Getting Rich (A Chef Landry Mystery) (21 page)

“Good idea.”

“I’m glad you agree. I’ll get him to come over and start as soon as he can.”

Toni pushed away her empty bowl, polished off the rest of her wine and set her glass down. “Well, I might as well get this over with,” she said scowling.

I wasn’t sure what she was talking about until she headed off to the mudroom and I overheard her talking to the little male.

“What do you say, Trouble? Will you still love me even if I don’t leave you my fortune?”

She said this in a joking tone, but it gave me pause. How would it be to constantly wonder whether people loved you for yourself or for your money? It made me thankful that she had never mentioned her fortune to me until just a few months ago, and especially that I’d had no idea I was her beneficiary until yesterday. At least she could count on
my
friendship being sincere.

“So you’re off to tell Steven?” I said.

She pulled herself up straight and nodded determinedly. “Wish me luck.” I followed her to the front where she slipped into her coat. “If I call you in tears in the middle of the night, you’ll know he didn’t take the news well.” She started turning away and stopped. “Why don’t you put away those crackers on the table? If you leave them there, you’ll polish them off in one sitting.” And then she walked out.

Actually, she had that wrong, I thought, closing the door behind her.

I wouldn’t bother sitting.

masked killers coming after me

After Toni left, I changed into my pajamas and called Charles.

“I hope this isn’t an imposition,” I said, couching my request as a favor to us, rather than the other way around, “but Toni and I could really use your help.” I explained about wanting to reopen and told him we needed a few new dishes on the menu. Using my broken ankle as an excuse, I suggested he come work in my kitchen.

He didn’t put up any resistance and I realized Jake had been right—Charles welcomed the opportunity to keep busy. “I can continue working on that low-calorie burger. How about if I come by day after tomorrow? I still have a few things I’d like to settle.”

As long as they didn’t involve guns, fire, or violence of any kind, I didn’t mind one bit. “You’ll have to bring most of the ingredients. Keep the bill and I’ll pay you back.”

He agreed to be here at ten o’clock, and by the time he hung up I thought he sounded a bit better.

I had just gone upstairs to my bedroom when the phone rang.

“Mitchell,” I exclaimed, thrilled to hear his voice. “How’s the editing coming along?” I leaned my crutches against my bedside table and lay down on the bed. When I closed my eyes and listened to his voice, it felt almost as if he was right there with me.

“Good. We’re making progress,” he said, going on about some technical stuff like voice and rhythm for a while. I had no more idea what he was referring to than he did when I talked about balance of flavors, colors and textures.

“You know, I’ve been home quite a lot since I got out of the hospital, and I still haven’t seen a hint of a movie being shot in your place.”

“Really?” Why didn’t he sound more concerned?

“Nothing. If a movie was being filmed, there would be dozens of people, cameramen, sound guys, set designers. And there would be truckloads of equipment up and down the street.”

“I told you. They’re only shooting one scene, not a whole movie. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He changed the subject. “Any news from the police? Have they nabbed the arsonist yet?”

“Whatever they’re doing, they’re not sharing with me.”

“I can’t wait to get back,” he said, his voice growing husky. I forgot all about the blonde and the movie that was not being shot. “I’m worried about you. And I miss you. I can’t wait to come home.”

My heart skipped a beat. “I miss you too. Any idea when that will be?”

“I’m hoping we’ll be finished in a couple of days. But if I come back before the end of next week, my house will still be rented.” He paused—waiting for an invitation maybe?

I supplied it. “That’s not a problem. You can stay with me.”

“I wouldn’t be in your way?”

“In my way? No, of course not,” I assured him. We chatted on for a few minutes, and I hung up feeling like a million dollars. Mitchell was coming back, and he would be staying with me. “What do you think of that, Jackie Chan?”

Jackie was lying in her favorite spot, at the foot of my bed, staring at me as if she understood every word I’d said.

“He still loves me,” I told her. “All that insecurity for nothing.”

Yap
,
yap
, she barked, hopping off the bed and marching away haughtily.

“Aw, come on Jackie. Don’t be like that. You know you’ll always be my favorite.” She stopped and threw me a backward glance, almost as if she was trying to determine how sincere I was. “I mean it. I love you.” She stood still. And then I said the magic words. “Want a treat?”

She went charging down the stairs. “That proves it,” I said, following her to the kitchen. “You only love me for the treats I give you.” She didn’t seem in the least insulted, clawing at my good leg until I handed over the liver treat.

