Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Box Set Read online

  “I agree. She’s about the best administrative assistant I’ve ever had. I don’t ask her to play guard. I prefer an open-door policy unless I’m working under a tight deadline and she knows that. It’s not uncommon for colleagues to drop by without even checking in with her first. If I’m going to be away from my desk for a meeting I do shut the door, but don’t always lock it. None of that is Carol’s fault.”

  “What do you know about her, by the way?”

  That question caught me off guard, despite the unpleasant realization that someone close to me was up to no good. Before I could respond, our server showed up with the appetizers we had ordered—a tiger prawn cocktail for me and crab cakes for Jack. Once the server left, I dug into that lovely cocktail, relishing the fresh, perfectly prepared jumbo shrimp. I was famished, and with an empty stomach, the wine was getting to me. The more I considered Jack’s question, the more absurd it seemed.

  “Do you honestly believe Carol’s behind this? She’s been at Marvelous Marley World a long time and has an impeccable record. She didn’t like Mallory, but she hardly knew the woman. Besides, whoever killed Mallory had to have been strong, physically, right? Carol’s petite, couldn’t weigh much more than Mallory, and she has problems with carpal tunnel. Wouldn’t all of that have given Mallory a better chance of getting away if Carol had been the one who attacked her?” Despite the rather gruesome subject matter, Jack was putting away those crab cakes.

  “Excellent points. I wasn’t thinking about Carol as a murderer. I wondered if she could be an accomplice—witting or unwitting. Would she have slipped that phone into your coat pocket if asked and without telling you?”

  I thought about it as I ate more of my perfectly prepared shrimp. The delicious food didn't just satisfy my hunger; it comforted my restless spirit.

  “Could be, if she felt convinced it was mine. Still, even if she believed it was mine, she's more likely to have put the phone on my desk along with a note that so-and-so found it. Given all that’s gone on today, I can’t believe she wouldn’t have mentioned a stray phone turning up, even if at the time she had mindlessly slipped it into my coat pocket. She’s got superb judgment when it comes to people, and being asked to do that would have registered as odd.”

  An image of Carol from earlier in the day popped into my head. She had been so open in expressing her sentiments about both Dale Kinkaid and Jack Wheeler. I expected frankness from her and always felt that’s what I got from her—not deceit.

  “It’s even harder to see her as a co-conspirator in some clandestine plot to overthrow Mallory and help a colleague rise through the corporate ranks if that’s where you’re going with this. Too bad Carol had left by the time your guys showed up.

  Ask her about it, and I’m sure she'll tell you much the same thing. She might also be better informed than I am about what’s gone on in the Food and Beverage Division since I left Hurricane Mallory all to herself. You should ask Carol about that, too.”

  “I’m going to interview her tomorrow. And yes, when I ask Carol about how Mallory’s cell phone could have ended up in your coat pocket, I’ll also quiz her about what she’s heard from her counterparts in Food and Beverage. I bet it hasn’t been pleasant for anyone. Did your former coworkers resent you for leaving?”

  “If they did, no one said so. I have no delusions about the fact that everyone who works for the Cat is expendable, so I assume my move didn't rub anyone the wrong way. I’m old enough that I could have retired instead of taking the PR position. I tried to keep Mallory in check, but there was little I could do, even as second-in-command."

  I glanced at Jack, intrigued by the good-looking man seated across from me. His enjoyment of the food he was eating was apparent. There was a sensual pleasure in it that not all men exhibited. I liked that. He caught me watching him, and smiled. A thoroughly engaging smile.

  Where was I? I wondered as I tried to refocus on the question he had asked. Not easy now that his eyes had met mine. I forced myself to look away and continued, doing my best to sound businesslike.

