I still wasn't one hundred percent convinced that Diana was murdered, but what I did know was that Robert was a snake in sheep's clothing. Why and how he knew to search me was the million-dollar question. Though the other questions gnawed too. Why did Diana put Este's passport in that box? Could have been a warning that she was the murderer, true, but it also could have had something to do with the cancer. The wild, sporadic note she'd written to Alexis claimed the government was out to get her, so for all I know she died thinking Este was some sort of spy sent to assassinate her. Which would void the passport of all true meaning.
The will, therefore, was the most concrete piece of evidence I had.
And it had Robert's grimy hands all over it. That meant it could be the key to solving whatever's going on here. I needed to know who stood to benefit the most from Diana's death.
That's what was on my mind as I took orders the next day. I turned the information over silently as I walked a tray of vanilla macchiatos and a plate of strawberry turnovers to table three. Forty-five minutes and one generous tip later they were gone, and I was bussing the table. The bus tub sitting on top of the utility cart that stood in the back near the kitchen was full to the brim, so I grabbed it on my way in the back and stepped into the kitchen.
On one side of the room, Jackson was kneading tomorrow's dough. On the other side, Devonte was elbows deep in soapy water. In his ears were white earbuds. His head bopped up and down as he mumbled his way through out of tune lyrics. I stepped next to him and put down the bus tub. He jumped when he saw me, I jumped in return.
"Sorry." We said at the same time.
"It's fine." I straightened up and willed my heart to stop its erratic beating. "When you're done with the dishes, I need you to help Lana finish bussing those tables."
Poor boy's voice practically shook. "Yes, ma'am."
"You don't have to call me ma'am."
"Yes ma—Okay."
I left him with the dishes and walked over to Jackson. He smiled when he saw me, no doubt suppressing a snicker at Devonte's interaction with me. "Hey, Evie."
"Jackson, when you're done, I want to go over the summer menu."
"Okay." He folded the dough into itself until it was sculpted into a ball. Then, he placed it in one of five bowls and covered it. "A little early though."
"I want something a little different than last year. We need to go through the testing phase." I wasn't sure how much longer I'd have Jackson if he followed his plans to become a trucker. Better to milk the golden cow while you can.
"I do have some ideas..."
"Great. I want to hear them."
With my in-house business temporarily finished I excused myself to my office to make some phone calls.
Robert had had me investigated for some reason. How he knew who I was made no sense to me so the quickest road to answers was to ask the source. To qualify for my P.I. license I'd had to apprentice with Wolff Investigations for about three months. The business was run by three brothers—Ric, J.P. and Will Wolff.
I pulled up the number and dialed from my cell. It rang for a beat then connected me to the front desk. "Wolff Investigations. Jenn speaking."
"Hey Jen, it's Evie. Can you patch me through to J.P.?"
Her voice lost its clinical distance and slipped into a more familiar tone. "Sure thing, Evie."
On hold I bobbed my head to Hall and Oates for thirty seconds until J.P. picked up.
His honeyed voice melted through the line as smooth as butter. So different from Ric's which tended to boom like a canon. "What can I do for you, Evie?"
"I want to know why Robert Davis had me investigated."
A sly smile was in his voice when he said, "Evie, you know I can't breach client confidentiality."
"And what about professional courtesy? If someone came to me to investigate you, I'd tell you."
He laughed. "No, you wouldn't."
I sighed. "Okay, no—but if you came to me, I'd at least give you something."
He went quiet for a moment. Probably thinking of what, if anything, he could say to the person who'd shadowed him for three months. "Alright Evie, how about this? Sometimes when you set off a bomb you hit more than the person you originally targeted."
I'd forgotten how prone he was to useless metaphors. The man was a great P.I. but he wasn't a fan of being brash or straightforward if it didn't benefit him; the key way our techniques differed.
"Then why set off the bomb?"
"To be thorough."
I'm not asking the right question. I thought for a second. "Who's the bomb for?"
"I can't tell you that." Ah ha.
"How many people got hit in the blast?"
"Everyone at the repass."
"Interesting." So Robert wasn't as smart as he seemed. "Thanks J.P. Very helpful."
"Just pay it forward when the time comes." J.P. Wolff hung up without a goodbye, as was his way.
So, Robert did a background check on everyone at the repass? I was just collateral damage. Then what was he really looking for? And who was he looking into? It likely wasn't me or Alice or that random dude I was discussing apple tarts with. The most obvious answer was someone in the family. But then Margie was there as well...
Robert was up to some shit. What, I didn't know.
I dialed Alexis on the landline and put her on speaker. She picked up on the third ring. "Hello," her voice was small; like she'd deflated some since we last spoke.
"Alexis, it's Evie."
"Hey! Have you found out anything?"
"I'm making progress." Well, sort of. I knew Robert and probably Malik were making moves. If I had to guess I'd say this was about the will. "You still have that copy of the will I found, right?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Could you send me a copy, please?"
"Yeah."
After we hung up, I went back to work going over the budget when I got the email. Alexis had scanned every page of the will in a ten-page document. I opened it and skimmed over it while I sipped at a cup of chamomile.
I was no lawyer, so a lot of the legalese was lost on me but as I understood it Diana's will would take care of everyone. And I mean everyone.
When I first read the number I almost jumped back from shock. Alexis was set to receive twenty million, which was unfathomable to me as a middle-class business owner. Destiny likewise would receive twenty million—enough to live the rest of her life in the manner she was accustomed to and send both kids to the Ivy League. Gabe was getting much less. Ten million. Only enough to pay off his debts. Malik was getting no money only half her shares in the company. Which was kind of shitty but expected considering their blow out. And shares of a highly successful company was still coming out ahead in my perspective. She'd also left a sizable portion to charity—fifty million. Very on brand with her philanthropic efforts in the past.
