Crushed Velvet (15 page)

“You already know Phil wasn't poisoned with her tea.”

“He wasn't. He was suffocated.”

“With the fabric?” I leaned forward. “Did you find the death mask?”

“No, not with your fabric. Phil Girard was suffocated with a fistful of croissants.”

“How long have
you known this?” I asked.

“I can't see how that's any of your business.”

“The crumbs on the floor by Phil's hand? They were croissant crumbs? You knew all along that the tea had nothing to do with his murder.”

“Shocking, I know, that I wouldn't share important information regarding a murder investigation with you,” he said. He pressed a button on his phone and turned his back to me. I heard him identify himself and request help. He recited my address and added “the old fabric store on Bonita.” I felt heat crawl up the back of my neck. My fists balled up and released twice.

“Pretty soon it's going to be the
new
fabric store on Bonita,” I said under my breath.

I felt Charlie's hand on my upper arm. “If you want to keep helping Frenchy, you two are going to have to learn to play
nice in the sandbox,” she whispered. “Come on, Sheriff. I'll walk you downstairs.” She looked at me. “Poly needs to change the litter.” She led Clark downstairs. I shut the door behind them and put on the chain lock, even though I expected Charlie to come back.

Charlie hadn't been kidding about the litter box. I scooped it clean, bagged the refuse, and knotted it shut. When I unlocked the door and went downstairs, I found Charlie and Clark standing by the wrap stand. He said something to her, turned to look at me, and left out the back.

“You're not doing Frenchy any favors by getting him angry,” she said.

“Since when are you the poster child for peace and togetherness?”

“You've had a positive influence on me. Now listen. Frenchy doesn't trust me, but she trusts you. You have to tell her what's going on. Whoever killed her husband wants it to look like she did it.”

“I know that. I also know she's been her own worst enemy when it comes to the evidence.”

We walked to the area of the store set up with rows of tables and chairs for a future sewing class. Charlie dropped into a chair in the back row, and I leaned against the cutting table behind her. I told Charlie about Genevieve going to Los Angeles to surprise her husband, discovering him in anticipation of someone else, and the paper trail she'd left that put her at the scene of the crime.

“Frenchy's in some deep
merde
,” Charlie said.

“The sheriff has a laser-sharp focus on Genevieve right now. He's not even considering any of the other people who could have done it. I could do a lot better proving her innocence if he'd tell me about his evidence up front.”

“How's the view up there in Fantasyland?”

“I'm missing something; I know it.”

She leaned back in the chair and tucked her hands behind her head. “Who else do you like for the murder?”

“So far, I see a couple people who are acting suspicious.”

“Walk me through your theories.”

I moved into the chair next to Charlie and leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “Phil went to Los Angeles to pick up produce for Genevieve and velvet for me. There's no proof of either of those jobs. He asked me to pay him in cash.”

“That's not all that suspicious. He wanted to make a little money under the table. That's just good business. “

“That's what Rick said. Something about a cash deal under the table being the type you don't turn down. Do you do jobs like that?”

She held up her hands in front of her. “My tax advisor recommended I don't answer questions like that. Better for all parties involved.”

“Okay, back to Phil. He goes to Los Angeles a day early. Genevieve wants to surprise him but she finds him all primed and ready for a romantic interlude, which is weird because the woman he's having an affair with was in San Ladrón.”

“We know this?”

“We know this. Apparently Babs kept the staff at the Villamere late because she was afraid to leave. One of the ushers drove her home. The next morning she took a taxi to the Villamere to get her car but the manager wouldn't let her drive because she was still drunk. She slept in her dressing room until she was sober.”

“What was she afraid of?”

“According to the usher, she was having an affair with a married man and she was afraid of the wife.”

“That's not good. What else do we know?”

“Genevieve and Phil had a fight on Sunday afternoon. Loud enough for several witnesses to catch on—including the man who's trying to buy out her tea recipe—and she
stormed out. At that point, everything we know is hearsay. That Monday morning, Phil decided not to come home on time, then he called another driver and asked him to make the delivery. Except—”

“You have that ‘aha' look in your eyes.”

