Blood Rubies Page 19

“Thanks so much.” I opened the bag and spread the options out across the counter, like a buffet. “Want some tea?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He leaned against the counter watching me load up a plate. I started with half a bagel topped with salmon cream cheese spread, and half a turkey and Swiss sandwich on whole wheat.

  “I’m meeting the Boston police to go through Milner’s condo and office,” he said. “I figure that I’ll call or text you if there’s anything I need help with.”

  “Sure. I’ve got a three o’clock appointment. Other than that, nothing.”

  “I’m due there at two. Keep your phone on, all right?”

  “Will do. It’s charging now.” I spread a spoonful of coleslaw onto my sandwich. “Do you have any idea why Milner would be on Love Lane?”

  “Do you?” he asked, avoiding answering, as usual.

  “Maybe he was meeting someone.”

  “Who?”

  “His client.”

  “You’re still thinking Ana.”

  “It’s hard not to.”

  “Why would they be meeting?”

  “Because he screwed her over and she caught him.”

  “How?”

  “The double cross we talked about. Once I examined the broken bits you gave me to look at, Milner’s ruse was exposed. She met with him to give him a chance to make her whole.”

  “Why wouldn’t she just go to the police?”

  I paused, thinking. “Maybe she paid him to inflate the appraisal so she could qualify for a larger loan, and he threatened that if she exposed him, he’d expose her.”

  “Gotcha. It’s complicated, all right. What should I be looking for?”

  “The appraisal. A client list.”

  Ellis grinned as I reached for half a roast beef sandwich on a baguette. “You were hungry.”

  I smiled back. “Still am. You’re a lifesaver, Ellis. Thank you.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  Ellis let himself out. I finished eating standing at the counter. Without question Drake Milner knew more than he let on. I was willing to bet he knew who had replicated the Fabergé Spring Egg snow globe, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn that he’d known who killed Jason.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I took a fresh cup of tea into Ty’s living room, sat on the couch, and called Wes.

  After a pointless two-minute conversation in which I refused to discuss anything about Drake Milner, Wes sighed to his toenails.

  “I’ll tell you what I found out—but I shouldn’t. You’re all take and no give.”

  “Don’t be silly, Wes. I give you plenty.”

  He sighed again. “The ME is refusing to rule Milner’s death an accident until she does more tests. The left side of his head is bashed in, maybe from hitting the doorframe when the car went into the pond. She’s using imaging software to see if dents in the car match up.”

  My mouth opened, then closed. “Are you telling me she’s thinking it might be murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my. Wes, this is incredible. Shocking. Horrific.”

  “Now will you tell me something I can print?”

  I closed my eyes for a moment. “Here’s a quote. ‘I’m saddened that I couldn’t do more.’”

  After a two-second pause, Wes asked, “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. What about the other questions we were thinking about … like how likely is it that Peter would go to the gym twice in one day. You remember, right—his alibi for Jason’s murder? Any new insights?”

  “The answer is very likely. He often works out twice a day. At home, he runs two to five miles each morning before work, rain or shine, then goes to the gym after work. He alternates working the machines with a Zumba class. Machines on Tuesday and Thursday. Zumba on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Weekends he rides his bike.”

  “Zumba? Peter?”

  Wes chuckled. “I know. It’s quite a picture, right? Usually, from what I hear, he’s the only guy in the class. My source says he’s great at it. He should be, right? He’s a fitness junkie, for God’s sake.”

  “But why Zumba?”

  Wes chuckled. “Maybe he does it to meet girls.”

  “Maybe,” I said, not convinced.

  “From all accounts, he’s pretty much a loner but good at the dance moves. Probably he does it because he likes it.”

  “What about his story that they showed the Fabergé egg to their neighbor? Toni, her name was, I think.”

  “Yeah, Toni and her friend Carly. I spoke to Toni myself. The story is confirmed. The egg was real at Christmas. Or she’s lying for some reason. She insists she’d recognize shoddy workmanship a mile away. She’s a master carpenter, very uppity about it. She fabricates wooden embellishments like missing drawer pulls for historical renovations.”

