Chapter 13

Dear Natasha,

My sister cooks and bakes all the time. Every meal. Every day. But she refuses to clean up the kitchen. I am not her maid. It drives me crazy that she expects me to clean her mess. How can I convince her to clean up after herself?

Tearing Out My Hair in Sister Bay, Wisconsin

 

Dear Tearing Out My Hair,

Stop cleaning up. She won’t like it when she wants to cook and all the pots and pans are dirty. She’ll have to wash them herself then.

Natasha

“What about the kitchen in the garage apartment?” I asked.

“Natasha rented it to some cute young guy,” said Charlene. “He’s quiet and pays the rent, I’ll say that for him.”

“You would be welcome to use my kitchen, but I have a dog and a cat, which probably violates all kinds of rules.” But then an idea popped into my head. “Come inside and let me make a phone call.”

They followed me into my house.

“I would love to cook here,” said Charlene. “Although I will admit that Natasha’s stainless countertops make cleanup and sanitizing easy.”

I walked over to the wall phone, called Mars and explained the situation. “Is your B and B available by any chance?”

Charlene gazed at me hopefully, her eyes wide.

I gave her a thumbs-up and hung up the phone. “He’s at home, waiting for you with the key. It’s not a huge place, but it might tide you over until you can find somewhere else to cook.”

“You know,” said Griselda, “this might be a blessing in disguise. It’s time you got a real commercial kitchen. You can’t possibly expand if you limit yourself to what you can do in our house.”

Charlene didn’t respond. But she didn’t say no, either. Sometimes a suggestion plants a seed, and I had a feeling that was what had just happened before my eyes.

With my car still in the shop, I couldn’t help transport Charlene’s cooking equipment. I apologized for that, but Charlene quickly said, “You found me a place to cook. And that was the biggest problem. Besides, my assistant can load it all up in the van and bring it over.”

They left to pick up the key from Mars, and I checked for an email from Worried in Old Town. She hadn’t responded yet.

An hour later, I was surprised when Bobbie Sue showed up at my kitchen door. Dressed head to toe in black, she was clearly in mourning. But mostly, the spark in her eyes was gone. I invited her in and offered her a cup of coffee.

“Yes, please. Everything is such a muddle. I sneaked out of the house before more well-meaning friends could drop by. I am so thankful for everyone’s kindness, but I feel like no one will give me a minute to myself to be brokenhearted.”

“I expect that will come after the memorial service,” I said softly. We sat at the banquette in my kitchen. “Could I make you some breakfast?”

“Heavens, no! There is so much to eat in our house that the refrigerator is about to explode.” She took a long swig of coffee. “This is perfect. I need to pay you. How much do I owe you?”

“That’s what you’re worried about? It could have waited, Bobbie Sue. I certainly would have understood.” She had paid half of the price for her party in advance. I told her how much remained.

She wrote a check and handed it to me. “And how much for investigating Tate’s murder?”

“No charge for that.”

She stared at me unhappily and licked her lips. “No, no. You don’t understand. It’s over. You don’t have to search for his killer any longer. They’ve arrested someone.”

I shuddered at the word arrested.

“I appreciate all the time you put into it. Just tell me how much I owe you and we’ll be squared away.”

“Nothing. I don’t charge for that.”

Bobbie Sue bit her upper lip. “I presume you know that they caught the man. He’s been released, but we know who he is so there’s no need to pursue this any longer.”

I wondered if she knew Bernie and I were friends. It didn’t sound like it. Should I tell her? Should I let her know that I thought they had the wrong guy? She had so many things to do and to worry about. Maybe it would be kinder to take that concern off her back by letting her believe that it was Bernie.

I smiled at her. “When is the service?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Ugh. They’re not turning Tate over to me yet. It’s absolutely awful. I can’t even bury him. Everyone has been calling and asking that question. So we’re having a memorial service tomorrow at one o’clock. They can do that without . . . without Tate being present. Tate’s brothers are arriving this afternoon.” She twisted her pen nervously. “Please let me pay you. I asked you to find Tate’s killer. I would feel so much better if I could just wrap up that one thing.”

For the third time I tried to explain. “I never charge when someone asks me for help with a murder. I’m not a private investigator or any kind of professional. It would be wrong to do that. You owe me nothing.”

“Then you will stop?” She let out a little laugh. “Of course, you will. They have their man. Though I can’t imagine what his problem was with Tate. I’ve been to his restaurant. It’s very nice and the food was wonderful, but I fail to see why he would want to murder Tate. I suppose the police will figure that out and let me know.”

Bobbie Sue drained her coffee mug and stood up. “Thank you for your help. I hope I’ll see you at the service tomorrow, Sophie.”

I closed the door behind Bobbie Sue and watched her walk away. She took a deep breath and exhaled almost like she was glad to put one thing behind her. She walked quickly at first but when she reached the sidewalk, she slowed dramatically. That was how grief affected us. It came in waves.

