Mayhem at the Orient Express (11 page)

I restrained myself. But then, I wasn’t as interested in Kate’s woes as I was in Peter’s
living space. We were in the kitchen, a tiny room with a blue Formica counter, white
cabinets, and a blue and white floor made up of those one-foot-by-one-foot tiles that
anybody can stick down and install on their own.

Pretty basic.

Well, except for the cabinet that was ripped off the wall near the refrigerator and
the hole in the wall behind it.

I went over for a better look.

“What?” Kate was right behind me, peering over my shoulder, her question barely louder
than the chanting that floated up from the restaurant. “You’re looking at it like
it’s some big deal. Peter was remodeling, remember. He must have told you that. He
told everyone who came into the Orient Express how he was redoing the apartment. That’s
why he was always wearing a surgical mask. You know, because of the plaster dust.”

I made a noise she might have interpreted as agreement, then decided that, like it
or not, it was only fair to tell her what I was thinking. “If you were remodeling,
why would you take down just one cabinet?”

One hand to her cheek, Kate considered this for a moment while from below us, Chandra’s
voice rose and fell to the tempo of a guttural noise that sounded more like really
bad rap than actual singing. “It was damaged? He got a new refrigerator and it was
bigger than the old one and the cabinet wouldn’t fit? He decided to put up one of
those microwave shelves and didn’t have room so one cabinet had to go?”

All logical.

Still, the missing cabinet didn’t sit well with me.

Neither did the hole in the living room wall. Or the carpet that was ripped from the
floor in the bedroom.

“It doesn’t look like remodeling to me,” I said once we’d finished a turn around the
entire apartment and were back in the kitchen. “It looks more like demolition.”

“And it means . . .”

I didn’t have an answer. And even if I did, I had no idea how that answer might dovetail
with the details of Peter’s untimely demise. I did, however, know when it was time
to hightail it back downstairs. It was suddenly quiet down in the restaurant, and
I didn’t want to take the chance that Ted might go back in there now that the coast
was clear, spiritually speaking. As quietly as we’d gone upstairs, Kate and I snuck
back down. When I peeked into the restaurant, Ted was still nowhere to be seen. Chandra,
on the other hand, was lying on the floor.

“She’s grounding her energy,” Luella informed us. And with a straight face, too.

“So . . .” Done doing what she’d been doing, Chandra popped up. “Does everyone’s aura
feel better? And . . .” She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Any clues upstairs?”

So, in spite of the chanting and the burning—I waved a wisp of sweet-smelling smoke
away from my nose—she had been paying attention.

“Nothing interesting,” Kate answered for me.

Which was just as well. I wanted to have a good look around the restaurant before
Ted decided it was time to lock up and head out. I paced the area in front of the
counter, picturing everything that had happened on Sunday when I stopped in for lunch.
There was no sign of the threatening note on the counter where I’d put it when I picked
it up off the floor, but whether that meant the cops had found it and considered it
evidence, or Peter had disposed of it long before his death the next day, I couldn’t
say.

As for the rest of the Orient Express . . .

With Kate, Chandra, and Luella standing back and watching, I walked around the restaurant.
If there had been evidence left behind by the killer, the cops (of course) had it
in their possession. Which meant there was little to go by other than impressions.
And my imagination.

With that thought in mind, I stepped behind the counter and stood exactly where Peter
usually did when he greeted patrons. Just to the right of the cash register. Within
easy reach of the takeaway menus, the carry bags, and the free fortune cookies he
included with each order.

“This must have been where he was standing when he was attacked,” I commented, and
watched Kate’s face pale, Chandra’s blanch, and Luella give me a knowing nod. “He
was right here.” I glanced down at the floor. “And you saw exactly what I saw. It
didn’t look like there had been a struggle. Either Peter knew and trusted the person
who killed him, or someone came at him from behind. Someone he didn’t know was in
the building.”

I took another look around. The doorway that led out into the little hallway and the
stairway to the apartment was to my right. “If someone was upstairs . . .” In my mind,
I paced out the scene.

If Peter was standing where I was now and someone snuck down the stairs, he could
have easily been surprised.

