Part 25 (1/2)

I turned and leaned against the sink. ”Do you suppose it all has anything to do with the murders?”

He finished with the last of the dishes and draped the red-and-white-checked cotton dish towel over the counter. ”I wish I knew.”

”Maybe if we watched those tapes of Kim's again . . .” Inside my head, it had sounded like a good suggestion, but the moment the words were out of my mouth, I couldn't help but think how lame it was. ”We watched them once. We didn't see anything useful.”

”Which doesn't mean we can't give it another try.”

We went into the living room together and Declan tossed aside the pillow he'd used the night before so we could sit side by side on the couch when he got out his iPad. For the second time, we watched Kim's reporting of Jack's murder.

”It's all the same old, same old,” I said halfway through. ”Photos of Jack. Kim looking somber, reporting the facts.”

”And that crazy segment with her secretly taping you.”

We were just at that particular segment and together, we watched the action unfold on the screen in front of us.

”There's Denice walking in with Ronnie,” I said, my voice as dull and heavy as the dead-end feeling in my stomach. ”There I am handing out the menus with the Irish stew special.”

”And Kim is going to place two orders.”

We watched her do it.

”I'll give it a try,” Kim said. ”Denice . . .” She called the waitress over. ”I'll try the stew and, Dustin? Make that two.”

There was nothing there. Nothing unusual. Nothing telling. Certainly nothing suspicious.

I asked Declan to replay the segment anyway because as weird as it seemed, that nothing felt very much like something.

Again, we watched the scene.

”I'll give it a try,” Kim said. ”Denice . . .”

I sat up like a shot. ”That's it!”

Declan paused the video. ”And it is what?”

”Back it up a little,” I instructed him, and when he did, we watched Kim and Dustin get settled. ”Kim said she'd never eaten there,” I told Declan. ”I swear she told me that. But when Denice arrived she called her by name.” We watched it all happen again.

”Your waitresses wear name tags,” Declan reminded me. ”It all makes perfect sense.”

I wasn't so sure. I asked him to back up the video again and this time, to enlarge Denice when she came on the screen and to play the tape in slow motion. ”She's running late. Her s.h.i.+rt isn't even tucked in. And look!” This time I didn't bother to point, I poked my finger into the screen right at the spot where the Terminal was embroidered on Denice's s.h.i.+rt, and Declan saw what I saw.

Denice hadn't put on her name tag yet.

Declan sat back and looked at where he'd paused the video, right on Denice. ”What do you think it means?”

”For one thing, it means Kim was lying.”

Declan's nose was hardly red at all. Still, he fingered it, no doubt because he remembered what happened the last time he said something he shouldn't have. He inched away from me. ”Maybe she just didn't want to admit she'd eaten at the Terminal before. You know, on account of the restaurant's reputation for-”

”What?” I demanded.

”Good food. Great service.” His smile didn't convince me.

Exactly why I didn't acknowledge it.

”Let's watch the rest of what they caught on tape that day,” I suggested instead. ”Maybe there's more.”

And guess what, there was, though on first glance, it sure didn't seem like much.

Dustin the cameraman had kept the hidden camera rolling through dinner and though I enjoy good food and appreciate other people's love of a well-cooked meal, I can't say it was especially interesting to watch Kim slurp down the Irish stew, even though she commented more than a time or two about how delicious it was.

”He's a good kid.” In the background of the scene, Denice zipped by with a tray on her shoulder. I think she was talking about her son, Ronnie. ”And it's not like he's taking up a table where customers would be sitting. Well, not usually, anyway. Am I right, Marvin?” She raised her voice enough to be heard by Marvin, who was seated two tables away. ”My Ronnie, he's a good kid, right?”

Marvin-the man I would always remember as the one who ordered the only lentil quinoa salad I'd ever sold at the Terminal-answered. ”The best. He should be on TV!”

”Yeah!” We couldn't see Denice on the video, but she was standing close enough to Dustin so we could hear her loud and clear. ”Imagine him on the big screen. You know, one of those flat-screen TVs like they hang on the wall, forty-two inches wide.”

”Forty-eight inches,” Ronnie called out. ”I'd look way better on a screen that was forty-eight inches wide.”

”Forty-eight inches.” Marvin chuckled. ”Yeah, that sounds good.”

There was more background chatter after that, more small talk between Kim and Dustin and-thank goodness-more compliments for the Irish stew. Watching it all was a bit like watching paint dry.

Then I brought over complimentary slices of chocolate pie, and there was Kim giving me an intense look from across the table. ”The story of the Lance of Justice's murder has local Emmy written all over it,” she crooned. ”You know I can't give away the details. They're just too delicious.”

”Then, you do know something?” I asked.

Denice came over to collect the dishes just as Kim said, ”Not only do I know something, but I have a line on who killed the Lance of Justice, and why.”

”That's it, Declan!” I grabbed on to his arm with both hands, so excited I could barely sit still. ”Kim did know who killed Jack Lancer. And you know what? I think that now I do, too.”

Chapter 21.

n.o.body knows how to throw a party like I know how to throw a party.

I should. For six years, I'd made sure that Meghan Cohan was the toast of Hollywood. I knew the food and I cooked it like a wizard, and I knew the party planners who could work their own special magic and make sure Meghan's Pacific Palisades mansion looked even more spectacular than usual.

Meghan wanted an Arabian Nights theme?

We pulled it off, complete with tents on the lawn, an oasis around the pool, and a variety of foods that would make a sultan swoon.

Meghan was in the mood for something more medieval?

Believe me, I wasn't thrilled about planning a menu that included turkey legs guests would eat without silverware, but I endured and even got a chance to watch jousting on the back lawn.

What I had planned for the Terminal, needless to say, was a little less epic scale and a little more down-to-earth.