No Reservations Required, page 10
part #8 of Sophie Greenway Series
“Nope. And I don’t mean to speak out of turn, Baldric, but maybe your mother-in-law needs to get herself a life. Bob’s dead and gone. I hope to God he’s in heaven with Valerie. That’s what he wanted.”
“Yes,” said Bram. “That’s what I think, too.” He took another sip of coffee. “But it is strange that the police keep hedging about it. One of the detectives on the case is a friend of mine. He told me this is the most convoluted case he’s ever worked on.”
“Really?”
“Al Lundquist. You talked to him yet?”
Vince’s eyes dropped to the papers in front of him. “His partner came by a couple days after Bob died.”
“You and Lyle were the last two people to spend time with him that night—other than his killer.”
“True.”
“Did he seem depressed, anxious, or upset about anything?”
Vince shook his head. “On the contrary. I’d say he was upbeat.”
“This past year must have been a hard one for him. The fact that he died on the anniversary of Valerie’s death is . . . well, even you’ve got to admit it’s kind of coincidental.”
“I suppose.”
“If he did die.” Bram watched Vince’s face. His reticence made Bram itchy. He was sure there was something Vince was holding back.
“He’s gone, Baldric. Off floating somewhere on a cloud, enjoying the view. Forgive me if I’m overstepping again, but I’ll bet your mother-in-law loves conspiracy theories. She believe Oswald shot Kennedy?”
Bram laughed. “Hell no.”
“My point exactly.”
“Yeah,” said Bram, stretching his arms over his head. “And it’s well taken. All I can say is, if I were Phil Banks or Andy Gladstone, I’d be watching my back right about now. I assume you saw the morning paper. You know that 911 tape points the finger at one of them in Loy’s murder.”
“So I hear.”
“Your niece is dating Banks, right?”
“Temporary insanity.”
“I like Chris. I wouldn’t want to see her get mixed up in any of this.”
Vince frowned. “You and me both. Banks should stick to women his own age. Leave the kids alone.”
“Chris is hardly a kid. Early thirties, right?”
“She’s still a kid in my book.”
Just as Bram got up to warm what was left of his coffee, Chris stuck her head inside the door. “Hi, you two. You up for some company?”
“Hey,” said Vince, his mood instantly brightening. He stood to give her a hug. “You’re a long way from home.”
“I thought I’d drive in and give you the good news in person.” She grinned at Bram. “You can both be happy for me.”
“Happy about what?” asked Vince, pulling out a chair for her.
She held out her left hand.
Bram’s eyes popped at the sight of the diamond ring and the gold band.
“Banks?” said Vince, his smile evaporating. “Are you two engaged or something?”
“Married,” said Chris, her heart-shaped face beaming with happiness. “Yesterday.”
“Congratulations,” said Bram, filling up the silence her announcement had created. He could see Vince was having trouble knowing what to say.
“Aren’t you happy for me, Uncle Vincent?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
Chris sat down. She tugged the edges of her varsity coat together over her chest. “I know you don’t like Phil, but that’s because you don’t know him.”
“He’s been married twice, and he’s old enough to be your father.”
It was water off a duck’s back. Chris was head-over-heels in love. Bram could see it in her eyes. You couldn’t talk someone who was in love out of that love. If Vince tried, he was in for a fall. Although Bram didn’t know Vince all that well, he knew he’d never been married. Occasionally he’d talk about one of the women he’d lived with over the years, but he never struck Bram as the romantic type. In his late fifties now, Vince probably spent his spare time watching ball games or fishing. Bob Fabian and Lyle Boerichter were his two best friends, perhaps his only real friends. But Vince clearly loved his niece. And it was obvious he thought she’d just made a big mistake.
Bram had no particular opinion about her marriage one way or the other. He might be able to recognize Banks if he saw him in a crowd, but that was about it. If Chris was happy, that was good enough for him. Chris was a sensible young woman. She’d grown up poor but loved, so she’d turned out to be a fine, levelheaded woman. Maybe she was looking for a father figure in a husband—and financial security— but that didn’t necessarily mean the marriage was doomed. Pop psychology be damned.
