“Chuck, there’s no way Darby would have sabotaged his own cooking ingredients,” I said.

  “I know, Susan,” he said, “but I’m more interested in working on the murder charge. It needs all of our attention right now.”

  “How can I help?” I asked.

  “Darby said you wanted to tell him about things you saw, and he wouldn’t let you. How about if we start by you telling me everything you can think of? Don’t leave out any detail no matter how small.”

  “Ok, but some of the things I saw involve the cooking competition. They might be important,” I told him. He nodded his head, so I continued. “I think it all started when we stopped for gas on our way into the city. I saw Craig from the cooking competition, but I didn’t know it was him at the time. He was talking to a man in a suit. I thought him to be a businessman of some type. Wes is an insurance investigator who handles Mrs. Fisher’s insurance. He was in his car at this gas station, and I think he was watching the businessman, because he followed him out of the lot.”

  Detective Bentley already looked confused. He pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote in one corner: Gas Station. Craig. Businessman. Wes. He then drew a line to connect Craig to the businessman, and a separate line to connect Wes to the businessman.

  I went on to tell him everything that had happened up until today when I saw the gorilla head pop out of Mrs. Fisher’s doorway. By the time I was done, he had mapped out the gas station, the condo, Ditka’s restaurant, and the Wilder Hotel. Beside each, he had written names of people who worked there, or who I had seen or had interaction with.

  “Look at this, Susan,” he said as he pointed to his map. “There’s one name that shows up at every location.”

  “Wes,” I said. “Is that important?”

  “It might be,” he said. “He has to be our starting point. Let me make a few calls and see if I can get him over here, or if we can meet him somewhere.”

  While the detective was on the phone, I walked into the kitchen for a bottle of water. I didn’t like Wes. He was a jerk, and he was the one who had acted suspicious of Darby in the first place.

  I had mentioned to Detective Bentley that I had seen Wes talking with a man at Ditka’s, but I didn’t tell him I suspected it was the guy wearing the gorilla head. I didn’t want to add any guesswork to his investigation. But now that I was sure he was the murderer, why would Wes have been meeting with him, and what were they exchanging?

  The detective joined me in the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed a bottle of water for himself. “Wes is going to come here at 4:00,” he said. “I’m going to look over more of the paperwork and make some notes.” He emptied one of his pockets onto the counter. “Here are a couple of things Darby had on him when he was arrested. He asked to have them given to you, and Detective Malloy retrieved them for me.”

  On the counter was a key to the condo, his own personal set of keys, and a ticket stub for a parking lot. I handed a key to the detective.

  “This is for the condo,” I told him. “You can use it so no one has to let you in while you’re here.”

  I picked up Darby’s keys. It suddenly felt all too real. Would he ever hold these keys again? Would he ever drive his car again? Open his apartment door across the hall from me at home again? My eyes welled up with tears, but I swallowed hard to fight them back. I picked up the ticket stub and said, “I’m going to walk over to the Wilder Hotel and find the car and bring it back. It’s only two blocks, and I can use the fresh air. The lot should be close to the hotel, and I’ll ask Terry about it on my way out.”

  “That’s a good idea. We might need the car. Leave your phone on,” he said. “If something comes up, I’ll call you.”

  I nodded my head and went to bundle up for the walk.

  Downstairs, Terry gave directions to me for the parking lot noted on the ticket stub, and showed me where to park the car when I returned. I headed north to the hotel. It was cold and windy, but with my knitted scarf wrapped around my mouth and neck, I was comfortable and warm.

  As I neared the hotel, I noticed two women exit a car, run across the street, and into the hotel. I was sure one of them was Bonnie Montgomery. I quickened my pace, and entered the hotel a few moments after they did. I pulled my scarf from my mouth and loosened it from my neck. I scanned the lobby and spotted the two women waiting for an elevator.

  I started to walk across the lobby, and called out as the elevator doors were opening, “Bonnie!”

  She turned, a smile crossed her face, and she said something to her companion. The woman stepped into the elevator, while Bonnie came over to talk with me.

  “Susan, hi,” she said. “What are you doin’ here? How’s Darby?”

  “Not good, Bonnie,” I told her. “A woman was murdered in the condo where we’re staying, and they think Darby did it. He’s still in jail and they’re going to formally charge him tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Susan, I’m sorry,” she said. “He seems like such a nice guy. Did you know he was capable of murder?”

