Chapter 26
Dear Natasha,
Can you please tell me how to cut a cheesecake? The ends often look goofy or break when I cut slices.
Cheesecake Mama in Knife River, Minnesota
Dear Cheesecake Mama,
There are two recommended methods. Dip the knife in hot water and wipe it dry before each cut. Start the cut in the middle and pull toward the outside. The other method is to “saw” across the cheesecake with one-strand fishing wire.
Sophie
Francie proudly announced, “Which proves that Bernie didn’t murder Tate. Otherwise, that guy wouldn’t be worried about what Sophie might turn up. It means he’s nervous.”
Wolf showed no reaction to Francie’s theory. “What’s that mark on your throat?”
“He held something metallic against it. I assume it was a knife. It wasn’t really bleeding but I cleaned it with rubbing alcohol and it stung, so I guess he broke the skin a little bit.”
Wolf put down his fork. “I don’t like this at all.”
“I think it’s delicious,” said Wong. “For someone who didn’t like it, you sure inhaled it.”
Wolf gave her a look. “The cheesecake is delicious. I don’t like the situation—that Sophie was attacked. You’ve obviously gotten under someone’s skin, Soph. What did you do that agitated someone?”
“Nothing! Not today anyway. Francie took me over to Estelle Fogelbaum’s house. I stopped by The Laughing Hound for lunch and had a nice chat with Shane. And on my way home, I talked with Spencer, but I don’t think anyone saw us. We were in a backyard that was fairly private. Then Mars took me to pick up my car.”
“Where was your car?” asked Wolf.
“At the dealership being repaired. A part gave out and had to be replaced.”
I took a bite of the sinful cheesecake.
“No one got angry with you or said anything odd?”
“Natasha did. She fussed at me because I backed into a store with Daisy, and Natasha didn’t like the way I was dressed.”
Wolf and Wong snickered.
“Oh! There is one person. She was at Tate’s service. A tall woman. Attractive, with full lips, big eyes, and a rich, dark complexion. Very well dressed. Nobody knows who she is.”
Wong looked at Wolf curiously.
Wolf sipped his tea before responding. “I know her. I have spoken to her personally and she had nothing to do with Tate’s murder.”
“She was with Tate just before he was murdered!” I persisted.
“I am aware of that. Your friend, Auguste, not only phoned me and told me what he knew, but he also invited me to dine at his restaurant gratis.”
“Are you allowed to accept free meals?” asked Nina.
Wolf grinned. “One of the few perks of the job. Restaurants often like to see us. A police presence can help keep crooks at bay, so a free meal or a cup of coffee while we’re on duty is acceptable.”
“So who is she?” I asked.
“She’s been thoroughly vetted and excluded from the list of suspects.”
I couldn’t believe that he dodged my question. What was it about this woman? I glared at him. He wasn’t going to tell me, and I wondered why. “Was she having an affair with Tate?”
Wong was on her second piece of cheesecake. Her eyes widened and she looked to Wolf, waiting for his response.
He tilted his head and said, “I don’t think so.”
“Now see,” I said, “if you weren’t being so cagey about her identity, I would have taken you at your word that you don’t think she was having an affair with Tate. But you kind of blew it. You’re not sure, are you?”
“Well, Miss Marple,” he said snidely, “I’m afraid Tate isn’t around to ask, so I have to make my own determination about that.”
A firm rap on the kitchen door caused us all to jump. Shane peered in the window.
I got up and let him in. “Perfect timing. You know Wolf, Wong, and Francie Vanderhoosen, don’t you?”
He grinned at Francie and nodded to Wolf and Wong. “Is this a bad time?”
“Not if you’d like a piece of cheesecake.”
He held both of his palms up. “Looks great. I’d love a piece.” He slid into the banquette.
I pulled out another plate and cut a slice for him. “Tea?”
“Not my usual, but beer doesn’t go with cheesecake.”