“He spun around.” I did, just to keep the action straight in my head. “He was surprised.”
I stepped back like I imagined Peter had. “And the murderer—”

“Plunged that knife straight into his heart.” Leave it to Luella not to sugarcoat
the facts.

I drummed my fingers on the countertop and looked across the twelve feet or so that
separated the counter from the windows that looked out on the street. The other ladies
did the same, and saw exactly what I saw.

From this vantage point, I could clearly see the sidewalk and the four café tables
that Peter had already set up out there in anticipation of warm weather. Beyond the
waist-high wrought iron railing that separated the tables from the sidewalk was the
street, and across it was an empty storefront with a “For Lease” sign in the window.
To its right was a souvenir shop that wouldn’t open until the beginning of May, and
to its left, a place with a newly painted sign over the front door.

I read the bold, painted word. “Levi’s.”

Kate looked over her shoulder. “Levi Kozlov. He bought out that old bar. What was
the name of it, Chandra? The place that was owned by the old guy who died last year.”

“Last Drop Inn. That was it,” Chandra supplied the information. “It was kind of a
dive.”

I’d already walked around the counter and taken a couple steps toward the window,
my gaze on the bar. “Is the new place a dive, too?”

“The owner sure isn’t.” Kate’s voice shivered with laughter. “Levi Kozlov has already
got a reputation in town. Hot, hot, hot.”

Interesting.

But hardly helpful.

“Do you suppose Levi’s was open on Monday night?” I asked no one in particular.

I got shrugs for an answer, but that was pretty much what I expected, and it didn’t
matter, anyway. I’d already made up my mind. I told Ted we were leaving, pulled my
gloves out of my pocket, slapped my hat on my head, and headed across the street to
Levi’s.

11

T
he front door of Levi’s was unlocked, but except for the jar candles burning on the
bar and a few more that had been lit and scattered on tables around the room, the
place was dark and so cold I didn’t take off my gloves or my hat once we were inside.

“Open, huh?” Through the gloom, I looked around at the empty tables, the silent jukebox,
and the bar with no bartender. “Are you sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure.” Perfectly at home, Luella hopped up onto a barstool and banged a
fist on the bar. “Hey, Levi!” she called out. “You got customers.”

A second later, a door that led into a back room swung open, and Levi Kozlov walked
out carrying a case of beer.

Dark, remember, but that didn’t mean I didn’t catch the pertinent details: tall, blond,
broad shoulders. I didn’t notice the blue eyes until he slipped behind the bar, set
down the case of beer, and stepped closer. When it bounced from Luella, to Chandra,
to me, then Kate, his gaze was as bright as one of those candle flames and, yes, it
looked as if Kate was right on the money when she let slip the word
hot
. From the chipped-from-granite chin to the tiny scar just above his left eyebrow,
hot
was the right word.

I might actually have been impressed if
cocky
didn’t go along with the package.

“Now this makes it worthwhile staying open during the storm.” Levi’s voice matched
the whole tall-and-gorgeous bundle, deep with just a trace of huskiness. Like we just
woke him up. “Four beautiful women. What more could a guy ask for on a cold and blustery
morning!”

Maybe it was me. Or the cold. Or the fact that we’d just left the scene of a murder.
I was so not in the mood for
hey, look at me, girls
. I chafed my hands up and down my arms. “A little heat would be nice.”

“You . . .” At the same time Levi dragged a candle closer to where I was standing,
he leaned over the bar, the better to peer into my face. I could only imagine what
he saw, and what I imagined wasn’t pretty. My hat was pulled down all the way onto
my forehead, and my bangs were wedged behind my glasses and poked my eyes. When I
realized Chandra was hell-bent on heading out to the Orient Express that morning,
I’d scrambled to clean up the breakfast dishes and get ready, and I’d grabbed the
first scarf I could get my hands on. It was yellow and it didn’t looked particularly
good with my mouse gray parka, my green hat, or my navy mittens. I could feel the
frostbite setting in, so I didn’t need a mirror to know the tip of my nose was red.
I was afraid it might be running, too.

