Part 7 (1/2)
A calm settled over me, and I knew in my gut that Morty was fine. He was home, I was sure of it. He didn't want to have a physical, and that was that. End of discussion, and end of vet appointment, apparently. ”Thanks, Sherry. I think I know where he is.”
”Do you want to reschedule his appointment, then? I could make an exception and come to your house if you think it would be easier on him.”
”Morty's not afraid, he's stubborn. Can I get back to you on the whole house call thing?”
”Sure. No problem, just give me a call.”
I disconnected and climbed into the detective's car.
”Everything all right?” he asked.
”Everything is fine. Where to, boss?”
”Now you call me boss?” He shook his head. ”How about lunch?”
”Good, I'm starving.”
”I know the perfect place.” He fired up the car and pulled away from the curb. ”Care for a little Greek?”
I rubbed my hands together. ”You read my mind exactly.”
Papas was pretty busy when we entered at noon, not a free table in sight. Detective Stone asked to speak to the owner, and we were treated to her own personal table in the back.
Once we'd all ordered, Mrs. Papas said, ”Nice to see you again, Miss Meadows. Did you and your parents enjoy your dinner with Dr. Wilc.o.x last night?”
Mitch choked on his hamburger, took a swig of water, and then wiped his mouth with a napkin. ”You didn't tell me you had dinner with the doc.” He stared at me accusingly.
”I'm sorry, I didn't know we were sharing information. I thought I was just an a.s.sistant.” I looked up at him all innocent-like and sipped my iced tea.
He studied me for a full minute. ”What else are you hiding?”
I tossed up my hands and sat back. ”Nothing, okay? It was just dinner, and my dad wanted to meet a fellow doctor, that's all.”
”Riiight.”
”As much as I enjoy the entertainment, you two, I know this isn't a social call,” Mrs. Papas said. ”What do you want to know?”
The detective set down his fork and took another drink of water, then he wiped his mouth. ”For starters, where were you on the night of Ms. Robbins's murder?”
Mrs. Papas threw back her head and laughed. ”Running my restaurant, of course.”
”Your husband never takes a turn?” I asked.
The smile left her face. ”My husband takes a lot of things, but taking a turn at work is not one of them. I run the restaurant while he keeps the books. I work my fingers to the bone while he goes to the gym . . . or so he says. Do you know what my name stands for?”
I shook my head no.
”Callista means 'most beautiful.' My husband's name, Damon, means 'constant and loyal.' It didn't seem quite so ironic when I married him. Why doesn't he see he has the most beautiful woman already? I never should have married the lying cheater.”
”Did you visit Ms. Robbins the morning of her death?” Mitch asked.
”I cater the library's author readings and book talks. I needed to speak to Amanda about the menu.”
”Her neighbor heard you two argue,” I added.
”Was poisoning her on the menu as well?” the detective added.
”Oh, please.” Mrs. Papas thumped her fist down on the table. ”That little tramp was having an affair with my husband. I knew her allergy wouldn't kill her. She deserved far more than a slight reaction to some nuts. I was simply warning her to stay away.”
”Maybe your husband was about to leave you for the librarian, so you killed her,” the detective said point-blank.
Her face hardened. ”Nonsense. We have been trying to start a family for years. If my husband leaves me for another woman, he knows I will castrate him myself. He knows I want children, but he has been unable to give them to me, so now I make his life a living h.e.l.l in return. Maybe I should seek elsewhere for that as well, no?” She leaned forward, looked Mitch over, and licked her lips. ”Having children is my pa.s.sion.”
He loosened his collar, eyeing her uncomfortably.
”Why not divorce?” I asked, saving his b.u.t.t from her unwanted advances. Why, I had no clue. If I were smart, I'd let him squirm.
”We don't believe in it.” She blew out a heap of air. ”No, we made our choice, and now we have to live with it.” She stabbed a finger in our direction. ”But that doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy on him.”
”What size shoe does your husband wear?” I asked as a thought occurred to me.
”My husband has very small feet. Why?”
”Just wondering.” I struggled not to be a blabbermouth, but my eyes spoke volumes as I stared at Mitch and winked several times.
”Honey, you should have that twitch looked at,” Mrs. Papas said to me.
”I know, it's really irritating, but no matter what I do, I can't seem to make it go away.” I refused to look at Mitch, but I felt his gaze sizzle in my direction.
”Speaking of the doctor. You should talk to him. The whole town knows he had it bad for Ms. Robbins.”
”We already did. He says they were only friends,” I said.
”Yeah, but a lot of people heard him argue with her that day when she came in to see him about the nut reaction. He treated her and then asked her to marry him, saying he would take care of her in her time of need-whatever that meant. She turned him down flat, and he threatened her. Said one day she'd be sorry and regret turning him down.”
”Can't be the doctor. He has an airtight alibi,” Mitch said.
”He might . . . but does his nurse?”
”His nurse? Why her?” I asked, realizing she had access to digoxin as well.
”Word around town is she was jealous over all the attention he gave to Amanda. You look a little hot under the collar, Detective. Maybe it's time you had your temperature checked.” Mrs. Papas winked at Mitch.
Mitch kept his emotionless cop face firmly in place and then stood. ”Thank you for lunch, Mrs. Papas, here's-”
”My card,” I finished, and handed her the business cards I'd had made for Sunny's Sanctuary. It was all I had, but at least it had my contact information on it. ”If you hear anything at all, please don't hesitate to call. . . . Oh yeah, day or night.” I beamed at Mitch, starting to feel like I was getting the hang of this.