Hot Stuff Page 13

  Em didn’t laugh. She didn’t even pause. “I have information on the dishwasher and Vanderfield. Both of them have somewhat of a checkered past.”

  I had thought the same thing about the sous chef victim. Amanda. Definitely a checkered past.

  “And?”

  She was silent for a moment. A moment turned into sixty seconds.

  “Em?”

  “Skip, Ted has been pushing it a little bit.”

  I wasn’t ready to hear this. Ted. I hadn’t mentioned him. I had dreaded bringing it up, and here she was, volunteering information.

  “He’s called several times, and I’ve tried to keep it all business. We’ve had coffee, you know? But he wants it to be a little more friendly. He picked me up and took me to the lab. I couldn’t lie to you about that. You knew it right away. And, Skip, I’m not sure how to deal with it.”

  “What about you? Do I even want to know how you feel?” She knew how I felt. There was no question. “Are you encouraging this guy? For God’s sake, Em, help me out here.”

  “I’m flattered, Skip. Come on, you’ve met him. He’s an attractive guy. Maybe a little old for me, but—”

  “He does nothing for me, Em. Sorry.”

  In the silence that followed I remembered she had said “but.”

  “But what?”

  She sighed. “By my staying close, he’s sharing things with me about the case. Things he probably shouldn’t be sharing.”

  “What’s close, Em?”

  “Not that close, okay? God, you’re sounding like a sixteen-year-old high school boy.”

  “So what’s he sharing with this closeness?”

  “One thing he shared, someone has called the coroner’s office several times asking if they’ve released the autopsy report yet.”

  “So?”

  “I’m not sure of the significance,” she said. “Ted just said it’s unusual that an anonymous caller would make multiple contacts.”

  “Have they done the autopsy?”

  “They have, but the results are still kept under wraps.”

  “So there might have been more than just a stabbing? That’s what they’re going for, right? That there might be another cause of death?”

  “I don’t know, Skip, but it might be important. And I don’t know if you heard, but they printed the staff last night.” Kelly had mentioned it. If I hadn’t talked to her, I wouldn’t have even known.

  “They already have our prints. So what’s this privileged information?”

  “There seems to be at least one other set of prints on the knife.”

  “Whose?” This could be the key to the investigation. Marty, Vanderfield, or Castro? Whoever had left it in James’s locker could be the one who stabbed Amanda. But I was certain the case was much more complicated than that.

  “They didn’t match anyone on staff.”

  “Somebody whose prints aren’t on file anywhere?” My prints were now on file. And if James hadn’t had some bad luck in Islamorada, his wouldn’t be on file.

  “That’s what it would seem.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “James is a person of interest.”

  It was my turn to be shocked. “Get out.” I was sure I hadn’t heard her right. “Somebody actually called him that? A person of interest? I thought Conway was just running the idea through his head. Now they’re on record as thinking James may have killed her? My God, Em, are they crazy?”

  “Settle down and listen to me. They’re looking into it. James comes up as someone they are interested in.”

  “Em, that’s totally impossible.”

  “I know that, Skip. Believe me, I know, but they’ve got the knife, they’ve got the blood on the tang, they’ve got the prints, and they’ve got a relationship. Plus, he was home alone that night with no one to back up his story.” She paused for a moment. “I wish I’d never set the two of them up on a date.”

  “What, are they going to arrest him? This is absurd.” This was the best that Ted could come up with? What an idiot.

  “It’s a lead at this point, Skip. I don’t think they are seriously pursuing it, but Ted did say those four famous words. A person of interest.”

  James was going to be so happy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  If I told him, he’d go crazy. If I didn’t tell him, what kind of friend would I be? It was a dilemma I didn’t want to face. James was doing early prep work for the boat party, so I dropped him off at L’Elfe. He phoned me three minutes later.

  “Dude, Joaquin isn’t speaking to me.”

  “Dude, I don’t blame him. You’re taking his place.”

