Dying for Dinner (A Cooking Class Mystery) (27 page)

That, of course, was the hard part. But I wasn't about to let Norman know that. Instead, I collected myself and sat back down, and, hey, if I sounded far more confident than I felt . . . well, Norman didn't need to know that.

My voice cool and steady, I walked us through all we'd recently found out. "Victor Pasqual has a motive, and no opportunity, and he's a nice guy. Three hundred thousand dollars is chump change for him. We were lucky we even got that close to him and we wouldn't have if not for the fact that Eve pawned Doc's collar and--"

A thought hit, and honest to goodness, I don't know how long I sat there, my mouth agape and my mind racing. It was, apparently, long enough to worry Jim. He put a hand on my arm and leaned over so he could stare me in the face. "Annie? Are ye all right?"

I rewound my thinking process and went over it in my head again before I dared to speak, and when I did, my voice was breathy. Then again, I had a good excuse: My heart was pounding like a jackhammer. "Norman, you won three hundred thousand dollars in a card game with Victor Pasqual."

Norman nodded.

"It cost us twenty-five thousand dollars to get in Pasqual's game, and the biggest winner of the night came away with . . ." I looked at Eve.

She shrugged. "It wasn't me. I got all my money back and then some, but I think that li'l ol' fellow across the table--the skinny little guy from Texas?--I think he was the big winner. At the end of the evening, he said something about his take being somewhere around fifty thousand."

"He put in twenty-five and he left with fifty." So far, so good. The facts were lining up with my new theory. "So when you played, Norman . . . back when you won the money to open Tres Bonne Cuisine . . . how much did you have to have for a stake?"

Norman still wasn't following, but I could tell Jim and Tyler already saw where I was headed. They leaned forward, their gazes trained on Norman.

And I did, too. Which was why I noticed that he didn't have to think about it. Not at all.

"One hundred and fifty thousand," Norman said.

"And where--" I could tell Tyler was about to interrupt so I shot him a look. This was my thought, my theory. I got to ask the question. "Norman, you sure didn't make that kind of money putting dishwashing soap in a bottle and calling it a miracle cleaner. Where did you get the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars?"

"Oh." The truth dawned, and, slowly, Norman sank back into his chair. Just like that, though, he discounted everything I'd said. "No way." He shook his head. "That has nothing to do with what happened to Greg. It couldn't."

"Because . . . ?"

I allowed Tyler this bit of a question before I took over again.

"Why, Norman? Why can't it? Where did you get the money in the first place?"

While Norman gathered his thoughts, I reached for the legal pad and pen I had left near at hand, and when he started to talk, I took notes.

"It was back in prison," Norman said. "You know, in Nevada. I told you all about that." He looked around the table, confirming that we all knew the story. "My cellmate was a guy named Howard. Howard Fish. He was a crusty old goat. A small-time con who'd been in and out of the system all his life. We didn't get along well at first. I mean, Howard, didn't appreciate having to share his space with a first-timer like me. But after a couple months . . . well, Howard, he found out he had lung cancer, and I guess that sort of softened him up. He talked, I listened." Norman shrugged. "You know how it is with older people. They like telling stories."

"And this Howard, he told you how you could steal a hundred thousand dollars?"

I took offense at Tyler's question. Norman didn't.

"It was nothing like that," Norman said. "It was legit. Really. One day they decided Howard would be better off in the prison infirmary. He was pretty weak by then. In fact, he died just a couple days later. But right before they came for him, he told me how much he appreciated having me around when he was sick. Then he started talking about a cabin he owned up near Pyramid Lake, and Howard--he said when I got out, I should go up there and look under the loose floorboard near the fireplace. I mean, it sounded like something out of a movie, right?" Norman laughed, ill at ease. "But hey, once I was out, I wasn't sure where to go or what I was going to do. I remembered what Howard said, and I went up to Pyramid Lake. There was the cabin, just like Howard said. And the key was under a big chunk of granite near the front door. He told me that, too. So if all that was right, I figured what he said about the floorboard was, too. I pried it up. That's where I found the hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

We all sat quietly, thinking of the implications, but I was the one who asked, "That was before you ran all those other scams, as Fred and Bill and all those other folks, right?"

"Well, I knew a hundred fifty thousand wouldn't last forever, and a man's got to make a living. I invested the money," Norman explained. "Because I knew I wanted to do something with food. A restaurant, a gourmet shop . . . I was looking around, considering my options. But the money, it wasn't adding up fast enough. So when I met some people who knew Victor and they said they could get me into a game . . ."

In a not-so-good imitation of a Vulcan mind meld, I stared at Norman, and when he still didn't get it, I laid it on the line.

"The hundred and fifty thousand, Norman. Have you ever wondered where Howard got it?"

He shrugged. "Don't ask, don't tell. Nobody else knew the money was there and I figured someday, somebody might buy that cabin and find it. Or somebody might buy the land and knock the cabin down and find it. Either way, I had as much right to that money as they did. More, seeing as how Howard told me I could have it."

