Death on a Platter (7 page)

On the bar side she could see the customers and staff watching the clock on the wall. The hands seemed to crawl around the neon-lit face. She felt Alyce shift in the hard booth behind her. Desmond stared at the wall. Lorena sat in a booth near her mother, nodding off. She must be exhausted from hauling those heavy trays around, Josie thought. Gemma Lynn was still weeping. She sounded like a whining puppy. Josie found her tears almost as annoying as her talking.

A uniformed officer went up and down the aisles. She was a stern-faced woman who reminded Josie of a hall monitor.

Tillie waved her hand tentatively. “Officer, is there any word on Clay Oreck?” she asked.

“Sorry, ma’am. I can’t say. All I know is he’s still at the hospital.”

The young blond poster cop burst through the door holding a stainless-steel mixing bowl in his gloved hands. He carried it back to Mullanphy. “Uh, Detective, I found this in the kitchen trash,” he said. “It’s got traces of a white substance in it and what looks like cooked ground meat.”

“Bag it,” the detective said.

White? And ground meat? That would be the ravioli filling, wouldn’t it? The white was probably horseradish. Did you put horseradish in the ravioli filling? Not for the first time, Josie wished she knew more about cooking.

But why would Tillie throw away a good mixing bowl?

“There’s more,” the young cop said. He held up a pair of yellow rubber gloves. “These were in the trash with the bowl. They look like they’ve been used, but I don’t see any holes.”

The gloves looked fine to Josie, too—at least from across the room. Tillie was watching her money. She wouldn’t throw them away. Unless she really was mixing up poison. Now Josie felt sick—and not from the greasy ravioli.

Tillie saw the gloves and the bowl.

“The gloves look like mine,” she said. “They must have been thrown away by accident. I didn’t use that metal bowl to make Clay’s sauce. I used a glass bowl. You can find it in the dishwasher. I turned it on when . . .”

She stopped. Tillie was upset, but she must have realized if she turned on the dishwasher, then she’d washed the evidence that could save her down the drain.

The afternoon crawled forward like a wounded animal. While Detective Mullanphy interviewed customers and staff, Josie had plenty of time to study the man. His face just missed being handsome. He had a strong jaw, thick brown hair, and a nose like a new potato. That lump of a nose didn’t belong on his square-cut face. She tried to focus on the interviews.

She heard Desmond confirm that Tillie wanted rid of Clay. He didn’t mention that she was one of the last holdouts for the casino deal and he was trying to buy her building.

Gemma Lynn wept and whined about her love for Clay. She might seem on the edge of hysteria, but she was calm enough to knife Tillie every chance she could to Detective Mullanphy.

Lorena told him she didn’t hear or see anything. “I was too busy running in and out of the kitchen and waiting on tables.”

After each person finished, they wrote and signed a statement in the back booth.

At 4:35, Alyce was called. Josie heard her mention that Chef Jeff wanted to be rehired by Tillie. She also said that Clay had complained the dipping sauce was too bland and demanded Tillie spice it up. Fifteen minutes later, Alyce was writing out her statement and it was Josie’s turn to talk.

“What is your relationship with the victim?” Detective Mullanphy asked.

“None,” Josie said. “This is my second time at Tillie’s. I was in a few days ago with my mother. Mom went to grade school with Tillie.”

“Why did you come back so soon? You don’t live in this area. You told me you live in Maplewood. That’s a long way to drive for toasted ravioli.”

Good question, Josie thought. She was not going to mention the TAG Tours. “I wanted my friend Alyce to try Tillie’s ravioli. It’s famous, and Alyce lives way out in the burbs. She never comes to River Bluff and the nanny could watch her little boy today.”

She held her breath, hoping Alyce had given a similar answer. She studied the detective’s face for some reaction. Nothing. The man would make a good poker player.

“How did the victim behave?” he asked.

“Clay seemed pretty drunk,” Josie said. “Tillie quit serving him beer. Chef Jeff asked Tillie if he could work lunches for her, but she refused. She implied that he’d been helping himself to twenty or thirty dollars every time he worked. He said he needed a job now to keep his new restaurant going.”

No reaction from Detective Mullanphy again. But at least he’d heard about Jeff’s treachery from two sources.

