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“Didn’t you say the owner of a day care center left the child in a van?” Marla said to Karen. “When did this incident happen?”
The hairdresser from Salon Style counted on her fingers. “Francine was thirty-five when she died, and she’d been five years old when the tragedy occurred. So it would be thirty years ago.”
“And she recently recognized the person responsible? Who is it?”
Karen cast a glance at the door. “I don’t want to get in trouble for spreading rumors, Marla. It’s not for me to say. I hope you understand.”
Marla narrowed her eyes. “Would you rather my husband make you an official visit? That way, you won’t have to feel guilty about sharing confidences from a deceased client. One who was murdered.” She emphasized the last word to encourage the woman to speak.
Guilt and fear wrestled on the stylist’s expression. “Oh, very well. I’ll tell you, if it’ll help get justice for Francine.” She leaned inward and whispered in Marla’s ear.
When Marla heard the name, she gave an exclamation. If true, this would explain a lot. It should be easy to verify if the articles in Francine’s album confirmed a connection.
She thanked the other woman and left. She’d have to examine the scrapbook later since the rest of her day was filled with clients.
The afternoon passed quickly until finally she left the salon at five o’clock.
“Dad called,” Brianna said after Marla greeted her inside their house. The teen was doing her eye makeup in the master bathroom. “He’s staying late tonight to follow a lead. I’m going out.”
“With whom?”
“A friend who’s picking me up. I’ll be back by curfew.”
Marla glanced at her wedge heels, short skirt, and low-cut top. If Brianna were just hanging out with the gang, wouldn’t the girl say so? How much should she pry?
“All right,” she said, trusting her stepdaughter to make the right choices. “We won’t put on the alarm. If you come in later and see your father’s car in the garage, you can arm it.”
“Hey, I almost forgot to tell you.” Brianna paused, mascara wand in hand. She’d curled her hair and it hung in soft waves past her shoulders. “I found a video online from the festival.”
“That’s great. Can you show me?”
Brianna’s cell phone, sitting on the counter, buzzed with a text message. “I’ve got to go. My friend is outside. I’ll show you the video in the morning when Dad can see it, too.”
Brianna ran to grab her purse and dash out the front door. Marla hurried after her, dismayed to see a boy at the wheel of a Dodge that looked a few years old.
Her heart rushed to her throat. Could this be the elusive Jason? Was Brianna going out with him alone?
It was a good thing Dalton wasn’t home, or he’d have a fit.
Marla shut the door and headed for their home office. If Brianna had used their desk computer, maybe the browser history would tell her what her stepdaughter had been researching regarding the harvest festival. But she didn’t find anything relevant, meaning Brianna must have used her laptop. Tempted to look there instead, Marla resisted. She might end up peeking at the teen’s email, and that would be an invasion of privacy. If she’d thought Brianna was in any danger, she wouldn’t hesitate, but not otherwise.
She got occupied checking her own emails and then lost an hour to social media. Eventually, fatigue overruled her and she went to bed. She was reading a trade magazine when Dalton walked in, his face weary.
Marla got up to kiss him hello before he disappeared into the bathroom.
“Where’s Brianna?” he said, tossing his tie onto the bed along with his sport coat.
“She went out with a friend. How was your day?” Marla asked, the news she’d learned from Karen hovering on her tongue.
“Productive. I spoke to the TV producer of Raquel’s show as you’d suggested.” His molten gray eyes regarded her thoughtfully. “He admitted they’d had a thing.”
She raised her brows as he unbuttoned his shirt and took off his belt. He locked his weapons in their closet safe and then carefully placed his other police items on the shelf by his side of the bed.
“You mean they slept together? Are they still an item, or was it merely a means for Raquel to get her show?”
“He knew why she was doing it, so he had his fun and let her go. His station keeps renewing her contracts since her ratings are good.”
“What does he say about Alyce’s accusations that Raquel uses shortcuts off-camera?”
“Ted Hastings—that’s the fellow’s name—said he doesn’t care what she does off the air. As long as the live audience is happy with her performance, and she goes through the proper motions while being filmed, he’s okay with it.”
Marla sat on the bed facing him. “Did you ever fill in the gap in her background?”
He gave a brusque nod. “Raquel Hayes is her married name. She’d been divorced a number of years ago and has been raising a daughter on her own.”
“Yes, she told me. Did she use this same name for all the cooking jobs she’d had before culinary school?”
“I believe so.”
