Chapter Twelve
Late afternoon came and, as Marlon had suggested, Kiki and I moved our cars from the small space behind my shop to street parking so that we could exit out of the front of my shop rather than the back, where we’d be more vulnerable.
Isabella emerged from Limericks and Miranda stood from the rocker in front of the Moonshine Shack. She crossed the street and spoke briefly with Ace and Marlon in front of the bar before going inside. Marlon carried a computer and monitor, which he stashed in the trunk of Ace’s car. Ace yanked her notice from the door and shoved it down inside her enormous tote. Looks like she’s done with her investigation and interviews at Limericks.
Marlon came across the street and entered the shop. “Afternoon, ladies.”
I greeted him with a smile, while Kiki said, “Hey, copper.”
He kept an eye out while Kiki and I closed up the shop, and accompanied us out the front door when we’d finished, hauling Smoky in his carrier. As he headed to my car, I said, “Smoky’s going home with Kiki.”
“He is?” Marlon’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not planning on staying here at your shop alone, are you?”
“No,” I reassured him. “I’m going over to Limericks. I told Miranda I’d help her with business stuff so she can get the bar up and running again.”
Marlon’s jaw dropped. “You did what?”
Kiki gave me a look of utter disdain before turning back to him. “You heard right, Marlon. Hattie offered to assist a murder suspect.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m as much a suspect as Miranda is. Probably more so.”
Marlon scoffed. “Here I am, trying to keep you safe, and you’re sticking your nose where it could get you killed.”
My ire rose at the implication that I was taking stupid chances. “Miranda would be a fool to try anything with me. She knows I’ve told Kiki where I’ll be.”
Though Marlon’s jaw flexed, the hard look in his eyes softened. “I suppose there’s some truth to that. I’m coming with you, though.”
Kiki looked relieved at his suggestion. “You’re a good copper, Marlon.”
He cut me a look before turning back to her. “If your friend is going to be such a pain in my backside, I’m not sure one dinner is going to be enough.”
I couldn’t argue with that, mostly because I didn’t want to. If he wanted to go on more than one dinner date once this case was solved, I certainly had no objection.
Kiki slid Smoky into her backseat and took the wheel, reversing out of her spot. She unrolled her window and raised a hand, waving goodbye as she motored off.
Miranda had recounted to me earlier what she’d told Ace, but I was curious what Ashlynn and Isabella might have told the police. I asked Marlon about it as we crossed the street.
“How’d it go with Isabella and Ashlynn?” I asked. “I take it Ashlynn didn’t confess?”
“Not yet, anyway,” he said. “She admitted to hollering the threat when she saw Cormac and Miranda flirting, and she admitted she was the one to start the catfight. She said she was shocked to stumble upon the two of them and had a sudden emotional outburst. She even apologized to me for having to break it up, and said she was embarrassed by the way she’d acted. But as for killing her boss? No. She said she went straight home after her shift. She said she continued working at Limericks because Cormac told her Miranda had come on to him, that it was a one-sided attraction.”
“She didn’t fall for his lies, did she?”
“She claimed she believed what Cormac told her and that they’d reconciled, but neither Ace nor I bought her story. She was overselling it, making it sound like everything was peaches and cream. She must have sensed that we didn’t believe her, because she went on to say that she needed the income. She knew she wouldn’t get unemployment benefits if she quit, and she couldn’t afford to take time off while she looked for another job. She said she’d put in applications at other bars and restaurants in the area, though, and had even had an interview at a new place that opened a couple of blocks from here.”
“But if they’d truly reconciled, she’d have no reason to look for a new job.”
“Exactly,” Marlon said. “Her attempts to deflect suspicion only make her seem more guilty. Still, her behavior is only circumstantial evidence. More proof would be needed to arrest and convict her.”
“What about Isabella?”
“She answered all of Ace’s questions, but she really didn’t know much. She’s the kind of person who just keeps her head down and does her job.”
“Did she know Cormac was dating both Ashlynn and Miranda?”
“She said she suspected it, but she wasn’t sure. She’d never discussed the matter outright with Ashlynn. She said Ashlynn was cold to the other female staff. Could be she saw them as potential rivals.”
