“Not to worry,” he says. “You are welcome here. Always. We have specials today. Can I get you a table?”
“Actually, I just came here to talk to you, if you have a minute,” I say.
“To me?” he asks. “Well, we are quite busy, but I always have a minute for you. Come with me to my office.”
He reaches out to put one strong hand in the middle of my back and opens the other arm to the side to invite me down the hall with him. He guides me to an office far more expansive and lavish than I would expect to find in a restaurant and has me sit on a brown leather couch against the wall. He walks over to a bar set in the other corner and takes down a cut crystal decanter.
“Drink?” he asks.
“No, thank you.”
“Do you mind if I have one?” he asks.
“Of course not.”
He gives a slight bow of his head to thank me, pours a hefty dose of dark liquor into a glass, then carries it over to sit on the couch beside me.
“How can I help you?” he asks.
“You might have heard that I am officially investigating Lakyn Monroe's murder,” I start.
“Yes, I heard that. Such a shame. A beautiful girl.”
“She was,” I confirm.
“I told you she used to come in here to eat,” Tarasco says. “Is that somehow important?”
“Oh, no, I don't think so,” I say. “Actually, the reason I'm here is that during my investigation of her murder, mention of another death came up. Ashley Teiger. The man convicted of murdering her was a dishwasher here, right?”
“Yes,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Even after all these years, it hurts to think about it.”
“Were you close with Ashley?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “I never had the pleasure of meeting her. It's just that the people who work here for me become like my own family. To know one of our own could do something like that was devastating to all of us.”
“Do you remember anything about that time? About what was happening around the time of the murder, or right after?” I ask.
He takes a sip of his drink and looks at me with knitted eyebrows.
“Has the case been reopened?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “Not at all. It's not the murder itself I'm concerned about. I'm just wondering if there was anything that stood out to you about the days and weeks leading up to the murder, or anything that happened after. Maybe someone new who started coming into the restaurant a lot? Or someone who usually came in a lot, who didn't come as often anymore? Maybe conflicts?”
He looks as if he's thinking for a few seconds, then shakes his head.
“I don't know of anything,” he says.” I wish I could be of more help to you.”
“It's fine,” I tell him, smiling and shaking my head. “There might not actually be any help you can give me. I'm not looking at or for anything in particular, just kind of getting an idea of things. Understanding the area helps me to get a better feel when I'm investigating cases.”
“I'm happy to help you in any way I can,” he says. He stands and walks over to his desk. “Take my card. Call me anytime.”
I walk over to the desk to take the card he's holding out to me and notice a spherical black paperweight sitting on a stack of invoices.
“That's an interesting paperweight,” I point out.
Tarasco looks at it, then smiles at me again. “Thank you. I think its beauty is in its simplicity. Sometimes what's simple is best.”
“I agree,” I tell him. “Thank you for your time.”
“I can't let you leave here without something to eat,” he says. “It would be an affront to my culture. Let me bring you something to take home with you.”
“That would be nice, thank you,” I smile.
“Good. Wait here; I'll be right back.”
He walks out of the office, and I wait for a few moments before slipping through the door. The green hallway is to one side of the office, but a shorter one wraps around a corner to the other side. Making sure he is no longer in sight, I rush down to the corner and look around it. There is a heavy wooden door at the end, and I go up to it for a quick test.
Its being locked doesn't come as a surprise, but I had to try. Just before turning away, I notice a carving in the wood beneath the doorknob. I run my fingers over it, then bend down to get a better look. Not wanting to get caught down there, I hurry back to the office. Seconds later, Tarasco comes back with two bags overflowing with takeout containers.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “We might have a long night of research ahead of us, and this will be really good.”
“Remember, call me anytime. And feel free to come back,” he says. “You're always welcome.”
Chapter Forty-Six
“You're always welcome?” Dean asks.
“That doesn't sound so bad,” Sam says.
“It's not,” I say. “At least, the words aren't. But it was the way he said it. I can't even really describe it. But there was something about his voice when he said it that felt strange. I really wish that door hadn’t been locked. I want to know what's back there. It could just be a banquet hall, but I don't know. When I went there the first time, I left my phone. I had to go back and get it. When I left after eating lunch, that parking lot was half full. When I went back to get my phone, not an hour later, it was empty. The front door was locked. Lorenzo Tarasco had to let me in even though the posted business hours said the restaurant should be open.”
“Maybe everybody was taking a break,” Dean suggests.
“That's definitely possible. It was kind of a late lunch, and the staff could take some