In a way I felt relieved. It wasn’t as though I had a conflict of interest pursuing Tate’s killer. I knew it couldn’t have been Bernie. Finding the truth would be the best scenario for both Bobbie Sue and Bernie. But now I didn’t feel obligated to answer to Bobbie Sue. My sole concern was getting Bernie off the hook.

As far as I knew, Tate had been a well-respected businessman. But being in business came with a price. I knew that from personal experience. Not all clients and customers were happy. Unfortunately, Blackwell’s Tavern would be closed for a few days, so I couldn’t wander over to chat with employees and find out the real scoop. But maybe that was just as well. With a little luck, maybe Marsha hadn’t had a chance to tell them all to keep mum. I just needed to find someone who knew them.

But where to start? I couldn’t trouble Bobbie Sue for information. It would be inconsiderate and downright horrible to barge in and ask for Tate’s records. Besides, the police had probably taken his computer by now. I figured Nina and I had pretty much burned our bridges with Marsha. If I had the nerve to show up at her door, she would most likely slam it in my face.

Maybe it would be worth taking a walk to the restaurant and dropping in on the neighboring stores. It was still early in the day, though. Stores wouldn’t be open yet. I poured myself another cup of coffee and spent a couple of hours in my little home office, working on my advice column.

At ten, wearing a simple periwinkle dress and comfortable sandals, I took a stroll over to Blackwell’s Tavern. Candles and bouquets of flowers lay at the front door around a framed photograph of Tate. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing Bobbie Sue would have set up and I wondered who had created the impromptu tribute.

As I looked at it, a number of people paused and commented to one another. Mostly they said what a great guy Tate was. But a lone woman in her early twenties sniffled and stood alone. She hung a homemade lace ribbon angel on the side of the photo frame.

“That’s beautiful,” I said to her. “You must have known Tate very well to make such a lovely angel for him.”

She nodded, the muscles around her mouth quivering. “I worked for Mr. Bodoin. He was very good to me.”

“You look a little shaky, could I buy you a latte? I’d love to hear more about him.” I held out my hand. “I’m Sophie.” I could tell she was hesitant by the way she sized me up. “There’s a great place on the corner, we can sit outside in the shade.”

She followed me and minutes later we sat under a tree with lattes.

“I’m Liddy Albertson, by the way,” she said.

“You said you worked for Tate. Were you a server?”

“Yes, a terrible one! But he was so kind. I can’t believe that someone murdered him.”

I smiled at her. “Did you spill soup on customers?”

“Worse! I dropped a huge tray of steak specials. Filet mignons and Duchess potatoes flew across the floor.” She touched her palm against her forehead. “All the juice from the meat . . . it looked like a massacre had taken place. Bless Mr. Bodoin, he didn’t take it out of my pay. I was sure he would. Those were expensive meals. But he said not to worry because it happens to most servers sooner or later and that I was now officially an experienced server. Wasn’t that sweet?”

I eyed her. She seemed so innocent. Could she possibly be Worried in Old Town? I tested her. “Is this a summer job for you?”

She gasped and murmured, “Oh no!” Her eyes widened and she fluffed her hair. “How do I look?”

“Fine.”

“No tearstains on my face?” She wiped her fingers under her eyes.

“You look lovely.” She did, and now that something had rattled her, color had returned to her cheeks.

Liddy raised her chin and smiled at me as though she were having the best time of her life. She laughed and said, “My college boyfriend, Austin Sinclair, is over there. I know he sees me. He begged me to move to Washington after graduation. He wants to be in politics and had a job lined up here, but I didn’t so I moved home. Then I decided I could get a job waiting on tables here just as well as I could back home in Virginia Beach, so I moved. But when I got here, he ditched me. It was as though he had become a different person. All these girls were hanging around him, and it turned out he was already seeing some girl named Sara. If I had known that, I never would have moved.” The phony smiled vanished. “How can someone just dump you like that? What kind of guy does that? My roommate says men do things like that all the time. I don’t want him to know that I don’t have a fancy job. I’m still looking but I might move home to the beach instead. There’s nothing keeping me here.”

I nodded. “I’ll play along if he comes over here.”

“He won’t. He knows he treated me like a worm. But I want you to know why I’m pretending to be happy when I’m really devastated by Tate’s death.”

“I understand. What was the atmosphere like in the restaurant?” I asked. “Was anyone upset with Tate?”

“I don’t think so. Everyone gets along pretty well. Marsha is the one we’re wary of.”

“Oh?” I didn’t say more because I didn’t want to lead her line of thought.

“Yeah. The woman never smiles. We joke about her being a ghost. She’s always watching and turns up behind you unexpectedly. It’s spooky.”

I was itching to come right out and ask if Marsha was having an affair with Tate. But I thought I’d better ease into it. “How was Marsha with Tate?”

Liddy’s gaze flicked over my shoulder, past me. “He’s watching us.” She smiled brightly. “It’s no secret that Marsha was completely in love with Tate. He pretended he didn’t know, but you’d have to be a dolt not to realize it.”

“Were they having an affair?”