Death on a Platter by Elaine Viets Page A

had twisted the truth, like that barbed-wire tat twisting around his wrist. After Jeff finished, he was directed to a table in a back booth, where he wrote a statement and signed it while a uniformed officer stood nearby and watched.
    Mitchell, the older man who’d bussed tables that afternoon, was called in next. Mitchell’s voice was a deep rumble and Josie had a hard time hearing him. She caught phrases: “Didn’t see anything . . . running in and out of the kitchen . . . I saw a lot of people in the kitchen, but there always are when it’s busy.... Yes, sir, Tillie did say she was going to make that sauce extra hot.”
    Josie glanced at her watch. It was 2:52, nearly three hours after Clay’s lunch. Amelia would be home from school soon. Her plans to see Ted were gone. She hoped Ted would understand why she’d canceled their dinner tonight. She really did like the vet. No, this was more than like. She loved him and she’d told him so. Josie had finally found a good man after some bad choices. Amelia liked Ted. So did Jane. And their cat, Harry. Everyone liked Ted so much, it made Josie nervous. She worried that he was too good to be true.
    On the bar side she could see the customers and staff watching the clock on the wall. The hands seemed to crawl around the neon-lit face. She felt Alyce shift in the hard booth behind her. Desmond stared at the wall. Lorena sat in a booth near her mother, nodding off. She must be exhausted from hauling those heavy trays around, Josie thought. Gemma Lynn was still weeping. She sounded like a whining puppy. Josie found her tears almost as annoying as her talking.
    A uniformed officer went up and down the aisles. She was a stern-faced woman who reminded Josie of a hall monitor.
    Tillie waved her hand tentatively. “Officer, is there any word on Clay Oreck?” she asked.
    “Sorry, ma’am. I can’t say. All I know is he’s still at the hospital.”
    The young blond poster cop burst through the door holding a stainless-steel mixing bowl in his gloved hands. He carried it back to Mullanphy. “Uh, Detective, I found this in the kitchen trash,” he said. “It’s got traces of a white substance in it and what looks like cooked ground meat.”
    “Bag it,” the detective said.
    White? And ground meat? That would be the ravioli filling, wouldn’t it? The white was probably horseradish. Did you put horseradish in the ravioli filling? Not for the first time, Josie wished she knew more about cooking.
    But why would Tillie throw away a good mixing bowl?
    “There’s more,” the young cop said. He held up a pair of yellow rubber gloves. “These were in the trash with the bowl. They look like they’ve been used, but I don’t see any holes.”
    The gloves looked fine to Josie, too—at least from across the room. Tillie was watching her money. She wouldn’t throw them away. Unless she really was mixing up poison. Now Josie felt sick—and not from the greasy ravioli.
    Tillie saw the gloves and the bowl.
    “The gloves look like mine,” she said. “They must have been thrown away by accident. I didn’t use that metal bowl to make Clay’s sauce. I used a glass bowl. You can find it in the dishwasher. I turned it on when . . .”
    She stopped. Tillie was upset, but she must have realized if she turned on the dishwasher, then she’d washed the evidence that could save her down the drain.
    The afternoon crawled forward like a wounded animal. While Detective Mullanphy interviewed customers and staff, Josie had plenty of time to study the man. His face just missed being handsome. He had a strong jaw, thick brown hair, and a nose like a new potato. That lump of a nose didn’t belong on his square-cut face. She tried to focus on the interviews.
    She heard Desmond confirm that Tillie wanted rid of Clay. He didn’t mention that she was one of the last holdouts for the casino deal and he was trying to buy her building.
    Gemma Lynn wept and whined about her love for Clay. She might seem