Pasta, Pinot & Murder Read online

  I checked the arrangement on the board, and did a quick sweep of the entire dining room. By the time Emily got back, I explained what she had available, and who could take on more than four tables at a time. I knew I could count on some servers to handle more tables than just their four table section and not get in the weeds (in the service industry, that meant getting behind with your work), while others could only handle their four table section. When the servers had to serve soup, salad (made at the table), the main course, and dessert, along with whatever drinks the table wanted, four tables could be overwhelming.

  Within minutes, the hostess area was organized, and Emily had all of the guests with reservations seated. At least I’d stopped thinking about Alice’s murder for a few minutes. When I looked up, I saw Saylor standing in the corner of the lounge, sipping her signature lemon drop martini.

  “You’re a pro,” she said as she came forward, handing me a martini glass she’d picked up from the table next to her.

  I took a long sip. “I’ll have nightmares tonight.”

  “About Alice?”

  “About being a hostess again.”

  We both laughed.

  “Let’s do this.” I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the kitchen.

  She pulled back. “I can’t go in there. I’m wearing sandals.”

  “You’re not going into the kitchen. We’re going to the office. That’s where Hattie will be.” I pulled harder and Saylor relented.

  “I don’t want to do this.” She drained the rest of her martini.

  “Do I have to beg?” I didn’t want to face Hattie and Peter alone.

  “Tell you what, I’ll be in the bar, getting a second round of martinis. You can come with me, or you can go into the kitchen, which you know will be a hot mess. Look at this place. What do you think is happening in that kitchen right now?”

  She was right. The stress levels would be off the meter, and the swearing would make a hooker blush. Why would I subject myself to that? I’d already subjected myself to helping the hostess. And we’d even gotten the Olivetti party seated in less than ten minutes, so the bartender only had to overpour one round of drinks.

  “Martinis it is. But remember, we still have to go to the jail in a few hours.” Ugh, I had to relive the murder scene all over again. I needed the martini I held in my hand and at least one more.

  The lighting in the lounge was a bit higher than the lighting in the dining room, and I could see Hattie sitting in a booth on the other side of the bar. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen Hattie in the bar, much less with a drink.

  I tapped Saylor on the shoulder. When she turned to look at me, I pointed.

  She frowned. “Should we go sit with her?”

  I led the way.

  I scooted in next to Hattie on one side, while Saylor slid in on the other side.

  Hattie’s eye makeup looked smudged, and her lipstick had been rubbed off completely.

  I leaned in close. “I’m so sorry, Hattie.”

  Hattie took a drink from her glass. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Hattie had never looked old to me before, but she looked old now. Even when she was dripping sweat from a long summer run, she still looked put together. And there I was, watching her fall apart.

  “It’s so close to harvest. Who’s going to make sure the harvest goes well?”

  I leaned in close. “She has a foreman. He’s been doing this for many years. And her vineyard manager is one of the best in the business. Her vineyard and winery will be fine.”

  Hattie looked up at me with just her bloodshot eyes. “I’m talking about the harvest in general. We always helped each other through it. Alice, Ruthie, and me.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything.

  “What are you drinking, Mrs. Friday?” Saylor asked.

  Hattie moved her pilsner glass around on the table, moving the water ring around in a hapless design. “I don’t know, some microbrew. I couldn’t bring myself to drink wine tonight.” She said it so quietly I could barely hear her.

  “Let me get you a real drink.” Saylor waved down a cocktail waitress. “Mrs. Friday would like a lemon drop martini, ASAP.”

  It should have sounded snippy and rude, but somehow, with her huge smile and twinkling brown eyes, Saylor made it sound sweet. The cocktail waitress smiled back at her and rushed to the bar. Maybe it was the mention of Hattie’s name and not Saylor’s demeanor.

  Hattie leaned over and whispered in my ear. “What happened to my dear Alice?”

