“Voilà!” He spooned white rice into two wide shallow bowls, topped each with a generous portion of the stir-fry, and brought them to the table.
I joined him with my glass. “If only assembling a homicide case was so easy.”
Jason gazed at me, finally saying, “No kidding.” He poured wine into his glass and topped mine up.
“I wonder if they’ll find out about Paul’s death before I leave. I can’t do anything about it one way or the other,” I mused. “Hey, thanks for being here, Jase.” I lifted my glass. “And for asking me over.”
He clinked. “Here’s to friends. It’ll all be fine, Rob. You’ll see.”
I sure as heck hoped so.
Chapter 42
Our fabulous meal was a mere memory an hour later, with only a few grains of rice left in my dish and an abandoned cube of the savory, soy-soaked tofu on Jason’s. I sat back in my chair as he regaled me with funny, sometimes poignant, stories of his father’s Chinese relatives. Jason’s grandparents had come to the States as adults, which had been tough, but they’d forged a successful life for themselves and their children. His dad played first violin with the Los Angeles Philharmonic and his mom, also of Asian ancestry, was a full professor in physics at UCSB. Other relatives who’d come for visits had experienced pretty severe culture shock.
He was in the middle of a tale about forks, knives, and boneless chicken when my cell buzzed in my back pocket.
I checked it and glanced over at Jason. “I’m sorry. It’s Alana. Okay if I take the call? She’s going back to Berkeley tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
Jason was about to pour me more wine, but I covered my glass with my hand. I still had to drive home. He stood, gathering up the dishes.
I connected the call. “Hey, Al. I’m at Jason’s. The man cooked me the best dinner. I’m putting you on speaker so he can listen in if he wants, okay?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Hi, Alana,” Jason piped up.
“Hey, Jason,” she replied.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I talked to Mommy about the Moores.”
I smiled to myself at my friend continuing to call her mother “Mommy”—an appellation I had never abandoned for my mom, either, for as long as I’d had her.
“Sydelle is a widow,” Alana went on. “Her husband died of a massive heart attack ten years ago. But he left a whopping insurance policy and some valuable investments, so she’s able to live in the style to which she was already accustomed and not have to find a pesky day job. She does play tennis with Katherine’s father.”
And more than tennis, according to Katherine. I glanced around Jason’s living room as she spoke. The decor would be called male minimal, with a gray sofa, a desk in the corner, and a gray recliner facing a shelving unit holding a big screen and a gaming console. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf was crammed with books, except for a portrait of Jason, his parents, and his sisters. A framed calligraphy of a few Chinese characters hung from the wall next to the books.
“Tommy Moore is the older child and his little sister is a sophomore at Chumash,” Alana finished.
“Any history of homicide in the family?” I asked.
Jason shot me a chin-back-frowning-brows-half-smile look of incredulity.
She laughed out loud. “Yeah, like my mother would know about homicide.”
I laughed, too. She was right, of course. “Can’t hurt to ask. No wonder Walter gave the kid a gap-year job. Maybe Tommy hopes if he behaves he’ll have a new dad at home. He’s been without a father for a long time.”
“True,” Alana said. “From what you said, Robbie, and based on what we saw at the casino, seems to me Mrs. Moore might not be getting the high-power second husband she expects, not if Walter’s in a lot of debt from gambling.” A background noise came through Alana’s call. “Sorry, guys, I have to go. Great to see you both this week.”
“Love you,” I said. “Be in touch.”
“Bye, Alana,” Jason added. “Let me know next time you’re back in town.”
“You got it.” She disconnected.
I set my phone on the table and stared at Jason. “Do you think it means anything? Tommy’s mom and Katherine’s father being an item?”
“I don’t know.” He sat again, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “But I did learn something today you’ll want to hear.”
I waited. “And?”
“I actually shouldn’t be telling you this. But I will, mostly because you alerted us to look for it. Mel’s lab tests found a neurotoxin in Paul’s system.”
“So it was murder,” I breathed, eyes wide.
“From all reports he was neither suicidal nor suffered from clinical depression. So, yes, they’re calling it a homicide.”
“Wait. You’ve known about this since before I got here, since before I saw you at the library. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to spoil dinner,” Jason said. “Plus, you were ever-so-slightly freaked out by your experience at the mission. Talking about homicide over dinner wasn’t going to help.”
I thought. “I guess you’re right. Thank you.” I swished the last bit of wine in my glass, then set my chin in my hand with my elbow on the table, my mom’s manners lessons tossed to the side. “Now what?”
“Now they have to figure out who gave it to him, and how.”
“Right.” I tapped my glass. “Paul’s housemate, Grace, told me the police took his takeout lunch box. Do they think the poison was put in his food?”
“I’m really out of the loop for that kind of detail, Rob. Sorry.”
“And I suppose
