MY FAIR LATTE Page 6

  Not only had I seen the story, I could already envision the front-page headline in tomorrow’s edition. “Police zero in on new theater owner as prime murder suspect.”

  I called Trudy and told her I had just seen her missed call because I’d been at the police station being interrogated. Before I could say anything else she said, “Hold that thought. I’ll be right over.”

  I thought it would be nice to offer Trudy something other than super cheap beer. So, I fished a corkscrew out of the kitchen drawer and opened a nice bottle of Carvello wine Marco had given me as a grand-opening gift. I retrieved a couple of wine glasses from the cabinet. Moments later, there was a tap at the door.

  I offered Trudy a glass of wine, pouring one for myself as well.

  She took a sip. “Mmm, I see we’re drinking the good stuff. What’s the occasion?”

  We sat down at opposite ends of the sofa and turned slightly to face each other.

  “I think not being locked up in jail after the grilling the cops gave me today is reason enough to celebrate for the moment.”

  “Oh, Halley, I’m sorry. The police really think foul play was involved in Vince Dalton’s death?”

  “Not only do they think he was murdered, I seem to be their number one suspect.”

  “They didn’t actually say that, did they?”

  “Everything but.”

  “Why on earth would they suspect you had anything to do with his death? You’d never even seen the man before.”

  “I know that’s what I said last night, and I probably should’ve stuck to that story. When they showed me his driver’s license, he didn’t look familiar. But when I saw the photo in the newspaper this morning, I did remember seeing him once.”

  “When was that?”

  “The same night the theater was vandalized. I was in the lobby after I got back from having dinner with Kendra. I looked up and saw him standing just inches from the front door staring blankly at me. It kind of creeped me out at the time, but I told myself I was being silly, that it was just some tourist trying to get a peek inside the theater.”

  “I don’t see how the fact that you saw him once through a window gives you any connection to the victim,” Trudy said.

  “Because, as it turns out, Vince Dalton was the one who vandalized the theater.”

  “Why in the world would he do that? What reason could he possibly have had?”

  “Beats me, especially since he apparently wanted to be the new owner. According to the cops, he called Mr. Hamish just after Uncle Leon’s death anxious to buy the theater. He was less than thrilled to find out Uncle Leon had an heir. They’re convinced he approached me about buying the theater and when I turned him down he resorted to vandalism to frighten me away. Neat story, but not true. He never said a word to me.”

  “So, Vince Dalton must be the same guy who tried to buy the theater from Leon,” Trudy said.

  “Someone tried to buy the theater? When was this?”

  “Just a few months ago. George told me about it, said Leon turned him down flat—and the man got pretty ugly about it. The same man, I’m assuming it was Dalton, also tried to buy the candle shop on your block. And the owner, Linda Halsey, seriously considered selling.”

  “Really? So, when he couldn’t buy a big, old theater, he tried to buy a tiny candle shop instead? That seems odd.”

  “Yep.”

  We both paused, momentarily lost in our own thoughts, as we sipped Chardonnay.

  “The cops think you knew somehow that Vince was the vandal and you decided to kill him—in your own theater on opening night? Wait…how do they know he was the vandal? And how was he killed anyway?”

  “They didn’t say. In fact, they didn’t say a lot of things. Maybe they found some green spray paint at his place, I don’t know. Since George didn’t mention any obvious wounds, I’m guessing they think it was death was by poison. Presumably, I slipped something lethal into his coffee in front of an audience as I made and served espressos, lattes and cappuccinos to a lobby full of people.”

  “Now listen, sweetie. The cops may have grilled you to see if you knew more than you were saying, especially after you said you’d never seen him before, then changed your story. But that doesn’t mean they think you actually killed the man. I think you’re inferring more than you should.”

  “You weren’t there. I thought they were going to lock me up at any moment. And they told me not to leave town without checking with them first. They seem to think I’ll become a fugitive on the lam, like Humphrey Bogart in Dark Passage.”