The most surprising beneficiary was Margie Scott. Diana had left her a cool five million and the other half of her shares of the company. Perhaps it was atonement. It was in fact the only proof that Diana regretted what she did. And if Margie knew, there were a lot less reasons for her to commit murder. All in all, I'd say everyone was coming out ahead.
Except Malik.
Did he know about the will? Was he angry? I'd be angry if all my siblings got millions and I got the consolation prize. But mad enough to kill her? And how? I don't know...
And what if the will had changed since then? The date on this one was from the middle of last year; that's seven months. Besides, this one was found in a keepsake box under a floorboard. The official one hadn't been sent to the beneficiaries yet. And if my hunch was right, this will and the one coming out would be different.
That's what was on my mind when I redialed Alexis. "Could I sit in at the will reading?"
She seemed startled. "You think the will has something to do with it?"
"Maybe."
She hesitated. "I don't know. It's quite intimate."
"I understand that." And I did. It was a family affair that under normal circumstances I'd have no interest in encroaching on. But these weren't normal circumstances.
"Can't I just convey what's said?"
"That would help but what's even more helpful is being in the room to see how everyone reacts and interacts."
She thought for a moment, gaging her need for answers against her need to practice proper decorum. "Okay. It's tomorrow morning at the house."
"I'll be there."
********************
The rest of the morning was quite mundane. I made a couple more phone calls and finished going over the budget before calling Jackson into my office. He sat across from me with his makeshift recipe binder propped open on his lap.
I had my own notebook open and pen ready. "The lemon squares have to make a comeback." I tapped my pen on the paper. "They were a hit last year."
"I was thinking about changing the recipe a little bit."
"Okay. But let's taste test it first."
"You're the boss lady." He wrote a note down on the first sheet.
"I'm thinking your famous blueberry icebox cake too."
He looked up with his eyebrows raised into his forehead. "I haven't made that since—"
"I know, but its thematically appropriate." The subject wasn't taboo, but it was still hard to grasp that the last icebox cake he'd made had ended with someone dead. "Summertime, summer menu."
"What do you think about making the icebox cake with blackberry jam this year?"
"Sounds delicious. Test it out." We both wrote a note.
"Coconut cream cheesecake?"
"Absolutely." Coconut reminded people of beaches, which reminded people of summer. A good choice. I scribbled a note then looked up hesitantly. "So...how's the trucking thing going?"
"Evie, it's been four damn days."
"Just curious."
"And you know how Uncle Bobby is. It'll take him a couple weeks to get back to me."
I nodded and started doodling in the margins at the top of the page. "Oh, okay."
"Why? Worried you'll lose your best chef?"
"Of course. That's why this menu needs to be finalized before I kick you out of here."
"Kick me out? This shit ain't nothing without me!"
"Look at this shit," I gestured at him. "Get a high school diploma and suddenly you get all high siddity, huh? You've changed, man. You've changed."
His howl of laughter was so loud I'm sure they heard him in the tattoo parlor next door. "I ain't heard the word siddity in a minute!"
"Shame it went out of style."
"So how would this work?"
"Hmm?"
"Trucking school."
"You'd go. And we'd work around your schedule just like we do for Premier." Premier Janitorial was the cleaning service he worked for part time. Typically, he'd come in and work until about noon, then clock out to get across town to an office building the company was contracted to clean.
"And if I get a job?"
"Then you go."
"What about you?"
"You know I had a pastry chef before you."
He pressed his mouth into a hard line like the words were physically struggling with his jaw. "We family. You gave me my first job out the joint. I can't just ditch you."
"Jackson, listen. Change is inevitable. Don't hold yourself back because you think you owe me eternal loyalty." I mean, low-key, I wish he could be my chef forever—the man was crazy talented, but it would be unfair to ask him to stay in this barely above minimum wage position forever. Especially since there was no corporate ladder to move up. This was it. And just as I assumed Pasha, and Lana, and Devonte would move on to greener pastures with time I knew I couldn't cripple Jackson by trying to keep him in place for my own gains. Not even if he's family. Especially because he's family. "I'll be fine."
"But what happens?"
In the margins of the page I'd drawn a sad little flower. Johnny would not be impressed. "You go do your training. I look for a new hire. Before you leave you train the new hire."
"That's it, huh?"
"That's it."
He was very quiet for a moment. I couldn't say why, it was very unlike him. He raised his wrist suddenly and squinted down at his watch. "Shit, I got to go. Can't miss my bus."
"Alright. We can finish this later."
By the time Jackson left my stomach was grumbling worse than an ornery old man. I grabbed my cell on my way to my car and pressed the quick dial with Henry's face on it.
"Hey." He answered.
"Hey. Haven't heard from you in a while."
He chuckled. "I've been editing. I'm ready to poke my own eyes out."
I laughed as I unlocked my car and climbed in. "Free for lunch?"
"Yes! Get me away from this monitor."
"Delmar's?"
"Meet you there."
"Hey!" I yelped it out before he could hang up.
"Yeah?"
"As a man, is there a particular reason you'd put your phone screen-side down?"
"Like on the table? I honestly wouldn't even think about it."
I breathed deep and crank the car. "Of course. Silly question."
"Is this about Manny?"
"What? Noooo.... just wondering. Bye." I ended the call and tossed the phone on the passenger seat.
So I'm clearly overthinking again. Whew! That's a relief. Now I can use all my big brain power on this will situation. Tomorrow morning, I had a date at Dupont Manor. If the two wills matched, then in my professional opinion Diana was not murdered and the case was closed.
If they didn't, however, then I'd found my motive and my number one suspect in one fell swoop.