Getting Rich (A Chef Landry Mystery) (14 page)

All at once it struck me that I was actually drooling over the prospect of being rich. I had momentarily forgotten that for me to inherit would necessarily mean my best friend would be dead. If the thought of that kind of wealth could put
me
in a near trance, there was no telling what it might do to other people. Maybe Toni was right about Steven. Maybe he did care about the money more than about the lie. It was a disconcerting thought.

Toni looked amused. “Yes, you. Lucky for you that driver hit
you
and not
me
, otherwise the cops would be all over you for attempted murder.”

as practical as an unloaded gun

Toni opened the passenger door, handing me my crutches. I stumbled out of the car.

“Tell me you at least got one call from him since he left,” she said, seeing me looking at Mitchell’s house.

I shrugged, or rather tried to, only to realize shrugging was just one more thing I couldn’t do while holding myself up on crutches. “Just that one voice mail.”

“You haven’t spoken to him at all since he left? Not once?”

“It doesn’t surprise me,” I answered defensively. “When he’s writing, nothing else exists. It isn’t as if he doing anything wrong. He’s just working hard.”

She mumbled something under her breath. All I could make out was, “
Blah
,
blah
,
blah
, while the cat’s away.
Blah
,
blah
,
blah
, he’d be so dead.”

“I
trust
him,” I said, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

“Suuure you do.” She chuckled. “Just promise me you’ll let me know when he comes back. I want to be there for the fireworks. I would hate to miss all the fun.”

I didn’t bother arguing. Truth was I
was
irritated with Mitchell for his lack of attention. Why the heck did I even need a boyfriend if he was going to ignore me all the time?

She helped me safely to the door and stood by while I let myself in.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked.

“Maybe if you offer me a glass of wine.” She followed me into the kitchen and poured herself some white wine from the fridge.

“Don’t you think you’re drinking a bit much these days?”

She shrugged. “No more than usual.” Suddenly, she slapped her forehead. “Damn. I’ll have to go back to the restaurant.”

“Why? What did you forget?”

“I left my gun in the drawer behind the cash register.”

I looked at her, horrified. “You what?”

“Don’t get your panties in a knot. I figured it was safer there than in my purse. I keep my purse in the kitchen, but with everyone going in and out all the time, I figured it might not be the best place to leave a loaded gun.”

“It’s loaded!” I shrieked. “You keep your gun loaded?”

She gave me incredulous look. “What good is a gun if it’s not loaded? By the time I found the bullets and got them inside the chamber, I’d already be dead.”

“That is
so
not funny. First of all, statistics show that gun owners are more likely to get shot than people who don’t own weapons. And by the way, you’d better make sure you keep it somewhere safe at home. Imagine what could happen if Celia came to visit and found it?”

Toni took a gulp of wine. Looking contrite, she said, “You’re right. I never even thought of that. From now on, I’ll have to keep it somewhere high up, where she can’t reach it.”

“Are you kidding? Kids are resourceful. They can get into the damnedest places. You have to keep it locked up, maybe in a safety deposit box.”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do me the day I really need it. I’ll just tell the robbers to hold on while I run to the bank and get my gun.”

I groaned with frustration. “Are you sure you want to go back to the restaurant tonight? It’s late. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“I’ll just finish my wine before I go.” She marched off to the kitchen and I heard the fridge door open and close. She reappeared a moment later with a second glass—for me.

We settled in the living room. Toni was quiet, thinking about Steven maybe? That worked for me, I was too exhausted to talk. Fifteen minutes later she pulled herself off the sofa. “I’d better get going. I won’t sleep knowing my gun is still there.”

As well as I knew her, I had no idea whether a gun was something she always carried, or if this was a new thing.

“Honestly Toni, what’s the point? It’s late.”

“It’ll only take me a minute.” She blew me a kiss and left, calling over her shoulder, “See you in the morning. I’ll pick you up at the same time.”

