Out of the Dying Pan Read online

  Talia had so many more questions for her. There was so much more she wanted to know, especially about Ria. She felt sure that the key to finding Ria’s killer was in learning more about Ria herself.

  “Kelsey, before you go, can I ask you something?” Talia said.

  “Sure,” Kelsey said. Shoot.”

  “Did Ria ever mention a dragon to you?”

  Kelsey furrowed her brow. “A dragon? No, I don’t think so.” She stared at the wall, as if trying to remember something. “Funny you say that, though. A little over a week ago, a man came into the shop with a box of trinkets. He said they’d belonged to his deceased mother. He wondered if Ria was interested in buying them.” She looked back at Talia. “One of the trinkets was a green dragon pin made of painted pewter—kind of cartoonish, you know? It was really big, an unusual piece. I thought it might appeal to the right buyer.” She shook her head slowly. “But Ria took one look at it and her face changed. She got really pale. She told the guy she hated dragons, and to get it out of her sight.”

  “How strange,” Talia said. “Did she say why she hated dragons?”

  “No, and the poor man was so flustered at her reaction that he left without selling her anything.” Kelsey slid a lock of brunette hair behind one ear. She smiled. “Hey, I’d better go,” she said. “I’m glad we finally got together. It’s a relief to talk about all of this with someone.” She paused with her hand on the door handle.

  “I agree,” Talia said. “Can we talk again soon?” She tried not to sound too anxious.

  Kelsey’s eyes lit up for a brief moment. “You know, I just got to thinking about something. I know Ria’s only been dead a few days, but I wondered …” She groaned. “Would it be tacky if I asked Ria’s mom if I can adopt the cat? I’m pretty sure she never really wanted it. Ria only gave her the poor creature to get under my skin.”

  The quarrel Ria’d had with her mother at the fund-raiser suddenly popped into Talia’s head. Who said I wanted a cat anyway? Ria’s mom had snapped at her.

  “I think it’s worth a try, Kelsey. If she really doesn’t want the cat, you might even be doing her a favor.”

  Kelsey sagged in relief. “Thanks. I’ll call her tonight.”

  A lightbulb in Talia’s head sparked to life. “Kelsey, wait. I have a better idea. If you’re game and you don’t mind some company, why don’t the two of us pay her a condolence call this evening? I’ll pick up a glazed lemon pound cake at Peggy’s Bakery and ask them to put it in a pretty container.”

  “Oh, Talia, that would be super! I was dreading making the call. If you go with me, I’ll feel so much better.” She grabbed Talia in a jerky hug.

  Talia smiled and returned the hug. They agreed that she would pick up Kelsey at seven thirty in front of the arcade. Kelsey was familiar with the condo in which Ria had lived with her mom. It was an easy ride from downtown.

  *

  Lucas arrived at ten forty, right on Martha’s heels. In spite of Martha’s crabby nature, Talia loved that both her employees always showed up early. She took it as a sign that they valued their jobs, and also that they enjoyed working together.

  By eleven, Talia had prepared two large batches of meatballs and enough tangy slaw to feed half the town. The eatery had run short of slaw the day before, forcing Talia to whip up a fresh batch. With the Wrensdale fire station ordering takeout on a near daily basis, it wouldn’t do to run out of any of the eatery’s staples.

  It wasn’t until Lucas poured himself his usual mug of coffee that Talia noticed the bandage on his wrist.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said, gazing at him with mock sternness. He flushed almost to the tips of his pale blond locks. “Yeah. I was practicing on the cobblestone real early this morning. It was, like, twenty degrees out. My hands were frozen. I got about halfway across the plaza when I took a header. Mom was really pi— I mean, she was really ticked off.”

  Martha peered at the bandage. “One of these days, kid, you’re gonna break your a—”

  “Martha.” Talia looked at her.

  Martha glowered back. “I was going to say his anterior muscle, which on Lucas has a lot less padding than it does on me.”

  Talia held Martha’s gaze for a moment and then turned back to Lucas with concern. “Lucas, what if it’s broken? Maybe you should go to the emergency room.” In truth, she was worried about him. In her opinion, he took way too many risks with that skateboard of his.

