Sixteen

Mel was lying on the floor, wondering where her phone was, whether to go get her shoe, and what to do if someone came in and heard Sarah forcibly trying to bust her way out of the pantry.

“Let me out,” Sarah demanded. She thumped on the door. “I just want to talk to you.”

“Right,” Mel said. She was still gasping for breath and the sweat on her skin was beginning to get cold in the room’s air-conditioning. “People who want to just talk always do it at knifepoint.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Sarah said. Her voice sounded wobbly and Mel suspected she was going to start crying. That wasn’t going to soften Mel in the least.

“Uh-huh,” Mel grunted. She pushed herself up to a seated position. She needed to find a phone and tell Uncle Stan where she was.

“I know you think I killed Chef,” Sarah said. “But I didn’t, I swear, I didn’t.”

“Sure,” Mel said. “That’s why you chased me all over the resort with a knife.”

“I’m sorry, but I needed you to listen,” Sarah said.

“Well, a knife is not the way to do that,” Mel said. “Unless you’re guilty.”

“I’m not!” This time Sarah did cry. In fact, she let out a wail that made Mel clap her hands over her ears.

There was a scraping noise and the knife Sarah had been holding was shoved under the narrow gap between the door and the floor. Mel kicked the knife aside with her foot. She wanted Sarah’s prints intact, otherwise it proved nothing. The woman could have five more knives on her for all Mel knew. Sarah was still crying, the pitch getting higher and louder.

“All right, all right, stop,” Mel said. “Say what you have to say.”

“Through the door?”

“I can leave and get someone else to listen to you,” Mel said.

There was a barely audible sigh on the other side of the door.

“Time’s ticking,” Mel said. “I’m calling the police as soon as I catch my breath.”

“No, please don’t call the police,” Sarah begged.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” Mel said.

“Because I didn’t kill Chef Miles,” Sarah said.

Mel said nothing.

“I didn’t,” Sarah said. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. When I left him, he was alive, I swear.”

Mel sat up straighter. Was this a confession?

“Tell me what happened, Sarah.”

“I . . .” she began but then paused. She heaved out a huge breath and Mel leaned closer. She could feel Sarah’s tension coming through the door.

“You can tell me,” she said. “It’s all right. What happened that afternoon?”

“I was practicing a sauce that he wanted for dinner that evening,” she said. “He told me I had to arrive early and use the banquet kitchen. I had to prove that I could make it to his standards or he was going to pull me off my station.”

Her voice quivered and Mel got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“While I was working at the range, he came up behind me and trapped me against it. He kept touching me even though I told him to stop. I panicked.”

Mel heard her gulp back some tears and she suddenly wanted to open the door and hug Sarah tight. Caution made her wait. The saucier had just held a knife on her, after all.

“He’d always been grabby, and I’d complained before,” Sarah said. “But Ashley told me that was the price a female chef pays. She said if I made an issue of it, I’d be the one who was fired and out of work. Not him.”

Mel nodded. Sadly, she’d heard this story before. Times were changing but cooking had long been a man’s domain. “How did you get away?”

“When he wouldn’t stop, I grabbed the meat tenderizer mallet and I swung until I hit something,” Sarah said. Her voice broke and she sobbed. “It turned out to be his head. He shoved me hard against the range and my hand landed in the pan. It was seared in the hot oil before I could get it out. I hit him again and then I ran for it. I never meant to hurt him, I was just trying to defend myself.”

“I see,” Mel said. Now it was all coming into focus. A white-hot fury coursed through her. How dare Miles Gallway use his position of power over this woman? If he wasn’t already dead, she’d clobber him with the meat tenderizer herself.

“Sarah, you have to tell all of this to the police,” she said.

“No, no, no,” Sarah protested. “I don’t want to get in trouble. I’m a single mother. I have a son, he’s only two. I can’t go to prison. I can’t. I only wanted to talk to you because I thought you could help me keep the police away. Oz said your uncle is the lead detective in the investigation. Please help me, please.”