“Shane went over to the bar at Blackwell’s Tavern tonight,” I explained, handing him the cheesecake and a mug of tea.
“To spy?” Wong got excited. “I should have done that!”
“Don’t you think Marsha would have recognized you?” I asked.
“It’s not like I’m never going to eat there again,” said Wong. “What did you find out, Shane?”
“Can I speak freely? You won’t go arrest him?” asked Shane.
Wolf’s expression was deadpan, but Wong’s eyebrows raised with interest.
Wolf responded, “You know I can’t guarantee anything like that. It all depends on what he said or did.”
Shane sat back and scowled at him. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me. Okay? Eli has got a gig going. He’s under-ringing drinks and pocketing the difference.”
“Under-ringing? What’s that?” I asked.
“Say a drink costs thirteen dollars regular and six dollars at happy hour. He’ll sell a drink for thirteen dollars, ring it up as a happy hour drink at six dollars, and the seven-dollar difference goes into his pocket.”
“Woah,” said Wong. “He could make hundreds of dollars every night.”
Shane nodded. “You bet. He’s cheating the owner.”
“How could you tell?” asked Wolf.
Shane shrugged. “I tend bar. Listen, I don’t cheat Bernie, but I’ve been around long enough to know what a bartender is doing on the sly. I saw him pocketing money. There must be two dozen ways to cheat, but he’s lining his pockets all right.”
“I should tell Bobbie Sue,” I said.
“There’s more.” Shane grinned, flashing perfect white teeth. “I told him I’d heard he was seeing Eva Rosales—”
“Who’s that?” asked Wolf.
“One of the assistant managers at The Laughing Hound,” said Shane. “Very pretty but runs the place like she’s a drill sergeant. When I mentioned her, Eli nearly came over the bar at me. He begged me to quash any talk about the two of them because he’d lose his job at Blackwell’s Tavern if Marsha heard about it.”
“Because he’s sleeping with their competitor?” asked Wong.
“No, because he’s also dating Marsha, his manager, on the sly.”
Wong looked at Wolf. “I thought Marsha had a thing for Tate.”
Wolf slid a hand over his nose and mouth. “So did I.”
“And my friend Estelle Fogelbaum can confirm that he’s two-timing them,” Francie exclaimed proudly. “I’ll take you to see her tomorrow.”
“You really should go,” I said. “She has the most amazing view of the crime scene.” Lest he get the wrong idea, I quickly added, “But she wasn’t watching when Tate was killed.”
“Shane, at what time were you observing Eli at Blackwell’s Tavern?” asked Wolf.
“I got there at eight, left about eleven, and came straight here.”
“Then Eli has an alibi for his whereabouts tonight when Sophie was attacked,” mused Wolf.
Shane frowned and his brow furrowed. “You were attacked?”
“Yes,” I said. “But the real question is where was Eli the night Tate was murdered?”
“Sophie,” said Wolf, “I’d like you to come down to the station so we can get a decent photo of the mark on your throat.”
Francie froze. “And leave me alone?”
“Maybe Nina can come over,” I said.
“We’ll be keeping an eye on you, Francie,” said Wolf.
Nevertheless, I phoned Nina. When she arrived with Mars in tow and a big bowl of popcorn, I followed Wolf in my car to the police station to have my throat photographed.
It was surprisingly quiet there.
In a low voice, Wolf said, “I want you to give this a lot of thought, Sophie. I know how close you are to Bernie. But someone had to be desperate to attack you tonight. There are things going on that I can’t reveal to you. I’m sure you can understand that. Soph, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Is Bernie still your prime suspect?” I asked.
Wolf closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, he sighed. “You’re the one who found the broken glass and the cheesecake. The killer tried to clean up that scene. He just didn’t do a thorough job. But he did take the larger shards of glass and the crushed clamshell with cheesecake in it.”
I swallowed hard. “You’re saying he must have taken them because those things weren’t in the alley or the Eklunds’ backyard?”
“That’s right. They were in the back of Bernie’s car.”