  “Seriously, Skip,” speaking in a hushed voice, “this guy is creeping me out. He’s got that plastic holster with two knives in it and he glares at me every once in a while, right hand on the handle. Like a cowboy with his hand on his six-shooter. This could be the killer. I seriously feel it.”

  “The only motive we’ve got is Amanda being advanced to head chef.”

  “Love-hate affair, Skip. Kelly Fields said so.”

  “She was a threat to his career, James.”

  “And now it’s me. I’m the new threat. I’m the decoy, bringing in the real ducks. This guy may be psycho.”

  “And you’re taking his place on the yacht tonight. Which sounds like a plum job. Am I right?”

  “Hey, the guy didn’t show up for work one night. That’s about the worst thing you can do in this business, Skip. They can’t trust him.” He paused. “Looks like you’ve been missing a lot of work lately.” He waited for my comeback.

  “I wouldn’t say I’ve been missing it, Bob.” A quote from that very funny movie, Office Space.

  “If I don’t make it to the boat tonight—”

  “Check out Vanderfield’s alibi?”

  “He’s pissed, Skip. And he’s making me very uncomfortable.”

  “Duly noted, James, but as you pointed out, on the positive side he’s one hell of a chef.”

  I hung up and drove to Kahn’s Jewelers. Parking several stores down, I strolled by the plate glass window and gazed inside. A thin, balding man was waiting on a young man and woman as I opened the door. Walking in, I stood there for a second, and the guy looked up and smiled.

  “I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes, young man.”

  The son wasn’t there.

  Browsing the watch case, I glanced at the older man, showing diamond rings to the pimply faced kid and his pale girlfriend. The same thing that happened nine years ago, only it was his teenage son showing a diamond ring to two young girls. One of those girls, apparently knocked up by the kid. Was he trying to impress them with the jewelry? Showing off the expensive ring?

  Seiko watches, Timex watches. With a look over my shoulder, I watched the pasty blonde girl try on one ring, then another. The engagement was going to cost the boy plenty. She held her finger out, studying the effect, then looked at the young guy for approval. He just looked scared.

  I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to do when they left. Confront the owner? Tell him I knew about Amanda and the abortion? And it still didn’t tie in to the murder. James was right, I was chasing something that had nothing to do with our mission. We were hired to clear, or implicate, someone from the restaurant. I should let it go.

  But Em was involved. She’d been accused of theft several years ago, and it happened right here. And the kid and his father were part of the case. And Em refused to say anything. My curiosity was getting the better of me.

  These two kids were planning a life together, the ring, their symbol of—and then it hit me. Not a major revelation, but Amanda’s boyfriend, this wet-behind-the-ears sixteen-or seventeen-year-old teenage Lothario, Kevin Kahn, had been proposing to Amanda. With a ring that he probably couldn’t afford.

  Amanda knew what was in store, or maybe she didn’t. But she brought her friend Emily along. And Emily was excited to be a part of it all. So there she is, trying the ring on too. Both of th
em. Maybe the old man walked in and confronted them about playing with inventory. Or, maybe the kid was distracted by another customer, and the girls left the ring on the counter where someone could steal it.

  Or maybe, and I was just thinking, maybe Amanda actually did steal it, or accepted it. If it was being offered as an engagement ring, why wouldn’t she take it? But the kid was still trying to keep the pregnancy from his father, so he tells her to keep it quiet for the moment. It was all my demented imagination, but it seemed to make sense. Speaking as someone who was sixteen not that long ago, I know that there’s a lot of confusion at that age. Oh, hell, what am I saying? There’s a lot of confusion at my age.

  Amanda takes the ring, puts it in her purse, the old man finds it missing, and he confronts his son. The kid confesses to showing the ring to the girls, protects his pregnant girlfriend, and says Emily must have walked out with it.

  I’m making it up. Trying to find a theory that makes sense to me.

  “Now, can I help you, young man?”

  I look up from the Seiko Ladies Date dress watch.