“It might be important to find out her maiden name,” Marla suggested. “I paid a visit to Francine’s hairstylist today. The woman said Francine had recognized Raquel as the owner of the day care center where Francine’s adoptive sister had died. This incident happened thirty years ago. I meant to check the album I borrowed from Francine’s office, but I left it in the car.”
“Good work. Let’s follow through on this stuff tomorrow. I’m so tired that I can’t think straight anymore.” He added his pants and shirt to the pile on the bed.
“Okay, although I can’t sleep until Brianna gets home.”
“Spoken like a true mother hen. Where did she go?”
“I’ve no idea. Brianna is an independent woman now. She’ll be back by curfew.”
“She’s not independent as long as she lives here and needs my money,” Dalton stated before heading into the shower.
Dalton fell asleep soon after, while Marla thumbed through her magazine until she heard a commotion from the front end of the house. A door opened and closed, and then the alarm beeped into the armed position. Brianna must be home.
She got up and padded into the kitchen where the girl was getting a drink of water. “How was your evening?” she asked.
“We had a good time.”
“You two do anything interesting?”
Brianna plopped her water glass down on the counter. “Marla, you don’t need to question me. I don’t have to share my entire life with you or my dad.”
Marla held up her hands. “Sorry, we’re just concerned about you.”
“Fine, but can you be concerned without being nosy?”
“If you wish.” She turned away, aware she wasn’t wanted. And remembering how she’d acted this way with her own mother.
It’s only a phase. She’ll mellow out in a few years.
Meanwhile, it promised to be a bumpy ride. Dalton likely wouldn’t approve of any guy she brought home for them to meet until he’d done a thorough background check and conducted a personal interview. Marla couldn’t blame the girl for being guarded about her love life and had to trust her to make the right decisions.
****
On Sunday morning, Marla served breakfast consisting of blueberry pancakes while the three of them dodged personal questions from each other.
She defused the tension in the air by focusing on Dalton’s cases. As soon as the killer was behind bars, she and Dalton could broadcast their momentous news. Meanwhile, she needed to help him wrap things up.
“Will you be looking into Raquel’s maiden name?” she asked to divert his attention.
“I’ll have my team get on it. Despite what you told me about Francine’s younger sister, I’m not convinced Raquel plays a role in her murder. Tony Winters interests me more. His company is under investigation by another agency. Either the guy knows what’s going on and is a willing participant, or he wants out and that’s why the head honchos are coming to town. But did he murder the two women who caught onto their scam? I don’t have enough answers yet.”
“Let me get my laptop so I can show you what I found,” Brianna said. She scurried out, looking young in her pajamas and with her hair in a ponytail.
Dalton shook his head. “I can’t get used to the idea of her growing up. She’s still my baby.”
“You won’t be able to track her movements once she’s in college.”
His gaze skewered her. “I know. I’ll have to focus on you instead. Feeling better this morning?”
Marla’s cheeks warmed. “Yes, thanks.”
“Here’s a video from the harvest festival,” Brianna said, breezing into the kitchen with her open laptop. “Watch this.”
Marla studied the recording made by a random person attending the fair. “Look, there’s Francine. She appears to be arguing with Raquel. Francine isn’t wearing Alyce’s jacket, so this must have happened before the bake-off contest.”
“Is that Ms. Wilde in the background?” Dalton pointed out.
“Yes, I recognize Lynette. Too bad the magazine photographer didn’t hear what the other women were saying. Remember when Raquel said Francine wouldn’t win despite her threats? This could be where Francine confronted the TV chef.”
“About what?” Brianna asked. “Deceiving viewers by using cake mixes and such? I thought Alyce was the one who made those accusations.”
“According to Francine’s hairstylist, Francine recognized Raquel as the owner of the day care center where her adoptive sister died nearly thirty years ago,” Marla said. “But even if true, what could Francine do about it all these years later?”
“Whoa, Marla, what if Francine’s exposé was targeted at Raquel?” Brianna suggested.
Marla straightened in her chair. “I doubt Raquel would have been pleased. If news about this early scandal got out, it could have ruined her reputation. But we don’t have any proof to connect the two of them back then.” She turned to Dalton. “You said the shovel that killed Francine didn’t have any prints. What about that set from the rock thrown at our front door?”
Dalton stuffed the last bite of pancake into his mouth and pushed his plate away. “They don’t match anyone familiar to us.”
“So you did get a hit?”
“Yes, for a woman named Theresa Mendez.”
“Did you look her up?”
“She’s a ghost who vanished. We can’t find a trace of her anywhere.”