“Only thing is,” said Chris, fingering her rings, “since I quit my job, I’m kind of bored. Not when Phil’s around, but he has to work a lot and then I’m left at home with nothing to do. Phil tells me to go shopping, but you can only shop for so long before that gets boring, too.”
“You want a part-time job cooking, you’ve always got one here at the club,” said Vince, rubbing his balding head.
“Thanks. But Phil wants me home when he gets home. I need a gig with flexible hours.”
“He sounds like he’s from another century,” Vince grunted.
She shrugged.
“Hey,” said Bram. “Something just occurred to me. I’m interviewing Victoria Svensvold this afternoon. You might be able to help her.”
Victoria Svensvold was a big name in the cookbook world, and an even bigger name in Minnesota. She’d written the definitive work on American regional cookery and was now tackling the food of Scandinavia. She’d spent the last two years traveling back and forth between Norway, Sweden, and Denmark.
“She’s working on a new cookbook,” said Bram. “That’s what we’re talking about this afternoon.”
“Gee,” said Chris. “How could I help her?”
“She’s at a point with the book where she’s tested all the recipes herself, but she’s looking for another tester, someone who has some cooking experience who can take the recipes and make them in their own home kitchen, then give her written feedback on what might not work. She used to employ a woman who was in her early seventies, but she’s pretty much retired now, so Victoria’s on the lookout for a new recipe tester. It would be the perfect job for you. You could do it around Phil’s schedule.”
Chris’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Do you really think she’d consider me?”
“If I put in a good word for you, you bet I do. Look, why don’t you come with me to the station. We could stop somewhere and pick up some lunch, and then when Victoria arrives, I can introduce you to her.”
“Deal,” said Chris. “This is incredible. I just married the best guy in the world, and now maybe I’ve just snagged the best job in the world. I never thought I’d get this lucky.”
Half an hour later, Bram and Chris walked into the Speakeasy Cafe, a new restaurant in Fridley, not far from the radio station. Bram had been wanting to give it a try for months, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.
Because the word of mouth was so good, the dining room was crowded. Bram and Chris were shown to a table in the back, near the large open kitchen. The smell of wood-fired ovens filled the room with the wonderful aroma of applewood and pizza.
“I could eat a horse, I’m so hungry,” said Chris, tucking a leg under her as she sat down.
The hostess gave them each a menu.
“If you’re in the mood for horse meat,” said Bram, “you should have stayed at the club. I’m sure your uncle could have whipped you up a horse meat stir-fry, or something along those lines.”
Chris rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he does have unusual tastes. I walked in on one of their totally gross dinners a few months ago. There was this pot sitting in the middle of the table. I made the mistake of asking what was in it.”
Bram wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“It was a curried hog testicle stew. I guess hog testicles taste really good with sweet potatoes and peppers.”
Bram grimaced. “Did you try it?”
“Do I look stupid?”
Bram checked her over. “No, you look pretty intelligent to me.”
“Thank you. Those three guys. When you were with them, they were a total hoot. They were always laughing or joking about something. I feel so sad for Uncle Vincent.”
“They were really tight, huh?”
“Yeah, well, except, the last time I saw them together, Mr. Boerichter—he’s the pilot—and Mr. Fabian didn’t seem to be getting along. Lots of heavy stares, withering looks. You know the deal. It seemed pretty intense.”
“Do you know what it was about?”
She shrugged. “I asked my uncle about it later, and he just said they’d been arguing politics. Both Uncle Vincent and Mr. Boerichter are totally liberal. Mr. Fabian was an old-school conservative, so I guess I can understand it. I’d heard them argue politics before, but I’d never seen Mr. Fabian or Mr. Boerichter get that worked up. I mean, they’d talk back and forth, call each other names, but it was, like, always with a twinkle in their eyes.”