  “Get out. You talk to the most interesting people, Wes.”

  “I do, don’t I? Anyway, I believed her.”

  “Which means we have a definite time frame when the theft occurred. The fact that Peter told the police about it doesn’t eliminate him as a suspect.”

  “Just like everyone else.”

  * * *

  I’d been in the manager’s office in the Blue Dolphin once before, years earlier, back when the Blue Dolphin was owned by a man named Bobby Jordan.* Suzanne had redone the space completely. The walls were painted a pale cranberry with glossy white trim, and the drapes featured a cranberry and gold floral pattern. Her desk and credenza were made of mahogany. The guest chairs were upholstered in a dark cranberry nubby fabric. Lighting came from a crystal chandelier, her cut-glass desk lamp, and three matching cut-glass wall sconces. The overall feel was super luxe.

  Suzanne sat behind her desk, with Chef Ray off to the side, using the end of her desk as his own. He had a sheaf of papers and kept flipping through them, stopping to read for a few seconds, then turning to another page and reading a bit there, as if he were a student cramming for a final. The rest of us sat in a line facing Suzanne. Maurice sat next to Ray, then me, then Ana.

  Suzanne smiled. “Thank you for coming, Ana. And of course, I’m always glad to see Josie. What a terrible experience, coming upon that accident. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, thanks. I’m fine. I just wish I could have done more.”

  “I’m sure you did all you could.” Suzanne turned to Ray and Maurice. “Ana asked Josie to join the meeting. As a new business owner, Ana felt the need to have some guidance. Since Josie’s success with Prescott’s could serve as an entrepreneurial tutorial, I’d say she made a good choice.” Suzanne turned back to me. “Welcome.”

  Maurice crossed his arms and tightened his lips. I didn’t know why Maurice was angry. Maybe it was that the meeting had been called in the first place. Possibly he was just an angry guy. Lots of people walked around with chips on their shoulders for no discernible reason. I tried hard to avoid them.

  “I thought we might begin by—” Suzanne stopped talking midsentence as a knock sounded on the door.

  Ray looked up, startled. Suzanne exhaled loudly, miffed at the interruption. Maurice looked down his nose. Ana looked at me, her eyes reflecting anxiety, I couldn’t imagine why. I shrugged and made a “who knows—no biggie” face, hoping to reassure her.

  “Come in,” Suzanne called.

  The door opened, and Stefan stepped into the room. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He closed the door.

  Ana swiveled to face her father but didn’t speak. She looked stunned.

  Ray frowned at Stefan, then resumed flipping through his papers. Maurice glanced at Stefan, then turned toward the window, communicating that none of this was of much interest or importance.

  Suzanne smiled, despite her annoyance. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Suzanne Dyre, the Blue Dolphin’s general manager.”

  “How do you do?” Stefan gave a little bow. “I’m Stefan Yartsin, Ana’s father and an investor in her company. Ana mentioned you were going to have a conversation
about partnering, and I thought I might be able to contribute something. May I join you?”

  Suzanne’s eyes moved to Ana’s.

  Ana took in a deep breath and sidled around to face her father. “Thanks, Dad, but no. I’m fine.”

  Stefan’s eyes pierced mine, a sharp angry glare, then returned to Ana’s for long enough to create an awkward moment.

  “You’re making a mistake,” he said.

  I glanced at Suzanne to gauge her reaction to whatever was occurring—a power struggle, perhaps, or a fight for autonomy. Suzanne’s expression revealed nothing beyond polite interest.

  “Perhaps,” Ana said through clenched teeth, “but it’s mine to make.”

  Stefan’s smile faded. “Let me sit in.”

  “No.”

  His eyes remained fixed on Ana’s face.

  Ray stood up. “Ana?” he asked.

  “It’s all right, Ray,” she said, her eyes holding steady on her father. “Dad’s just trying to help.” She smiled at her father. “I’ll call when we’re done.”

  Stefan glanced around the room. Everyone except Maurice was looking at him.

