As silence fell, Derek approached the table. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Nope.” Jaglom closed his notepad and shoved it back into his pocket. “I think that’s it for now.”
Savannah seemed surprised. “Are you sure?”
He pursed his lips. “I won’t beat around the bush, Ms. Wainwright. You’re a person of interest in this investigation, so I’ll advise you not to leave town for the time being.”
Savannah looked alarmed. “But I don’t live in town. I live in Sonoma.”
“She owns a restaurant in Dharma,” Derek explained. “We always know where to find her.”
I flashed him a grateful smile.
“I’m there all the time,” Savannah added.
Jaglom glanced at all three of us before he nodded, then took his notepad out again and jotted down the name of the restaurant and several phone numbers.
“Please call me there anytime. I want to help.” Savannah looked at me. “Can we go home now?”
“If it’s okay with the inspector.” I glanced at Jaglom.
He nodded. “You’re both free to go for now.”
“Then let’s go.” I shook hands with Inspector Jaglom. “Thank you so much.”
He seemed to recognize that I was thanking him for being considerate to my sister, and he returned a gentlemanly salute. I just prayed that his amiability stemmed from his belief that Savannah was truly innocent.
Chapter Six
The female in almost every instance is preferable to the male, and peculiarly so in the Peacock, which, while superbly plumaged, is tough and stringy when chewed.
—The Cookbook of Obedience Green
Just as we were gathering our belongings to leave for the night, Savannah’s chef friends trudged into the restaurant, herded by two cops. Every one of the chefs looked like the walking dead. They’d obviously been roused out of a sound sleep.
I would have had more sympathy for them if I hadn’t been stuck here for the past few hours myself.
Colette saw Savannah first and ran to hug her. “I can’t believe he’s dead.” She sobbed quietly on Savannah’s shoulder.
“I know,” Savannah said, sniffling. “It’s horrible.”
Kevin, looking stunned and bleary-eyed, plodded over and clutched them both. “We saw him less than two hours ago. It can’t be true.”
The group hug grew larger as the other chefs joined them. There were more sniffles and moans, and I had to walk away because I was starting to well up again. My eyes wouldn’t survive the night if I kept crying. I didn’t even like Baxter Cromwell, but I still couldn’t keep the tears from falling as I watched and listened to his friends mourn him.
My gaze focused in on Margot, who stood on the sidelines watching and waiting, just as I’d seen her do before. After a moment, she approached Savannah and gave her what looked like a warm, meaningful hug.
“You poor thing,” Margot murmured. “Have you been here the whole time?”
“Yes. I was so exhausted, so I went to rest in the ladies’ room while I waited for my sister to pick me up, and then I walked into the kitchen and—”
“Savannah!” I cried.
“What?” She whipped around. “What’s wrong?”
“I need your help with something.”
“Okay, okay,” she muttered, then looked at Margot. “I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed her arm and dragged her into the ladies’ room.
“What are you doing?” she said irately. “What happened?”
I checked under the doors of the two stalls to make sure we were alone, then locked the door. “You can’t discuss the details about what happened tonight with any of your friends. Especially about you finding Baxter and pulling the knife out of his gut.”
“Why not?”
“Because from now on, this is a criminal investigation. If you discuss the details, you could be giving the killer a way to frame you for murder.”
She groaned with impatience. “That’s ridiculous.”
But I could tell I’d frightened her, and I gripped her shoulders for emphasis. “Just please don’t say anything to anyone except the police. Or me and Derek.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” she whined. “My friends would never do anything to hurt me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I wish you were right, but unfortunately one of your friends could be Baxter’s killer.”
“Brooklyn, that’s—”
I held up my hand to stop her. “Let’s play a little game. Say I’m the killer.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Humor me. So you and I are talking and you confide in me that you’re the one who found Baxter. And I’m fascinated! I want more particulars because, you know, we’re friends. And you can’t help but go into all the gory details about pulling that big, bloody knife out of him.”
She made a face, but I could tell she was catching my drift.
“So when it’s my turn to talk to the cops,” I continued, “I let it slip that all those years ago in Paris, Baxter treated you so badly and cheated on you and finally dumped you. He hurt you really badly. I might elaborate on some of the fights you two used to have.”