Chapter 19
Dear Natasha,
My husband bought cookies made with CBD and allowed our children to eat them! CBD! He thinks I’m making a big stink over nothing. Can you eat CBD? A divorce is riding on your answer.
Furious Mom in Pot Spring, Maryland
Dear Furious Mom,
Baking with CBD is the latest craze! Relax. CBD is derived from hemp and is non-psychoactive.
Natasha
Bobbie Sue pressed her hands against the sides of her face. “Oh, Spencer. Please don’t say that. Indulge me and allow me to believe that it will.”
She held out her hand to him. “Do me a huge favor and come with me to say hello to Cal Simmons.” Bobbie Sue bent toward us. “He always says something highly suggestive and inappropriate to me, but I’m willing to bet he won’t do it in front of my son.”
Spencer reluctantly got to his feet and walked away with his mother.
I returned to the house and flagged down Nina. “Ready to go?”
She nodded. “The fried chicken was superb. But they could have done a better job with the desserts. Serving Bobbie Sue’s cheesecakes would have been a good idea.”
We walked to the foyer and just as we reached the front door, I noticed Marsha watching us. She gave me a look so cold that I actually shivered.
I wondered why. She barely knew me. Was it because of my association with Bernie? Or was something else going on with her?
Nina chattered as we strolled toward the center of town. We entered The Laughing Hound and stopped short. It was packed. A line of people waited to be seated. Nina and I slipped past them and into the dining room. It was too early for dinner, yet every table was occupied. Bernie walked around, stopping to chat with people. I could hear them expressing their support for him.
Bernie spotted us and discreetly motioned toward his office with his head. The restaurant occupied a building that had once been a grand townhouse. Bernie had arranged dining areas in various locations, making them more private and special. The conservatory with windows all around and the outdoor patio were my personal favorites. As we walked up the stairs, I noted how easy it would be for anyone to enter the restaurant and take the stairs up to Bernie’s office without being noticed. Even if that person happened to be seen, there were special rooms on the second floor for business luncheons, not to mention additional restrooms. No one would give a second thought to anyone climbing the stairs.
At the top, I stopped for a moment. It was quiet. The soft murmur from the dining room below seemed far away. Not a soul was around. I heard peals of laughter coming from one of the private rooms on the same floor as Bernie’s office.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Nina.
“I was just thinking how easy it would have been for the killer to come up here and steal Bernie’s keys.”
Nina swirled around. “No kidding!” She hurried to Bernie’s office.
I followed at a good clip. The door was open.
Nina slipped behind the desk and pulled out the two top drawers. She rummaged in them. “No keys!”
Bernie’s voice came from the doorway. “Aha! Caught you!”
Nina held up her palms in mock dismay. “Where are you keeping your keys?”
“I now place them in the safe. It saddens me to do that. There was something special about tossing them into the desk drawer. Such an ordinary thing. But I’ve lost that sense of security.”
“It took only one person to do that.” I reached out and gave him a little one-armed sideways hug. “I’m sorry, Bernie.”
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll get over it. Did you come for lunch?” His arm dropped off my shoulder as he turned to face me.
Nina groaned. “I don’t say this often, but I’m stuffed. We just came from Bobbie Sue’s house. Tate’s memorial service was today.”
Bernie nodded. “I heard about that. Wish I could have gone.”
“A very attractive woman showed up,” I said, “but no one knows who she is, not even Bobbie Sue. Very tall, probably over six feet. Dark complexioned, with big eyes and full lips. Quite striking.”
Bernie’s brow wrinkled. “Doesn’t ring any bells with me.”
“Rats!” Nina scowled at him. “I thought you knew everyone.”
Bernie chuckled at her. “I probably don’t remember half the people I have met over the years.”
“No matter, we just thought we’d check with you.”
Nina nodded. “Keep an eye out for her. Okay?”
Bernie cocked his head. “Did I miss something? You think she’s a suspect in Tate’s murder just because she showed up at the service for him? I want to find the person who killed Tate more than anyone. But suspecting that woman just because you and Bobbie Sue don’t know her seems unfair.”
I chose my words carefully. “She was seen with him the night he died. We think she may know something that could lead us to his murderer.”
Nina added, “There’s also the possibility that she and Tate were having an affair.”
Bernie frowned.
“Well, you know how that goes,” Nina added. “Jealousy rears its ugly head when a romantic partner decides not to leave his spouse.”
Bernie appeared pained. I reached for his hand and squeezed it. “The restaurant is packed. It looks like you’re getting a lot of support.”
“That’s true. I never expected an outpouring of friendship like this. It seems as though everyone has a theory.”
“Really?” I snatched my hand back and grabbed a pen and notepad off his desk. “Like what?”
“Nothing to get excited over. Mostly they think Marsha killed Tate. Apparently, she didn’t hide her devotion to him. It would have been easy for her to take a bottle of champagne, lure him somewhere, and then bash him over the head with it.”