“If Rick drove Phil's van back here, how did he get there? He either left his car in Los Angeles, which is crazy because there's nowhere to park, or he had a partner. He said the truck was packed and locked. He said Phil told him he was staying in LA. And remember when I first tried to track him down? His trucking company was completely fake. Clark should be on him like white on rice. Why isn't he? There was a dead man in the back of the truck he drove. He's the one who says Phil hired him to pick up the fabric and Genevieve's shopping list.”

“Genevieve's shopping list,” Charlie repeated. She sat up and leaned forward. “What exactly was on that shopping list? Have you looked at it?”

“No, but she said she didn't need much. And the first day I went to Tea Totalers, Kim said there were crates of produce stacked up outside when she got there. She put the stuff away, but it was all in the wrong place. And she's the one who threw out the tea, too. She said she thought it had gone bad. Don't you think that's suspicious?”

“Maybe she was trying to be helpful.”

“I don't think so. She showed up when Genevieve wasn't there. She doesn't seem to know a thing about working in a tea shop. What if someone planted her there? Like the Italian Scallion. Maybe he has her working on the inside to steal Genevieve's recipe?”

“Tell me more about him.”

“His name is Topo di Sali. He showed up at Tea Totalers the morning I started working on the fabric renovation. He wants to buy Genevieve's proprietary tea recipe and distribute it to grocery stores up and down the coast. So far she's turned him down, but I think she's starting to consider his offer.”

“You said he was at the tea shop when Genevieve and Phil fought?”

“That's what she said. He showed up on Tuesday, too. I get the feeling he's persistent.”

“‘
Italian
Scallion?' Why's he so hot for Frenchy's stuff?”

“I asked that, too. He said he was branching out. Something about not limiting his options. He knows about her money problems. I don't know how. And his take is half of the profits. He said Genevieve doesn't even have to make the tea. He'll package something and slap her logo on it.”

“We can't let Frenchy agree to something like that. Have you seen him since Tuesday?”

“He said he was heading to San Francisco. Seems like an awfully suspicious time to skip town.”

“Yes and no. Maybe you're right about that Kim girl working for him. She could be reporting in to him in code, you know, pretending to give di Sali Tomato the weather report.”

“She could be. She was at Tea Totalers on Monday. When I told her Genevieve wasn't going to be opening the shop and suggested she find another job, she was very adamant that people were expecting her to be working at that particular restaurant. And she dropped something when she left. It was a notice from her parole officer.”

“You read it?”

“I didn't mean to. It fell open and I couldn't help myself. I put it in the office so she could get it the next day.”

“Is it still there?”

“No. She took it.”

“That's too bad.” Charlie twisted a thick silver ring around her left index finger. “Parole officer, you said. Not probation officer?”

“That's right. Why?”

“I don't know how much you know about the law, but she wouldn't have a parole officer unless she was on parole.”

“Gee, thanks for thinking I couldn't figure that out on my own,” I said.

“That's not what I'm saying. If she wasn't charged with anything, she'd have a probation officer. If it was a
parole
officer, then she's already been convicted of something. Too bad you didn't keep the piece of paper. If we knew who her parole officer was, we might be able to find out what she did.”

I chewed my lower lip and stared at the toe of my boot. “I may have taken a picture of the document.” Slowly, I brought my eyes up to meet Charlie's. She was staring at me with openmouthed surprise. “What? Genevieve's innocent and somebody has to help her.”

“Fo shizzle,” she said.

I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and flipped through my photos until I reached the one with the document. I handed it to Charlie, who used her fingertips to manipulate the screen of the phone until the image was large enough to read.

“It doesn't say much,” she said. “There's an appointment listed and a courthouse. The name of the officer is handwritten and it's hard to read. Is that Medoza? Menendez? Is that even an
M
? Or is it an
N
?” She moved the image around on the phone with her fingertips some more, and then handed the phone back to me.

“I don't know. I wish it said what she did.”

“They keep that information in her file. Do you know how old she is? Is she a minor or an adult?”

