There was another shot of the starlet a few seconds later. “Zoom in again on David.”
“Ohmigod. David is handing the drink back. Jacques had David sample his drink and hand it back.”
“So?”
“So someone slipped David a small dose of MSG at his own party. And I think we just witnessed it right here.”
“You think Papas tried to murder David?”
“I think Papas had a motive to have David murdered. And I think what we’re seeing here is David being set up with the headache that sent him to his bedroom—where the shooter was supposed to take him out.”
“I follow you. But what’s Papas’s motive?”
“Embezzlement. And I think I can prove it. Even if Detective O’Rourke won’t buy the MSG mickey, I know he’ll buy a book of accounts that shows a scheme to embezzle money from Cuppa J and David Mintzer. And I know Papas keeps that book locked up in his office desk.”
Jim Rand leaned back in his chair, eyeballed me. “And how are you going to get this book?”
I folded my arms, tapped my chin in thought. “When you were a SEAL, did you have to break into things quietly?”
“Yes, Clare.”
“So you know how to pick a lock?”
“Yes, Clare.”
“Then the question, Mr. Rand, isn’t how am I going to get the book. It’s how are
“You’re determined to pull me into your outlaw ways, aren’t you, Cosi?”
“That’s rich. Coming from you.”
Jim laughed. “Just remember one thing.”
“What?”
“You promised if I helped you catch the killer, you’d be grateful.”
“First things first, Rand. First things first.”
Twenty
I drove back to Cuppa J in my Honda, watching the lights on Jim’s Harley in my rearview mirror. By the time we arrived at the restaurant it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. The building was dark and deserted, the parking lot empty. As I climbed out of my car, Jim rolled up next to me and cut the motorcycle’s engine.
Together, we walked up the dark path to the restaurant. Through the glass of the front door, I saw the tiny red light on the alarm console, warning intruders that the system was activated.
Jim, hands shoved into his denims, leaned against the door jam. “So, do you want me to pick this lock?”
I shook my head. “I have the key. The lock I want you to pick is inside. Anyway, there’s an alarm system. Even if you got through the door, you’d have to deal with the keypad. You don’t know the code.”
“Alarms have never been a problem for me.”
“Okay, now you’re just bragging.”
I slipped the key into the lock and twisted it. After opening the door, I had ten seconds to punch in the security code or the alarm would go off, both here and at the police station. I tapped the code into the key pad. A single beep, and the tiny light switched from red to green.
“All clear,” I called over my shoulder.
As I stepped into the restaurant’s dining room, I knew at once that something was wrong. At first the air seemed heavy and close, then I detected a familiar odor. Jim came up behind me, gripped my shoulder. He smelled it, too.
“Gas,” we said together.
“The pilot lights must have gone out!” I cried. “We have to fix it—”
I hurried forward, but didn’t get more than two steps before Jim, his hand still digging into my shoulder, yanked me back.
“Clare, no. We have to get out of here.”
“No, wait.”
I struggled against him. But in a few seconds, I felt dizzy then woozy. I blinked, saw stars, felt my knees giving way. Jim snatched me up and carried me out of the restaurant. Choking, he stretched me out on the hood of my Honda, which felt warm against my back. I coughed and gasped for air.
“We can’t let the place blow up,” I cried between hacks. “We can’t.”
Jim pushed himself away from the hood, faced the building. I followed his eyes and noticed he’d left the front door open. Then, before I knew what was happening, he’d stripped off his button-down.
“Jim, what—?”
He dug into his pocket, thrust a cell phone into my hand. “Call 911.” He wrapped his shirt around his nose and mouth and tied it behind his head. Head down, he ran back inside the restaurant.
I punched the numbers and the call went through immediately. I reported the gas leak, the address, and the fact that someone was inside the building.
I heard noise from inside the restaurant—the French doors opening, the sound of breaking glass. Still shaky, I hopped off the hood of my car and hurried to the entranceway. My head was throbbing and my feet seemed to take forever to obey my brain.
Just as I got to the front door, I saw Jim emerge from the kitchen. His shirt was still wrapped around his face, and his gait looked steady. I stepped inside to help him, but he rushed me at the door.
“Go back, Clare. I stopped the leak.” His voice was muffled by the cloth, but his words were clear.
“Are you okay?”
“Jesus, Clare, are you forgetting I was a SEAL? Any one of us worth his salt can hold his breath for three minutes.”
“What did you find back there? The stove is supposed to have a safety device. If any of the pilot lights go out, the gas should be automatically cut off—”
“The stove wasn’t the problem. The lines were sliced.”
“What?!”
“The hoses leading from the main to the stove were flapping loose and they looked sliced to me. I had to turn off the main. On the way, I opened those French doors—sorry, I had to break some of them. Are there any other outside windows in this place?”
“There’s a big window in the employee break room.”
“Which door?”
“The gas is already dissipating, Jim. Let me take care of it.”
“Okay. I’ll prop the fire doors.”
I took a deep, fresh breath, ran to the break room, and opened the door. The gas smell wasn’t so bad in here, probably because the closed door kept most of the vapors out. I began to walk to the window—then I screamed.
A body was sprawled on the couch, a woman clad in jeans and a flowered blouse. A pair of sandals lay on the floor. On the pillow, I saw loose auburn curls dangling from a disheveled ponytail. I grabbed the body’s shoulder, rolled it over. Colleen O’Brien’s skin had a faintly bluish cast, the freckles across her pug nose looked dark as blood against her deathly pale skin.
Frantically, I began shaking the girl. “Wake up! Wake up!”
Jim appeared at my side, pulled me away and bent over her, resting his ear on her chest. “She’s breathing— barely. We’ve got to get her outside.”
Jim hauled her off the sofa, cradled her in a fireman’s carry. It took only a moment for him to cross the dining room and exit the restaurant. He laid Colleen across the hood of my Honda, which was getting more action than a hospital gurney.
“You know her?”
