"Is
an ambulance coming? Jay's badly hurt."
"Any
minute," the young officer replied.
As
promised, a siren grew louder as an ambulance turned the corner
heading to the store. Kirk explained to the officers what he had seen
and heard when he entered the market.
"Did
you touch anything?" His cop buddy asked. His name was Officer
Scott.
"No.
The door was open, so was the cooler. I walked right in."
The
paramedics carried Jay out on a stretcher. He was ghostly pale. The
emergency team looked tight lipped and grim. Not a good sign, Kirk
thought.
"Why
were you here, Mr. Nunne?" Officer Scott asked him.
"I'm
a caterer. Jay was late with our fish order and my sous-chef was
having a major meltdown. Bouillabaisse for three hundred doesn't make
itself."
"Unfortunately,
I can't let you get your fish."
"The
bride will have to settle for French Onion Soup. That was our backup
plan. I'll make a call. I sure as hell hope Jay will be okay."
The
officer's radio scratched to life. "Percy to Scott."
"Scott
here, go ahead."
"We
lost him, Scotty."
"Copy
that, Percy. Thanks. I'll track down next of kin." He turned to
Kirk. "Sorry, sir. Your friend didn't make it. Do you happen to
know his family?"
Kirk
shrugged. "I didn't know Jay that well. He was a business
associate and chatting acquaintance. My wife may know more. Hang on.
I have to call her anyway about that soup."
"Oh,
sure."
Kirk
made the call, leaving instructions for Margo to contact the bride.
The crime scene team arrived as he concluded his call.
"She
remembers a daughter," Kirk told the officer. "Her name is
Carley Sampson and she lives here in the city. Drea thinks she's a
model with the Culpepper Agency. Jay used to tell her about the
locations and photo shoots. He was trying to get us in with that
crowd to help our business."
"That
was nice of him."
"Helping
us helped him. He is—was—the best fish supplier around. Reliable,
reasonable and his fish were always fresh. We did a lot of business
with him. Seafood is rather a specialty of ours."
"Can
you think of anyone who would want to kill him?"
"Like
I said, I didn't really know him that well. He was a nice guy,
widowed, that's about it."
"Thanks
for your help, Mr. Nunne. Here's my card. If you think of
anything...."
"I'll
call you for sure. I hope you can find out who killed him. He was a
good man."
Kirk
drove back to the shop in a daze. He couldn't believe what had
happened. The shop was in chaos when he arrived. The bride was there
demanding to see Kirk. Not even Drea could calm her. Kirk dealt with
the hysterical woman halfheartedly, his emotions numb. Somehow, the
fact she had to settle for her second choice couldn't upset him.
"Look,"
he interrupted her hysterical tirade. "A man is dead, Joni. The
fact it causes you a minor inconvenience really doesn't matter. So
your guests don't get fish stew. That man's family is never going to
see him again. Don't you think that's more important?"
Joni
burst into tears. "I didn't think of that, Chef. You're right.
I'm so sorry! We can eat grilled cheese for all I care."
"We
can do better than that." He put a consoling arm around her
shoulder.
They
settled the menu changes and the bride left in a much better mood.
"Talk
about a day you'll never forget," Tommy, the prep chef said. "I
bet she didn't factor that into her wedding plans."
"Don't
be crass," Margo warned. "Poor girl. Such a burden to carry
down the aisle. The marriage is cursed."
"You're
being overly dramatic," Tommy responded.
Margo
slapped his arm. "Of course. I am French!"
Despite
the pall that hung over them, the crew worked well. The wedding
dinner was delicious and the bride's father gave them a sizable gift
as well as the final payment check.
"I'm
sorry the guy is dead," he told Kirk. "Hell of a thing. But
I sure hate bouillabaisse. It was the ex-wife's idea." Smiling,
he tapped Kirk's shoulder and walked away happy.
That
night, after everything was cleared away and the guests were gone,
Kirk and Drea sat at a table as the rental company gathered up the
furniture. They each sipped a glass of leftover champagne.
"What
a day!" Drea slipped off her shoes.
Kirk
lifted her feet to his lap, rubbing gently. She sighed, closing her
eyes.
"Remind
me to call that cop tomorrow," Kirk said. "I thought of
something else to tell him."
"Oh?"
Drea's head came up and she stared at him. "What?"
"Something
I noticed when I passed the truck. It may not be important...."
©
2019 Dellani Oakes
No comments:
Post a Comment