  Despite wanting to put up a brave front, hot tears stung my eyes. Trudy reached over and grabbed my hand.

  “Isn’t that the movie where he had his face all bandaged up?”

  I nodded.

  “Just promise me you won’t have plastic surgery to change your appearance like Bogie did in the movie. Your face is lovely just the way it is,” she said, pushing my hair out of my eyes and brushing her fingers affectionately against my cheek. “Besides, as I recall it turned out Humphrey Bogart was innocent, too, wasn’t he?”

  I smiled and nodded. Thinking about Bogart’s character’s innocence made me feel better for some reason.

  “Maybe you and George could suggest a defense attorney, just in case. The only lawyer I know is Mr. Hamish of Hamish, Davis, and Weltner. But since he handles estates, he probably doesn’t try criminal cases. Maybe Davis or Weltner does?” I wondered aloud.

  “I don’t think we need to find you an attorney just yet. But I do think you should call Mr. Hamish in the morning. If Vince made an offer to buy the theater, either before or after you arrived in town, it seems to me he should have told you about it. You talk to Mr. Hamish, and George and I will see what we can find out about Vince Dalton. Knowledge is power.”

  Trudy got up to leave. “Why don’t you come down and have supper with us tonight? I’ve got a lovely pot roast in the oven.”

  The thought of Trudy’s pot roast made my mouth water, but I didn’t feel up to being sociable.

  “Thank you, but I have some leftovers I should eat,” I said, trying not to show my distaste for the soggy club sandwich in the fridge.

  “Okay, sweetie,” she said, giving me a hug, “but soon. You know we love having you visit.”

  After Trudy left, it occurred to me I was starving. I took the sandwich out and removed the meat and cheese, toasted two fresh slices of bread and reassembled the sandwich with a shot of mustard. Not too bad, I thought after taking a bite. I grabbed a cold beer and sat down at the table. Beer was one thing I wouldn’t run out of soon. Uncle Leon had several cases stacked in the bedroom. My guess was he stocked up when it went on sale. I was dying to call Kendra and tell her everything, but weekends were her busiest time and the escape rooms were open until ten on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. The clock on the microwave told me it was five o’clock.

  There was plenty of cleaning left to do downstairs, but I was tired after losing sleep last night and any reserve energy I possessed had been drained during the inquisition at the police station. Since there was no showing tonight I stretched out on the sofa and gave in to a nap. When I woke up later it felt like I’d slept for hours, but I discovered it was only a little after six. I decided to watch an old movie to boost my flagging spirits, wondering if people in prison get to watch television. After thumbing through my box of classic movies, I pulled out a DVD of Dark Passage, popped it in the player, and let the black-and-white movie images comfort me, as they had since I was a kid. Although, I was more into the antics of Abbott and Costello than the romance of Bogart and Bacall when I first fell in love with old movies.

  I still had time to kill before the escape rooms closed and I could phone Kendra. Knowing I was currently Public Enemy Number One of the Utopia Springs Police Department was giving me the jitters. I needed to keep busy, so I got to work sort
ing through more of Uncle Leon’s boxes of junk, something I’d gotten woefully behind on during the theater renovations.

  I went in the bedroom and grabbed one of the boxes stacked in the corner. Another excursion into bits and pieces of Uncle Leon’s life, what seemed like millions of sheets of paper and ephemeral—most of them useless. But I couldn’t bring myself to just toss them wholesale into the dumpster, hoping to find something meaningful. I longed to get to know him in some small measure.

  I came across a postcard from Las Vegas. Nothing was written on the back, and I wondered if he’d ever actually been there. I dumped everything else in the box into a trash bag, carried it down to the alley and tossed it into the big green dumpster. I jumped, startled as something brushed against my leg, but looking down, I was relieved to see it was Eartha, who looked up at me and meowed.

  “About time you turned up. I know you and Uncle Leon had an open relationship where you came and went as you pleased. But I feel better when you stay home nights.”

