Always Watching (28 page)

A TASTE OF YESTERDAY RESTAURANT
12:34 AM
SATURDAY

Chink,
chink, chink.

Seated at the desk and studying the frustrating spreadsheet, Daniel Matthews had ignored the sound for the past five minutes. Until he realized it wasn't supposed to be there. It
came from somewhere below him, a barely-there noise, but one that had him curious. He looked up from the computer. Everyone else had gone home for the night, leaving him alone in the building.

Hadn't they?

Of course he was alone. He'd escorted his new head chef, Marie Stewart, out the door and to her car. When she drove away, he'd returned to the restaurant and locked himself inside. He tapped his pen against the paper on the desk and thought. Okay, so if he was the sole occupant, what was making the noise? Something with the water heater again?

Chink, chink, chink.

Didn't sound like the water heater, but what did he know? He rose from the desk and walked to the open office door. Just beyond the threshold, the steps to the basement and wine cellar were to his left. The door stood open because he'd promised his closing staff he'd take care of locking up. Before he left, he planned to check the wine inventory—he just hadn't gotten to it yet. The numbers on the spreadsheet had captured his attention.

It was past midnight. He'd come down to the restaurant after putting in a full day in his fifth-floor office at the headquarters building. He might be the CEO of A Taste of Yesterday, Inc., but he still liked to keep his hand on the day-to-day operations of all of his restaurants. This one in particular, since it was his newest establishment.

The
chink, chink, chink
sounded again. He frowned and flipped the light on in the stairwell, revealing brick walls that were original to the old 1860s building. One of the few structures in Columbia that had survived Sherman's 1865 march when he and his troops had nearly burned the city to the ground.

Daniel started down. His hand slid along the rail and he tried to listen over the echo of his shoes on the matching brick steps. At the bottom, he paused, the chill of the basement penetrating the wool sweater he had on over a long-sleeved T-shirt. At the bottom, he stopped. Listened for the sound.

Heard . . . a footstep? “Hey! Is someone down here?”

He walked past the wine cellar. Just past that, rows of storage shelves greeted him on either side of the brick path that ran between them. He continued toward the back of the basement, his heart pounding a bit faster, his blood humming through his veins. As he got closer to the back, the temperature dropped. A lot. Why was it so cold in here?

A shuffle of a footstep up ahead made him pause. “Hello? Who's there?”

No answer. But he knew someone was there.

Uneasiness crept through him and he wondered at the wisdom of continuing on in his search for the source of the noise.

Chink,
chink, chink.

What
was
that? The noise was louder now, so it was definitely coming from down here. More footsteps. But fainter. Daniel moved back to the wine cellar and grabbed a bottle of wine
from the nearest rack. Probably not much of a weapon but better than nothing. He patted his back pocket. He'd left his phone upstairs. He grimaced. Of course. And the Beretta M9 he'd slipped from his coat pocket into the locked top drawer of his desk wouldn't do him any good. He rarely went anywhere without the gun on him, but had gotten too comfortable in his office. If he went to retrieve the weapon, whoever was down here would get away. If he confronted the person, it could be a deadly mistake. Then again, it was highly unlikely the person up ahead would know Daniel had once been a Marine. Daniel would use that to his advantage.

He gave a low grunt. So be it. Hand-to-hand combat it would be. No one was going to break into his restaurant and not expect to face consequences.

With his adrenaline surging, he made his way back toward the sound. The recently replaced exposed pipes above his head rumbled. He'd never noticed that before. True, he'd had everything checked out before he bought the place, but since it had been renovated and opened to the public, he'd spent little time in the basement.

He finally came to the end of the row of shelves. The room opened up and light from the parking lot filtered through the open basement door. He heard the roar of an engine, and a chill that had nothing to do with the basement temperature swept over him. He raced to the door in time to see taillights fade into the distance. Someone had been in the basement. But why? Who?

A gust of wind caught him full in the face and he flinched. Goosebumps pebbled his skin.

Chink, chink, chink.

Daniel spun toward the sound. His eyes landed on a body hanging from the ceiling pipe, held there with a chain wrapped
around his neck. Daniel inhaled sharply and backpedaled as he stared at the grotesquely distorted features gently swaying back and forth.

Another heavy burst of wind came through the open door behind him and the extra length of the chain knocked against the exposed pipe.

Chink, chink, chink.

Katie Singleton fought a yawn as she crossed the Broad River on 76 and headed home. To her left, just off Elmwood Avenue, blue and red flashing lights caught her attention. Briefly she wondered what was going on, but was too tired to think any more about it. At least it was a good tired.

She'd just come off a job that had ended well. It had been a fun concert with a well-behaved, well-mannered celebrity who appreciated—and listened to—her security team. Otherwise known as a dream assignment. As far as she was concerned it was the perfect way to start her week of vacation. Well, week of renovation. Which was vacation to her. She'd just purchased the home she'd grown up in as a child. A 1920s Charleston-style home on Gadsden Street that was “livable,” but still needed a lot of work.