When the waiter arrived with the water, Chris ordered a Speakeasy Burger—flame-grilled ground beef with sautéed porcini mushrooms and cipollini onions, covered in provolone. Bram ordered a small pizza Margherita—Italian tomato sauce, fresh mozzarella, fresh basil, all drizzled with a spicy green olive oil. And they both ordered Cokes.
“You know, my uncle made a pizza once for his culinary club. He put bugs and worms on it. It looked normal, with the cheese on top and all, but it smelled kind of funky.” She shuddered. “No wonder they have that sign over the door. Who needs reservations? It’s not like there’d ever be a stampede to the back room.”
They talked for a few more minutes, and then Bram excused himself to use the restroom. When he returned, he saw that the waiter had brought their Cokes. Chris had taken out a pen and was doodling on the napkin. Bram glanced at it as he sat back down and saw that she’d been practicing writing her new names: “Mrs. Phil Banks,” and “Christine Banks.”
“You’re really happy with that guy,” said Bram.
Chris grinned and nodded, her eyes still on the napkin. “I can’t believe how lucky I am. I wish my mother and my uncle would lighten up a little. You’d think I was ten years old and Phil was some lech trying to lure me into the back of his car with a candy bar.”
Bram laughed. “Well, they’re protective. They love you.”
She glanced around the room. “If they’d just give Phil a chance, they might—” She stopped.
“What?” said Bram. He didn’t immediately understand the change in Chris’s expression. She seemed startled—or maybe a little shocked. “What is it?”
“It’s . . . Phil,” she whispered, her eyes narrowing.
Bram turned to look.
Phil Banks had just entered the restaurant with a woman. He had his arm around her shoulders and appeared to be whispering something amusing into her ear. The woman was blond and good-looking, much older than Chris and far better dressed, the kind of woman who probably got stared at a lot.
When Bram swung his gaze back to Chris, he could tell she was confused and angry, and probably a dozen other emotions she couldn’t define. “Do you know who the woman is?” asked Bram. He couldn’t exactly pretend he hadn’t seen them.
Chris shook her head. “He told me he had to work today.”
“Maybe she’s a client.”
Chris’s stare hardened.
“Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“You mean, I should ignore the fact that he just kissed her?”
“He did?” Bram whipped his head around, but it was too late. They were already being seated at a booth near the front windows.
“That bastard,” she said, looking away.
“You’ve got to give him a chance to explain.”
“Right. Sure.”
The waiter arrived with their food.
“I just lost my appetite,” said Chris.
“Do you want to leave?”
She started doodling again on her napkin. “I don’t know.”
They’d driven separately. “Look, I can get this stuff wrapped for takeout and you can meet me at the station. We can eat lunch there. Maybe sticking around here isn’t a good idea.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Lunch is on me, kiddo. Do you know how to get to WTWN?”
She shook her head.
Bram borrowed her pen and quickly drew a map on his napkin. “I’ll meet you there. Are you okay to drive?”
“Fine.”
But she wasn’t fine, and they both knew it.
Bram watched her pick up her purse and leave the table. He wondered if she’d walk over and confront Phil, but instead, she skirted her way around the edge of the room and left without saying a word.
Bram felt immensely sorry for her. He called the waiter over and asked for the food to be boxed up. As he waited, he pulled Chris’s napkin over in front of him. She’d drawn an X through “Mrs. Phil Banks.” Underneath, she’d written the name “Del.” And then the words “Stored on Old Mill Road.” Bram wondered what that was all about. It was probably meaningless in the scheme of things, but all the same, he slipped the napkin into his pocket.
18
Chris drove to the station in a fog of incomprehension. In her heart, she couldn’t believe that Phil would cheat on her, but with her own two eyes she’d seen something else—something terrible but true. He was with another woman, and not just in a friendly way. To Chris, the woman looked hard and old, and most definitely cheap. Oh, she was wearing expensive clothes, but she seemed easy and even a little desperate, like Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate.