“Chef Jeff seemed angry when Tillie refused to rehire him. That’s when he slipped Clay some of his beer.”

She repeated the whole saga—including Tillie’s threat to make Clay leave permanently. She figured it couldn’t do Tillie any more harm. The detective had already heard it.

When the detective finished with his questions, Josie sat in the corner booth to write her statement while Alyce waited. A subdued Tillie was called in next for an interview. It was just after five o’clock.

Officer Harris, the African-American with the weary eyes, was at the door. “Detective, may I see you a moment? There’s a message for you.”

Tillie sat unmoving at the interview table. All traces of her attitude were gone. Josie thought she looked older than her seventy-six years. Her eyes were sunken. The skin along her jawline hung in loose folds. Her back was bent.

Josie could hear the detective and Officer Harris whispering outside the door. The detective seemed more subdued when he returned.

“Mrs. Minnelli, Mr. Clay Oreck is gravely ill.”

“I know pepper juice can blister—” Tillie said.

“This isn’t damage from pepper juice. The man has been poisoned. He’s vomiting. He has severe abdominal pain and convulsions. His kidneys are shutting down. You used that hot pepper to disguise the taste of poison.”

“No!” Tillie said.

“Tell us what kind of poison you used, Mrs. Minnelli, and the doctors may have a chance to save him.”

“I can’t,” Tillie said. She looked desperate. “I would if I could, but I don’t know. I don’t keep any poison in my kitchen, not even rat poison.”

“If he dies,” the detective said, “it’s murder.”

When Josie got home at seven o’clock that night, she felt like she’d been doing hard labor. Why did her back and shoulders ache? How could she be so tired? All she’d done was sit in a restaurant booth.

And watch a man collapse and nearly die. And wait to be questioned by the police. Each tense minute had ticked by, while Josie wondered if the detective would discover the real reason she was at the restaurant. If he found out Josie was mystery-shopping for TAG Tours, she would have handed the police Tillie’s motive on a platter.

After Josie had been interviewed by the police, she’d face another tough interrogator—her mother. Jane knew her daughter well. Josie had called her mother from her cell phone in the car. Her mother could tell that Josie was trying to downplay the seriousness of the situation. Talking to Jane had been an ordeal. Josie wanted to leave the neighborhood and so did Alyce, but she wouldn’t try to drive while delivering this news to her mother.

Alyce eyed the deserted street uneasily, while Josie tried to calm Jane. Her mother was upset that Tillie had lost out on a TAG Tour. “She’s worked all her life, Josie, and now it’s gone,” she kept repeating.

“Maybe not, Mom. Clay is still alive.”

“If he dies, she could lose her restaurant,” Jane said. “She could be arrested for—what’s that thing when you didn’t mean to kill someone but you do anyway?”

“Manslaughter,” Josie said.

“I’m going to call her right now,” Jane said. “She needs my support.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Josie said. “Did you call Ted and tell him I couldn’t go out to dinner with him tonight?”

“I did as I was told. Now you tell me: Is something wrong between you two?” Jane didn’t bother hiding her alarm. She wanted Ted to be her son-in-law.

“No, Mom, I’m just wrung out. I wouldn’t be good company. I want to go to bed early.”

“You’re too young to feel like that, Josie. I worry about you driving in rush hour traffic if you’re that tired.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. I have to take Alyce home first. I’ll call you after I get to her house, then come straight home.”

“Well, then,” Jane said, “get off the phone. You can’t drive right if you’re talking to me.”

Josie hung up and started laughing. She loved her tough little mom, every irrational ounce of her. She started the car and told Alyce, “I hope Ted won’t be upset because I’ve canceled our dinner date.”

“He’s too good a guy not to understand, Josie. Are you really that tired?”

“Tired and bedraggled. Besides, I don’t want to sit in another restaurant after spending all afternoon at Tillie’s. I’m looking forward to a soothing hot shower, a bowl of soup, and an early bedtime.”

“You are?” Alyce asked.

“I sound one step away from the nursing home, don’t I?” Josie said.

“A hot man is no match for hot soup,” Alyce said. “But I don’t feel much perkier.”

“At least you have the excuse of an active toddler and a dog,” Josie said.

“Bruiser is active, all right,” Alyce said. “But that little dog runs around so much he helps tire out Justin. Bruiser does me a favor. I never thought I’d own a Chihuahua, but he’s a good addition to our family.”

