Out of the Dying Pan Read online

  His pale blue eyes watered. “Took me in, questioned me. Scared the living spit out of me.” He raised his eyeglasses and rubbed the heel of his hand over his right eyelid. “The girl ended up getting a restraining order, which was way overboard if you ask me.”

  Talia knew she was treading dangerous waters, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Is that what you did to Ria?” she said softly. “Did you bother her, Andy? Harass her?”

  Andy’s hand dropped to the table with a thud. “What? I didn’t do anything to Ria. I asked her out for a drink a few times, but she told me to … to take a hike, so I left her alone.”

  “But Andy,” Talia said innocently, as if she might have gotten it wrong. “Didn’t you ask her out again, and didn’t she accept? I’m sure I overheard you say that she agreed to have a drink with you Sunday evening, after the fund-raiser.”

  Andy swallowed. “Okay, yeah. You heard right. She told me she’d have a drink with me one time, and one time only. Next thing I know, she texts me and says that our date is off. That rich-looking dude must’ve have called her to say he was coming over. I saw him, barely half an hour later. He was hugging and kissing her right in front of everyone!”

  “You saw that?” Talia said.

  Andy’s blue eyes hardened. “Yup. I had a clear view of her table from Santa’s chair.”

  Talia sat back in her seat. Of course he did. He’d asked Scott to move the Christmas tree to give the kids a better view of Santa. What he really wanted was an unobstructed view of Ria’s table. In Talia’s mind, Andy Nash fit the profile of a stalker to a tee.

  Another thought struck her, a far worse one. What if Andy was the killer? What if he’d snapped when Ria canceled their date and strangled her in a fit of rage? Maybe this entire meeting was a ruse to throw Talia off the track. But why would he single her out?

  The server returned with their coffees and then scuttled away. Andy took a big gulp from his steaming mug. Talia plunked a packet of creamer into her coffee and stirred. She sensed it was time to pull back, to fake a little compassion for his romantic plight.

  “You know,” she said with a slight tsk in her voice, “that was really shabby of Ria to cancel your date at the last minute. Truly thoughtless in my book.”

  Andy’s eyes brightened. “I know! That’s what I said. I would never treat a lady that way. Never.”

  No, you’d just hound her until she caved from sheer mental exhaustion.

  Talia nodded with understanding. “Women don’t realize how tough it is for men sometimes. You know, having to risk rejection every time they ask someone out.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re right about that.” He seemed pacified, at least for the moment. She only hoped she hadn’t opened herself up to any unwanted attention.

  “Anyway, that’s partly why I asked you to meet me. Because of, you know, that incident way back then, the cops are now questioning me about Ria’s death.”

  Interesting. So Talia wasn’t the only person of interest hovering on their radar screen. “Andy, I think they’re questioning everyone who even talked to Ria that day. They interviewed me for hours.”

  “Yeah, but you found the body. I didn’t.” He swallowed another mouthful of coffee, and then gave out a long sigh. “Look, it’s pretty common knowledge that you solved a murder a few months ago.”

  Talia shook her head. “I didn’t solve it. I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all.”

  “But you were smart.” His pale blue eyes beamed. “You figured it out.”

  Yeah, when it was almost too late, she thought wryly. She glanced at Andy and saw an odd look creep into his eyes.

  “See, here’s the thing,” he said, leaning closer to her across the table. “I … um, saw something that day. The day Ria was killed.”

  Heart pounding, Talia took a slow sip from her mug. She waited. “Are you going to tell me what it was?”

  Andy shot a look over his shoulder and then craned his head toward the front entrance. “That’s just it. I can’t really say right now. I gotta get more evidence so I can go to the police.”

  Now Talia was seriously exasperated. “You want my help, but you can’t tell me what you saw? I’m sorry, Andy, but I—”

  “Wait a minute. Listen to me for a sec, okay? Please?” His watery eyes widened in fear. “If I tell you what I saw and the wrong person finds out, my life won’t be worth a three-dollar bill.”

  Talia spoke quietly. “Are you saying you know who the killer is?”