  "Besides, my departure opened a slot, allowing other people to move up. On balance, I’d say my move would have been advantageous for any number of colleagues with the ambition to climb the ladder. Dorothy Sayers took my place. She has the same haggard look on her face I wore while working for Mallory. Dorothy has never said a word to me one way or another about the job or her relationship with Mallory. Mallory’s assistant, Linda Grey, has griped to Carol and me about having to run personal errands for Mallory. Linda might know more than the rest of us about how Mallory’s personal and professional lives overlapped. Maybe there’s something in that overlap that could help your investigation. Did Linda’s irritation about being asked to fetch Mallory’s dry cleaning, make her spa appointments, or feed her goldfish push her to the breaking point? I doubt it, but what do I know? As miserable as Mallory made people around her, it never crossed my mind anyone was angry enough to kill her.”

  “Now that she’s dead, who’s going to take her place?”

  “No one even brought that up in our crisis management team meeting today. We had our hands full coping with the recent incident. Dorothy was there representing the Food and Beverage Division. As assistant director, she’s Mallory’s backup and has, no doubt, been carrying a lot of the load already. She’s the most likely choice to step into the role permanently.”

  “Any chance they’ll ask you to accept the leadership role in Food and Beverage?”

  “It’s possible. Like I said, we were concentrating on getting through the day. No one has had much time to consider what Mallory’s death means for the organization long term. Unless Max decides to delegate the task, he’ll call the shots once he’s buried his daughter and is ready to tackle business.”

  “So, it sounds like Dorothy Sayers is the big winner here, Georgie. With Mallory out of the way, her day-to-day life just got a whole lot better. I’ll bet there’s a big, fat raise to go with a permanent promotion to top dog in the Food and Beverage Division at the Cat Factory. Putting you away for the murder would guarantee they didn’t give it to you. Heck, Dorothy doesn’t even have to succeed in getting you charged with anything—just keep a cloud hovering over you until Max appoints her to the position permanently.”

  “Except that she’s older than I am, Jack. I’m surprised she hasn’t retired already. And, she’d have to be a sick person to do any of the things you’re suggesting. I was never close to Dorothy, but she always did her job well. If you don’t stay on top of them, food costs can push you into the red, fast. Dorothy was a hard worker, dependable, and good with numbers—all reasons they moved her up. Perhaps Dorothy got along better with Mallory than I did because she stayed put. Mallory was openly disdainful toward Dorothy, as she was with so many others at Marvelous Marley World. I never saw any show of resentment from Dorothy in return. It sounds like you have a lot of good questions to ask her and Linda Grey when you interview them.”

  “I sure do. What about that Dale Kincaid character? Was he ever alone in your office—even for a minute? It wouldn’t have taken long to slip that phone into your coat pocket.” Jack had stopped eating to ask that question, his fork poised to dig back in. “This is fabulous, by the way.”

  “I’ve never eaten anything here that wasn’t fabulous. I’m glad you like it.” I’m not sure why Jack’s approval made me happy, but it did. “Dale is an odd duck—the fact that he can’t take a hint, for one thing. I disliked having to lay it on the line like I did today, but he left me no choice. Perhaps it’s my fault. I could have waited too long to 'just say no.' My guess is that the guy has boundary issues of his own. I’m not sure how to factor that into your theory of the murder or his role as an accomplice if he’s the one who planted Mallory’s phone on me. Until today, he rated only about a three on my Sludge-o-Meter. That’s gone up to a six after his Valentine’s Day surprise and the fact that I practically had to spell out the word ‘no’ for him.” Jack had fixed me with an amused gaz
e.

  "What?" I asked.

  “I’ve heard of rating folks—the whole one-to-ten deal isn’t new—but a ‘Sludge-o-Meter’ is one I haven’t heard before. I trust your judgment as much as you trust Carol’s. If you say Dale’s a six, he’s a six in my book.”

  “There is another thing. It’s probably nothing, but my heightened sense of paranoia. I could have sworn Dale reacted in an uneasy way when Carol announced you were waiting to see me. I can’t be sure if it was the mention of your name or the fact that a police detective was about to step into my office.” I shrugged as Jack pondered what I had told him.

