Amelia for me this afternoon?”
“Of course, Josie, but I’d like to know what’s going on.”
“Me, too, Mom.” Josie hung up on her mother.
Chapter 7
“I’m not saying Tillie killed Clay or anything,” Jeff said, his voice earnest and oily. “But I did hear her say she wanted him out of her restaurant permanently.”
Brian Mullanphy, the River Bluff detective, wrote down every treacherous word.
That rat, Josie thought. No, pig. That was a better description. The chubby chef with his pink face looked like a pig with a tattoo. His skin was shiny, as if he’d slathered it with cooking oil. The barbed-wire tat twisted around his wrist, turning Jeff’s plump hand into a no man’s land.
Josie could see the chef sitting at a table near the entrance to the dining room side of Tillie’s. She could hear him, too. Sometimes. Other times, his voice trailed off.
Josie got Jeff’s message loud and clear. He was setting Tillie up for attempted murder.
She knew Jeff wanted his old job back. She’d heard him ask Tillie if he could work here again. Tillie had turned him down and Jeff had been furious. Of course he didn’t mention that to Detective Mullanphy.
Mullanphy wasn’t a homicide detective. He’d explained that the River Bluff force was too small to have a full-time homicide division. He investigated crimes against persons, from assaults to murder. Now he was interviewing the handful of people who’d remained after Clay was rushed to the hospital.
Jeff was the first. He leaned forward on his well-cushioned elbows as if confiding to the detective and said, “You know Clay drank a little too much. How often did Tillie call your department when Clay was drunk and loud?”
The detective ignored Jeff’s question. “Where were you at the time of the incident, Mr. Bartlett-Smith?”
“Jeff, please,” he said. “No need for the double-barreled name. Mom combined her maiden name and my dad’s name. She thought it sounded classy. I’m just plain old Jeff the chef.”
“Where were you at the time of the incident?” Mullanphy repeated.
“I was next to Clay at the bar, having a beer. I thought I saw someone I recognized sitting at that table there.” He pointed across the aisle. “I came back here to say hello to Rick. But it wasn’t him after all. Then I talked to a few other people on the restaurant side. A lot of Tillie’s customers know me because I used to work here. I was chatting with someone when I heard Clay screaming that his mouth was burning and I ran up front.”
That was close to what really happened, Josie thought. She remembered that Jeff had hung back until after the ambulance left with Clay. Then he went up front to comfort the man’s wife.
“Tillie grows her own peppers in the kitchen here,” Jeff said. “She keeps the plants on the windows over the sink. Says they give her sauce its kick. The horseradish helps, too. Did you know the best horseradish is grown right across from St. Louis in Belleville, Illinois?”
Detective Mullanphy wasn’t interested in the secret to Tillie’s sauce. “What is your relationship to Mrs. Minnelli?”
“Relationship?” Jeff looked puzzled. “None. She’s an old lady.”
“You said you used to work here.”
“Oh, right. I did. I cooked here for about three years and tended bar for Tillie. Then it was time for me to move on. I’ve started my own restaurant, Chef Jeff’s. But we’re still on good terms. I stopped by to see her at lunchtime.”
Liar! Josie heard the words in her head so loud she was surprised Detective Mullanphy didn’t turn around and look at her.
But Jeff continued, blithely lying about how he offered to help “the old girl” out at lunch. “Tillie’s not as young as she used to be and she needs help. I guess she won’t be needing it now. Word gets out about this and her business is probably going to drop off.”
And you’d like that just fine, wouldn’t you? Josie thought. She was angry at how Jeff
“Of course, Josie, but I’d like to know what’s going on.”
“Me, too, Mom.” Josie hung up on her mother.
Chapter 7
“I’m not saying Tillie killed Clay or anything,” Jeff said, his voice earnest and oily. “But I did hear her say she wanted him out of her restaurant permanently.”
Brian Mullanphy, the River Bluff detective, wrote down every treacherous word.
That rat, Josie thought. No, pig. That was a better description. The chubby chef with his pink face looked like a pig with a tattoo. His skin was shiny, as if he’d slathered it with cooking oil. The barbed-wire tat twisted around his wrist, turning Jeff’s plump hand into a no man’s land.
Josie could see the chef sitting at a table near the entrance to the dining room side of Tillie’s. She could hear him, too. Sometimes. Other times, his voice trailed off.
Josie got Jeff’s message loud and clear. He was setting Tillie up for attempted murder.
She knew Jeff wanted his old job back. She’d heard him ask Tillie if he could work here again. Tillie had turned him down and Jeff had been furious. Of course he didn’t mention that to Detective Mullanphy.
Mullanphy wasn’t a homicide detective. He’d explained that the River Bluff force was too small to have a full-time homicide division. He investigated crimes against persons, from assaults to murder. Now he was interviewing the handful of people who’d remained after Clay was rushed to the hospital.
Jeff was the first. He leaned forward on his well-cushioned elbows as if confiding to the detective and said, “You know Clay drank a little too much. How often did Tillie call your department when Clay was drunk and loud?”
The detective ignored Jeff’s question. “Where were you at the time of the incident, Mr. Bartlett-Smith?”
“Jeff, please,” he said. “No need for the double-barreled name. Mom combined her maiden name and my dad’s name. She thought it sounded classy. I’m just plain old Jeff the chef.”
“Where were you at the time of the incident?” Mullanphy repeated.
“I was next to Clay at the bar, having a beer. I thought I saw someone I recognized sitting at that table there.” He pointed across the aisle. “I came back here to say hello to Rick. But it wasn’t him after all. Then I talked to a few other people on the restaurant side. A lot of Tillie’s customers know me because I used to work here. I was chatting with someone when I heard Clay screaming that his mouth was burning and I ran up front.”
That was close to what really happened, Josie thought. She remembered that Jeff had hung back until after the ambulance left with Clay. Then he went up front to comfort the man’s wife.
“Tillie grows her own peppers in the kitchen here,” Jeff said. “She keeps the plants on the windows over the sink. Says they give her sauce its kick. The horseradish helps, too. Did you know the best horseradish is grown right across from St. Louis in Belleville, Illinois?”
Detective Mullanphy wasn’t interested in the secret to Tillie’s sauce. “What is your relationship to Mrs. Minnelli?”
“Relationship?” Jeff looked puzzled. “None. She’s an old lady.”
“You said you used to work here.”
“Oh, right. I did. I cooked here for about three years and tended bar for Tillie. Then it was time for me to move on. I’ve started my own restaurant, Chef Jeff’s. But we’re still on good terms. I stopped by to see her at lunchtime.”
Liar! Josie heard the words in her head so loud she was surprised Detective Mullanphy didn’t turn around and look at her.
But Jeff continued, blithely lying about how he offered to help “the old girl” out at lunch. “Tillie’s not as young as she used to be and she needs help. I guess she won’t be needing it now. Word gets out about this and her business is probably going to drop off.”
And you’d like that just fine, wouldn’t you? Josie thought. She was angry at how Jeff
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