  “Nah. It’s not a problem. In her old life, my mom was an LPN. She said it’s only a sprain.”

  Talia wasn’t convinced. “Does it hurt?” she asked, rubbing her own arm in sympathy.

  “Not if I pop a few aspirin,” he said. A huge grin lit his face. “Don’t worry, okay? It’s all cool. Plus, I got an idea I’m gonna try out. But don’t ask me to reveal it. I’m keeping it under wraps until I’ve perfected it. I’ll give you one clue, though: wheels.”

  “Wheels,” Talia repeated. She shrugged. “Well, I guess we’ll have to wait to see what that means.”

  They shifted back into work mode, with everyone tackling their usual assigned tasks. Martha looked flummoxed when Talia told her she’d already wiped down the tables and chairs in the dining area. “You can start working on the batters, okay?” Talia told her. “And if you could unpack the new box of haddock, that would be great.”

  Martha parked one hand on her hip and eyed Talia with suspicion. “You setting me up for a pink slip?”

  Talia threw up her hands. “Martha, of course not! I thought you’d be pleased with a more fair division of labor.”

  Martha worked her mouth for a moment, and then shrugged. “Okay. If you say so.”

  A few minutes before noon, Jay Ballard at the fire station called in an order. “Talia, we’re two guys short today,” he said, sounding desperate. “Flu’s going around. I’m begging you, can you please send someone over here with the food? We’ll tip the driver real good. That’s a promise.”

  “Jay, I wish I could,” she said, meaning it. “It’s just that we—” She looked at Lucas, who was waving his arms like a windmill at her. “Hold on a minute.”

  “Ms. Marby, I don’t mind delivering it,” Lucas said. “The fire station’s, like, two blocks from here, right past the town parking lot. With my long legs I can walk it in five minutes!”

  Talia sighed. She knew if she caved, the firemen would push for regular delivery. Still, they’d become such good customers that she hated to say no. She covered the receiver. “What about your wrist?” she whispered to Lucas.

  “It doesn’t hurt, Ms. Marby. I swear.” He raised his good hand.

  Talia sighed and went back to the phone. “We’ll do it, Jay, but only this one time, okay? I don’t have enough employees right now for delivery.”

  “Aw, you’re awesome,” the young fireman gushed.

  Twenty minutes later, Lucas jogged out the door carrying two large brown bags. He returned with a grin splitting his face and a fistful of currency in his hand. “Look at the tip they gave me!” he beamed. “It’s almost fifteen bucks!”

  Martha dredged two haddock fillets through a pan of flour. “How they can afford to do that?” she grumbled. “Don’t get me wrong, kid. I’m not begrudging you,” she added quickly.

  “Think about it, Martha,” Talia said. “If they each put in a few bucks, it adds up.”

  Maybe Martha had been right earlier. Offering a limited delivery service might be something Talia should consider. While she paid her two employees what she felt was a decent hourly wage, she knew Lucas could use the tips for tuition money, or at least for books.

  The lunch rush kept them all scrambling until after one. It was nearly one thirty when a familiar face sauntered in. Forcing herself to smile, Talia snatched a menu off the counter and greeted Detective Patti Prescott in the dining area. “Lovely to see you again,” she said, praying she wouldn’t be struck dead for lying. “Would you like a seat near the window?”

  The detective’s eyes flashed, an
d the tiniest of smiles touched her lips. “Thanks, but I’ve already eaten. I only came in to give you some news.”

  Talia’s heart jumped. “You caught the killer?” she said hopefully.

  Prescott studied her for a long moment. Talia was beginning to feel like a bug pinned to a corkboard. “No, I’m afraid not,” she said in a grim tone. “The ME released Ms. Butterforth’s body this morning. Her mother’s arranged for a memorial service to be held tomorrow at ten a.m. at the Dozier and Bay Funeral Home. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Tomorrow? That’s so soon!”

  “Mrs. Butterforth wanted to hold the service as soon as possible. Apparently a friend of the victim’s helped her with the arrangements.”

  A friend. That had to be Will Claiborne. He was probably the only person with enough funds and the wherewithal to put the plans for the service in motion so quickly.

