and looked around. “Hey, were you headed for the food? I’m a starving artist, and I plan on filling up here. Shall we?”

He didn’t have to ask twice, and we made our way to the tables of food. We were in the same hall where the cooking contest would be held, but we were at the opposite end. The stations were visible, but the track lighting above them was turned off, and it was obvious the area wasn’t intended for use this evening.