We stepped up the curb to the front of the bar. The smiling leprechaun greeted us, though I noticed he looked worse for wear today. The top of his hat was chipped and the plaster on his right cheek was scraped. Looked like he’d taken a tumble off his tiny pedestal since the last time I’d been here. At least he hadn’t lost the gold coin he was proudly holding up. I rapped on the door before calling out, “It’s Hattie!”
A moment later, Miranda opened the door, a confused look on her face when she saw Marlon standing next to me.
I put a positive spin on the situation. “Officer Landers offered to stick around to make sure we stay safe.”
“Oh.” She looked up at Marlon. “That’s very nice of you.” She opened the door wide to allow us in before turning to me. “I hope you can make sense of Cormac’s records. I know I can’t.”
The place looked much as it had the last time I’d been here, attempting to deliver Cormac’s order. The lighting was dim. Chairs were turned upside down on top of the tables. The air bore a lingering smell of spilled beer mixed with pine-scented floor cleaner. The only difference was that a nearly full bottle of Backwoods Bootleggers moonshine sat on the shelf behind the bar. The previous bottle had been emptied and replaced.
Miranda led us up to the bar. The hinged bar flap was raised, allowing us easy access behind the counter. We followed her past bottles of gin, vodka, bourbon, and more, walking through an open door into a small, windowless office. Although Ace had taken Cormac’s desktop computer, she’d left the printer behind. A laptop sat open on the desk, presumably Miranda’s personal device. Two chairs were positioned in front of the desk. One was a rolling desk chair. The other had been brought in from the bar area.
I glanced around the room. A trash can next to the desk brimmed with fast-food wrappers and crumpled napkins. The back wall incorporated a small wall safe ensconced in cement so that it couldn’t be easily removed. The safe door hung open, the interior empty. Above the safe, a screw had been forced into the mortar. A thin mirror in a lightweight frame lay on the desk next to a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s traditional Black Label whiskey. I suppose it’s okay to drink on the job when you own a bar. My guess was that Cormac had hung the mirror from the screw to obscure the safe behind it. I wondered what Ace had found inside.
Addressing Miranda, I pointed to the open safe. “Did you know the combination to the safe?”
“No,” she said. “Cormac had only given me his computer login. I didn’t even know there was a safe in the bar until I came in for my interview and saw that it had been hidden behind the mirror. I always figured Cormac locked the cash in the desk drawer until he took it to the bank for deposit.”
Is she telling the truth? Maybe she’d worked everything out in advance, anticipating the questions she’d be asked and practicing her responses. The young woman was much smarter than her casual attire and copious mascara might suggest. But, again, she seemed sincere and forthcoming. My gut told me I could trust her. “What about security cameras?”
Miranda shrugged. “Far as I know, there aren’t any. I never saw a camera anywhere.”
Marlon rounded up a stool and placed it in the doorway, where he could keep an eye on me and Miranda. I sat down at the desk chair and she took a seat beside me. I tapped the spacebar to bring the device to life and eyed the screen, recognizing the program immediately. QuickBooks. Before I’d opened the Moonshine Shack, I had forced myself to work through hours of online tutorials to make sure I was familiar with all of the program’s functions and features.
Miranda pointed to the screen. “You know that program, right?”
“Inside out and backward. It’s the same one I use at my shop.” I eyed the screen, noting that the bookkeeping system had timed out. “What’s the login?”
She handed me a sticky note that read:
User ID: Limericks
Password: SourMashNo.7
I mused aloud. “Why does that password sound familiar?”
Miranda pointed to the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Right there on the label were the words Sour Mash and No. 7. Looked like Cormac had kept his password close at hand.
Once I was into the system, I spent a few minutes going through the data, familiarizing myself with his accounts. I kept an eye out for an unpaid debt, unusual recurring payment, or unexpected income, anything that might provide a clue to Cormac’s murder. While I’d hoped to follow a proverbial paper trail to see if Cormac’s records could be a key, I soon realized the odds were against me. His bookkeeping was atrocious. It seemed a miracle he’d managed to stay in business. What paperwork remained in the pub was haphazardly strewn about and not organized in any detectable way. Most of it was invoices for liquor inventory and past-due utility bills. While Cormac seemed to have kept documentation regarding expenses and payments he’d made, his income records were spotty at best, and he’d clearly failed to input all of the relevant data, especially the cash receipts.