  When I knelt down and petted her she climbed up on my knee. I cradled her in my arms and Eartha Kitty purred as I carried her inside with me.

  As soon as we entered the apartment, Eartha leapt from my arms to check her food bowl, which was empty. She shot me a look of betrayal and sharply meowed her displeasure. I obeyed and filled her bowl.

  With Eartha happy, or at least appeased, I restacked the boxes I’d taken down to sort through. The rest would have to wait for another day. Picking up a box to add back to the stack, I jostled the contents and spied a party hat inside with a confetti design printed on it and silly frills tumbling from the top of the cone. I tried to imagine Uncle Leon wearing it. For some reason, I was suddenly curious how it would look atop the deer head. I moved a dining chair over, climbed up and placed the party hat on the antlers, adjusting it to a jaunty angle. Stepping down and viewing it from the center of the room, I was pleased with the effect. He definitely looked less stern wearing the hat.

  “Okay, you can stay,” I said to my antlered companion. “I think I’ll call you Derek.”

  Eartha, who had finished her dinner, padded over and leapt onto the back of the sofa. It could be my imagination, but she shot me a look like she thought I was crazy.

  CHAPTER 10

  At 10:36 p.m. I called Kendra.

  Before she could even say hello, I rattled off, “Kendra, I have so much to tell you. Can I come over and help you clean up? We can talk as we work.”

  “Sure. Come on over, we can talk while we eat. I just phoned and ordered a large mushroom pizza.”

  Pizza sounded good. It had been a while since my sandwich. Before walking over to Kendra’s place I stopped by the theater snack bar and grabbed a box of M&M’s and a box of Raisinets, thinking the least I could do was bring dessert. I tossed money for the candy on the shelf under the counter to remind me to pay for it later. I wanted to make sure I was straight-up business when it came to the business side of things.

  Kendra was standing in the alley by the back door when I arrived. After we stepped inside she locked the door behind us.

  “Won’t you have to unlock in just a few minutes for the pizza delivery person?”

  “Already delivered a couple of minutes ago. We’ve got fresh, hot pizza waiting for us upstairs, girl.”

  I felt way more excited about that than was seemly.

  “I brought dessert,” I said, pulling the candy boxes out of my pockets. “You can choose your fave, or we can split them.”

  “I’ll take some of both. You can’t go wrong with chocolate, and we can pretend the ones with raisins are healthy.”

  After we’d each scarfed down a slice of pizza, I filled Kendra in on my eventful, but not in a good way, day.

  “Wow. So the dead guy is the one who stared at you through the window—and who spray-painted ‘Go home’ on your wall. Sounds like he had something personal against you, doesn’t it?”

  “Hey, you sound like the cops. Who’s side are you on anyway?”

  “You know I’m on your side. I’m just trying to look at this from the cops’ point of view. Figure out what they’re thinking. Mr. Dalton seems like a bundle of contradictions.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, he seemed eager to buy the theater, which is a huge space. But he also wanted to buy the very small candle shop. And if he wanted the theater, why would he trash it? Why didn’t he just approach you and offer you a bunch of money? If I were him I’d figure your uncle was old and didn’t want to sell, but you might be happy to swap it for cash.”

  “What do you mean ‘happy to swap it for cash’? I don’t want to sell the theater.”

  “I’m not saying you do, or did. But how was he to know? Seems like it would’ve been worth a shot if he really wanted to buy it. Wait. What if it’s not about the theater? What if he just wants properties on your block? Maybe he’s a developer.”

  “That’s an intriguing possibility,” I said as I nibbled on the crust. “And if he were a developer it could be that there’s someone who was seriously opposed to his development—or maybe he had a falling out with his business partner. One of those people could have killed him. It would be nice if I could suggest suspects to the police other than me. How can we find out?” I said.

  “I suppose we could start by checking with the planning commission to see if any proposed development plans have been submitted.