She began to weep in earnest now and Mel felt like a horrible person for doubting her. Then again, Mel realized she could be getting the biggest con job of her life, but somehow she didn’t think so. Gallway was enough of a creep to have used Sarah’s single-mother status against her, knowing she couldn’t complain about his abuse because she so desperately needed the job to provide for her child.

“Listen, I know someone who can help you,” Mel said. “I’m going to let you out.”

Sarah’s wail downshifted into sniffles and sobs. Mel took the key out of her pocket.

“What is that noise?” Sam strode into the room, wearing his chef’s coat and beanie, and looked from Mel to the pantry. “Did you catch a rat?”

Mel blinked at him while she carefully dropped the key back into her pocket. What could she say? “Actually . . .”

“Mel!” Uncle Stan raced into the kitchen with his partner, Tara Martinez, behind him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Scottsdale police detective who is also my uncle Stan,” Mel said. She kicked the pantry door with her heel and the sniffling stopped immediately.

Uncle Stan’s head whipped in the direction of the pantry.

“There’s a rat in there,” Sam said. Mel almost hugged him.

Uncle Stan exchanged a look with Tara and she reluctantly moved forward to grab the chair.

“No!” Mel cried. “It has rabies.”

Tara froze and turned her head to look at Uncle Stan. “That is above my pay grade.”

“There is no rat,” Uncle Stan said. He turned to Mel. “And even if there was, how would you know it had rabies?”

“Um,” Mel stalled. She had no idea what a rabid rat would look like.

“Frothing at the mouth,” Sam said. He looked at Mel. “Was it frothing?”

“Totally,” Mel said. She smiled at her uncle, and said, “So, nothing to see here. In fact, we’re just going to call an exterminator and let them take care of the problem before the health department shows up.”

Sam frowned. “That would be bad.”

“Mel, I know Sarah is in there,” Uncle Stan said. “We need to talk to her.”

“Sarah?” she asked. She gave him her best confused face.

“Sarah Lincoln?” Sam asked. “The saucier who works here? What’s she doing in our pantry with a rat?”

“There is no rat,” Tara said. She tossed the chair aside like she was a wrestler in the WWE, and Uncle Stan cringed.

“Easy with the private property there, Detective,” he said.

Tara ignored him and tried the door. It was locked. Mel felt a small, tiny, barely even noticeable—really—surge of satisfaction. Detective Martinez had disliked Mel for years for a variety of reasons—the main one, Mel believed, was because Tara had set her sights on Joe and he wasn’t interested. Recently, Tara had begun dating Ray DeLaura and Mel had hoped it would mellow her. It had not, and she never missed any opportunity to make Mel feel incompetent, inept, or just plain clueless. So, it gave Mel just a smidge of satisfaction to be the keeper of the key in this moment.

“Where is it?” Tara asked.

“I’m sorry,” Mel said. “Where’s what?”

“The key, brainless,” Tara said.

“Why do you have to talk to me like that?” Mel said. “It’s so rude!”

“Is this really the time for this?” Uncle Stan asked.

“She called me brainless,” Mel said.

“Fair point,” Uncle Stan said. He looked at his partner. “Why are you so hostile towards Mel? I figured once you started dating the other DeLaura, you’d let the past go.”

“She jilted my cousin,” Tara said.

“No, I didn’t,” Mel protested. The ridiculous accusation was just maddening. “Manny and I were never a thing.”

“He would have stayed in Phoenix for you,” Tara said.

“He’s happy in Vegas with Holly,” Mel argued. “Don’t you want him to be happy?”

“I . . . of course I do,” Tara said. She looked exasperated. “Listen, not liking you is a hard habit for me to break.”

“Clearly.”

They stared at each other.

The sound of something crashing came from behind the locked door. Then a very colorful swear word.

“That’s quite a vocabulary for a rat,” Uncle Stan said.