“Do you know if she was dating someone else?” I asked. “I have a witness who saw her smooching with some guy in an alley.”
Bernie’s eyebrows arched. “No kidding? Like everyone else, I thought she was busy mooning over Tate. I can ask around.”
“Who else have they mentioned?” asked Nina.
Bernie shifted uncomfortably. “A lot of them think it was Bobbie Sue. Tate was a little older than her, and people let their imaginations run wild. They suggest that she’s getting back together with her first husband, she found a new lover, or that she doesn’t need Tate’s money anymore now that she’s expanding her cheesecake empire. There’s no truth to any of it. As Mars would say, it’s all speculation.”
“Bernie,” I said softly, “have you thought of anyone who might want to frame you? Someone who wants you out of the way? Someone who could be angry with you? Even if it’s for some unintentional slight? Did you give someone a bad reference? Fire someone?”
“Sophie, I try to be fair to everyone. I’ve worked most of the jobs people have in this restaurant. I know what it’s like to count my pennies and wonder if I’ll make enough to pay the rent. There are undoubtedly people in this world who don’t like me for one reason or another.” He grinned when he said, “And I have thrown countless drunks out of this place. But I don’t know what I have done to anyone to make them so angry that they would frame me for murder.”
Bernie’s face had flushed red. “I feel so helpless. How can I fight a faceless enemy?”
It was a good question. I wished I had answers. Nina and I assured him we were doing our best and headed home.
In spite of Bernie’s issues, I was enjoying the long summer days. Walking Daisy around sunset was a treat. The warm air felt comforting on my bare arms, one of the true joys of summertime. As we walked, I thought about Marsha, who seemed to have a grudge of some kind against Bernie. What if she was seeing someone who was jealous of Tate? She wouldn’t have been the first person to talk too much and far too adoringly about someone at work. Liddy, whom I had no reason to doubt, had mentioned seeing Marsha near the turquoise bench, so I steered Daisy in that direction. The sun would be setting soon but I could still get a feel for that alley.
We found the bench easily. A brick fence ran along the side of the house. The bench was barely visible through an ornate iron gate, surrounded by pink geraniums in clay pots. I paused for a moment to enjoy the vignette before entering the alley. It was wide enough for a garbage truck and worked well as a shortcut for those familiar with the area. Otherwise, it served mostly as easy entry to garages and a convenient spot for trash collection. I paused before the entrance, noting that there weren’t any streetlights so it would be dark when the sun had set. But if Marsha and friend had been kissing fairly close to where I stood, they would have been visible. Enough to be identifiable at any rate.
We ambled along. The homes that backed up to it on both sides were impressive. Stunning gates opened onto the alley, most of them were solid wood so that the gardens behind them were obscured. My own gate was like that. Everyone wanted privacy and I didn’t blame them.
I sighed. I had hoped for a clue about the person Marsha had been with that night. Maybe Francie or Nina knew someone who lived in this neighborhood and could fill us in.
Leafy tree limbs peeked over some of the brick garden walls and an occasional urn full of daisies or impatiens brightened the alley. Daisy tugged me to the right. I stopped to let her sniff something of interest. When I coaxed her to walk on, she stood her ground and continued sniffing.
I looked over her shoulders to see what was there. Probably garbage that fell out of the truck, I thought. Or maybe a piece of food that some bird had scavenged and dropped. Daylight had turned to dusk, making it harder to see small details. I asked Siri to turn on the light in my phone and flashed it on the area that interested Daisy.
A fat shard of broken glass gleamed as the light caught it. But that wasn’t what fascinated Daisy. Just beyond it, near a gate, something had smeared. Her tongue darted out and I stopped her just in time. It looked like—no, it couldn’t be. I dabbed it with the tip of my forefinger. The little brownish chunk was creamy. I smelled it. No question about it, among dark dried drips of something were bits of chocolate cheesecake. They vanished under the gate.
I shone my light at the crack under the gate. The spots could be anything, I thought. A cola that had spilled. The remnants of a bottle of wine that had tipped over. But cheesecake? Had someone dropped a chocolate cheesecake? Moving slowly, I lifted the latch on the gate. It made only the tiniest sound as metal scraped metal.
The owners of the house probably wouldn’t like me peering into their yard. I opened the gate only enough to see the house. The windows were black as pitch. If anyone was home, they were asleep or sitting in the dark. I focused my light on the ground. A similar dark stain had smeared on the brick patio that stretched to the gate. Ants had formed an orderly line to consume the bits of cheesecake. It appeared to be on the ground near bushes as well, where more tiny bits of glass glimmered under my light.
My heart beat faster. As much as I wanted to believe that someone had dropped chocolate cheesecake and spilled red wine, I knew the red parts were blood.