“We should hang out more,” I said.
If he thought my remark was out of the blue, he didn’t show it. “I’d like that.” He smiled. “There’s more news. Binder and Flynn finally got the full autopsy results on their victim today. Cause of death, insulin overdose.”
“I’m betting he wasn’t diabetic.”
“Nope. It looks like whoever did murder him gave him the diazepam to lower his resistance and then injected him with the insulin.”
“So the crime isn’t solved.”
“It isn’t. But this is a huge leap forward.”
The ambulance and fire truck pulled out of the lot. Chris stuck his head out of Gus’s kitchen door and waved. Jamie and I both had to get to work.
*
As I entered through the kitchen door, Gus was cleaning the hulking grill. “They gone?” he growled, using his shoulder to indicate the parking lot.
“Just finishing.”
“Took them long enough. Just what I need, another dead body.”
Chris came out of the walk-in, a stainless steel pan of root vegetables in his hands. “There you are.”
“Yes, sorry. Almost ready to work. I just need a minute.”
“You’ve got some time.” Chris glanced at the old man, clearly wishing he’d hurry along. I could imagine their conversation prior to my arrival. Chris offering to help Gus, with a secondary agenda of moving him out of the way. Gus refusing, stubbornly clinging to his routine, secure in the knowledge that he, and only he, knew how to truly clean his restaurant.
I took the tote bag upstairs and put it on the bed. Le Roi came running and rubbed his cheek against it. I hung up my coat and swapped my outdoor boots for sneakers. If I was lucky, I’d get time to run upstairs and change before dinner service.
I fed Le Roi and thought about where to put the photocopy. I was still bothered by the disappearance of the gift certificates. Lieutenant Binder was convinced I’d mislaid them, but I was sure I hadn’t. And even if I had, why hadn’t they turned up? After thinking about it for far too long, I put the tote bag, the photocopy still in it, on the top shelf in the closet alcove. The copy, after all, was less important than the gift certificates. The original still hung in the hallway of the yacht club.
“’Night now,” Gus called from below. “Take care of yourselves.”
“Bye!” I hurried down the stairs.
Chris heard the door close behind me at the bottom. “I didn’t get to put the lock in,” he told me as I came into the kitchen. “I took the old one to Gleason’s Hardware. They laughed when they saw it, it’s so old. The said the whole knob mechanism had to be replaced to get us a modern lock, which will mean putting a new hole in the door. It’s a big deal. I bought a dead bolt for the top of the door on the inside, but I didn’t want to install it while Gus was hanging around. I thought it would raise all sorts of questions. Then he got distracted by the fuss in the parking lot and didn’t leave. So we’ll have to go one more night without a lock.”
I kissed him on the cheek. “No worries. We’ll be extra careful to lock the restaurant doors.”
“Always am.” Chris pulled the vegetables out of the bin. “We’re under the gun here. You’re the sous chef. You up for it?”
“What does a sous chef do again?” I teased.
“Whatever the chef wants her to.” His usual response.
“And what does the chef want her to do?” I asked in what I imagined was my sultriest, sexiest voice.
“Right now? Peel and chop vegetables.”
Drat. Though I did get a kiss that made my heart pound and my knees weak.
I heard a vehicle door slam in the parking lot, and my brother-in-law Sonny Ramsey entered through the kitchen door.
“What’s going on now?” He jerked his head toward Jamie’s cruiser, the only official vehicle still parked on the other side of the lot.
“They found a body,” Chris told him.
“The driver missing from the accident?”
“Who else?” Chris answered. “What do you have for me?”
I stepped out of the way, knowing what was coming.
“Lobsters,” Sonny said. “Just out of the water. Saved you half a dozen.”
“Thanks. How much?”
“Seven dollars a pound.”
“Seven dollars!” Chris yowled like a cat that had its tail stepped on.
Sonny shrugged. “It’s coming on winter. Prices are high. Bugs are hard to find and there aren’t many boats out. You’d pay fifty dollars a pound for lobster meat this time of year down in Boston.”
Chris grimaced. “And I’d be charging thirty bucks an entree if I was down in Boston. Let’s get real. What’s the lobster pound paying you?”
“Five,” Sonny admitted. It was easy enough for Chris to check the catch price.
“I’ll match it.”