“Um, why is Sarah in our pantry again?” Sam asked. He looked honestly bewildered. Mel thought about Simon’s suggestion that there was something going on between Kasey and Sam. Nah, Sam looked like he didn’t even swear, never mind shack up with an older lady.

---

Tara held her hand out and Mel sighed and slapped the key into it.

Tara unlocked the door and out came Sarah. Well, Mel assumed it was Sarah, but it was hard to say, given the dusting of flour that coated her.

Mel jumped in front of her, holding out her arms and shielding the woman. “There’s been a huge misunderstanding.”

“Yes, there has been,” Uncle Stan said. “Ms. Lincoln, if I could have a minute of your time.”

Sarah was covered in flour, from head to foot. It even coated the eyelashes she blinked at Uncle Stan. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“He won’t. He can’t,” Mel said.

Uncle Stan and Tara both looked at Mel in surprise, and she said, “There are extenuating circumstances.”

“Such as?” Tara asked.

“Don’t answer that,” Mel said. She glanced at Sarah, happy to see she had not pulled another knife, as Mel didn’t particularly care for the idea of being a hostage. “You shouldn’t say anything until you have a lawyer.”

“Mel!” Uncle Stan’s voice was tight. He was clearly hanging on to his temper by a thread, a very frayed thread.

“What?” she asked. “It’s true.”

“Ms. Lincoln, while my niece is correct that having an attorney present is a choice you can make—”

Tara let out an exasperated huff of breath. Then she started to cough as she ingested a bit of the cloud of flour floating in the air.

“As I was saying,” Uncle Stan said. “I don’t believe you’re going to need an attorney. I just need you to verify some facts for me.”

Mel gave her uncle a suspicious look, which he ignored.

“Such as?” Sarah asked.

“Was Miles Gallway aggressive with you in any way?”

Sarah went very still. “Who told you that?”

“Everyone,” Sam said. They all turned to look at where he was busily sweeping up the flour that had been spilled while Sarah was trapped in the pantry. He turned a bright shade of red. “Sorry, I just mean there was some talk.”

Sarah hung her head. “I’m doomed, aren’t I?”

Before Mel could answer, Sarah said, “All right, I hit him, okay? He had me up against the range and I couldn’t get him off. I grabbed the nearest thing I could and struck out at him.”

“Sarah, stop talking!” Mel said. She grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently, covering them both in flour.

“What’s the point?” Sarah asked. “They know everything. I’m going to lose my son, my life, and my career, all because of that . . .” Her voice trailed off and she burst into tears.

Despite the flour coating the other woman, Mel pulled her in for a hug.

“It was self-defense,” Mel said. “She didn’t murder Miles Gallway.”

Uncle Stan ignored her. He spoke to Sarah. “Tell me what happened after you hit him with the mallet.”

Mel let her go and Sarah lifted her head and in a dull voice, she said, “I ran.”

“And where were you when you hit him?”

“The banquet kitchen,” she said. She pointed to the main kitchen. “You have to go through the main kitchen to get to it. It’s on the other side of it.”

“And where did you run?” he asked.

“Out the back door to the loading dock,” she said.

“It’s true,” Sam piped up. “She arrived with her hand all burnt and we stopped what we were doing to attempt first aid.”

Uncle Stan nodded. “So, you left Gallway in the banquet kitchen?”

“Yes,” Sarah said.

“Can you tell me if you noticed whether he was drunk?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Just gathering the facts,” he said.

“No, he didn’t seem inebriated and I didn’t smell any alcohol on him,” she said. “And he was certainly close enough for me to tell.” She shuddered and Mel was right there with her.

“He was found here in the pastry kitchen,” Tara said. Her voice was crisp and no-nonsense but not unkind. “Any idea how he got here?”