  Hattie and Alice had a love/hate relationship of best friends. I felt bad for her and her loss.

  I whispered in her ear. “I don’t know for sure, but I think she’d been hit over the head. I went to meet with her for the W&R event, and when she didn’t answer the door, I realized it was opened. I walked in, calling her name, then I saw a broken crystal pitcher on the floor, and what looked like iced tea everywhere. Then I looked into the dining room and saw Alice on the floor. I’m so sorry, Hattie.”

  Hattie said, “Alice didn’t drink iced tea. It was probably Coke.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell the police.” Not that it mattered one bit.

  Hattie sat up straight, as if she’d had a revelation. “Hit over the head? Are you sure? She wasn’t poisoned? I’d heard she was poisoned.”

  What? Had word gotten around town already? “Where did you hear that?”

  “Peter’s sous chef told me. Peter’s been too busy to talk to me.” She reached out and grabbed the martini off the waitress’s tray, and nearly overturned the entire tray of drinks.

  I watched in what seemed like slow motion as the experienced server rebalanced the tray, only spilling a few drops from a couple of glasses. I quietly applauded her. Then I silently chastised Hattie, who knew better than to grab a drink off a server’s tray. All the credit to the cocktail server for continuing to smile. I reached in my pocket and grabbed a twenty-dollar bill and placed it on the tray without touching it.

  She said, “There’s a running tab.”

  I looked to Hattie, then to the girl and pointed at the martini. “This is a tip for that drink.”

  The girl’s brows raised and she walked away quickly, just in case I might change my mind.

  “I was there, I saw her, and I can tell you, Peter’s sous chef has no idea what he’s talking about. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even tell Peter how she died.” I wracked my brain to remember my conversation with him. I didn’t recall telling him what had happened to Alice. I wasn’t even sure what happened until Saylor said something about her head.

  “Mmmmm, this is delicious.” It was the first time I heard the slurring in her words. “I’ll need another one.”

  Hattie never got drunk. First, she ran every morning, and no way could she run with a hangover. Second, she’d never let loose enough to lose control. Getting drunk meant giving up a bit of self-control.

  I wanted to take the drink away from her, because I’d have to deal with her in the morning. Or not. Peter would be handling her. She was his mother, after all. I was locking myself in my studio and never coming out. At least not until they found Alice’s killer.

  I wished I’d thought of going through the house before calling the police. But then again, what if the killer had still been in the house? I might have been the next victim. Had she been robbed? Had Bruce killed her, then left town for an alibi? Had Bruce really left town the previous day? Maybe he killed Alice and skipped town. I wondered if his personal time had been planned for a while, or if it was last minute. But with the floor still wet, the murder had to have happened earlier in the day. The police could ping Bruce’s phone to see if he was out of town.

  “Hattie, was everything okay with Alice and Bruce?” I hadn’t thought it out before I asked.

  “They were married; of course things weren’t okay. Being married was a problem in itself.” Hattie drank half of her martini in a long sip. “My Alice is
gone.” I swear I saw a tear run down her cheek right before she dropped her head and slammed her forehead onto the table.

  Ouch. Crap. That was going to leave a bruise.

  “Hattie, are you okay?” Saylor asked.

  She lifted her head as if nothing happened. No more tears, just swollen eyes. “I’m not okay. My best friend died today. And the worst part is that we had a huge fight this morning. We had some nasty words for each other, and now I can’t say I’m sorry.”

  Saylor looked at me. I shook my head. I knew my mother-in-law had a temper, and she was strong as an ox for a woman in her seventies. I knew I’d lose if we arm wrestled. Could she have lost it, and hit Alice over the head in a fit of rage? I didn’t want to think about it.

  “What did you fight about?” Saylor asked.

  Hattie shook her head. “It was nothing. The fight was so stupid.”

  “But Hattie, she’s dead now. If you had a fight, was it a big enough fight for you to lose your temper?” I knew she wasn’t going to answer Saylor, but I hoped she’d answer me.