The two women waved to the guard at the entrance to the Estates at Wood Winds and Josie drove into Alyce’s subdivision. They passed an Italian palace, a French château, and a Victorian Gothic horror. Alyce lived in a Tudor mansion with a half-timbered garage.

“Do you want to come in?” Alyce asked.

“I’d better get home,” Josie said. “I’ll call Mom from the driveway.”

She waved to her friend as she speed-dialed her mother.

“I’ll expect you home in twenty minutes,” Jane said. “The sooner you get here, the sooner I can spend time with Tillie. She needs me.”

Jane’s two-story flat looked good in the gathering dusk. The red brick was mellowed with age. Jane had brightened the front porch with pots of fat bronze mums. Josie parked her car in front, then walked quickly to the house, crunching the fall leaves. She took childish delight in stomping dinner-plate-sized sycamore leaves and the bright maple leaves that gave her town its name.

Josie sniffed the evening breeze. The air smelled like . . . steak.

Steak?

She inhaled again. Definitely steak. The rich aroma of broiling meat came from her home. Josie unlocked the front door and caught the scent of steak with top notes of baked potato. Where did Amelia get money for steak? Maybe Jane had decided to surprise Josie.

The surprise was waiting in Josie’s living room. Ted folded her into his arms. The vet was so tall her head only reached his chest. He bent down to kiss her and Josie felt his slightly scratchy beard. Ted had a sexy five o’clock shadow.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Mom was going to cancel our date.”

“She did,” he said. “I figured you’d be too tired to go to dinner, but you’d like some good food. You were planning to open a can of soup, weren’t you?”

“Am I that predictable?” Josie asked.

“Yep. You need something heartier. The filet mignon will be ready shortly. The baked potatoes are done. I made green beans with slivered almonds, but you don’t have to eat them. You don’t like vegetables.”

“I love almonds,” Josie said, kissing him again. “And I love you for thinking about me.”

“I figured you wouldn’t be in the mood for Italian food after spending all day at Tillie’s,” Ted said.

“You figured right,” Josie said.

She saw Amelia in the kitchen, setting the table. “I made brownies for dessert, Mom.”

“This is too good to be true,” Josie said.

That’s when the cat made a flying leap onto the table and started lapping coffee cream from a fat pitcher.

“Harry!” Amelia cried. “You know better.”

“Time-out for the cat,” Josie said. “Harry is confined to your bathroom until after dinner.”

Amelia didn’t argue. She picked up the feline and carried him down the hall to her purple bathroom. Harry’s big ears drooped. He knew he was in disgrace. Amelia dropped him in the bathroom and shut the door.

Josie dumped the cream down the drain, washed the pitcher and refilled it.

“Maybe you’d like to wash up before dinner,” Jane said. “Does she have time, Ted?”

“Dinner will be on the table by the time you’re ready,” he said.

Now that Ted was here, Josie felt suddenly energized. She could see why her mother sent her to freshen up. She washed her face, put on fresh lipstick, then combed her brown hair. Her bob still had bounce. There. That looked better. She’d finished buttoning a clean white blouse when she heard Jane knock on the back door. Ted must have opened it. She hurried out and saw Jane carrying her new red purse and wearing a matching raincoat and red-and-blue scarf.

“You look nice in that color,” Ted told her.

“Thank you.” Jane flushed at the compliment. “I wanted to tell Josie I’m leaving now to be with Tillie. She’s a wreck and that daughter of hers is no help.”

“Any word on how Clay is doing?” Josie asked. “That’s the man who got sick, Ted.”

“Ted knows,” Jane said. “I already told him. Clay is not well, from what Tillie said. His symptoms are too disgusting to mention at dinnertime, but his system seems to be shutting down.”

“How does Tillie know this?” Josie said.

“After more than fifty years in the restaurant business, Tillie has friends everywhere, including the hospital ER.”

Apparently patient confidentiality crumbled before toasted ravioli, Josie thought.

“I’m worried, Josie. I think she’s in serious trouble. The police told Tillie not to leave town, like in the movies. What do they think she’ll do—escape to Brazil? She’s seventy-six years old. She’s lived in St. Louis all her life. She has a successful business here. I just hope her restaurant survives this.”