I fished the paperwork off the printer to determine whether it contained any financial data and, if so, whether the figures had been entered into his system and whether the documents had been scanned and stored in his electronic files. The papers included an invoice printed with the logo for Backwoods Bootleggers in red ink at the top. The invoice bore Tuesday’s date as well as the name of the sales representative, Gage Tilley, the guy who’d crashed my grand opening celebration. The detail showed that Cormac had ordered six cases of twelve bottles each, for a total of seventy-two bottles. That’s a lot of moonshine. He must have decided to stock up. The invoice showed the regular wholesale price for the case, as well as a deduction for a twenty-five percent “Exclusivity Discount.”
The following page was a confirmation of sales taxes Cormac had paid via the state tax agency’s online portal. I had no idea how much income a small pub like Limericks would normally bring in, but the amount of receipts he’d entered and the applicable sales tax reported seemed suspiciously low. The information on the electric bill indicated he’d paid the preceding bill’s balance after the due date but during the grace period, tendering payment on the last possible date before he would have incurred a penalty. I checked his computer. The information he’d input into his bookkeeping system indicated he’d paid the electric bill in cash.
For better or worse, following the paper trail took little time. I used the system to create summary reports and sent them to the printer. The device whirred to life and spit out the pages. Once the machine went quiet, I retrieved the documents and handed them to Miranda. I waited while she perused the reports.
After giving them a cursory review, she asked, “What am I looking at here?”
I went over the reports with her. “These statements provide monthly comparisons,” I said. “As you can see, the net income varies widely from month to month and follows a suspicious pattern. Cormac paid his liquor suppliers in cash. He knew they’d keep records of sales to Limericks and he’d want to make sure he got a tax deduction for the expense, so he had to make sure he reported enough cash receipts to cover his alcohol purchases. In the months where he bought little inventory, he reported much less cash income.”
Miranda frowned. “He was fudging his records?”
“Sure looks that way.”
“The distributors insisted on cash payments,” she said. “I paid them with money from the register a few times when Cormac wasn’t here to accept a delivery himself. That’s what he’d told me to do.”
I cringed. Transacting business in such a slapdash way went against everything my Accounting 101 professor had taught the class about proper recordkeeping. “My guess is that the liquor distributors considered Cormac a credit risk and put him on a cash-only basis for failure to pay in full or on time.”
Miranda mused aloud. “I wonder if I’ll have to pay cash, too, or if they’ll give me credit. I don’t have a lot of money or any collateral to get a loan.”
“The more you distinguish yourself from Limericks and Cormac O’Keefe,” I said, “the more likely they are to let you buy on credit.”
“Makes sense,” she said.
I closed out of the program and swiveled the chair to face her. “The next steps would be to get your corporation set up and to open a new bookkeeping account. I can help you set up your new system and show you all the functions.”
“Perfect. I’ll give the attorney a call tomorrow and see when he can fit me in.”
We gathered our things while Marlon returned his stool to the other side of the bar. After we exited Limericks, Miranda turned and locked the door. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
Marlon walked me to my car across the street. I peppered him with questions as we made our way. “What did you and Ace find in the safe?”
“Not much,” he said. “A small stash of cash. Assorted bills and several rolls of coins. About a hundred dollars total.”
“Saturday’s start-up funds.” Though many people were using debit and credit cards almost exclusively these days, bars were still a predominantly cash business. A lot of cash seemed to be unaccounted for. “What about the rest of the money? Friday’s cash receipts?”
“If there was any more, we haven’t found it yet. There was none on Cormac’s person or in his car. None at his apartment, either.”
I gestured at the bar. “Is Cormac’s car out back?”
“It was,” Marlon said. “Ace had it towed to the police impound lot yesterday.”
Where are the rest of Friday’s cash receipts? Had Cormac been carrying the cash with him? Did the person who killed Cormac take the money from him? If so, did that make it more likely that the killer had been a random robber rather than an employee, Mack, Heath, or Damien? Another question crossed my mind. “If Miranda didn’t know about the safe, how did y’all get into it? Did Ashlynn or Isabella know the combination?”
“No,” Marlon said. “The crime scene team opened it yesterday. They’ve got all kinds of gadgets at their disposal. There’s something called a black box that can be used to reprogram an electronic safe. Takes them no time at all to get one open.”
Shoot. Now he had me wondering just how secure the money in my safe was. “Miranda told me that Cormac took a jar of cherry moonshine when he left my grand opening party.”
