Cinco de Mayhem by Ann Myers Read Free Book Online Page B

the person of immediate concern. He had his serious lawyer face on. As I described Linda’s run-in with Napoleon yesterday, his expression turned hard and I glimpsed what his opponents must face in court.
    His seriousness heightened my anxiety. “Linda’s in a ‘conference room,’ as Bunny calls it, but it’s probably more of an interrogation room. I got Linda to ask for a lawyer, so they shouldn’t question her, right? Or maybe they can still talk at her, but hopefully she’ll stay quiet? Anyway, it looks bad, with her cart rolled over the body and the fight, but Linda’s innocent. Completely innocent.”
    I would have loved a perky, affirmative response like, “Of course she’s innocent! No doubt!”
    Jake’s expression remained hard. “You were right to call me,” he said, his jaw set firm. Then his eyes softened. “Will you do me a favor?”
    My mind said, Of course, anything! My lips, thankfully, formed a less eager, “Sure.”
    In one quick movement Jake kissed my cheek and handed me a leash. “I shouldn’t be long,” he said. “And Winston shouldn’t go in. He gets edgy around uniforms. Would you mind watching him?”

    I was still blushing and smiling inappropriately when a car sped into the parking lot and double-parked behind a police van. A glimpse of the driver’s face wiped away my smile.
    â€œOh, Brigitte,” I said to the statuesque blonde who got out and rushed up the steps two at a time. I knew Brigitte Voll casually. A few months ago we shared a table as judges of a green chile cheeseburger contest. She’d been friendly, and we’d chatted about being outsiders in Santa Fe. I learned that she hailed from Alsace, a storybook-pretty region of France on the border of Germany. She spoke French, German, and dashes of Italian and Spanish, and managed the financial and front-of-house aspects of Napoleon’s restaurants. A big and demanding job, but one she seemed up to. Although a decade younger than me, she’d lived in more countries than I’d ever visited, and since coming to the U.S., she’d worked in New York, San Francisco, and Seattle before landing in Santa Fe. To tell the truth, I was daunted by her experience and cool, confident beauty. That’s partly why I hadn’t called to set up the coffee meeting we said we must do. Everyday routines and work had also gotten the best of my good intentions. Now too much time had passed and we were meeting under awful circumstances.
    I told her how sorry I was for her loss. Trite, inadequate words, yet Brigitte embraced me, squeezing hard.
    â€œDetective Brown—Bunny—called me,” she said. Her French accent, usually slight, was more pronounced than usual. “Bunny and I are friends from the gym. She knew that Napoleon and I . . .” She swallowed hard before continuing. “She knew how close we are . . . were . . .”
    Close as in romantic? Santa Fe’s cooking community is a stew of gossip. I knew that Napoleon had gotten around, but I hadn’t heard anything about him and Brigitte. On the other hand, I tried not to sniff out gossip that didn’t concern me, unlike Flori and her network of elderly informants. You never know what information you’ll need, she always contended. Now I wished I knew more.
    Winston gazed up at Brigitte through droopy eyelids. She managed a weak smile. “You are a sad-looking creature too.” She bent down to ruffle his wrinkles. When she straightened up, she seemed more in control of her emotions.
    She took a deep breath. “Okay. I must go. I told Bunny that I need to be sure. I need to see . . . to see Napoleon’s . . .”
    The word “body” didn’t come.
    â€œIt’s hard to comprehend,” I said. “I’m so sorry.” I took the hug initiative this time. “Call if there’s anything I can do,” I told her,