Chapter 20
“[Daisy has] got an indiscreet voice,” I remarked. “It’s full of—” I hesitated. “Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly.
—Nick Carraway and Jay Gatsby in conversation in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
The electrical glitch didn’t trigger a fire. Blessed Bean didn’t burn down. Nobody got hurt. But my nerves were still on edge when I arrived home. I cuddled Darcy for a long time before heading to bed.
Friday morning, bright and early, I rose, stretched, threw on a pair of black capris and a white camp shirt, and fed the cat, and together we hurried to Dream Cuisine. I had bunches of sweets to make, as well as a couple of party platters for Legal Eagles.
I hadn’t had time to make myself a cup of coffee when Vanna swept into the ghost kitchen.
“Morning, Sunshine!” she said jauntily.
“Why are you in such a good mood?”
“Because I was up all night reading the best book.”
“I enjoyed The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, too.”
“Not that one, silly.” She tossed her purse and silk cardigan on the table, strapped on an apron, slipped her hair into a chef’s cap, like I had, and washed her hands.
“Hey, kitty,” she said to Darcy, who was lazing in his cat carrier.
He meowed. “Are you going to the bookshop? You lucky thing. Freedom will be yours soon.”
He warbled his assent while butting his head against the zippered mesh cover.
“I read The Great Gatsby,” she continued. “I couldn’t put it down. In addition to promising no dating advice for a year, Mother said it was imperative I read it if I was going to participate at the event. She said people would be asking my opinion on the story and theme.”
What a smart way to engage Vanna. Noeline knew her daughter would want to pontificate.
“What’re we making?” She eyed the ingredients I’d assembled on the island.
“Let’s taste test pasta pomodoro before we do all the baking for deliveries. Are you game?”
“Pasta for breakfast?” She wrinkled her nose.
“It contains all the food groups. Starch, fruit, and protein.”
“What protein?”
“Cheese.”
She jutted a hip. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
I brought the water to a boil and chopped the garlic while she blanched, peeled, seeded, and diced the Roma tomatoes I’d picked up at the farmers’ market.
“What did you think of Daisy?” I asked.
“Daisy was ridiculously stupid. How could she let Gatsby take the blame for running over the woman? Didn’t she realize her silence would be the end of him?”
“She didn’t let him take the blame. Her wicked husband insinuated it was Gatsby, and—”
“Whatever.” Vanna huffed. “As for Jay Gatsby, where do I begin? His sole motivation for making money was to win Daisy back? Honestly? She wasn’t worth it.”
I recalled how Patrick had taunted Jason, inferring that the notion of building a spectacular mall wouldn’t woo Delilah into his life. Had Jason truly believed she’d return? I clacked the knife on the cutting board.
“What’s wrong?” Vanna asked.
“I can’t figure out why Jason Gardner moved to Bramblewood. The woman he loved was living in Los Angeles.”
“I’d bet his happiest moments were when he was a young boy, and he hoped to rekindle the memory.”
Her insight surprised me, and I recalled Candace talking about Jason being a dreamer when he was a child.
“The tomatoes are ready,” Vanna said. “Want me to grate the cheese?”
“Yes, please.”
I grew quiet as I browned the garlic in oil in a large sauté pan.
I added the tomatoes and sauteed them to deglaze the garlic from the bottom of the pan.
When the tomatoes were the right texture, I mashed them into a paste and boiled the angel-hair pasta.
After rinsing the pasta, I tossed it with the tomato sauce, freshly chopped basil, and half of the Parmesan cheese.
When it was ready, I dished up two portions, dusted each with more grated Parmesan, and handed a serving to Vanna. “Taste.”
She did and hummed her approval. “This is simple yet absolutely delicious. I’m hooked.” She polished off her meal, washed both of our plates, and reviewed the orders we needed to prepare. “I’m so nervous,” she mumbled.
“About today’s deliveries?”
“No. Don’t be daft.”
“About the Gatsby party? Don’t worry.” I swatted the air with a spatula.
“You do not have to opine about the story or the overarching theme of trying to achieve the American dream—a dream in which each man or woman should be able to attain greatness, regardless of the circumstances of their birth or position.”
She gawked at me. “That’s the theme?”
“One of them.”
“No. I’m not … I mean, discussing the book doesn’t worry me.
It’s … I’m going to the town council meeting tonight and …
” She took a deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong.
I love working with you. But I would like to grow my business, and the mayor said he’ll introduce me around.
He knows all the bigwigs in town. I’ll have to be on my toes. ”
“You’ll be great. No one pitches you better than you.” I smiled. “What’re you wearing?”
She told me.
“You’ll wow them. If for any reason you don’t feel comfortable going alone, ask Tegan to accompany you.”
“Why?”
“You’re always saying you’d like to bond with her. What an ideal time.”
“My sister at a town council meeting? She’d rather die.”
I made deliveries to Ragamuffin, Perfect Brew, and Big Mama’s Diner.
Vanna was handling all the deliveries on the east side of town.
My last stop was Jukebox Joint. Before entering, I peered in the windows to see if Zach was chatting with his mother.
He wasn’t. I didn’t know why I was nervous to run into him, but we still hadn’t resolved our issue.