  “I think so. Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” He squeezed his eyes shut and swiped at his damp brow. “Maybe not one hundred percent, but …”

  “Either way,” Talia said gently, “the police have ways to protect you. Andy, if you saw something that might help them catch Ria’s killer, you have to tell them.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said flatly. “We’re not dealing with a normal person here. We’re dealing with a vicious killer. That’s why I need your help. You see things. You notice things. You can poke around quietly without anyone even realizing you’re doing it.”

  Talia took another sip of her coffee. How could she make him understand that she couldn’t help him? That he needed to go to the authorities with whatever his so-called information was?

  “I’m not asking you to put yourself in danger.” Andy curled his lower lip into a pout. “I’d never do that to Pete Marby’s daughter. But keep this in mind. All those people you saw around Ria that day? One of them is acting. One of them is a cold-blooded killer.”

  Talia shivered in spite of her warm jacket. “I don’t know what to say, other than that you need to go to the police.” She blotted her lips with a napkin and fished a ten-dollar bill from her purse. “Andy, look, I have to go, okay? If I trip over anything significant, you’ll be the first to know.” Not, she thought silently, tucking the currency under her mug. “In the meantime, please think about what I said.”

  When she looked up, Andy was staring past her, his eyes focused intently on the glass front window of the diner. Then, as abruptly as if someone had jolted him with a cattle prod, he pulled his gaze away, grabbed a five from his wallet, and tossed it on the table. “I have to go,” he said, leaping out of the booth.

  Andy hurried toward the back of the diner, nearly tripping over his own shoe as he shoved past a server carrying a carafe of coffee. “Hey, watch it, buster,” the server sniped at him. “Can’t you see I’m holding hot coffee?”

  Talia swung her head around, toward the front of the diner. What had Andy been gawking at right before he fled? She peered beyond the glass front, where the words Wrensdale Diner had been inscribed in a large, curving line. Through the red lettering, she spied a car the size of a cruise ship, headlights off, idling in a front parking space.

  Their server appeared at her elbow with a steaming carafe. “More coffee?” she said sweetly, noticing the excessive tip on the table.

  “No thanks,” Talia said. “I have to run.”

  She heaved her purse onto her shoulder and glanced toward the back of the diner. Had Andy fled into the men’s room? Then she remembered. The diner had a rear door that led to a small, unpaved lot where the employees parked.

  Andy was gone.

  And Talia couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  She was headed for the door when she noticed a trio of men who’d just sauntered in together. She only saw the backs of their heads, but from their boisterous voices she suspected they all had a buzz on. Wearing ball caps, all three were facing into the larger dining room where an overhead television was broadcasting a basketball game. One of them called another one “Captain” and slapped him hard on the shoulder.

  Talia scurried out the front door. After the stuffiness of the diner, the cold night air felt incredibly refreshing. She took a deep breath, and then another. But it wasn’t the crisp night air she found herself inhaling. It was the stale scent of a smoky, unwashed scarf.

  A scarf worn by one Martha Hoelsche
r.

  Was that who’d scared Andy into fleeing like a fugitive?

  8

  “Martha, what are you doing here?” Talia said, although it came out like more of a squeak.

  The handles of her green plastic handbag clasped in one hand, Martha stood there like a statue and stared at Talia. “What do you mean, what am I doing here? It’s a diner, isn’t it? I came to get supper.”

  “Oh.” Talia glanced at Martha’s car. The ambient lighting from the diner and from passing headlights lent a sickly sheen to its faded paint. All at once, something about the old car bothered her. What was it? Aside from its age and its size, it was pretty much the same as any other ancient clunker. She smiled at Martha. “You said you were stuffed as a holiday goose a little while ago.”

  “So? I was stuffed then. I’m not now. I may be old and on my way out, but I still have to eat,” she said grumpily.

  Talia couldn’t resist a chuckle. “You’re far from old, Martha. Anyway, have a nice dinner. I hope you enjoy your meal.”

  Eyes on her shoes, Martha shuffled toward the entrance to the diner. “Don’t worry, I plan to. Tuesday is chicken croquettes night.”

