on the edge of hysteria, but she was calm enough to knife Tillie every chance she could to Detective Mullanphy.
Lorena told him she didn’t hear or see anything. “I was too busy running in and out of the kitchen and waiting on tables.”
After each person finished, they wrote and signed a statement in the back booth.
At 4:35, Alyce was called. Josie heard her mention that Chef Jeff wanted to be rehired by Tillie. She also said that Clay had complained the dipping sauce was too bland and demanded Tillie spice it up. Fifteen minutes later, Alyce was writing out her statement and it was Josie’s turn to talk.
“What is your relationship with the victim?” Detective Mullanphy asked.
“None,” Josie said. “This is my second time at Tillie’s. I was in a few days ago with my mother. Mom went to grade school with Tillie.”
“Why did you come back so soon? You don’t live in this area. You told me you live in Maplewood. That’s a long way to drive for toasted ravioli.”
Good question, Josie thought. She was not going to mention the TAG Tours. “I wanted my friend Alyce to try Tillie’s ravioli. It’s famous, and Alyce lives way out in the burbs. She never comes to River Bluff and the nanny could watch her little boy today.”
She held her breath, hoping Alyce had given a similar answer. She studied the detective’s face for some reaction. Nothing. The man would make a good poker player.
“How did the victim behave?” he asked.
“Clay seemed pretty drunk,” Josie said. “Tillie quit serving him beer. Chef Jeff asked Tillie if he could work lunches for her, but she refused. She implied that he’d been helping himself to twenty or thirty dollars every time he worked. He said he needed a job now to keep his new restaurant going.”
No reaction from Detective Mullanphy again. But at least he’d heard about Jeff’s treachery from two sources.
“Chef Jeff seemed angry when Tillie refused to rehire him. That’s when he slipped Clay some of his beer.”
She repeated the whole saga—including Tillie’s threat to make Clay leave permanently. She figured it couldn’t do Tillie any more harm. The detective had already heard it.
When the detective finished with his questions, Josie sat in the corner booth to write her statement while Alyce waited. A subdued Tillie was called in next for an interview. It was just after five o’clock.
Officer Harris, the African-American with the weary eyes, was at the door. “Detective, may I see you a moment? There’s a message for you.”
Tillie sat unmoving at the interview table. All traces of her attitude were gone. Josie thought she looked older than her seventy-six years. Her eyes were sunken. The skin along her jawline hung in loose folds. Her back was bent.
Josie could hear the detective and Officer Harris whispering outside the door. The detective seemed more subdued when he returned.
“Mrs. Minnelli, Mr. Clay Oreck is gravely ill.”
“I know pepper juice can blister—” Tillie said.
“This isn’t damage from pepper juice. The man has been poisoned. He’s vomiting. He has severe abdominal pain and convulsions. His kidneys are shutting down. You used that hot pepper to disguise the taste of poison.”
“No!” Tillie said.
“Tell us what kind of poison you used, Mrs. Minnelli, and the doctors may have a chance to save him.”
“I can’t,” Tillie said. She looked desperate. “I would if I could, but I don’t know. I don’t keep any poison in my kitchen, not even rat poison.”
“If he dies,” the detective said, “it’s murder.”
Chapter 8
When Josie got home at seven o’clock that night, she felt like she’d been doing hard labor. Why did her back and shoulders ache? How could she be so tired? All she’d done was sit in a restaurant booth.
And watch a man collapse and nearly die. And wait to be questioned by the police. Each tense minute had ticked by, while Josie wondered if the detective would discover the real reason
Lorena told him she didn’t hear or see anything. “I was too busy running in and out of the kitchen and waiting on tables.”
After each person finished, they wrote and signed a statement in the back booth.
At 4:35, Alyce was called. Josie heard her mention that Chef Jeff wanted to be rehired by Tillie. She also said that Clay had complained the dipping sauce was too bland and demanded Tillie spice it up. Fifteen minutes later, Alyce was writing out her statement and it was Josie’s turn to talk.
“What is your relationship with the victim?” Detective Mullanphy asked.
“None,” Josie said. “This is my second time at Tillie’s. I was in a few days ago with my mother. Mom went to grade school with Tillie.”
“Why did you come back so soon? You don’t live in this area. You told me you live in Maplewood. That’s a long way to drive for toasted ravioli.”
Good question, Josie thought. She was not going to mention the TAG Tours. “I wanted my friend Alyce to try Tillie’s ravioli. It’s famous, and Alyce lives way out in the burbs. She never comes to River Bluff and the nanny could watch her little boy today.”
She held her breath, hoping Alyce had given a similar answer. She studied the detective’s face for some reaction. Nothing. The man would make a good poker player.
“How did the victim behave?” he asked.
“Clay seemed pretty drunk,” Josie said. “Tillie quit serving him beer. Chef Jeff asked Tillie if he could work lunches for her, but she refused. She implied that he’d been helping himself to twenty or thirty dollars every time he worked. He said he needed a job now to keep his new restaurant going.”
No reaction from Detective Mullanphy again. But at least he’d heard about Jeff’s treachery from two sources.
“Chef Jeff seemed angry when Tillie refused to rehire him. That’s when he slipped Clay some of his beer.”
She repeated the whole saga—including Tillie’s threat to make Clay leave permanently. She figured it couldn’t do Tillie any more harm. The detective had already heard it.
When the detective finished with his questions, Josie sat in the corner booth to write her statement while Alyce waited. A subdued Tillie was called in next for an interview. It was just after five o’clock.
Officer Harris, the African-American with the weary eyes, was at the door. “Detective, may I see you a moment? There’s a message for you.”
Tillie sat unmoving at the interview table. All traces of her attitude were gone. Josie thought she looked older than her seventy-six years. Her eyes were sunken. The skin along her jawline hung in loose folds. Her back was bent.
Josie could hear the detective and Officer Harris whispering outside the door. The detective seemed more subdued when he returned.
“Mrs. Minnelli, Mr. Clay Oreck is gravely ill.”
“I know pepper juice can blister—” Tillie said.
“This isn’t damage from pepper juice. The man has been poisoned. He’s vomiting. He has severe abdominal pain and convulsions. His kidneys are shutting down. You used that hot pepper to disguise the taste of poison.”
“No!” Tillie said.
“Tell us what kind of poison you used, Mrs. Minnelli, and the doctors may have a chance to save him.”
“I can’t,” Tillie said. She looked desperate. “I would if I could, but I don’t know. I don’t keep any poison in my kitchen, not even rat poison.”
“If he dies,” the detective said, “it’s murder.”
Chapter 8
When Josie got home at seven o’clock that night, she felt like she’d been doing hard labor. Why did her back and shoulders ache? How could she be so tired? All she’d done was sit in a restaurant booth.
And watch a man collapse and nearly die. And wait to be questioned by the police. Each tense minute had ticked by, while Josie wondered if the detective would discover the real reason
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