  Hattie twirled the martini glass on the table. “I don’t have a temper. Alice has the temper. She was the one who lost it on me, and I ended up leaving.” Then she looked up at me, glaring. “How dare you insinuate that I might have murdered my best friend.”

  If Hattie didn’t have a temper, I’m not sure what you’d call what Alice had. Hattie’s temper had subsided over the years that I’d been married into the family, but it wasn’t gone completely. And she held a grudge like no other. If she was mad at me, she’d bring up something I said or did before Peter and I were even married. And she had the memory of an elephant, or selective memory when it suited her.

  I touched Hattie on the arm. “I’m not insinuating anything. But you have to be honest with the police, and tell them that you and Alice got in a fight. If you don’t want to share the details with me, that’s fine, but be prepared to share it in minute detail with the cops. And you’d better hope that the timeline doesn’t fit with when you were at the house.”

  Hattie shrugged. “They can just look at the security tapes to see what time I was there. And they’ll hear Alice slamming the door behind me.”

  That was it. Someone with money and possessions like the Fridays and the Parkers usually had security cameras. I wondered if Sheriff Waters or the deputy had noticed the cameras, and what they might have found on the video.

  Not one to let something go, Saylor asked, “So what did you fight about?”

  Before Hattie could answer, Peter rushed toward the table.

  “Are you okay?” he asked me.

  “I’m fine, I guess. We were just having a drink before we head over to the jail for questioning.”

  Peter put his hands on the table, leaning in toward me. “Questioning? What would they be questioning you about?”

  “They were securing the area, and doing the crime scene investigation when I was there, so Sheriff Waters asked if I could meet him at the jail, so they can question me further after they are finished at the crime scene.”

  Peter looked at Saylor. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you too, Peter.” Saylor put on her sexiest grin.

  “That doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here?” Peter didn’t let up. This was his mood at the end of a harried evening from working in the kitchen. This was the Peter I had put up with for ten years.

  I looked at my watch. It wasn’t even close to the end of the evening. His poor kitchen staff.

  “Saylor is here for me. You were too far away and too busy to come stay with me while I waited for the police. But you know that, because she called you. And now Saylor is going with me to the jail, because she was there at the crime scene and actually saw Alice’s body.” I scooted over a bit so Peter could sit down.

  He didn’t sit. Looking around, I could see the restaurant was still quite busy.

  “What time are you going to the jail? And who’s going to be questioning you?” he asked.

  “We’ll probably have another drink, then I’ll call an Uber car to drive us to the jail, and back. Someone is going to need to see your mother home.”

  Peter looked at Hattie. “Mom, are you okay?”

  When Hattie looked up, tears were streaming down her face. “No, I’m not okay. And I won’t be okay until they find Alice’s killer. Maybe not even then.”

  He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “How much has she had to drink?”

  I grimaced at him, shrugging my shoulders, but didn’t answer because I didn’t know.

  “Mom, how much have you had to drink?”

  Again, Hattie twirled her martini glass. She waved down the waitress. “You’re not my father. I don’t answer to you.”

  Peter’s eyes opened wide. He knew his mother well, and knew she was a two glasses of wine drinker. Everyone who knew Hattie knew that she drank one glass of wine, two glasses of water, then another glass of wine. She said it was her way of stretching out the drinking and not getting drunk while still being social.

  The server came over to the table, and Saylor put three fingers up and indicated to the three of us. “Another round of martinis, please.”

  The server nodded, scratching on her notepad and walking away.

  Addressing Hattie, I said, “You were asking Sheriff Waters what was going on earlier, and he wasn’t there to talk to you. Maybe you could go down to the cop shop with us and tell him about your fight with Alice.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Hattie tilted her head back to get the last drop from her martini glass.

  “I’ll drive all of you to the jail, but I’m not sure why you aren’t just going to the police station here in town,” Peter said.