  “Hmm, I’ve already got someone checking him out. Maybe he’s harmless, and it’s just a coincidence he was in your office right before you found that phone, but I don’t like it. If my presence made him jumpy, it could be he’s had a run-in with the law. We’ll see what our background check turns up. The lab will also examine that phone and your coat for prints. Although it’s a long shot that there’s anything for them to find. It could take a while, too, since they have their hands full with everything collected at the crime scene this morning. By tomorrow, the coroner might be able to tell us more about some of the issues you’ve already raised—the size and strength of the attacker, how the attack unfolded, type of murder weapon.” He paused and shook his head. After pouring himself more wine, he held the bottle above my glass. I nodded, and he refilled it.

  “This is a horrible conversation for a first date, isn’t it? I’m sorry we had to start off like this. I should have waited to ask you out until we resolved this mess. That could take weeks or months. Frankly, I didn’t want to wait that long. I’m not getting any younger, Georgie. It’s not often I take to a person right off the bat.” I felt a rush of compassion for the doubts he was having. I appreciated his honesty, too, and with a sudden surge of surprise I realized I was glad he hadn’t waited. My shields were down after all.

  “It’s fine. I wish we had met under other circumstances, too. I don’t date much. I don’t have a lot of time to socialize outside of the workplace—and you heard my rule about that. Sixty-hour work weeks don’t leave a lot of extra time for romance. It was often more hours than that while I was in the kitchen. Chefs keep odd hours and work different shifts, including nights, weekends, and holidays. I never married, though I came close once. I got used to a solitary life. My family and friends gave up asking me about my love life years ago after—oh, never mind. I won’t go into all that.” I leaned in and lowered my voice. “I got my AARP card in the mail this year, Jack, and I’m almost eligible to use it!”

  “Now you’re making me doubt your truthfulness. You don’t want me to put you back on the suspect list, do you?” Jack smiled at me. I knew he was flirting, but I liked it.

  “Run a background check on me. That’ll prove it. How about you? Was there a Mrs. Wheeler?” He sighed and nodded yes.

  “My life as a cop has been a rough one. My wife felt she had it worse than me. You’ve built a career for yourself. Not all women are as career-oriented or as comfortable spending so much time on their own. My wife was alone a lot while I was working my way up the ranks. I wasn’t always good about checking in with her, especially in the middle of an important case. She got fed up feeling widowed before I was even dead—another worry for the wife of a homicide detective. I’m not making myself sound like good dating material, am I?”

  “Marriages take two committed people to make a go of it. When it doesn’t work out, it’s rarely only one person’s fault. It sounds to me like you’ve done a lot of soul-searching about what you might have done differently. Your job is what it is, as they say. I’m glad there are people like you, who can face every day what we had to face today. I couldn’t do it, but I’m grateful you can. I hope I get a chance to hear more about your work—over other dinners. You can leave out the more graphic details. The puzzle-solving is intriguing, although I’d prefer not to be on the whodunit list.” That brought a broad smile to Jack’s face, making me think he was one of the most attractive men I had seen in a long, long time. He reminded me of someone, an actor from old TV shows or movies. I hadn’t been to a movie in months and didn’t spend much time watching television either, so I couldn’t place a name with the resemblance.

  Our servers returned with our main course. I was grateful for the interruption. The conversation had become more intimate than I expected on a first date. Given the dire circumstances that had brought us together, I suppose it wasn’t too odd that we had moved past small talk quickly.

  I was still hungry enough that the aroma of my wild mushroom-crusted sea bass made my mouth water. The sizzling steak they set in front of Jack smelled delicious, too. The servers cleared away our appetizer dishes, collected the old napkins and silverware and set out new ones. With a flourish, our server presented us with fresh napkins, placing them in our laps. A second server set a new basket of warm bread on the table.

  “Can we bring you anything else?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” reaching for that basket of bread as I replied.

  “I’m more than fine with this incredible steak in front of me!”

  “Enjoy!” With that, the server disappeared.

  We dug into our food, and neither of us spoke for a couple of minutes.

  “This steak is out of this world. How’s your sea bass?”

  “Delicious! It melts in your mouth.” Jack went back to cutting his steak. Without warning, he picked up the conversation about murder and mayhem with another question.

  “What about your boss, Georgie? How did he get along with Mallomar?”