  Talia waved good-bye and headed home to her bungalow. The day she understood what made Martha tick would probably be the same day a U.S. spaceship landed on Mars.

  Ten minutes after stepping inside her bungalow, Talia was curled up on her sofa with Bo. Reeking of kitty salmon, the little calico was busy cleaning her whiskers with one paw.

  Talia was about to call her dad to pick his brain about Andy Nash when she remembered he was on a skiing trip in Colorado. He’d probably answer his cell, but she didn’t want to bug him. He deserved a few days off without having to worry about her. She was just setting down the phone when it rang in her hand. The readout said, PPrescott. With a groan, she steeled herself. “What can I do for you, Detective Prescott?”

  Prescott’s message was short and quick. “I’m afraid I have a few more questions for you, Ms. Marby. Can you come down to the station tomorrow morning?”

  “But I’ve told you everything I know,” Talia protested a bit meekly.

  “Some new evidence has come in,” Prescott said tersely. “Eight o’clock?”

  Talia sighed. “See you then, Detective.”

  “Great,” Talia muttered to the cat. “Something else to worry about all night.”

  Talia must have been more exhausted than she realized. She drifted off watching a sitcom she’d seen a hundred times, awakening only when her alarm jarred her out of a sound sleep.

  In an effort to look professional, Talia put on camel slacks and a navy blazer. She pinned her nana’s poinsettia brooch to the jacket’s lapel. When Nana was living, the brooch had been her favorite holiday accessory. Wearing it made Talia feel close to her.

  All at once, Talia felt her eyes sting with unshed tears. On days like this, when her mind was weighted with worry, she missed Nana so much. Nana always knew what to say to make her feel better. The thought that her nana’s lovely blue scarf had been used to murder someone made Talia all that much sadder. Even if the police returned it to her after the murder was solved, she knew she’d never be able to wear it again.

  Talia blotted her eyes and swiped a hint of peach-colored shadow over the lids. It wasn’t something she normally used during the day, but she didn’t want Detective Prescott to think she’d been crying.

  The detective was already in the “interview” room when Talia arrived at the Wrensdale police station. Prescott stood and ushered Talia into a chair. “Thank you for coming,” she said, a hint of mystery shining in her nutmeg-colored eyes. “You understand this interview is being recorded?”

  “I do,” Talia said, taking a seat on the rock-hard chair. “I’m surprised Sergeant O’Donnell isn’t here.”

  “Who said he isn’t?” Prescott straightened the short stack of documents that rested on the table in front of her. She picked up the top one and appeared to study it.

  Talia had to force herself not to roll her eyes. No doubt whatever the detective was reading had already been engraved into her memory. The woman was no fool, and Talia wouldn’t make the mistake of taking her for one.

  “Ms. Marby,” Prescott said sternly, setting the paper down. “Do you recall opening the door to the supply closet the afternoon you found Ms. Butterforth’s body?”

  Okay, Talia did have to roll her eyes at that one. “Detective Prescott, if I’m not mistaken, I’ve told this same story at least six times. Of course I remember opening the door to the supply closet. How else would I have found … you know, Ria’s body?” She swallowed. “Anyway, the answer is yes.”

  “Did you turn the doorknob?”

  Talia wanted to scream. “Of course I turned the doorknob. How else would I have opened the door?”

  Prescott shrugged. “Maybe the door was already ajar and you squinched it open with your fingers?”

  “Squinched it?”

  “My mother’s word,” Prescott explained. “And if my mother used a word, believe me, we didn’t question it.”

  “Who’s we?” Talia smiled at her. Had she spied a tiny glimpse into the detective’s personality?

  “Let’s get on with the interview, shall we?” Prescott said.

  Talia sucked in a breath and released it on a burst of air. “The door was not ajar. I used the doorknob.”

  Prescott nodded. “Thank you.” She paused. “Can you guess whose fingerprints the lab found on that doorknob?”

  “Let me guess,” Talia said, clasping her hands on the table. “Mine?”

  Prescott grinned, a toothy smile that radiated not an ounce of warmth. “Exactly. And do you know who else’s prints were found on that same doorknob?”