Marla tilted her head. “You said the same thing about Raquel’s early background. We should get a set of her prints for you to run through the database.”
Brianna poked her. “I have an idea. Call Raquel and tell her I have a school project and would like to interview her. Plus, I’ve always wanted to see a TV studio behind the scenes. Can she meet us for a quick tour and chat?”
“I can give her a call, but I don’t think you should come,” Marla said.
“You’re not leaving me behind. Besides, I’m your excuse for the visit. I can distract Raquel with my questions while you grab an item from her set kitchen that might have her prints.”
“We’d have to take your car,” Dalton said to Marla without actually accepting Brianna’s proposal. “My driver’s side window is sticking. I need to take it in to the dealer.”
“Okay, but Raquel may refuse to see us since today is Sunday.”
However, the celebrity chef surprised her. “I’d planned to go into the studio anyway to do my prep work for tomorrow’s show. Wouldn’t you rather get VIP tickets to sit in the audience during a live demonstration?”
“Brianna will be in school then,” Marla told her on the phone.
“What’s the subject of her report again?”
“Successful women and how they achieved their dreams.”
“How lovely. I’m doing a practice run of my recipes for the show. I’ll give you a taste. See you soon.”
Dalton wagged his finger at Brianna. “You won’t get near her, understand? Once you meet the woman and ask her a few sample questions, find a reason to go outside and wait for us there.”
“I know the drill, Dad. I’ll be safe.”
“If you think this isn’t a good idea, we’ll stay home,” Marla said. “You can call your team for backup and look around the set yourself.”
“Then I’d have to get a warrant, and I don’t have probable cause. Raquel may have hidden her past, but that doesn’t mean she’s guilty of murder. Lots of people have secrets. In my opinion, Tony Winters has more at stake.”
“You might think so, but the person who threw that rock at our house was a woman.”
Marla let the dogs out again before she and her family tumbled into the car for the morning’s excursion.
“Hey, what’s this?” Brianna called from the backseat once they were underway.
Marla glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, that’s the album I took from Francine’s office. I meant to look through it and forgot I had it there. We can examine it together once we’re home. By the way, did you finish your report for physics class? I should have asked before we left the house.”
“It’s done. I still have to read through my history chapter. That’s the most boring subject.”
Dalton’s brow creased. “You should pay more attention to what you learn. The lessons of the past influence our present and affect the future.” A fan of world history, he began a lecture of his own that ended when they arrived at their destination.
Raquel was already at work on the kitchen set, an apron tied around her khakis and blouse. Her assistant, Carlos, stood by the sink. The thin-faced fellow had a besotted expression on his face as he observed the chef. Marla was surprised to see him there on a weekend, but maybe his relationship to Raquel went beyond a professional one.
Raquel grimaced at the sight of Dalton accompanying them. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Detective,” she said while dicing peeled shallots on a wooden cutting board.
“I’d hoped to get a glimpse of what you do behind the scenes. What are you preparing?” He spoke in an amiable tone and sauntered forward, seemingly at ease in his jeans and sport shirt. He didn’t show a visible gun but Marla knew he kept one at his ankle.
“Tomorrow’s menu is a tasty mushroom pie for the starter, followed by chicken en papillote with parmesan potatoes and buttered asparagus, and apple ginger tarts for dessert.”
“Do you give out recipes to the audience members?” Brianna asked, taking out the notebook she’d brought along to play her part.
“You must be Brianna. I’m honored you’ve chosen me as the subject of your report. To answer your question, our recipes are available online at the network’s website.”
“So your entire kitchen is usable? It isn’t just a set for the TV show?”
“All of our appliances are real, child.” She nodded a greeting to Marla. “Nice to see you again. Becky told me about your fundraiser. It’s generous of you to offer your salon to help raise money for the history museum.”
“I’m happy to support them.” Marla stood to the side where she had a good view of Raquel’s preparations.
“When did you realize you wanted to become a chef?” Brianna asked, pen poised above her notebook. She looked very studious with a serious expression on her young face.
Raquel scooped the chopped shallots into a small bowl. “I’d always liked cooking. It seemed a good path to take. And I’d get college credit for attending culinary school.”
“Did you get your training right after high school?”
“No, I did various jobs to earn the money for tuition.”
Brianna coughed. “I’m sorry; could I get a glass of water, please?”
“Of course.” Raquel wiped her hands on a dishtowel and turned to the sink. She filled a glass and handed it to Brianna.
“Thanks,” the teen said, appearing to take a sip as she turned away. Her father stood in the shadows, out of reach from the studio lights.