I closed the door behind her and went to the mudroom to let the dogs out. While they ran around in the backyard, I got rid of the soiled wee-wee pads and set out clean ones. The minute they were all back in, safe and sound, I picked up my house phone and checked my messages.

“Hey, sweetheart.” It was Mitchell. My heart did a somersault. “Just calling to let you know I’m thinking of you. Bunny and I have been working since seven o’clock this morning and we’re just going out to grab a bite. If you try to call me, you’ll probably get my voice mail. I’ll be turning off my phone while we’re in the restaurant. I’ll call you back soon. Love you.”

Bunny
. I pictured the two of them sitting across from each other in some cozy little restaurant. I imagined them leaning close, feeding each other morsels from their plates, while playing footsies under the table. The vision left me feeling sick. I put the phone down, scowling. And then on the spur of the moment, I picked it up and punched in his number—hard.

I waited for the beep, and using a light easy tone I said, “Hey, Mitchell. I’m happy the writing is going well. Sorry I haven’t been around when you called. I just got out of the hospital.” There, that should make him feel guilty. “I was in a bit of an accident a few days ago. I got hit by a car. By a hit-and-run driver, actually. My left ankle got pretty badly broken. But the orthopedic surgeon operated on me and now I’m getting around on crutches.” Maybe I was pouring it on a bit thick. But hey, every word was true. “So, all’s well. Ciao for now.” I hung up, wondering how long it would be until I heard from him. It had better be soon, otherwise Toni would turn out to be right. There would be fireworks.

“Ready for bed, doggies?” I locked the doggie door and hobbled up the stairs, followed by a parade of Yorkies. They climbed, every step a challenging height for their tiny legs. When they reached the landing, they scurried by madly to their night kennel.

I slipped on a nightgown and picked up a piece of paper I noticed on my night table. It contained a phone number. It took me a second to decipher the handwriting, and then could only make out the first name, Edna.
Damn
. This was the number of that client Jake had asked me to call. I’d forgotten all about her—again. This time, I copied down her name and number on a larger piece of paper, which I set on my bedside table. It would be the first thing I saw tomorrow morning.

By the time I collapsed into bed, it was midnight. I was out like a light. It felt like just a few minutes later that the phone rang. I groped around in the dark and picked it up on the third ring. This time it
had
to be Mitchell.

“Hello?” I answered groggily.

“Is this Nicole Landry, owner of Skinny’s on Queen?” asked a male voice I didn’t recognize.

“Who is this?” I asked, looking at my alarm clock. Four-thirty in the morning—what the heck?

“This is Inspector McCartney of the fire department. We have your name as the contact person for your business.”

I bolted upright, biting back a shriek as a flash of pain ran through my ankle. “The fire department? Why? What happened?”

“I’m sorry I have some bad news, ma’am. There’s been a fire at your place of business.”

An image of flames leaping from our restaurant flashed through my mind. Oh, no. My Wolf stove, all the lovely old dishes and cutlery that Toni and I had spent months of Saturdays hunting for at flea markets and garage sales, the fuchsia tables and chairs we’d painted ourselves—would they all be reduced to ashes? I squeezed my eyes against the nightmarish picture. “How bad is it?”

“I’m afraid it’s pretty bad.”

“I’ll be right over.” I slammed down the phone and picked it up again, dialing Toni’s number. I let it ring four times and then her message came on. “This is you know who,” it said, sounding suggestive. “At the sound of the you know what, you know what to do.”
Beep.

Of course, Toni would have chosen tonight, of all nights, to sleep at Steven’s. I was about to dial her cell phone when it occurred to me that there was no point in waking her with the horrible news. Why should both of us have to get up at such an ungodly hour? I would take care of the problem myself and give her a full report in the morning. I hung up and picked up again immediately, punching in the number of a cab company.

“This is an emergency. How fast can you get a car here?”

“We’ll have somebody there in a few minutes, ma’am,” the dispatcher answered.