  A tiny moth of apprehension fluttered across Talia’s rib cage. She sensed Prescott was trying to trip her up, but she wasn’t sure why. Or how. “No,” she said quietly, “I can’t. I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me.”

  “Not necessarily,” Prescott said. She looked at her paper again. “On to the next thing—the scarf.”

  Talia suppressed a groan. Hadn’t they already gone over that four zillion times?

  Prescott’s eyes lasered in on Talia. “The lab found an interesting substance on the scarf, Ms. Marby. Can you guess what that was?”

  Again with the guessing games. “No I can’t.” This time she was careful not to suggest that the detective tell her.

  Prescott sat back in her chair. She looked like a cat who’d just swallowed a mouthful of fresh tuna. “Raspberry sauce.”

  Talia’s heart did a lindy hop on her chest. Raspberry sauce? How did raspberry sauce get on the scarf? Her mind spun, trying to conjure up a rational response. Nothing flew out.

  “You seem a bit dumbstruck, Ms. Marby. Is there a reason for that?”

  Talia paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. Then she said, “First of all, Detective, you didn’t ask me a question.” Talia smiled sweetly at her. “Second, I can’t see how that would implicate either me or anyone else. Raspberry sauce is sticky stuff. Anyone who bought a fried cake could have strolled past Ria’s display and dribbled a bit of sauce on the scarf.”

  Prescott tapped a finger to her lips, as if that hadn’t occurred to her. “Hmm, yes, that’s true. Anyone could have stained the scarf.”

  The detective forced Talia to revisit the scene again. Talia marching across the gymnasium, seeing the scarf sticking out. Pushing aside the divider. Opening the door …

  Talia knew what the police were doing—they were testing her. They wanted to see if she would contradict herself by making her tell the same story over and over.

  After another fifteen minutes of badgering, Prescott announced, “I think we’re done here. Thank you for your cooperation.” She rose, neatened her papers, and dipped her head toward the door.

  By that time, Talia’s ire had been stoked. The entire “interview” had been a sham, and a huge waste of her time. Rising from her own uncomfortable chair, Tali
a nodded at the detective and turned to leave.

  “Oh, by the way,” Prescott called after her. “There were no other prints found on the doorknob.”

  Talia’s mouth went dry. She turned and stared at Prescott. “None?”

  Prescott smiled. “Only yours.”

  Her hand shaking, Talia yanked open the door and stumbled into the hallway. Leaning against the wall, clipboard in hand, was Sergeant Liam O’Donnell of the Massachusetts State Police.

  O’Donnell nodded at her. “Ms. Marby.”

  And then Talia knew. He’d been watching the entire performance through the two-way mirror.

  9

  “That’s what cops do,” Martha squawked, pointing a stainless steel whisk at Talia. “They try to confuse you. They try to trip you up so you’ll spill your guts all over the place, even though you haven’t done a single thing wrong.”

  In spite of the dark mood the police interrogation had put her in, Talia couldn’t help smiling at Martha’s observation. Her friend Bea had said nearly the exact same thing a few months ago, when the police were eyeing Bea for the murder of a fellow tenant in the arcade. Of course, the expressions Bea had brought with her from the UK gave the words a far more amusing twist. But the sentiment was pretty much the same.

  “Sounds like you’ve had a few run-ins with the police,” Talia teased. She scooped two tablespoons of chipotle sauce into the coleslaw mixture.

  Martha’s eyes beamed with mischief. “I’ve had my share,” she said cryptically.

  Lucas was peeling potatoes on the far side of the work area. “Were you, like, one of those protestors?” he said, sneaking a sly grin at her. “You look like you might have been around in the sixties,” he added, and then blushed.

  “You’re right on target, Lucas.”

  “Really?” His blue eyes popped wide. “What did you protest? I mean, I know about Vietnam and all, but …”

  “Well, the war was a biggie,” Martha said, animated now. She cradled the bowl of Parmesan batter in the crook of her left arm. “But even before that I marched for civil rights. Later on I marched for equality for women. Even burned my bra when—”