  I was stunned by her question. It was as though she was assuming he was guilty. “Bonnie, Darby didn’t murder anyone. It probably happened just as we were arriving.” I was offended and raised my voice slightly. “He’s one of the best people I’ve ever met in my life, and he wouldn’t hurt a fly. I know he didn’t do what they’re saying.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Susan,” she said. “I come from a family of lawyers, and I know they can’t charge someone with murder without cause. I hope everythin’ works out for you both.” She turned and walked away.

  I was speechless. After seeing her look so shocked when Darby was taken away in handcuffs, I thought she would be much more sympathetic. I wanted to ask her if she had seen Wes in the viewing stands, but now it seemed like a bad idea. She wouldn’t have any idea who Wes was anyway. I watched her walk away for a moment and decided she was clearly not as nice a person as I had thought. I adjusted my scarf again, and walked outside to find the lot with the car.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Wes Bradley, it’s good to meet you,” Detective Bentley said as he shook Wes’s hand. “Come on in and have a seat. You’ve already met Susan.”

  “Yes,” he said without smiling at me. “Susan Hunter-Raines. We’ve met.”

  “It’s just Raines,” I told him.

  “Whatever,” he muttered under his breath.

  This was not going to go well. Wes and I got off on the wrong foot, and I suspected it would be best if I sat quietly and let Detective Bentley ask the questions.

  Wes and I were seated on the sofa, and Detective Bentley sat in the chair. He picked up a notebook and flipped through a couple of pages.

  Wes turned to me and said, “Something to drink, princess? A beer? Scotch on the rocks?”

  My mouth dropped open. He was such a jerk. “I’ll get you a Diet Coke,” I said. “Chuck you want anything?”

  “No, I’m good,” he said.

  I went to the kitchen for Wes’s drink. Instead of bringing a can to him, I took the time to pour it into a glass with ice. Maybe he would appreciate the gesture. I heard him explaining to Detective Bentley that his field of expertise was art and jewelry fraud for Mountain Premium Insurance.

  Settled on the sofa again, I leaned back to listen.

  “Let’s start with the Quickie Foods Gas Station on the south side of the city,” the detective said. “This is where you and Susan first saw each other. What were you doing there?”

  “I just stopped for a cup of coffee,” he said.

  “There wasn’t anyone there who was of interest to you?” asked the detective.

  “Nope. Just having coffee,” he said. “Susan was ogling my good looks as I drove away.”

  I sat up. “Oh, give me a break. I wasn’t ogling you, and you weren’t having coffee either,” I said.

  “How do you know if I was or I wasn’t?” he asked. “You weren’t in the car with me.”

  “Wes, I know what you were doing,” I said. Ooh, he was infuriating. “I was watching you while you were watching the man in the suit who was driving the white Cadillac. You pulled out right behind him then.”

  “Wes, I could use some help here,” Detective Bentley said. “Which was it? Coffee or surveillance?”

  Wes smiled. “It was both,” he said. “The man in the suit is George Duarte. He may be the middle man for a rash of art forgeries in the city right now. A group of art thieves are using a security company to gain access to wealthy homes. Photos are taken of valuable artworks, George has fakes commissioned, and the paintings are swapped. It might take years for the owner to realize they have a forgery, but with more attention being brought to the scheme lately, more people are having their artworks checked, and we’re facing more and more claims. The police need to stop this group, and hopefully, we’ll find records for the sales of the stolen originals.”

  “What was he doing with Craig at Check Casher?” I asked. I couldn’t believe Craig would be caught up in criminal activity. He had so much going his way right now.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “That was the first day I had ever seen Craig. It looked to me like Duarte was giving him money, so I assumed he was asking Craig to paint a forgery for him. I saw them together once more in a hallway at the Wilder. It was the night of the cooking competition reception, and they were arguing. I wasn’t close enough to hear them. I followed Duarte to a bar downtown, but I’ve lost him since then. Unless Craig shows up somewhere with a forgery, I’ve hit a dead end on this.”

  I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to offer any information to him.

  “Ok,” Detective Bentley said. “You were in the hallway when Mrs. Fisher’s body was discovered. Why were you here?”

  “I came to talk with her about a claim she filed,” he said. “Fifty thousand dollars worth of loose diamonds was stolen from her condo last month, and even though the claim was paid, there was some final paperwork I needed from her.”

  “Do you make house calls often?” the detective asked.

  “I did for Penelope Fisher,” he said. “We were friendly enough. She preferred to do business in person, and I could usually get a Scotch and some good stories before leaving her place.”