  “I appreciate your letting me know, Detective,” Talia said. “I would certainly like to attend, but the timing is tricky.”

  Then a thought struck Talia. Maybe her old friend Bea would be willing to fill in for her Friday morning. For the past several weeks, Bea had been devoting herself to helping her husband, Howie, recover from knee surgery complications. But it would only be for a few hours. Plus, Bea knew the ropes and would be a big help to Martha and Lucas in the kitchen.

  “By the way, Ms. Marby, have you seen Andy Nash lately?”

  The question hit Talia like a boomerang to the back of the neck. She swallowed, feeling the detective’s eyes on her. Should she reveal what Andy had told her at the diner Tuesday evening? Part of her wanted desperately to share it with the detective, but a bigger part feared for Andy’s safety. If anything happened to him because Talia blabbed, she’d feel guilty for the rest of her days.

  “Um, why do you ask?” Talia said as a blush crept up her neck.

  Prescott gave her a cagey look. “I ask because I want to know,” she said. “We haven’t been able to get in touch with him for a few days. His car is at the dealership where he works, but he hasn’t shown up since Tuesday. His dad’s worried about him.”

  Her stomach lodged in her throat, Talia motioned Prescott to a quiet corner. In a low voice, she told the detective about her meeting with Andy at the diner. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you yesterday,” she said, steeling herself for the backlash. “But part of me didn’t believe him, and another part worried that he might actually be in danger. If anything happened to him because I snitched on him, I’d never forgive myself.” She released a long sigh and said, “If it helps, which it probably doesn’t, I begged him to go to the police with whatever info he had. But he was too scared. He told me his life wouldn’t be worth a three-dollar bill if I told anyone.”

  Prescott nodded slowly, as if turning it all over in her brain. To Talia’s surprise she said, “I understand where you’re coming from, although it is unfortunate. We could have protected him—if he was in any real danger, that is.”

  That was an interesting comment, Talia thought. Did the police believe Andy pulled a vanishing act because he killed Ria?

  “Strange that you put it that way, Detective.” Talia frowned. “The whole time Andy was talking to me, a little voice in my head kept warning me that the whole thing might be an act. That he might be conning me, you know?”

  “You’re very observant, Talia,” Prescott said softly. “And intuitive. I would it appreciate, however, if you would share what you know with the authorities instead of keeping it to yourself.”

  Talia breathed a sigh of sheer relief. “Agreed, Detective. I want Ria’s killer caught as much as the police do.”

  Then another thought struck Talia, one that chilled her to the marrow. Maybe the detective was the one playing games. Maybe Prescott was trying to trick her into thinking the police were homing in on Andy as the killer. That way, if Talia was the real killer, she might lower her guard and let something slip.

  Prescott’s gaze drifted over Talia’s shoulder, and all at once her nutmeg-colored eyes lit up. Pretending to scoop a crumb off an adjacent table, Talia turned and aimed a sideways look into the kitchen. Martha had just removed two deep-fried meatballs from the fryer and was swirling a generous helping of marinara over them. “Sure I can’t tempt you, Detective?”

  This time Prescott actually smiled. A real smile, not the faux, sharklike smirk Talia had seen up until now. “No thank you, not today. But one of these days when I’m off duty, I’ll definitely take you up on that. By the way, you may as well call me Patti.”

  Again, Talia wondered if the detective was trying to throw her off balance with a half-baked offer of friendship. Was that how the police got their suspects to confess? Or was she being too cynical? It might simply be that Prescott knew Talia wasn’t Ria’s killer and wanted to recruit her help.

  “Okay, Patti who’s not Patricia,” Talia said with a friendly smile. “From this day forward you are Patti.”

  Prescott’s lips curved into another genuine smile.

  “So what is your real name?” Talia pushed. Now she really wanted to know.

  “Sorry,” the detective said, “but right now I don’t think you have the patience to listen to the whole story. Let’s just say it’s a lot better than what kids called me in school.”

  “What did they call you?”

  Prescott’s eyes twinkled cryptically. “Think about it, Talia. What are my initials?” She waved, and in the next second she was out the door.

  Talia smiled to herself. Patti Prescott. PP.