Sarah shook her head. “When I left him, he was fine. He was holding a cloth on his head, which was bleeding, and he was yelling, but he was fine. I swear. He called me all sorts of horrible names, but I just wanted to get away from him so I ran and I didn’t stop until I found everyone else.”

“Understandable,” Uncle Stan said. His voice was gentle and Mel watched Sarah visibly relax under his kind regard. She glanced at Tara and saw the same type of empathy on her face, which was unusual for a woman not known for her compassion.

“I assumed he must have stumbled to the other kitchen, looking for help,” Sarah said. She caught her breath, closed her eyes, and forced out the words, “Where he died.”

Uncle Stan nodded. “He did die there.”

Sarah covered her mouth with her hand. She looked wrecked and Mel felt horrible for the woman she had been trying to outrun just a half hour earlier. Sarah was right. This was going to ruin her life. She had to help her.

“We can hire an attorney,” Mel said. “I know a guy, Steve Wolfmeier, and he’ll help you.”

“Ugh.” Tara made a face. “The slick guy with the shiny suits?”

“He’s an excellent defense attorney,” Mel said. Steve did wear shiny suits, but he was very good at what he did.

“That’s sound advice,” Uncle Stan said.

Mel looked at him like he might have a head injury of his own. Uncle Stan hated Steve.

Sarah nodded and then held out her wrists as if she was waiting for the cuffs to be clipped on.

“Ms. Lincoln, you’re not under arrest,” Uncle Stan said.

“I figured,” she said, “if I could just call my mom. She watches my son and I need to let her know . . . Wait, what?”

“You’re not under arrest,” Uncle Stan said. “But I would like you to come to the station and give a more detailed statement about the events leading up to the discovery of Miles Gallway’s body. Can you do that?” He jerked his head in Mel’s direction. “Let her call her friend for you, too. It never hurts to have an attorney present.”

Mel felt her mouth slide open. What was happening?

“Can you come with us, Ms. Lincoln?” Uncle Stan asked.

Sarah looked at Mel and she studied her uncle’s face. He gave her a small nod.

“Go ahead, he wouldn’t lie to you,” Mel said. “I’ll call my friend and have him meet you.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said. She looked so lost and sad. “I’m sorry I chased you. I really did just want to talk.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Mel said. “I might be a little damaged and suspect the worst of people sometimes.”

“I’ll take her by her house to clean up,” Tara said. “Good thing I’m driving a city car and not my own.” She looked at Uncle Stan. “Meet you back at the station?”

“Sure,” he said.

Mel watched Sarah leave with Tara out the side door through Oz’s small garden. The door had just swung shut behind them when Sarah came back in and held up Mel’s phone.

“Sorry.” She handed it to Mel.

“No problem.” Mel said. It was covered in flour but she wasn’t going to complain.

As soon as the door shut behind Tara and Sarah, Mel and Stan stepped out of the kitchen, getting out of Sam’s way while he cleaned.

“All right, what’s going on?” Mel asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you so sure Sarah didn’t kill Gallway?”

“Why were you so sure she did?” he countered.

“She tells a compelling story,” Mel said. “I think she had a good reason for clobbering him and shouldn’t be punished for defending herself.”

“Agreed,” Stan said. “But why do you believe her?”

“She’s got a little boy,” Mel said. “No mom worth her salt would risk being taken from her child, not if she could help it. But there’s something else going on here, isn’t there?”

“You can’t talk about it to anyone,” Uncle Stan said.

“I would never.” Mel tried to sound offended. Uncle Stan wasn’t buying it. He rolled his eyes.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

“All right, but I’m only telling you a tiny bit of it because you’ll be away on your honeymoon in a matter of days and won’t be able to get any more involved in this case.”

“Exactly, I’ll be out of your hair, so you should tell me everything,” Mel said.

“No.” Uncle Stan shook his head. “I’ll only tell you this. The wooden mallet found by Gallway’s body, the one Sarah used to hit him with, which incidentally does have scorch marks on it, isn’t the murder weapon.”