Chris sat in an uncomfortable chair waiting for Bram, but she just couldn’t concentrate. She’d for sure make a mess of it if she met Victoria Svensvold today. She was already way beyond nervous to meet such an icon of the cooking world. Chris felt as if she might break into tears at any moment—and wouldn’t that impress a potential employer. No, there was no use waiting around. She wrote Bram a note, telling him that she was still interested in the job, and maybe she could meet with Ms. Svensvold another time. She told him she was really sorry, but seeing Phil with another woman had upset her and she needed time to get herself together. She thanked him for lunch, and for being such a good friend, and said she’d be in touch.
What Chris needed to do was go back to the restaurant and wait for Phil to come out. And then, well, she’d play it by ear. Maybe she’d confront him, or maybe she wouldn’t. What she wanted more than anything was to see them together again, to confirm in her mind what she’d just seen.
Once back at the Speakeasy Cafe, Chris quickly located Phil’s black Corvette in the restaurant’s lot. Parking her Escort across the street, and making sure she had a clear view of the front door, she waited. Forty minutes later, Phil and the woman emerged into the bright afternoon sunlight. Phil was chewing on a toothpick, his hand on the back of the woman’s neck as they walked to his car. There was no more kissing or whispering in her ear, but they were obviously an intimate pair. Phil had placed his hand on Chris’s neck in exactly the same way when they walked around. Sometimes he’d lay his arm across her shoulders and she’d put her hand in his back pocket. She loved the closeness, the feel of his body against hers, the way they fit together so perfectly. Tears welled up behind her eyes, but she refused to cry.
Phil rolled his car to the edge of the lot, then headed east down Alton Road. Chris followed at a distance, careful not to lose them, but careful also to avoid being seen. A few minutes later, Phil turned onto Standish, then left onto Poke Avenue. He stopped in front of a small, one-story house in the middle of the block. Chris drove on down Standish, quickly circling the block. By the time she got back to the house, they’d gone inside.
More waiting. Chris parked at the end of the block and turned off the motor. She wished she could turn off her imagination as easily. Were they making love? Was Phil undressing her, touching her the way he touched Chris? Did he love this woman? That seemed even more horrific than the idea that they were physically intimate. She knew men could separate sex and love. Was that what this was? Just a little afternoon roll in the hay? And if so, how long had it been going on? Did the woman know Phil was married now? Maybe Chris was supposed to put up with this kind of crap, but the idea that she could never trust Phil again, never truly believe him when he said he was going to work, made her sick to her stomach. She knew other women lived with men who cheated on them, but this wasn’t the Hollywood romance Chris had envisioned. And she wasn’t sure she could settle for anything less.
A little over an hour later, Phil came out of the house. She was too far away to see his expression, but at least the woman wasn’t with him. He got into his Corvette, gunned the motor, and drove away.
Chris sat in her Escort, staring at the woman’s house, deciding whether or not she should bang on the front door and demand to know what was going on. The hurt she’d felt just a short while ago had quickly changed to anger. If Phil was on his way home to feed her more lies, when he arrived she wouldn’t be there. If he got mad, too freaking bad. She had somewhere else she wanted to go before she returned home.
Fifteen minutes later, Chris pulled into a gas station. She needed gas and a map. While talking to the guy behind the counter, she learned that Old Mill Road ran along the Mississippi River just across the Roberts Street Bridge in St. Paul. Checking the map, she saw that it wasn’t a very long road. She scouted out the best way to get there, then got back on Highway 10, heading for downtown St. Paul.
Chris thought back to the conversation she’d had earlier in the day with the man named Del. He said that Phil was a “very very bad man.” If Phil had secrets about the women in his life, maybe he had others. And that’s what Chris intended to find out.
After crossing the bridge, she drove two blocks until she came to Old Mill Road. Hanging a quick right, she saw that she was heading into an industrial area. Del’s message said that he knew what Phil had stored on Old Mill Road. But that could be anything. Phil’s construction company owned lots of heavy equipment, and what they didn’t own, they rented. This was exactly the kind of area where Banks Construction probably did a lot of business.