  Saylor said, “Because Alice’s home is outside the city limits, but within the county, her death falls in the jurisdiction of the sheriff’s department, not the police department.”

  “I guess I didn’t think about that. It’s a good thing that Pear is the county seat,” Peter looked at his watch. “Crap, this rush is running longer than I expected. I have to get back to the kitchen.”

  “I’ll just have an Uber driver pick us up. You need to be here to make sure everything is running smoothly. I’ll bring Hattie back here when we’re finished and you can take her home.” Not that home was very far, but he could at least take her up to the house, and make sure she got into bed without incident.

  “Fine.” I could tell Peter didn’t like the idea of us going without him. “If you’re running late, just call me, and I’ll come down and pick all of you up. Saylor, you should stay with Willa tonight.”

  Saylor waved a hand in front of her. “Oh honey, by the time we get to the jail, finished with the questioning, and get back, I’ll be as sober as a drunk who’s been in AA for twelve years.”

  Chapter Six

  As soon as we arrived at the sheriff’s department, which held not only the offices, but the jail, Sheriff Waters separated us. I snickered to myself. Did they think we had colluded on what to say? We’d already been drinking at the bar for over an hour, and then we’d ridden in the Uber car together. If we wanted to come up with an alibi, or a good story, we’d had plenty of time already.

  Before leaving the restaurant, Saylor and I decided bringing Hattie along was a bad idea. One more martini, and she’d nearly passed out at the table. She’d be useless in an interview. The bartender said he’d keep an eye on her until Peter finished in the kitchen.

  They took Saylor in first, and Waters followed right behind her. Then another deputy escorted me away.

  Much to my surprise, the sheriff came back out only moments later, and walked me down the hallway. “I hear Hattie’s taking this pretty hard,” he said.

  What a strange thing for him to say. Then I remembered my earlier suspicion about them having a “thing”. I kept it to myself for the moment.

  “She and Alice were best friends.” I walked beside him until he stopped at a door with his name on it.


  He opened the door, letting me walk in first. “And worst enemies. They are an enigma.”

  Yes, they were. But I didn’t say anything. That was a subject for him and Hattie to discuss.

  I sat in the antique hardwood chair and leaned back. The chair had stiff springs, but it did rock a little, and the wheels rolled me back against the wall. I used my feet to walk the chair back toward the desk. I loved antique office chairs, even if they were torture to sit on for long periods of time.

  I waited until Waters was seated behind his desk before I asked, “Off the record,” I hesitated, then wimped out. “Can I call you John? Or would you prefer I call you Sheriff Waters?”

  He leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. “John is fine. Almost everyone calls me by my first name, unless they're a criminal.”

  I laughed. “Then I’ll definitely call you John.”

  “So is that what you wanted to ask me ‘off the record?’”

  “No,” I said. “I wanted to ask you how long you’ve been dating Hattie.”

  I think John choked on his own spit, because he went into a coughing fit.

  I waited.

  When he recovered, he said, “Excuse me, I’m not dating Hattie. We have been seeing a lot of each other in the last few months, but we aren’t dating, per se.”

  “Seeing each other? Dating? Whatever. And does Peter know about this?” I had to know if he’d kept it from me.

  John crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back even further in his chair. “That’s why we aren’t dating. Hattie doesn’t want Peter to get upset. So there’s nothing for him to know.”

  They were doing the horizontal mambo, I just knew it.

  Now it was my turn to choke. “Seriously? Peter is a grown man. Hattie is, well, she’s just old, even if she doesn’t know it. Who cares? Do you two really like each other?”

  “We do.” He grinned a knowing grin. “And Hattie isn’t old.”

  He was right, she was the youngest seventy-something I’d ever met. And I’d bet John knew more than we’d ever know, or ever want to know.

  “I’ll tell Peter.” I sat up straight in the chair. “Or better yet, we can go out on a double date.”