“She talked about college, so I'm pretty sure she's an adult. Another weird thing is that the first day I was there, she acted like she'd never met Genevieve. She said she answered an ad on Craigslist.”

“Sounds suspicious. I'd keep an eye on her.”

“I plan to, at least until I can find out more. What could she mean when she says people are expecting her to be working at Tea Totalers? If she's so interested in restaurant
experience, she's not going to get it by helping with a renovation of the interior.”

“What kind of experience does she want?”

“She said she wants to open her own restaurant someday.”

“Well, Frenchy's place fits the bill, but she's not the only game in town,” Charlie said. “There's The Earl of Sandwich, Antonio's Ristorante, The Broadside Tavern—”

“And there's Lopez Donuts,” I said slowly. “I'll talk to Big Joe. If she wants experience, she'll get it there. But if what she really wants is to keep an eye on Genevieve's shop, she won't like it when I tell her I made other arrangements for her.”

“What makes you think the Lopez's are going to make room for this Kim character in their operation? Between Maria's four sisters, Big Joe, and the two boys, I think they have plenty of help.”

“Sure, but Maria and her sisters don't normally work at the donut shop. They run Neato Cleaning Service. This would help her out with an extra set of hands, and there's no risk: as soon as things are cleared up at Tea Totalers, Genevieve's going to want Kim back. If Kim's innocent, then she'll go with Gen.”

“And if she's guilty, she can work in the prison cafeteria.”

“Exactly. Now it's up to me to convince Maria.”

“Don't you mean, convince Big Joe?”

I rolled my eyes at Charlie. “I'll start with Big Joe, but we both know who wears the pants in that family.”

Charlie grinned. “Are you heading that way now? Trying to get there ahead of Clark?”

“No, I think it's better to let Clark do his job. Maria's going to tell him whatever she sees fit.” I checked the time on my cell phone. “I didn't realize how late it is. Kim's probably already at Tea Totalers. Can you lock the place up?”

“Sure.”

I was halfway to the back door when Charlie called out behind me. “Yo—Polyester! If you run into Frenchy, tell her I have more paperwork for her to file.”

The familiar “I know something you don't” expression that usually defined Charlie's features was gone, and in its place was a look of concern and caring. I sensed she was hurt that Genevieve hadn't trusted her, but I knew Genevieve had done what she thought she had to do.

“If I see her, I'll give her the message.” I smiled and left.

Kim wasn't at Tea Totalers when I arrived, but Vaughn was. He didn't see me at first. His back was turned to me, and he was standing over a table saw, cutting rectangles of wood. He wore a navy blue chamois shirt, khaki trousers, and white Stan Smiths. His hands were protected with work gloves, his face with clear plastic safety glasses like Kim had worn days before.

Not wanting to surprise him while he was operating a fairly sizeable power tool, I waited until he moved the saw to the upright position and turned it off before making my presence known.

“Good morning,” I called out.

He turned around and lifted the glasses from his head. “‘Good afternoon' is more like it. I wasn't sure if I'd be seeing you today.” He set the glasses on the table and dusted a film of wood pulp from the front of his shirt. “Did you work everything out with your boss?” he asked.

I was confused for a second, until I remembered how much had happened since Vaughn had helped me get Giovanni up the stairs. He didn't know details about the attack, or that Clark knew that Phil had been suffocated with croissants, or that Genevieve had been at my place but wasn't anymore.

“Things got complicated,” I said. “I honestly don't know if it's all going to work out.”

“That's too bad. He seemed like a good guy.” We looked at each other for a few seconds, then at the same time we both said, “No, he didn't,” and laughed.

“What are you working on?” I asked, hoping he wouldn't
think too harshly of me for changing the subject in such a blatant manner.

“Serving trays,” he said. He laid a rectangle of wood on the right-hand side of the saw and set smaller blocks of wood along the short and long edges of the rectangle. The shorter pieces of wood had oval-shaped openings cut into them already—handles for easy carrying. “I thought you could use pieces of fabric from the interior to line these so they'd coordinate with everything else.”