“So, has your curiosity been satisfied?” Andrew asked after they left Taste of Tuscany and climbed back into his car.
“Not really.” Kat stared out the windshield. She didn’t feel any closer to answers now than she had before.
Andrew started the engine, but instead of backing up he draped one arm behind Kat’s seat and looked her straight in the eye. “I should remind you, as of this moment there’s still no proof that Aaron’s death was anything but a fluke accident.”
Her stomach tightened. She had been so busy juggling suspects, she had forgotten to mention the peanut oil and EpiPen found inside Jessie’s Diner.
“Uh, Andrew, there’s something I should tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“Actually, why don’t we just stop by Jessie’s so I can show you in person.”
Andrew eyed her for a long moment before straightening in his seat. “All right.”
While Andrew drove, Kat sorted through what she had learned during lunch. Although she liked Luigi D’Angelo as Aaron’s killer purely because of his temper and hatred of the deceased, she couldn’t get past the fact that he hadn’t been inside Jessie’s Diner when Aaron was there yesterday. Sure, he could have swiped Winnie’s key and let himself in before or after the fact, but that didn’t explain how he could have slipped the peanut oil into Aaron’s milkshake. The same went for Winnie.
No, the more Kat thought about it, the more convinced she became that the killer had to have been at Jessie’s when Aaron went into anaphylactic shock. That meant she had to look more closely at Jessie, Lisa, Tiffany, and George.
Jessie and Lisa had the most opportunity. But as far as Kat knew, neither woman had a personal connection to Aaron. Thwarting a bad review and a possible Health Department complaint was the only motive she could come up with for either of them.
Tiffany, on the other hand, had worked with Aaron, and her comments had made it clear she’d disliked him. But disliking a coworker was a rather flimsy motive for murder, even for someone who would relish a chance to report on the crime. Still, Kat would keep her under consideration.
That left George. George hadn’t seemed too concerned about Aaron’s death. He certainly hadn’t let it stop him from scarfing down that pecan pie. And he had been sitting at the counter, close to where Jessie had found the peanut oil bottle.
But George and Jessie liked each other—at least, that was what Kat had assumed after observing several of their exchanges. George would have no reason to frame Jessie except to deflect suspicion off himself. Besides, neither George nor Aaron had acknowledged the other yesterday. Wouldn’t they have at least shot each other a couple glares across the room if there was enough animosity between them for George to kill the man?
Kat clutched her skull with both hands. All these theories were making her head spin. It seemed she could come up with plenty of people with motive, means, or opportunity, but no one who had all three.
Except Jessie, a little voice in Kat’s brain said.
Maybe Andrew was right and Jessie really would do anything to defend her restaurant’s reputation. Kat couldn’t deny that Jessie’s whole life revolved around her diner. She didn’t have a husband or children. Her restaurant was it.
“Here we are,” Andrew said, pulling into a parking spot near Jessie’s front entrance.
Kat’s body felt heavy as she dragged herself out of the passenger seat. She wasn’t sure whether to blame the possibility of Jessie Polanski committing murder or too much Italian food for weighing her down.
Jessie was talking to George at the counter. She waved as Kat walked in, but her smile faltered when Andrew stepped over the threshold a second later. Kat hoped that wasn’t an indication of guilt.
Although, Kat considered, if Jessie were guilty, why would she have shown her that peanut oil bottle in the first place? She had to have known Kat would tell Andrew about it.
And, now that Kat thought about it, Jessie had made Aaron’s milkshake before he’d gone off about the orange tabby. She would have had no reason to mess with it.
Jessie stepped away from George. “Hi, guys.”
Kat joined her at the counter. “I brought Andrew by to take a look at that stuff from this morning.”
“Stuff?” George piped up. “You ain’t hidin’ another pecan pie from me, are ya, Jess?”
Jessie gave him a weak smile. “No, no. I wouldn’t do that to you, George.”
Kat hunched closer to Jessie and whispered, “Why don’t I distract him while you talk to Andrew?”
“Thanks.” Jessie motioned Andrew around the counter. “Everything’s in the kitchen.”
“So, George,” Kat began, sitting down beside him, “you really like those pecan pies, huh?”
George harrumphed. “What kind of fool question is that? Who doesn’t like a good pecan pie?”