  “Wow, you are unearthing all our little secrets, aren’t you? Fast, too!” Mallomar, like the cookie, was another name we used when talking about the woman behind her back. The name captured our disdain for Mallory's treatment of important matters as fluff.

  “This is a big case with a high-profile murder victim,” Jack said. “She was brutally killed in a hallowed playground for happy families. It’s important to get ahead of the curve and stay there. I don’t want Mad Max ranting at me, nor do I want this case to go cold. So, yes, I’ve made the rounds today, if only in a superficial way so far. We’ll follow up with more in-depth interviews, and we’ll collect formal statements from everyone who worked with Mallory. What about your boss?”

  “Doug Addams has been one of my biggest supporters over the years. He knew how miserable I was once Mallory became my boss, told me about the opening, and encouraged me to apply. Once I had done that, I heard he put in a plug for the search committee to search no further. Doug’s competent and reliable—good at his job and runs a tight ship. I can’t believe he’d set me up, much less that he lost his mind and murdered Mallory. He was upset, but so was I.”

  I flashed for a moment on how troubled Doug had been as he drove that golf cart through the tunnels this morning. Could there have been more to his distress than we all experienced learning that someone had murdered a colleague in Arcadia Park? Stop it, Georgie, I thought, shaking my head to clear it. Why wouldn't he have been upset since he already had an inkling that Mallory was the victim?

  “I don’t know how you do this. The more we talk, the more confused I become about whodunit! I’m becoming more and more paranoid, too. The fact that some maniac killed Mallory in the park points to someone on the job, but isn’t there an ex-husband or a jilted lover you ought to check out, too? What if she took up with some guy she met in rehab? It could be wishful thinking, but I have no reason to regard Doug as a culprit.”

  “It’s not only that the killer attacked her in Arcadia Park. What also has me focusing on your colleagues as culprits is the fact that someone has gone after you, too. I’m not ruling out a love affair gone wrong, a bad drug deal, or anything yet. Mallory's murder is shaping up, so far, as the work of a Marvelous Marley insider in my book.” He looked directly into my eyes as he went on.

  “Paranoia isn't always a bad thing. I don’t want to scare you, but I do want you to be on alert. Call
me, or call 911 if anything or anyone triggers your Sludge-o-Meter, promise?” The earnestness in his voice and seriousness of his gaze reached me.

  “In a heartbeat,” I replied. No more denial. His message had hit home.

  6 Chocolate Points

  If I had ever been more exhausted, I couldn’t remember when. I felt drained from riding a roller coaster of emotions all day. Even though our dinner had started later than planned, we had lingered over coffee and the dessert, a chocolate soufflé cake. It was an indulgence, but I needed chocolate. I love chocolate, and it’s a weakness, even on a good day. One reason I had chosen the Blue Pacific was to get my chocolate fix.

  Like everything else we ordered, the cake was outstanding. It’s a favorite, second only to my version of the dense, flourless cake. I add vanilla, freshly made espresso from my favorite beans, and a little coffee liqueur. The alcohol bakes out, leaving a hint of something deeper than the chocolate would alone. When I let myself into the house, I was greeted with a booming “Hello” from Miles, my Siamese cat.

  He’s a chocolate-point, of course. When I first encountered the tiny kitten with the enormous ears, he had greeted me with several trumpet-like blasts. I named him after Miles Davis, the incredible jazz horn player. Although he’s a full-grown cat now, Miles never did catch up with those ears. They’re still too big for him. Miles ran to greet me, murmuring to himself. I bent to pat him on the head, and he rewarded me with loud purring. His piercing blue eyes peered up at me. I swear he can tell when I’m upset.

  “Hello, Miles. How are you, Baby? Mama’s tired.”

  Talking to a cat, I know, is almost a cliché for a single woman of a certain age. But I don’t care. Miles levitated, landing at "petting level" on the table inside the kitchen where I stash my keys and go through the mail. He got what he wanted—more petting and a smooch. His soft fur and reassuring rumbles worked to soothe away the rough edges left by the day and that warning from Jack.