  “You’ve got good taste. The Seiko ladies watches are a great value.”

  He gave me a gentle smile. Someone who dealt with young couples on a regular basis most of his adult life. Only he’d had a problem with one young couple. He’d had to spring for an abortion, and maybe, just maybe, he’d forced the accusation of theft on my on-and-off girlfriend.

  I studied him for a moment, hoping that if I became a father, I wouldn’t turn out like him.

  “Just killing some time.”

  Turning around, I walked out of Kahn’s Jewelers, hoping never to go back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The one-hundred-foot yacht accommodated sixty people, and we were easily at maximum capacity.

  “You will bus the tables, relay any requests to me, and keep these customers happy. Is that understood?”

  Chef was very matter-of-fact.

  “I can take care of that. No dishwashing machine, right?”

  “No.” No levity, only a businesslike attitude. “However, you will scrape the remains off the plates and be responsible for getting all of the dishes and silverware to the kitchen when this cruise is over.” The kitchen being the cramped closetlike space off the main cabin.

  James came up behind me, his holster and chef knife strapped to his side.

  “Dude, they brought Mrs. Fields on board. She’s out there icing individual desserts. And listen to this. Lil Wayne is part of the party. More celebs on the horizon. How cool is this gig?”

  “We’re trying to catch a killer, James.”

  “No reason not to revel in the moment, Skip.”

  I didn’t believe that Lil Wayne had anything to do with Amanda’s murder. What I did believe was that James was too hung up on celebrity and was missing the focus he needed to solve this crime.

  Peeking into the dining area, I saw the hand-rubbed cherry-wood and polished brass trim. Fresh flowers graced each table and I wondered if the setup guy, Mikey Pollerno, had been aboard.

  They stood in clusters, drinks in hand, and cigars lit, the tips burning brightly. Young guys and girls, whites, blacks, Hispanics, drinking colorful cocktails, sporting dress shirts, shimmering spangled blouses, some in tight jeans, girls in form-fitting dresses with flowing hair, and the largest diamond rings and earrings I’d ever seen. And those were on the guys.

  “That could be us, amigo.”

  If I made that kind of money, I wouldn’t blow it on rings and earrings. I’d already made that pledge to myself.

  James watched from over my shoulder as we admired the DJ from Club Play South Beach seamlessly mixing the tunes with a heavy backbeat. An Hispanic bartender shook a silvery cocktail shaker over his head and one of his assistants popped a bottle of Bollinger Blanc, a champagne that supposedly is one of the best made.

  “We’re going to be there, pard. We’re young, we’ve got time.”

  It was funny, but I didn’t feel like I had time. I needed to put some focus in my life, make something happen. I needed to solidify my relationship with Em. And I needed to find out who killed Amanda Wright. If I figured that out, then things with Em could be normal again. Maybe normal wasn’t good enough. Better than normal.

  I saw Kelly Fields, complete with chef coat and toque, handing out fancy pastries in the shape of maybe seahorses. I couldn’t tell. She glanced up and nodded at me.

  James sauntered back into the kitchen, and I walked out into the party, tray in hand. Grabbing empty drink glasses, wine goblets, and delicate demitasse cups, I carefully stacked them. Napkins, small china plates with smeared sauces and pieces of sausage and breads were the remains of hors d’oeuvres that twenty minutes ago were spread in an elegant seashell effect on a sparkling glass buffet table. Meats and cheeses that would make a gourmet meal for working-class stiffs like James and me simply whet the appetite of these rich folks. There had to be an easier way. Playing busboy as a cover for undercover detective work, and making six thousand for two weeks. That was chump change for the assembled. My guess was they were all making six thousand a day, an hour, a minute.

  I deposited the soiled plates and glasses in a tub in the kitchen and looked around for James. No sign of him. Chef Marty was barking orders, stirring a pot of something, and looking as sour as was humanly possible.