I clambered back upstairs, and before long I fell into a fitful sleep, filled with nightmares of masked killers coming after me. For all my brave talk to Toni and Mitchell, the truth was I was still scared.

on the bright side, we’re already divorced

I woke up the next morning feeling better than I had since my accident. I’d had a good night’s sleep. The pain in my ankle had muted to an ache. I felt so well that I skipped the painkiller. My only disappointment came when I stepped into my favorite skirt and had to leave the waist button undone. I hadn’t weighed myself in days, not since the hospital. I mean, I’d tried, but standing on one foot, I’d wobbled so much to keep my balance that I couldn’t get a straight reading. Now, it seemed that getting around on crutches was not burning more calories as I’d hoped. Unless I started seriously watching my weight, I’d regain every pound I’d lost—
groan
.

After coffee and toast, I got to work. I opened my cookbook to a recipe I’d noted the night before—black-bean brownies. I preheated the oven, measured and assembled the ingredients. Soon, I had a first version of the recipe baking and the wonderful aroma of chocolate filled the house. For the next couple of hours I tested one version after another, improving, perfecting, until by my fifth batch, they were everything a decadent brownie should be, rich and chocolaty yet not too sweet. I poured myself another cup of coffee, cut myself another smidgeon of brownie—beans, what could be healthier?—and my mind wandered back to Charles. Hopefully he was feeling better this morning. I picked up the phone.

After half a dozen rings, his voice mail came on. “This is Charles,” it said in an exuberant tone, “and Jennifer,” a woman’s voice continued in an even chirpier voice. And then together, “We’re busy right now, so leave a message and we’ll call you back.” The cheerful message only made Jennifer’s death seem all the more tragic. When the beep came, my throat was too constricted to speak. I hung up and punched in Jake’s number instead.

“Nicky? What is it?” he asked sleepily. And then worried, “What’s wrong? Why are you calling me so early?”

I looked up at my wall clock—a quarter past eleven. “You were still sleeping? Sorry.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m worried about Charles. I tried calling him but he isn’t picking up.”

“Unless you just woke him up, my best guess is he’s still sleeping. You won’t believe what happened yesterday.”

“Now what?” I asked. “Not more bad news, I hope.”

“It’s bad, all right.” He sounded outraged. “Charles got a call from Jennifer’s brother. This time he announced that Jennifer never bothered changing her will after she and her ex split up.”

“That means Atwood inherits everything? That’s certainly a motive for murder. Have you heard from the police? Did they check whether he had an alibi for the time of Jennifer’s death?”

“He claims he was at the fire hall with a dozen other firemen who can vouch for him. But he wouldn’t stand to inherit anyhow. Wills are automatically voided when couples separate, so technically, Jennifer died intestate.”

“But we don’t know for sure whether he really was there or not?” I asked. And then before he could answer I continued. “Mind you, he’d be stupid to lie about something like that. The police would find out.” I paused. “How do you know so much about testamentary law?”

“I’m just repeating everything Jennifer’s brother told Charles. He also said that, legally, Charles and she weren’t living together long enough to make them common law spouses.”

“Then who—”

“Her entire estate goes to her next of kin—namely, the brother. And if that isn’t enough, he wants Charles out of the house before the end of the month.”

“But that’s only—” I stopped and counted the days till December, “—two weeks away. That’s terrible.”

“It’s disgusting, is what it is. He’s got to find a place, pack all his stuff and get out. And the brother said he wants to see receipts for anything Charles takes out of the house. He’s claiming that all the furniture, the art, everything belonged to Jennifer. And he wants to keep it all.”

“What? But that’s not fair.”

“What’s ‘fair’ got to do with anything? As long as the law is on his side, that’s all that counts.”

“That might not be entirely true. I bet the guy is trying to intimidate Charles.”

“He’s a bastard,” Jake continued, incensed.

As appalling as it was, I wasn’t all that surprised. When it came to fighting for inheritances, people were often shameless. “I hope Charles didn’t agree to any of this. He’s got to fight.”

“That’s exactly what I told him, but he’s so depressed I’m afraid he might not have the energy for a battle.”

I thought quickly. There had to be something I could do. I thought of Toni’s husband, but he was not the right lawyer for this kind of case. “Make sure he doesn’t agree to anything until he hears from me.”

“What are you planning?”

“First thing I have to do is find him a good lawyer. I’ll make a few phone calls and get back to you. Tell him to not let Jennifer’s brother intimidate him, no matter what he tells him. I think he’s trying to pull a fast one.” I hung up and glanced at my watch—not quite eleven-thirty.

I scrolled through my contacts list, pressed the speed-dial for Steven’s office, and a minute later his receptionist put me through.

“Steven Lawford,” a gruff male voice answered.

“Hi Steven. It’s Nicky Landry. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

His voice mellowed. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite client. How are you doing, Nicky? You must be staying out of trouble, otherwise I’d have heard from you.” And then as an afterthought, he added, “You’re not in some kind of trouble now, are you?”

I chuckled. “No, but a friend of mine has a problem. I’m sure Toni told you about the restaurant fire and about Jennifer being murdered?”

“Yes, of course—tragic.”