  She returned the menu she was holding to the counter and then called Bea Lambert. Bea was thrilled to hear from her. “Ah, luvvy, I’ve missed you so,” Bea said in that darling accent of hers. “Of course I’ll help you out. I’d be scrubbing floors in the bloomin’ pokey if you hadn’t nabbed that killer!”

  Talia laughed and told her she was exaggerating. Bea agreed to be at the eatery by nine Friday morning. That would give Talia plenty of time to get to the memorial service by ten.

  11

  Talia dashed home after the eatery closed, fed Bo, and changed into black slacks and a lilac sweater. Around her neck she tucked one of her favorite scarves—the purple one threaded with thin strands of silver. Given the circumstances, she didn’t want to look festive, but she also didn’t want to project an air of gloom.

  The lemon pound cake, nestled in gold foil in a lovely moss-colored tin, was already in the back of the Fiat. Talia pulled up in front of the Wrensdale Arcade at seven twenty-five. As promised, Kelsey was waiting for her.

  “Thanks so much for coming with me, Talia,” Kelsey said gratefully as she hopped onto the passenger seat. “I don’t think I could’ve done this alone.”

  “No problem, Kelsey. I think it’s actually a good idea that both of us go anyway.”

  Talia put on her left blinker and eased into the traffic on Main Street. Holiday lights blinked in several of the storefronts, despite the shops having closed for the night. A gaggle of women streamed out of Popover Palace, a kitschy café that had opened about a year earlier. The Palace occupied the space that once housed the old Della’s Restaurant, a local icon founded during the late fifties. Della’s had been known less for its plain American fare than for its vertical neon sign, which for decades had beamed high over the entrance. Considered a landmark now, the sign still hung above the restaurant, although it no longer flashed the word DELLA’S in bright neon orange.

  “Do you think she’ll give me the cat?” Kelsey asked in a worried tone.

  “She might,” Talia said evenly. “But let’s not bring it up right away, okay? We wouldn’t want her to think that’s the only reason we’re calling on her.”

  “Okay,” Kelsey said softly. Then she gave out a tiny giggle. “Calling on her. It sounds so old-fashioned when you say it like that.”

  Talia smiled. “It’s something my Nana would’ve said. I think a lot of her expressions rubbed off on me.”

  “Does she live in Wrensdale?” Kelsey asked.<
br />
  Talia nodded, feeling that familiar lump fill her throat. “She did, but I’m afraid we lost her this past spring. It was a very hard time for my family and me.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Kelsey shifted to tuck her coat more securely underneath her. “I lost my gram when I was nine, but I don’t remember her all that well.”

  For the next few minutes neither of them spoke, except for Kelsey to give directions over a series of side streets. The older streets were all familiar to Talia, but there were a few newer offshoots she didn’t recognize. When they reached an area that Talia recalled had once been a small apple orchard, she was surprised to see that a cluster of duplexes had sprung up in its place. A tiny piece of her heart twisted, remembering the fun she and her dad used to have picking apples there every September.

  “Go down this street,” Kelsey instructed, pointing a gloved finger at a sign that read ORCHARD LANE. “It’s the third duplex on the left. Six-A.”

  Following Kelsey’s directions, Talia drove slowly along the darkened street until she came to a set of mailboxes with the numbers 6-A and 6-B reflecting off the front. The driveway on the A side of the duplex was empty, although Talia didn’t expect to see Ria’s Camry. She assumed it was still in the custody of the police.

  Not a single light shone through any of the windows.

  Kelsey leaned forward and peered through the windshield. “Oh, no, it’s totally dark inside!” She grabbed the sleeve of Talia’s jacket. “What if she’s not home?”

  The other side of the duplex was dark as well, almost as if the entire place had been abandoned. Thick shrubs that looked like rhododendron skirted both the front and the sides of the house. Each unit had a set of shallow steps that led to a white front door.

  Talia glanced farther down the street. Brilliantly lit Christmas trees shone in several of the windows. In the bay window of one of the homes, a cherry red sign blinked the message HAPPY HOLIDAYS. The street itself was mostly empty, save for a pickup truck parked along the curb about three houses down. In front of another darkened unit, an SUV rested partway on the lawn.