  “You’ll excuse me, then,” he said to Suzanne with another half-bow.

  “Of course.”

  He left, and Ray sat down again. Maurice shifted his gaze to Suzanne’s face.

  “So,” Suzanne resumed, “let’s jump in. We’re here to discuss how we, the Blue Dolphin, can best do business with Ana’s company. Let me begin with a brief statement describing where we are now and where I want us to end up. We all want the same thing. We want our guests to have the best desserts money can buy. To that end, Chef Ray hired Maurice as pastry chef. To this point, all our desserts have been made in-house, except for Ana’s cakes.” Suzanne leaned back in her maroon leather chair, her elbows on the arms, her hands folded together in her lap. She smiled. “I can officially report that Ana’s creations sell like hotcakes. People love them. Therefore, we want to carry them.” She turned to Maurice. “In other words, whether to carry them is no longer up for discussion.” She paused, waiting to see if he’d flip out. He didn’t speak or, as far as I could tell, react in any way. She let her eyes move, taking us all in. “The question on the table, the only question that matters, is how to best organize our relationship going forward. I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

  Ray tapped the stack of papers in front of him. “What we’re doing now is working. I’ve been looking at our past orders. Not one has been missed. All the cakes have sold.” He smiled. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Let’s just keep ordering them.”

  Maurice slapped the desk. “And more and more people will buy them because they are a novelty. A child’s gimmick. And soon there will be no orders for anything else. It is an insult!”

  Suzanne tilted her head. “Perhaps you weren’t listening, Maurice,” she said, her tone icy. “We’re keeping the cakes.”

  My phone began vibrating. “Sorry,” I said softly. Ellis had texted, “Milner’s computer is missing. Any thoughts?”

  Maurice stood up and took two steps toward the door, rigidly stiff, like a soldier on parade. Chef Ray stood.

  Maurice turned back to face Suzanne, raised his chin, and lowered his eyes, looking down at her. “Then I have no choice. I quit.” He marched from the room, slamming the door.

  “I’ll go talk to him,” Ray said, starting after him.

  Suzanne held up her hand to stop him. “No. Don’t try to talk him into something he doesn’t want. Enough is enough. If you feel the need to say something, you can tell him how much you’ve enjoyed working with him, but that’s it. Don’t engage. Don’t debrief. Don’t let him rant. Make certain he only takes what belongs to him. Get his key and ID. Tell him he’ll hear from corporate HR by the end of the day. If he won’t go, or if he makes any trouble, buzz me immediately.”

  Ray looked incredulous. “I shouldn’t try to smooth things out?”

  “No. Let him go.”

  “Okay,” Ray said, semishaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

  Ray touched Ana’s shoulder as he passed. Ana looked wary and worried. I needed to leave, to call Ellis, to think.

  Suzanne smiled. “May I make a suggestion, Ana?”

  “Of course.”

  “Expand your role. Become the go-to source for high-end desserts. If the dining establishment can support it, provide an on-site pastry chef who works under your supervision. If not, do what you’ve done for us—sell cakes. Do you have a pastry chef available? Someone who can create half a dozen desserts in addition to baking your cakes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can he or she start today?”

  Ana’s mouth opened, then closed. Her eyes were round. “Really?”

  “Yes. If you like the idea, the Blue Dolphin will be your first customer.”

  After several seconds, Ana said, “I’m speechless.”

  “Say yes,” I told her. “That’s my official counsel.”

  Ana laughed and squeezed my arm. She looked at Suzanne. “Yes. Thank you. I’d love it.”

  “Good. Let’s work out the pricing.”

  I stood up. “You don’t need me for that, and I have a call I need to make.” I smiled at Suzanne, then Ana. “Congratulations to you both. If you do need me for anything, I’ll be in the lounge. I’m meeting Ty later, so I thought I’d just stick around.”

  Ana stood up and hugged me. Her eyes were fiery bright with, I was certain, equal parts excitement and relief and terror. “Thank you, Josie.”

