“Devil’s advocate: what if somebody’s been robbing the house over a period of time?”
“I thought that too. But why not tell someone about it right away? Why wear the ring at all if you planned to come forward with information about the robbery?” I sat back and moved the mushrooms around on my plate. “There’s something wrong with Amy’s story. And now the pawnbroker told the police that Ebony was the person to sell him the jewelry, so every other suspect has dropped off the list.”
I ate a piece of sesame chicken. The flavors of garlic and butter melted in my mouth. For a second, my thoughts were reset and the only thing on my mind was the fantastic food in front of me. I ate another piece of chicken and then speared a piece of zucchini. Hunger returned in a way I hadn’t expected, and conversation ceased while we ate. And then, as if the nutrients from the food had been the missing factor in the problem-solving part of my brain, a plan formed.
“If Amy Bradshaw bought the ring from the pawnbroker, then he should have something to say about her. I have to find out what he knows.” I dabbed the corner of my mouth with my napkin. “I have to talk to the pawnshop owner. Are you with me?”
Chapter 26
“MARGO, LET ME ask you something. Do you really think Amy Bradshaw killed Blitz?” Tak asked.
“I believe that Amy Bradshaw knows more about the murder than she’s telling. And I don’t know why she’s keeping secrets, but she’s the one who led the police to the pawnshop, and the pawnbroker told the police something that led them to Ebony. I know Ebony isn’t guilty, so I have to know what the pawnbroker told the police before I can figure out where everybody went wrong.”
“You’re solving for Y,” he said.
“Sure, I want to know why, but I’ll settle for who first.”
“No, not why, Y. Like an algebraic equation. This comes up a lot in engineering. There are basic equations that you use when you know some variables but not all. You plug in what you know and solve for the rest of the information.” I must have looked confused, because he continued. “It’s like the Pythagorean theorem you mentioned. C squared equals A squared plus B squared, right?”
“Right.”
“That’s what everybody’s working with. C squared is Ebony. Everybody thinks she’s guilty. So they’re finding the values for A squared and B squared that fit the picture where Ebony is the killer.”
“But I know Ebony isn’t guilty, so I’m looking for A, B, and C,” I said, finally understanding.
“Right. Only you don’t have to find A and B. All you have to do is prove that A squared plus B squared doesn’t equal Ebony. You don’t have to find the killer, you just have to show that Ebony isn’t the killer.”
That’s where Tak and I disagreed. Because as long as the killer was out there, he or she would have the power to make life miserable for Ebony. People would continue to believe in her guilt until the real murderer was found.
I moved my napkin from my lap and set it on the table. It was after eight. Kirby would have closed the store over an hour ago. My dad was due from the hospital tomorrow morning, and I wanted to make sure everything was perfect before he and Don arrived. Which meant if I was going to talk to the pawnbroker, it was going to have to happen now.
“Will someone bring our check back here?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I didn’t come here because I was looking for a free meal.”
“Margo, forget about it. You’re not going to pay for your dinner if you’re dining with me in my family’s restaurant.”
I glanced at my watch again. I didn’t have time to argue. I pulled $40 from my wallet.
“Don’t insult me,” he said.
“How is this an insult? It’s a seventy-four percent tip.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Okay, fine. I can tell you want to leave. Give me the money and I’ll take care of it.”
I pulled the money back. “No way. I don’t trust you. I’ll give it to your mother.”
I scrambled up from the low seat and slid the closed screen open. The pretty woman from the hostess station was escorting a family to a table. In her place was the man who had called the police on Tak and me the night we came here for fried rice. Now that I’d spent a little more time with Tak, I could tell this man was his father. He was shorter than Tak and had a head of neatly trimmed gray hair instead of longish black hair, but the shape of his face, the sculptured cheekbones and jawline, the heavy brow, the deep brown eyes, they were all the same.
He looked up at me and recognition flashed in his eyes. I stood a little straighter and went directly to him.
“Mr. Hoshiyama?” He nodded once, slowly. “I’m Margo Tamblyn. I just finished dining in one of the private rooms with your son. I have to leave and I didn’t have a chance to get my check. This will cover my dinner.” I held out the two twenties. “I had sesame chicken and fried rice. I drank water.”