"Yeah, but don't you get it?" Tyler had kept silent as long as he was able. "If Howard got that money illegally--"

The truth was dawning. I could tell because Norman's face went from pale to ashen. Because I couldn't stand to watch him suffer, I leaped out of my chair, checking the clock above the kitchen sink as I did. "I've got just enough time to hit the library before it closes," I said. "I'll meet you all at Bellywasher's this evening."

"But, honey . . ." I was already at the front door when Eve found her voice and called after me. "What on earth are you looking for?"

Jim knew. I could tell from the look he gave me when I turned around. Of course, Tyler did, too. Norman would figure it out himself eventually. So I told Eve, "I'm going to find out where a small-time con like Howard Fish got a hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

THE NEAREST BRANCH OF THE ARLINGTON PUBLIC LIBRARY closes at five on Saturdays so I didn't have much time. I raced through my research, then raced over to Bellywasher's, copies of the microfiche pages I'd discovered in hand.

By the time I got there, though, Saturday evening dinner pandemonium had started, and I had to squeeze my way through the line outside the door. Jim was behind the bar mixing martinis. Eve was busy making sure a table of eight near the window was happy and comfortable. Tyler was nowhere to be seen.

Neither was Norman.

I pushed through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen and found Marc and Damien slammed with orders and Heidi, our one and only waitress, busy loading plates onto trays. She was frazzled and I instantly felt obligated, so I stowed my notepad and microfiche copies in the storage room where we kept the clean linens and did the only thing I could do--I pitched in and helped.

By the time there was enough of a lull for me to ask about Norman, my T-shirt was dotted with marinara and so were my hands. I grabbed a towel to wipe them clean, retrieved the papers from the storage closet, and headed out to the alley behind the restaurant where (Marc and Damien assured me) they'd last seen Norman.

Sure enough, there he was, sitting on an overturned fruit crate and admiring Jim's motorcycle.

I didn't waste any time.

"Who was the other guy?" I asked Norman.

I was hoping for more in return than a blank look, but since a blank look was all I got, I had no choice but to work with it.

I waved the copies under his nose. "I found an article about Howard Fish. When you knew him, he was in prison for a bank robbery."

That got Norman's attention. He looked a little green around the gills. "Does that mean I'll have to pay the money back?" he asked.

"That's the least of your worries." I slapped the copies down on the lid of a nearby trash can and paged through them until I found what I was looking for. "One guy--Howard--went to prison for the robbery," I told Norman. "But see here . . ." I pointed, but I never gave him time to look before I forged on ahead. "Two guys. Two guys, Norman." I stabbed a finger at the article. "Two guys were accused of the robbery. That means--"

All the green drained from Norman's face. "I never knew," he breathed. "That means there's another guy out there."

"Yeah, and something tells me he's looking for his money. I don't know what the cops are going to say about you paying back this money, but I know one thing. That guy who was Howard's accomplice, he's convinced it's payback time, Norman."

Sixteen

OF COURSE THE BIG QUESTION WAS WHAT WE WERE going to do about all this.

It says a great deal about how baffled I was (not to mention how worried I was for Norman's safety and how much I wanted to see justice done for Greg), that I realized beyond the shadow of a doubt that at this stage of the game, there was only one person who had the answer.

But when I left Norman in the alley and went into my office, I didn't expect to find him sitting in my desk chair.

I closed the door, blocking out the hum of voices from the restaurant, and turned to where Tyler sat. "Howard Fish had an accomplice," I told him.

He didn't look surprised. Honestly, did I expect him to?

Tyler leaned back and made himself comfortable. "I know that. Guy by the name of Matt O'Hara. I went back to the station and made some calls after we left your place. That's how I know. And before you can ask, no, I don't know where this O'Hara character is. He's had a couple run-ins with the law, I do know that. He's got a record in Arizona and Texas and a couple other states. He just got released from prison in Alabama. I'm having some files faxed over and with any luck, Norman will recognize his picture. O'Hara might be the guy we're looking for."

"So the question now is--"

"You might as well know this right away, I'm not here to talk to you about Norman." Tyler's a well-chiseled kind of guy. Angular face. Angular body. He folded his arms across his broad chest and stared at me the way I imagined he'd stared at hundreds of perps over the years. I knew how they felt, too. Just looking into Tyler's icy blue eyes made my stomach jump and my blood whoosh inside my ears. "You don't like me, Annie."

I was prepared to talk about the case, and what we should do, and how we could assure Norman's safety. I was not prepared for a heart-to-heart. When it comes to Tyler, I don't think I'll ever be.

I wasn't prepared to get too close to him, either, which was why I stayed put near the door instead of sitting down in my desk chair. I eyed him up, and I suppose I was trying to gauge his mood as well as his sincerity. I should have known better. Cops--especially cops like Tyler--don't give away their thoughts. Not easily. And not to just anyone.