“People who are allergic, for one thing.”
“Eh.” George flapped his hand as though to dismiss everyone with a nut allergy as a kook.
“Shame about Aaron Moskowitz, huh?”
“Who?”
“The guy who died yesterday.” Kat rested one arm on the counter. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. What about you?”
“What about me?” George replied.
“Did you lose any sleep last night over what we witnessed yesterday?”
“Nope.”
“Nobody would think any less of you if you did. It was pretty traumatic.”
“Well, I ain’t sacrificin’ sleep for no one. ’Sides, when you get to be my age, death don’t bother ya all that much. Half my buddies are six feet under.”
Kat fell silent, at a loss for what to say next. Although George didn’t sound troubled by what had happened, he also didn’t seem unduly pleased. So far, it appeared as if her initial assumption was the correct one. George hadn’t known Aaron, and he had no reason for wanting him dead.
“There’s your cat,” George said.
“What?”
“Your cat.” George angled his chin off to the side. “It’s been starin’ at me ever since I gave Jess my order.”
Kat scanned the restaurant. Sure enough, the orange tabby was curled up under the same table as yesterday, his yellow eyes trained in their direction.
“Jess said you couldn’t catch it,” George commented. He eyed her as though trying to figure out what kind of person was incapable of catching a ten-pound animal.
“She’s right,” Kat told him. “He wouldn’t let me near him.”
George rubbed his palms together. With his gray hair shooting in different directions, he looked a little like a mad scientist. “Want me to give it a go?”
“That’s okay.” Kat hopped off the stool. “You enjoy your lunch.”
She was on her way to grab the cat carrier from her trunk when she remembered they had taken Andrew’s car. So much for that, she thought, looking wistfully at the orange tabby.
The door bell tinkled.
“Kat!”
The sight of Tiffany making a beeline for her stopped Kat in her tracks. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking out the scene of the crime.”
“Again?”
“After chasing that cat around, I didn’t get to look around much this morning.” She gave Kat a sly grin. “Don’t tell me. You’re here for the same reason.”
“I’m actually here for the orange tabby,” Kat said, grateful to have a different excuse for popping in.
“He’s back?”
While Tiffany swiveled around in search of the feline, Kat snuck a glance behind her. Through the serving window, she could see Andrew and Jessie talking in the kitchen. She hoped they didn’t choose this moment to waltz out with the EpiPen and peanut oil. Tiffany would be beside herself.
“So,” Tiffany said, clasping her hands in front of her. “What do you say I pick your brain about this case while we try to nab this cat again?”
Kat considered her offer. Thinking about Aaron so much was giving her a headache, and the last thing she wanted was to rehash her theories again. But she hated the thought of the orange tabby spending another night out in the cold, and when it came to cornering cats two pairs of hands were better than one. Besides, she could always deflect Tiffany’s questions.
“Okay,” she agreed. “But give me a second to see if Jessie has a spare box we can use. I didn’t bring a carrier.”
“Sure thing.” Tiffany’s eyes drifted past Kat, and her face brightened. “While you’re doing that, I’ll interview this eyewitness.”
“Eyewitness?”
Without replying, Tiffany bounded off, flashing Kat a five-fingered wave over her shoulder. She tapped George on the arm before plopping onto the stool next to him.
Kat didn’t move, studying Tiffany as she chatted with George. While she talked, she was in constant motion. It reminded her of how magicians often used sleight of hand to keep the audience from detecting what they were doing.
Could Tiffany have done the same to swipe that EpiPen from Aaron’s briefcase or slip peanut oil into his milkshake? Observing her now, Kat believed she was capable.
Except Tiffany hadn’t left her sight yesterday, Kat reminded herself. And although she would only need to lean over her booth seat to reach Aaron’s table, what were the odds she could have done so without being noticed? It seemed like a stretch for even the best magician.
She sighed, frustrated by her inability to piece together what had actually happened yesterday. Maybe she had lost her touch as an amateur sleuth. Maybe all those other cases she’d solved had been flukes, a product of her being in the right place at the right time. What would Tiffany think of her if Aaron’s death remained a mystery forever? She would probably lose that starstruck look she got whenever they were together.
Kat couldn’t explain why the possibility made her feel unusually bereft.