I hopped around on one foot, pulling on any clothes that fell under my hands, until, fifteen minutes later I was dressed. My hair was a mess and my eyes were still puffy from sleep when the taxi drove up, but at least I was ready. I hurried out as fast as I could.

The driver—bless him—took one look at my stricken face and put the pedal to the floor, getting me to within three blocks of the restaurant in record time. But from there he had to inch along in the stalled traffic. About twenty feet farther we came to a complete stop, half a dozen emergency vehicles blocking the road.

“Sorry, lady, this is as far as I can take you.”

“Please, can’t you do something? I have to get there. That’s my restaurant on fire. There must some way you can get me closer.”

He studied me through the rearview mirror and took pity on me. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.” He turned off the motor and got out of the car, jogging over to the nearest cop. He said something, pointing insistently in my direction.

The cop followed him back and opened the back door. “Are you the owner of that restaurant?”

“Yes, I am. The fire inspector called and asked me to come down. But I can’t walk. I have a broken ankle.”

“Okay.” He closed the door and spoke to the driver, who hopped back into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. We crept on another fifty feet or so, snaking our way between one emergency vehicle after another. Meanwhile the police officer ran on ahead, waving us through.

The closer we got, the more I could see of the devastation. The fire seemed to be out, but the front of the restaurant was dark with soot. The window was smashed into a giant gaping mouth with glass shards shaped like teeth. Through this wide-open jaw bellowed clouds of thick smoke. I squinted, trying to see farther inside, and caught a glimpse of even more destruction—black walls, burned and smashed furniture and, everywhere, dripping water. My entire future was gone.

Tears trembled on my lashes. We had worked so hard to create this restaurant. I had pinned so much hope on it. “It’s ruined. The whole place is destroyed.”

The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “I can’t get any closer. Maybe I can find someone to help you. I’ll be right back.” He jumped out of the cab again, returning a few minutes later accompanied by two firemen.

I pushed open the car door. “I’m the owner of the restaurant. Can you tell me where Fire Inspector McCartney is? He wants to talk to me.”

The taller of the two—a muscular young man who could have performed in a Chippendale’s show—began to say something, and then noticed my cast. “Oh.” He scratched his head. “Hold on to my neck.” In one easy movement he swept me off the seat and into his arms.

“Wait, my crutches,” I said.

The driver pulled them out and handed them over to the fireman, who carried me as if I weighed no more than a feather, all the way to a small emergency vehicle a short distance from all the commotion. “That’s the fire inspector.” He nodded toward a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache and flinty eyes. “Hey, chief, I’ve got the owner here,” he called out to him.

“Nicky Landry?” the man asked. “After we talk, the police will want to have a moment with you too.” He marched off toward a police car, said a few words to someone inside and returned. “Come with me.”

The young fireman had been standing by. Now, he scooped me up again and carried me to the fire inspector’s car. Soon, I found myself sitting in the back seat with a cup of takeout coffee, while I tried to make sense of everything the inspector was telling me.

“We’ll have to do a full investigation and get a pathologist’s report before we call it murder, but I have to tell you, so far it looks pretty suspi—”

My mind snapped to attention. “Did you just say
murder?
”

He stared at me, hard. “That’s what I said, ma’am.”

My mouth went dry. “Somebody is dead? How do you know it was murder?”

He pointed to a man in fireman’s garb. “He’s the coroner’s investigator, and he’s found evidence of a bullet wound.”

My pulse went into overdrive. Even as I asked, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer. “Do you know who it is?”

“We haven’t identified her yet.” At that moment, a group of firemen walked out of the building carrying a gurney. On it was what I assumed was the body of the victim. I wasn’t certain since it was covered with a fireman’s blanket. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I hoped, I prayed that it wasn’t—

At that moment the blanket slipped, and one of the men quickly pulled it back in place, but not before I caught a glimpse of a human head covered with something that looked like a tangle of string.