Levi stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, studying me carefully, and
for one panicked moment, I thought I saw something very much like recognition register
in his eyes. It passed in a heartbeat and a smile softened his chiseled expression,
the kind of smile a saintly person might turn on a particularly ugly mutt.

“You, I don’t know.” He stuck out his hand and I hesitated, but then, I anticipated
one of those too-warm handshakes guys sometimes give women: a little too long, a little
too intimate for first contact. Fortunately, I was wrong about that. His handshake
was quick and firm. Maybe my mittens were scratchy. “You must be new to the island.
Like me.”

“This is Bea.”

The introduction came from Chandra, who put both her hands on my shoulders and pushed
me forward with so much oomph, if there hadn’t been a bar between us, I imagined I
would have found myself with my nose pressed against Levi’s sculpted chest.

Not a bad visual.

No sooner did the thought occur than I gave myself a mental swift kick in the pants.
It’s not that I get all weak-kneed when it comes to gorgeous guys. Let’s face it,
New York is full of them, and I’d met—and handled—my share. It wasn’t the hunk himself
I was reluctant to get closer to; it was anything that even smacked of a relationship.
Of any kind. Especially when the male in question was studying me with interest and,
for the second time in as many minutes, I swore I saw his eyes light as if he knew
more about me than he let on.

Imagination, I told myself. A case of the nerves brought on by our stealthy visit
to Peter’s apartment. A momentary weakness I could—and would—conquer the way I’d always
bested the things that stood in my way: through grit and determination and talent.

Right after I excused myself and headed into the ladies’ room.

There was only one candle burning in there, and the water from the tap was icy. I
took care of my drippy nose and made my way back to the bar as quickly as I could,
eager to fool myself into believing that the company of other people might help warm
me. And I guess it was a good thing I did. I was just in time to hear Chandra fill
Levi in on the details of my life. Or at least on some version of it that existed
in Chandra’s scrambled brain.

“He was a lot older than her, you know. Marty Cartwright, that is. And poor Bea, she
was heartbroken when he died. Just heartbroken. In fact, I heard she could barely
get off the couch for months. But then, theirs was a passion that was doomed from
the start.”

I didn’t bother to let Chandra know I was right behind her. I’d always loved a good
story, and I was eager to see what she’d make of the one I’d told the ladies as we
sat around the fire the night of the murder. She didn’t disappoint me.

“He left her in pretty good shape. Oh, yes.” At the same time Chandra nodded like
a bobblehead, Levi glanced at me over her shoulder, apparently sizing up what he saw
against what he was hearing. Something in his eyes told me Chandra’s use of the word
passion
didn’t exactly tally with the woman swaddled in mouse gray standing before him.

“That B and B of hers is all refurbished and redecorated and she doesn’t have a care
in the world,” Chandra went on. “Not money-wise, anyway. But she is young and pretty,
and of course, she’s terribly lonely. She didn’t notice me watching her when she told
us the story, but I don’t miss a thing, remember. When she talked about Martin, there
was a certain wistfulness in her eyes. And she had such a bittersweet smile.”

She would have gone right on and, truth be told, I was kind of anxious to hear it.
Nothing hooks me like a juicy plot! Unfortunately, Luella threw me a sidelong glance,
and Chandra caught on. She spun around, but it came as no big surprise that she didn’t
spend any time at all looking guilty for gossiping about me.

“I was just telling Levi . . .” She grabbed my arm to pull me closer. “His lights
and heat are off, too, and he’s tried to stay open, but he just decided this morning
that he’s going to have to throw in the towel. He’s about to shut off the water so
the pipes don’t burst, and I was just telling him, he really shouldn’t stay upstairs
in his apartment because it must be freezing up there, too. He should come to the
B and B. We have plenty of room there.”

We
didn’t have anything. Including room at the B and B. What
I
did have were some questions I wanted answered, and I was willing to ignore Chandra’s
chatter—and the spark of amusement in Levi’s eyes—if it meant I could get to the bottom
of things.