  “You’re welcome. Although all I did was sit here and look smart. When you’re done negotiating, come to the lounge and I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “Another time,” Ana said. “I need to get a chef down here, meet with Ray to figure out what we need for tonight, and—well, you know.”

  Suzanne stood up. “Come to think of it, can we agree that we’ll be fair with one another and negotiate the specifics tomorrow? I ought to go with you to explain our arrangement to Chef Ray and the kitchen staff. I’d also better check that Maurice isn’t tearing up the kitchen.”

  Ana extended her hand. “Business on a handshake. That’s how it ought to be.”

  They shook, and Suzanne opened the door and headed down the corridor that led to a small anteroom. One door led to the back of the kitchen; another opened into the dining room. Ana followed closely.

  “I’ll peel off here,” I said.

  “Good seeing you, Josie. Follow me, Ana. Let’s get ready to rock and roll.”

  Ana paused at the threshold and impulsively kissed my cheek. “You’re the best, Josie. Just the best friend.”

  I walked through the empty dining room to the lounge, wishing I could put my doubts about Ana aside. I liked her as much as anyone I’d met in a long, long time, but the questions surrounding her possible involvement in the theft of her Fabergé egg and Jason’s murder—and maybe Milner’s death—were like pebbles in my shoe. They simply couldn’t be ignored.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Since it was still shy of four o’clock, I expected to be the Blue Dolphin lounge’s only customer, but I wasn’t. An older couple sat in a corner having an earnest discussion about something or other. They wore slacks and sweaters and sensible shoes. They were drinking highballs. A young man in a suit kept glancing at his watch. He sipped what looked like an iced tea. Jimmy was behind the bar slicing limes.

  “Josie!” Jimmy said as I walked in. “Good to see ya. What can I getcha?”

  “I’m in a tea mood, Jimmy. How about some Earl Grey?”

  “You got it.”

  I took my favorite seat by the window and looked out over the river toward Maine.

  A middle-aged man in jeans and a flannel shirt entered the lounge and looked around. He smiled at the young man who’d been looking at his watch and joined him at the table. The younger man looked relieved.

  I pulled out my phone. Ty had texted that he thought he’d get to the Blue Dolphin by six. I respond
ed xxoo. I called Ellis and got him in his car.

  “Drake Milner’s laptop is gone?” I said, half as a question, half incredulous.

  “Yup,” Ellis said. “The gal I spoke to, Julie, said it’s not unusual for him to take his computer home with him, but it’s not there. We checked.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  “Evidently not. He’s long divorced.”

  A small brown bird landed on a birch tree. It fluttered its wings for a moment, then grew still.

  “Any chance he slipped it in a kitchen cabinet or something for safekeeping?”

  “Not likely. He lives in a condo by the State House. It’s a high-end renovation of a classic town house. Two bedrooms, two baths, open concept living room/dining room/kitchen. There’s only a few places he could have put it, and we searched them all—including the kitchen cabinets. The Boston police and techs are still going over it—and his office—but I don’t expect them to find anything. Let me rephrase that: I don’t expect them to find the laptop. You saw how many books Milner had in his office, right? When I left, three recruits were going through every one of them page by page. With any luck, Milner hid something in one of them.”

  “Like the combination to a safe. Did you look for a safe?”

  “Yeah. We removed all the paintings on the walls, tapped for hollow spaces in closet floors, checked canned goods for fake bottoms. No safe.”

  “And you’re certain the laptop wasn’t in his car? Couldn’t it have floated away?”

  “The windows were up, so no.”

  Jimmy brought my tea, and I mouthed “thank you” to him. He gave me a thumbs-up and spun away.

  “Where else would you look if you were me?” Ellis asked.

  The little brown bird appeared to be resting, its head tucked under its wing.

  I swished the tea bag around for a few seconds, then pulled it from the pot and set it aside.

  “Milner went to meet someone,” I said. “Whoever that was stole his laptop. Milner was so upset, he got turned around and ended up in the pond.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the client who had him appraise the Fabergé egg, who may or may not be Ana.”