She glanced in her rearview mirror, the law enforcement lights catching her attention once again as she passed them. Was that Daniel Matthews's restaurant? A Taste of Yesterday? Riley Jamison, Daniel's niece, was one of Katie's students in the self-defense class she taught twice a week at the local gym. Katie made a spontaneous decision and pulled off at the nearest street. She swung onto Elmwood and headed back toward the lights.

When she got closer, she slowed and could see the action
going on toward the back of the building. She also recognized Detective Quinn Holcombe, a man she worked with in a professional capacity on a regular basis. She rolled to a stop outside of the tape that had already been strung and caught Quinn's eye. He lifted a brow and jogged over.

She lowered her window. “What's going on?”

“Katie.” He placed a hand on the hood of the car and leaned over. “What are you doing here?”

“I was on the way home from the concert across the river and saw all the lights. It looked like it was coming from here. I know Riley Jamison, Daniel Matthews's niece.”

The light went on for him. “I see.” He shook his head. “Apparently someone broke into the basement of the restaurant and hung himself.”

Katie blinked. “
Hung
himself?”

“Well, that's what it looks like. I'm not saying that's what happened.”

“Murder?”

He hesitated and she knew it wasn't because he was talking out of turn. Thanks to the mayor and her work with the Elite Guardians, Katie had special credentials that allowed her to be “read in” on cases, even contracted as a professional in certain circumstances. “Maybe,” he finally said. “I think so, but that's just speculation. We'll have to wait for the ME's report, of course, but . . .” He shrugged. “Matthews said he heard footsteps and made it to the door just in time to see a car drive away. Like I said, we'll see.”

“Do you know who the victim is?”

“The chef Matthews fired week before last.” He consulted his notebook. “Maurice Armstrong. Apparently they had words after Matthews caught him stealing from him and confronted him. Armstrong denied it, but Matthews had it on video. He
told him if he ever set foot on one of his properties again, he'd turn him in and have him arrested.”

“Ooh, that doesn't sound good.” She frowned. “Why
didn't
he call the police and have him arrested?”

“Armstrong has a fifteen-year-old daughter he's got sole custody of. If he goes to jail, she goes into the system.”

“Sounds like Matthews is not such a bad guy.”

“I don't think he is. I think he's tough—he's a former Marine who served two tours in Afghanistan—but he's also got a good heart.”

A man who could take care of himself then. And while his actions sounded honorable—even compassionate—were they? Or had he not reported the theft for ulterior motives? From what little she'd picked up from Riley, the girl adored her uncle. But she might have on rose-colored glasses. “Matthews—Daniel—was here alone? And he found the body?”

Quinn pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah.”

“You think he killed him and staged it to look like a suicide?”

“I think someone did. Don't have the feeling it's Matthews though.” He shrugged. “We'll know more as time passes.”

“If it's truly a suicide, I can see hanging himself in the restaurant as being some sort of freaky revenge for Daniel firing him. But other than that, why would anyone kill him, then decide to string up his body in the basement of a restaurant where he used to work—and was subsequently fired from?” she murmured.

“Good questions. The only answers I can come up with for now would be to make Matthews look bad. Guilty.”

“Frame him?”

“Yeah. I don't know, but we'll figure it out.”

“No doubt. Any security cameras?”

“On the front of the building. One on the back. We'll take a look and see what they show.”

She glanced past him. “Where's Bree?”

Brianne Standish, Quinn's partner, was usually on the scene with him, only Katie hadn't spotted her.

“Her sister had a DUI, she's dealing with her—and her mother.”

Katie winced. “Ouch.”

“Tell me about it.”

Bree had some family issues that were making her crazy, but she was coping as best she could—and she had a partner who understood and had her back. “All right, I'll get out of here. I just wanted to . . .” What? She shrugged. “I don't know what I wanted. Guess to make sure Riley wasn't somehow involved.”

Another officer rushed from the building. “Quinn!”

Quinn straightened and turned. “Yeah?”

“We've got another development.”

“What's that?”

“One of Matthews's other restaurants is burning over on North Lake Drive.”

“You've got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. Apparently, it's been burning awhile. Fire trucks are already on the scene.”

Quinn tapped the hood of Katie's car. “You want to join the fun?”

Katie considered it. Did she? Could she? As an ex-ATF special agent and trained arson investigator, the thought of the fire intrigued her. Flashes from the past made her hesitate. “Um . . . no. I don't think so.”

Quinn studied her for a moment. “You know you want to.”

Yes. Yes she did. “Okay, I'll ride over. I know where the place is.” She bit her lip wanting to recall the words. But she didn't.

She caught the brief flash of surprise in his eyes before he nodded. “Good. See you there.”

“Where's Daniel?”

“Still answering questions. He's pretty shaken up.”

“Are you going to arrest him?” she asked.

He blew out a puff of air. “No. Like I said, I don't think he did it. But even if I did think him guilty, I've got no evidence to support an arrest tonight.”

She hesitated. “Why don't I give him a ride? I can come back this way on my way home and drop him off to get his car.”

“I'll tell him.”

So much for starting her vacation.