Marla, gathering Brianna’s intent to pawn off the glass to her dad to bag as evidence, jumped into the conversational foray.
“What did those earlier jobs entail, Raquel?” She watched as the chef withdrew a set of packaged deep dish pie crusts from the fridge. So what Alyce had said was true. Raquel wasn’t making her own pie crusts from scratch. These were store-bought items. A couple of containers of pre-sliced mushrooms followed.
“Oh dear, I forgot to replace the egg substitute, and we’re all out of fresh eggs.” She sidled over to Carlos and patted his arm. “Darling, would you mind running to the store for me and getting a carton of egg whites? I forgot to give Ted a list of items to buy. We could also use some regular eggs as well as vanilla yogurt for the dessert.”
Carlos frowned as she mentioned the producer’s name, but he gave a sullen nod and disappeared.
“I worked in a number of kitchens to gain experience,” Raquel said in response to Marla’s question. She shaped one of the defrosted pie crusts into a glass dish.
Marla watched her technique as she sautéed the mushrooms along with the diced shallots. A delicious aroma entered her nose. When the vegetables were wilted, Raquel removed the skillet from the burner, turned off the heat, and mixed in two different grated cheeses. Then she spooned the mixture into the pie crust and folded the other crust on top.
“Where’s your stepdaughter? She’s missing the demo. I’m done with the starter course until Carlos brings me the egg whites to brush over the top.”
“Here I am,” Brianna replied in a bright tone. “I want to see how you fix the chicken.”
“Before I start putting a dish together, I get all the ingredients ready.” Raquel bustled around the set as she gathered items for the main entrée. Her face flushed, and Marla couldn’t tell if she was pleased or annoyed by having visitors.
Marla drew Brianna aside. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be waiting outdoors. Did your dad get any prints off that glass?” He’d remembered to bring along a fingerprint kit. They could leave once they’d accomplished their purpose.
“I don’t know. He’s busy right now. Look, I brought you something you’ll want to see.” Brianna led her to the darkened audience section. She pointed to the album from the car, which she’d placed on an empty seat.
“Where’s your father? What is keeping him so busy that he can’t join us?”
Brianna made an impatient gesture. “He saw a white car parked nearby and wanted to run the plate. Then he noticed Raquel’s assistant heading that way. Dad went over to talk to him. He told me to go back inside. Take a look at that book, will you?”
Marla lifted the heavy album and opened the pages. As she’d noted earlier, they contained a collection of articles relating to the death of a toddler at an unlicensed day care center in South Miami.
“Do you see the resemblance?” Brianna said, indicating the photos. “The owner looks like a younger version of Raquel.”
A jolt of recognition hit Marla as she studied the faded pictures. The story Karen at Salon Style had told her was true except for one fact. According to these articles, the proprietor’s name was Theresa Mendez. Did that mean Raquel and Theresa were one and the same person?
“Go outside and tell your father to get in here,” she said to Brianna. “This confirms my theory about why Raquel might have wanted Francine out of the way.” She waited until the teen had vanished into the shadows before approaching the kitchen set.
“Did any of your early positions involve running a day care center?” Marla asked the chef in a casual tone.
Raquel, back at the work counter, gave her a startled glance. “Why do you say that?”
“Francine had a younger sister who died at one of those places. It turns out the owner had taken some of the children home but had forgotten the last kid. She left her in the van in the middle of summer. The poor toddler died. When the police investigated, they found the place’s business license had lapsed. The proprietor vanished before she could be held accountable.”
Raquel’s complexion turned the color of pastry crust. “Where did you get this information?”
“Francine kept an album filled with articles about that incident. The proprietor looks like a younger version of yourself. However, her name was Theresa Mendez. You got married after this tragedy happened, didn’t you? And you took on your husband’s last name of Hayes.”
Raquel sneered at her. “I thought you might figure things out. That’s why I threw the rock at your front door. I’d meant to warn you off, you stupid snoop.”
“Francine caught onto you, didn’t she?”
“The magazine publisher saw me on TV and thought I looked familiar. She confronted me at the farm festival and threatened to expose my past. If I wanted her to keep silent, I’d have to make sure she won the competition.”
“Is that what you meant when you said she wouldn’t win despite her threats?”
“I didn’t trust her. She might still publish her story and ruin the reputation it took me years to build. You won’t get the chance to tell what you know, either.”
Raquel opened a drawer and withdrew a butcher knife. She turned toward Marla, the blade in her hand and a murderous look in her eyes.