“She told Ace the same thing,” Marlon said. “She said she doesn’t know what happened to it because shortly thereafter Ashlynn came into the bar and attacked her. Miranda said she hadn’t been back to the bar since—until today, of course.”
“Did Ace believe her?”
“Ace doesn’t believe anything anyone says unless and until it’s supported by irrefutable evidence.”
I supposed it was only natural for a detective to be skeptical of everyone. After all, suspects probably tried to mislead her.
We stopped at my car and Marlon gave me a serious look. “Be careful, Hattie. Okay?”
Part of me was warmed by his concern, but another part of me heated at the repeated implication that I wasn’t being cautious. Nevertheless, I said, “Don’t worry. I will.”
As I drove off, I mulled things over. I’d have liked to think that the missing cash pointed to a random robbery and Miranda’s innocence. It was possible, however, that she’d believed her boss owed her, especially after she’d found out he hadn’t been faithful to her. She’d know his routines. She could very well have shown up in his rear parking lot after closing time, knowing he’d have taken cash with him from the bar. She could have demanded the cash from Cormac before breaking the jar of moonshine and slashing him with it. Or maybe he’d refused to hand it over and she’d cut him, prying the cash out of his hands as he lay dying on my stoop.
Problem was, the scenario would have required a chase, with Cormac running from his rear parking area, around the end of his building, and into the street. While I’d been willing to believe Cormac might have run from another would-be robber, or even from Ashlynn, would he have run from Miranda? Especially if she was armed only with a jar of my moonshine? It seemed doubtful. Then again, maybe she’d had another weapon on her but decided to cut him with a broken jar of my shine in order to frame me. Still, the circumstances seemed awfully complicated and would require a great deal of coordination on her part, handling both a gun or knife and a jar of shine. Though possible, it appeared highly unlikely things had transpired in this manner.
I was driving out of the riverfront area a couple of minutes later when a delicious smell wafted through my van’s vents. Yum! What is that? I rolled the window down to determine where the aroma was coming from.
That’s it. The source of the smell was Bar Celona, a tapas bar that had opened a few months back. Kiki and I had talked about trying the place but had yet to get around to it. Tonight’s the night. I’d grab some food to go. The least I could do was get some dinner for my best friend when she was putting my cat and me up in her condo.
There was a private paid parking lot across the street, but with street parking being both free and readily available at this time on a Sunday evening it sat empty. I eased my van into a spot at the curb. I hopped down and, happily ignoring the meter, went inside.
A spicy scent and the strains of flamenco music met me at the door, as did a handsome waiter with olive skin, slick black hair, and the whisper of a mustache on his upper lip. Behind the bar was a doppelganger three decades older, whom I took to be the waiter’s father or uncle. Must be a family-owned business.
“Bienvenido,” the server said with a strong Spanish accent. “Just one tonight?”
“I don’t need a table,” I replied. “I’m here for carryout.”
“Certainly.” He directed me to take a seat at the bar and handed me a menu to look over. He held out a hand to indicate the older man behind the counter. “Our maître d’ will take your order once you’re ready.”
The older man stepped over. “First time here?”
“It is.”
“I’d be happy to make some recommendations.”
“Please,” I said. “Recommend away.”
After listening to the man’s suggestions and mulling over the choices, I opted for the patatas bravas, the tortilla Española, and the garlic mushrooms, adding an order of paella as well. As I waited for the order, I texted Kiki. On my way with dinner.
She replied with a smiley face emoji and a question. What are we eating?
For fun, I responded with the flamenco dancer emoji and the word Guess.
Kiki responded with a confused face emoji. We’re eating a dancer? Have you turned to cannibalism?
To ease her concerns that I’d be coming home with a to-go order of human flesh, I replied Tapas. She sent a thumbs-up followed by a gif of a Scooby-Doo hungrily rubbing his tummy.
I listened to the servers and bartender chat in Spanish and attempted to translate their conversation in my mind. Unfortunately, the two years of Spanish I’d taken back in high school hadn’t stuck with me. I recognized cerveza as beer, mesa as table, and cinco as the number five, but that’s as far as I got.
The waiter brought my food in white bags and I traded the sacks for my credit card. Once the slip had been presented and signed, I told the server gracias and adiós. At least I remembered the words for thank you and goodbye.