With that thought in mind, I hopped up on a barstool and watched Levi uncork a bottle
of Riesling from the Wilder Winery. He poured it into glasses and passed them around,
and when he handed the last one to Kate, he stood near her at the end of the bar,
his elbow comfortably close to her hand.

In the dancing glow of the firelight, I realized how perfect they looked together.
Him with those Slavic good looks, one lock of golden hair drooping over his forehead,
the generous mouth, the strong chin. Kate, as usual, was all rosy and glossy, her
cheeks a pretty shade of pink and her eyes smiling their approval when she sipped,
then set down her glass. I wondered how long the two of them had been lovers.

Right before I told myself it was none of my business and I didn’t care, anyway.

“We were just talking,” I blurted out, eager to dispel the images that popped into
my head, “about the murder on Monday.”

The bar wasn’t the least bit dirty, but Levi grabbed a rag and swiped it all around.
“You and everybody else. That’s one of the reasons I stayed open during the storm.
When something like a murder happens in a close-knit town like this, people need a
place to gather and talk so they can try to make sense of it. You know, like a community
wake.”

It was a surprisingly insightful remark from a bartender. Or was it? Aren’t pithy
observations what bartenders are supposed to be all about?

“One of the reasons.” It was still before noon, but it had already been a long morning,
and hey, living through a drive with Chandra behind the wheel was definitely something
to celebrate. I sipped my wine. The Riesling was nice and crisp, and I tasted pears
and a hint of citrus. To show my appreciation, I raised my glass in Kate’s direction.
“You said giving people the opportunity to talk about the murder was one of the reasons
you stayed open. What was the other one?”

Levi had a glass of water on the back of the bar, and he reached for it, took a drink,
and set it back down. “The locals need someplace to gather,” he said. “Someplace they
can go for a change of scenery. You know, to relieve the cabin fever. I’ve actually
had a pretty good crowd in here since the storm started. Until this morning, that
is. Word must have gone around that my lights are finally out, too, and the heat’s
gone. I can’t even cook anything. Tell me”—his eyes gleamed—“do you think they were
coming in here just for the burgers? Because I kind of thought it was all on account
of my sparkling wit.”

Oh yes, as sure as I was sitting there, I was convinced that this little bit of gleaming
(not to mention the schmoozing) was designed to distract me from the topic of murder.
Truth be told, it almost did. But then, I’d always been a sucker for a guy with blue
eyes. Call me shallow. The broad shoulders didn’t hurt, either.

But hey, if I’d learned nothing else since my life in New York had turned upside down,
it was that I was the one in control.

Of my life.

Of my emotions.

And of this investigation.

As if the Universe was reminding me of exactly that, the mailman walked in the front
door, a pleasant man named Charles whom I’d met a couple times, but who, of course,
knew Luella, Chandra, and Kate well. He stopped to chat with them.

And I closed in on what I wanted to talk about in the first place.

Which, just for the record, had nothing to do with gleaming blue eyes.

“Did you have a pretty good crowd here on Monday night?” I asked.

It obviously wasn’t a question Levi expected from a woman with a recently drippy nose
and her hat pulled down to her eyes. His gaze snapped to mine and don’t think I didn’t
notice that his dreamy smile turned a little icy around the edges.

“Are you asking me if I saw anything the night of the murder?”

With one gloved finger, I traced an invisible pattern against the bar. “Yeah. I mean . . .”
I turned on the barstool so that I could look beyond where Charles and the ladies
were talking about the storm and see out the front window. “It’s a pretty straight
shot from here over to the Orient Express. If the lights were on over there—and they
must have been since Peter was still open for business and they were on when we arrived
after our book discussion group—and if you were behind the bar, standing where you
are now . . .” I wondered if he even picked up on my casual shrug, seeing as how it
was encased in layers of wooly clothing and topped off with a parka. “It seems to
me you would have seen exactly what was going on over there.”

It wasn’t my imagination; he hesitated. Just long enough to get his story straight
in his own head. “Too bad I didn’t, or I might be able to do something to help the
police. But you’re forgetting, it was snowing like a son of a gun, and that made visibility
practically nonexistent. Besides, I didn’t have a moment’s peace that night. From
dinnertime on, I was slammed.”