I went straight to the point, giving him the gist of the situation. “Can Jennifer’s brother really kick Charles out like that?”

His answer was quick and firm. “No, he can’t. As for Charles’s rights to the house, he might have a good case, however it will depend on a number of things. How long were they living together?”

“Er, I don’t know exactly.”

“Do you know if Charles contributed financially to the house?”

Not significantly, I thought, considering how little we paid him. But all I said was, “I’m not sure.”

“How long did Jennifer own the house before Charles moved in?”

“I have no idea.”

There was a long pause. “You don’t know much, do you?” he said with a smile in his voice. “Tell you what. I’ll make a few calls and find out who’s the best lawyer for that kind of situation. I’ll call you back with a name and phone number. In the meantime I suggest you call your friend and tell him to get his paperwork together. The lawyer will want—do you have a pen and paper? It’s a long list.”

“Hold on.” I rummaged through the catchall drawer in my bedside table and pulled out a well-chewed pen—probably from a diet-induced moment of desperation. “Okay, got it.”

“The lawyer will need to know when Jennifer bought the house and when Charles moved in. If Charles contributed financially to the house, he should gather all receipts or evidence of this. If there were any financial arrangements between them, he should note them and show proof. Receipts, bank statements, income tax statements—he’ll need to find all of those and any other records of his income and expenditures.”

I was taking down the information as fast as I could, feeling more hopeful about Charles’s situation. “Thank you, Steven. That’s great help.”

I hung up, and punched in Jake’s number again.

He picked up on the first ring. “I just heard from Charles. It seems the police checked on Atwood’s alibi. He’s in the clear.”

“So that leaves us with only Jennifer’s brother as a suspect,” I said.

“Unless Jennifer was killed by mistake. Or simply because she happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I’d been thinking the same thing. I changed the subject. “I just spoke to Toni’s ex-husband. He’ll find out who’s the best lawyer for Charles to see.”

“Does he really think Charles stands a chance?”

“So it seems. He said Charles needs to put together a file of documents to help his case.” I was about to suggest he get a pencil and paper when my house phone rang. “I’ll email you the list, and you get it to Charles. Make sure he does it.” Jake promised he would see to it, and we hung up. I picked up the house phone. It was Toni.

“I told Steven about Judy,” she blurted, sounding distraught.

“How’d it go?” I asked. Judging by the tone of her voice I already had a pretty good idea what the answer would be.

“On the bright side, we’re already divorced, so I won’t have to go through that again.”

“That bad? I just spoke to him and he didn’t sound upset—just his usual charming self.”

She snorted. “Steven is too much of a professional to let personal matters affect his work. He could be bleeding to death, but as long as he’s on the phone with a client, he’ll take care of business before dialing 911.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, he pretended everything was just dandy. He went into this whole what-a-surprise thing, and then went on and on about how happy he was for me. But I could tell that underneath it all he was furious. He has this vein that pulsates in his forehead whenever he’s angry. It was going so fast I thought he might have a heart attack.” She hesitated. “But, here’s the weird part. The whole time I had the strangest feeling that the whole surprise thing was an act, and that he already knew all about my sister and my niece.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense. How could he? You didn’t know about her yourself until—what—two weeks?”

“Actually, closer to a month.”

A month? And she had kept this to herself all this time? “What about the will? Does he know you didn’t change it?”

She gasped. “Are you kidding? I didn’t tell him
that.
I swear, he’d kill me if he ever found out.”

Of course she was just joking, but a horrible thought came to me in a flash. What if it was
Steven
? If he was under the impression that she had already changed her will in
his
favor and then found out about Toni’s sister and niece, he might worry that she would change her will again, this time making
them
her principle beneficiaries. As Inspector Crawford put it, it gave him seventeen damned good reasons to want Toni dead.

Why else would Steven have insisted he be her principle beneficiary? In hindsight, the more I thought about it, the more his behavior seemed suspicious. Steven was about ten years older than Toni. If he was intent on inheriting her fortune, it could only mean he was counting on her dying first. There was only one way he could make sure of that—he was planning to kill her. I felt ill at the thought.

I kept my voice calm. “Er, Toni, are you sure that Steven didn’t already know about your money when you got back together?”

“What? Why would you—” And then she got it. She gasped. “You think Steven—That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Steven might not be perfect, but he is not a killer. Next you’re going to tell me that the woman who came barging in, making all those threats, is his girlfriend. Trust me, he likes them younger than she was.”

“No, of course not,” I said, wishing my thoughts weren’t always so transparent. Toni was already paranoid enough. The last thing she needed was to be fed more suspicions to obsess about. “I wasn’t thinking any such thing.”

There was a long silence, and then her next words took me by surprise. “You’re right,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “It’s got to be him. How could I have been so blind? Steven is trying to kill me.”