  I’d just gotten up Monday morning when Trudy phoned and asked me to meet her at the muffin shop for breakfast. Since the escape rooms were closed on Mondays, I called Kendra to see if she wanted to join us. I hurriedly dressed and tried to make my hair presentable. I gave up on the hair and put on a baseball cap. It featured the MGM logo, along with the movie studio’s trademark lion. I’d found it among Uncle Leon’s mountain of possessions. Snatched it out of a bag tagged for the charity thrift shop, in fact. I’d carted so many loads of donations to them it was embarrassing, so I had started storing some in the basement to space out my trips. I felt an obligation to guard Uncle Leon’s reputation, not let word get out to everyone in town that he was a hoarder, even though he was—on a grand scale.

  Trudy and I ordered Zeke’s sinfully good cinnamon rolls along with some coffee and took a seat at a bistro table in the corner. I spotted Kendra as she came in and waved to her. She waved before going to the counter to order.

  “What’s up? Are you hiding from George?” I asked Trudy, quietly.

  “No, whatever would give you that notion?” she said with a bemused expression.

  “It’s kind of early, I figured you’d have breakfast with your husband, that’s all.”

  “It’s not early for old folks like us, we’ve been up since five. And George usually meets some of his geezer friends for coffee on Monday mornings.

  Kendra made her way to the table. After exchanging hellos, Trudy said, “The reason I called you this morning was I did a little asking around about Vince Dalton and found out he had been renting a cottage in town from my friend, Paula Turpin. She said the cops searched his place yesterday and hauled off a bunch of boxes. When I inquired, she also said it would be okay for you to come by and take a look around his place, if you like. Kendra, I think it would be good if you could go with Halley. I’d go, but George is conducting a painting workshop, which means I have to mind the store.”

  “Sure, I’m game,” Kendra said.

  “Paula runs a little B&B and I think she serves breakfast to guests between seven and nine. So, you probably could drop by around nine thirty. I’ll text you her address,” Trudy said to me as she punched buttons on her phone.

  “Did Paula tell you anything about Vince when you talked to her?” I asked.

  “No, she didn’t have time to talk right then and I didn’t want George to know what we’re up to just yet. He says the police are questioning everyone at this point so there’s no r
eason to think they suspect you. He also said we should keep our noses out of it and let the police take care of finding a killer. He just doesn’t want us to wander into danger—I don’t want us to, either. If anything scary happens you call the cops right way, you hear? But I think you’re safe talking to Paula and looking around Vince’s place, since the cops have already finished going through it.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Kendra said.

  “Good. But you gals be careful. And remember, we don’t have to catch the killer, just come up with a suspect to make the police lose interest in you.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  Trudy started getting up to go. I almost choked trying to speak with a mouthful of hot coffee. I raised my hand, motioning for Trudy to wait.

  “Hang on a sec,” I said, and she planted herself firmly back in the chair.

  “I wanted to ask you. Have you heard about any proposed development plans for downtown, specifically the block the theater’s on?”

  “No, why?”

  “Kendra and I were talking, and we think it seems weird that Vince was interested in buying the theater and the candle shop—not exactly related businesses or even buildings of a similar size. Kendra suggested maybe Vince was some kind of developer, who just wanted the property.”

  “I’ll ask George because if there was even a rumor of development, he’d know. I think it’s extremely unlikely though. The city is super strict with developments in the downtown area. Plus, more than one building on that block is on the historic register, which means a developer would be very limited on what they could do to the buildings. Even if he could buy up all the buildings on the block, he wouldn’t be able to tear them down or gut them,” she said.

  “Oh, that’s a good point. I hadn’t even thought about the registered buildings,” Kendra said.

  “And, just so y’all know, Paula’s okay but she’s a bit of an odd bird. Sometimes she’s chatty and sometimes she’s tight-lipped. Play it by ear and don’t be too pushy. That’s probably the best approach. I need to do a few things before the gallery opens, but call or stop by later and let me know how it goes.”