  Walking back into the party area, I noticed the booze was flowing freely. One of the uniformed bartenders was making short work of a pineapple as he cut slices, fitting them perfectly on the rim of a dozen piña coladas. This is a bash that James and I and Em should have been invited to.

  “Hey, man, pretty cool party, huh?”

  I looked up, and up. Lebron James smiled down on me. I remembered the line from Wayne and Garth in Wayne’s World. “We’re not worthy, we’re not worthy.” Nodding, I wordlessly walked away. I sort of got what James had gone through with Lil Wayne. Heroes that you admire are even more imposing in person.

  I made another sweep of the room, noticing that attendees were starting to sit at their assigned tables, entourages with their personal celebrities, producers, media giants, and hangers-on at their special tables. I only knew this because there were small place cards with names and titles. There was no card big enough for “Skip Moore, busboy, dishwasher, private investigator, personal security salesman.”

  “Hey, Moore.”

  I spun around and saw Chef Marty calling me from the swinging kitchen door. I put a final drink glass on my tray and headed toward the door.

  “Where the hell is your friend Lessor?”

  I had no idea.

  “The guy gets a choice job, and then what? Hits it for a cigarette break?”

  James wanted the gig. He would never take the break unless he had information on the case, and in that case he would cell phone Em and give her a heads-up.

  “I haven’t seen him. I’ve been a little busy picking up after your high-stake partiers. Maybe he’s in the head?”

  “If you see the son of a bitch, tell him he’s about to be fired. I need some support back here and he decides to take a powder.”

  Just another reason our careers weren’t going anywhere. Another reason I should unhitch my star from my roommate. James was totally irresponsible. And I wasn’t far behind. Where the hell could he be?

  I made my way to the upper deck, where a handful of partiers had congregated. The sun had set and the water was black, like shimmering coal. The ship was moving, but very slowly. Inches, almost like a slow drift. Standing at the brass railings, watching the lights of Miami in the distance, these people seemed to be a little more romantic, a little more introspective. Picking up the plates, the glassware, the utensils, and napkins, I scouted the area for James. No sign of my business partner. Upstairs, downstairs, he had to be on the ship. I’d talked to him ten minutes ago.

  Trudging down the steps, I almost spilled my tray of remnants when a party of revelers came racing up in the opposite direction, screaming nonsensical
words at the top of their lungs.

  Dodging the herd, I flattened my back against the wall of the cabin, eyeing each one of them in hopes James was in the pack.

  “Moore, in my office.”

  It was Chef Jean, whose only official function was to be host of the party. And as I followed the short, stout cook, I wondered how much smaller his office on this yacht could be than the size of his L’Elfe restaurant office.

  Much smaller. The room was tiny. Postage-stamp tiny. Barely enough room to turn around. Chef sat behind the desk. I stood.

  “I had to play along with having you and your partner work this cruise, but I thought Lessor would be professional enough to do the work.”

  “Chef Jean, he is professional. He’s working on the murder case, but I know him well enough to understand that he takes his kitchen duties very seriously too. He’s into the cooking thing. And I can’t explain where he is right now. Believe me, he wouldn’t blow this opportunity for all the tea in China.”

  My mother used to use that phrase. I have no knowledge that the Chinese drink that much tea or manufacture that much of the beverage.

  “Marty wants him fired. Give me a good reason to keep him in the kitchen, Eugene.”

  “Because you want to know who killed Amanda Wright.”

  He sighed. “I do.”

  “Then let me find him. He may have a lead that had to be followed, but I’m sure I’ll produce him in the next hour.”

  James didn’t have a lead. He would have contacted me. Hell, he would have shouted it out to the crowd at the party. A smoke break? I don’t think so.

  “Find him. In the next ten minutes. Do you understand?”

  I don’t know where I got the guts to say it, but I did.

  “Chef, I understand that Marty is pissed off. When someone abandons his post, everyone else has to pick up the slack.”

  He nodded his chubby face.

  “But, you? You own this company, right?”