Would we ever? Jenny was over the moon with the sale of the last batch of goodies and asked if I’d ever considered making homemade hamburger buns.
I hadn’t and told her I had to pass. Doing so would be a full-time job.
The Joint served over five hundred burgers a day.
At ten, when I arrived at Feast for the Eyes, Tegan was whizzing around like a crazy woman.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Chloe’s running late, and a women’s group wants to hold their book club here today. You won’t believe who the group’s leader is. Last night her ears must have been burning.”
“Who?”
“Shayna Luckenbill.”
“Iggie’s wife?”
“The same.”
“She has never come to Feast for the Eyes in her life. She’s a library person.”
“Yes, well, her house flooded because a pipe burst. The other participants weren’t prepared to hostess.
The library has two events and couldn’t accommodate her.
She begged and pleaded, saying they absolutely have to discuss Liane Moriarty’s Nine Perfect Strangers.
‘Have to,’” Tegan said, mimicking a breathless voice when she said the last words. “So I said yes.”
If only the book club leader were Ulla Karlsson, we might have been able to cajole the truth out of her regarding Iggie’s whereabouts Monday night. Shayna, who’d attended an art exhibit, would be useless.
“They’re due in less than an hour.” Tegan consulted her watch. “Fifty-two minutes, to be exact.”
“Do they have snacks?” I asked.
“She said they don’t need any, but of course, they’ll be hungry. Got any on hand?”
“Actually, I made some lemon bars for you to taste test. I’ll bring them in, and I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
“We got rid of the machine, remember?”
I smiled. “I cater, did you forget? I have an urn and ground coffee in the van. You have tea. Let’s get cracking. I’ll handle the food prep.”
At ten minutes to the hour, the door opened, and a forty-something man who appeared ready to blaze a trail from here to Oregon strode into the shop.
He was broad-shouldered, with ruddy skin, shaggy gray hair, and salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin.
His Pendleton shirt hung unbuttoned over a blue T-shirt and jeans.
“Hi. Welcome. I’m Allie.”
Tegan was arranging chairs in the reading nook area.
“Name’s Ott.” His voice was gruff yet friendly.
“How may I help you?”
He scrubbed the back of his neck. “Not sure, but my buddy said I should come to town and speak to someone who works here.”
“Are you looking for a specific book?”
He glanced around, as if surprised to find himself in a bookshop. “Uh, no, ma’am.”
“Allie,” I corrected.
“Yeah, see, my buddy is Zorro Vega. You know him?”
Honestly? Zorro’s last name was Vega? I tamped down a smile. The literary Zorro’s real name was Diego de la Vega. “Yes, I met him.”
“Yeah, he asked if I was camping around Linville Caverns Monday night. I was, and, see, he asked if I saw anybody else. I did. I can’t say I saw the guy’s face, but I spied someone exploring with a flashlight.
” He grinned. An attractive dimple cut his right cheek.
“He was cupping his hand over the flashlight, as if he didn’t want anyone to notice him, so it was dim. By then the caverns were closed.”
My heart began pounding against my rib cage. Had he seen Patrick? “Go on, Mr. Ott.”
“Yeah, well, see, he was walking sort of sneaky like, but he wasn’t being too quiet. In fact, he was whistling a tune. Soft and low. I recognized it because it’s one of my favorites. “When I Come Around.”
“By Green Day?”
“You know it?” He whistled a bar.
“I do.” It was the song Patrick was singing in the video I’d landed on when I’d done the deep dive.
“I figured the guy must be looking for bats. I’m a bat guy. Do you like bats?”
“I can’t say I do.”
“They’re cool. Did you know bats can naturally produce multi-harmonic tones that can be heard up to a hundred meters away?
They don’t attack whistlers. I figured that was why the guy was tootling.
” He spread his rough and chapped hands.
“Anyways, that’s the reason I came in to see you.
Zorro asked me to do him a solid and share what I knew about his friend. If it was his friend.”
“About what time was this, do you remember?”
“Close to eleven. I’d finished dinner. Hot dogs over an open fire. My favorite.”
In view of the distance between the caverns and Bramblewood, Patrick couldn’t have made it back in time to kill Jason. If the killer wasn’t him and it wasn’t Reika, maybe Finette was right—Iggie was the killer.
Ott jutted a thumb. “Hey, is that James Patterson’s latest?”
“It is.” I took one off the endcap and handed it to him. “Here. It’s yours. A gift.”
“You mean it?”
“Yes. I appreciate you taking the time to share what you knew. The guy you heard whistling will thank you, too.”
Ott tossed the book into his other hand and raised it. “Mighty nice of you.” He scanned the shop with one long sweep. “Nice place. Wish I was more of a reader.”
“One can always start.” I smiled. “Say, if the police need you to tell them what you saw and heard, would you be willing to do so?”
“Yeah, sure. I got nothing to hide. I live off the land, but I don’t break any laws.”
What an interesting guy.
“Do you have a cell phone?” I asked.
“Nah. I hate anything requiring plug-in batteries. But Zorro knows where to find me.”
As Ott was leaving, Tegan appeared. “Who was the dude?”
“A guy who exonerated Patrick of murder.”