  “What about Ditka’s Restaurant?” Detective Bentley asked.

  “What about it?” Wes asked.

  “I saw you there with another man,” I said. “He came in, you exchanged something, and then he left.”

  Wes looked surprised. “So you were watching me, huh?”

  “Not really,” I said. “I saw the man go upstairs ahead of me, and when I got to the top of the stairs, I saw the two of you. The man was only at your table for a minute.”

  “That was Martha Cole’s brother,” he said. “She’s Penelope’s assistant. You know, the one who opened the door that day and screamed.”

  “I know who she is,” I said.

  “Well, he’s her brother,” he said. “I had tickets for him to a Bears game. He paid me, and I gave him the tickets.”

  Wes’s eyes bore into mine. I knew he was lying, and I think he knew that I knew he was lying. That wasn’t money and tickets they exchanged that day. Something else was in the pouch he slipped into his pocket. His intense look made me nervous and caused me to hold my tongue.

  “I don’t know that any of this helps us, but I appreciate your coming by today, Wes,” Detective Bentley said.

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Wes, you were at the cooking competition in the viewing stands. Were you there early enough to see us come in?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I was waiting for Craig to show up, and maybe Duarte, but I could only take so much of watching you guys cook. That is some boring entertainment right there. I didn’t even stick around long enough to watch the fireworks when they hauled you two off to jail.”

  “We weren’t hauled off to jail,” I said. He was getting under my skin again, and my irritation was starting to show.

  “Whatever,” he muttered under his breath.

  Ooh, he was such a jerk!

  “When I first went in, I set a bag and a box on our station,” I told him. “Someone came by and moved the box. They hid it in the station next to ours. Did you see who did it?”

  “Nope,” he said. “I must have been looking somewhere else.”

  My hippie Aunt Charlotte on my father’s side didn’t teach me a plethora of life’s lesson for nothing when I was twelve years old. I could spot a tell in poker, and I could tell when someone was lying. Wes was lying again, just like he did when he said he was having coffee at the Quickie Foods.

  “Wes, I have some information that will help you,” I said. “If you tell me who hid the box in Dee’s station, I’ll tell you what Craig and George Duarte were arguing about in the hallway at the hotel. I was in the restroom across the hall, and I heard the entire conversation.”

  He looked me in the eye. It was obvious he was weighing the value of what I could tell him against what he would tell me.

  “Ok, Susan,” he said. “I’m game. It was the lady cooking across from you.”

  I was aghast. “Bonnie Montgomery?” I asked.

  “I don’t know her name,” he said with irritation. “She was the grandma who was cooking across from you. As soon as you left the room, she looked through the bag you set on the counter, and then she started digging around in the box. I couldn’t see what she was doing because the bag was in my way, but she was messing with something. When Darby walked through the door, she ducked down, stuck the box in the other station, and scurried on down the aisle in the opposite direction. It was a little bit of fun for me to watch you guys try to find that box.”

  I looked at Detective Bentley and opened my mouth to proclaim Bonnie as the supplier of the date-rape drug, but I caught his look and slight shake of his head warning me not to say anything. I clapped my mouth shut.

  “Give it, Raines,” Wes said. “What have you got for me?”

  I took a moment to set aside the shock of what Bonnie must have done, and tried to focus on the conversation between Craig and George.

  “Craig’s already done a painting and given it to George,” I said. “They met outside Check Casher, so Craig could collect his payment, but George only gave him a thousand dollars. George wants Craig to do another painting, but Craig won’t do it until he gets the second thousand dollars for the first painting. Craig called George to come to the Wilder Hotel during the reception, and George thought Craig actually had a second painting done for him, but Craig was demanding his money. George said he wasn’t coming downtown any more, and after the original painting was sold, he would call him to meet at Check Casher again for the rest of the money. Craig said he would tell him then if he would do another painting or not.”

  Wes whistled softly under his breath. “Susan, that’s some great snooping.”

  “I wasn’t snooping,” I snapped at him.

  “Whatever it was, that’s some good information, and I can use it,” he said. He finally appeared sincere as he reached over to touch my arm and say, “Thanks.”

  Detective Bentley walked Wes to the door. He came back, sat down, and started gathering all of his papers into one pile. “Well, Susan, what do you think?” he asked.

  “I think Wes didn’t tell us everything, and I think he lied about a few things,” I said. “But knowing Bonnie Montgomery was messing with Darby’s things is probably all we need to know to clear him on that charge. Can you get security footage of that?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, “but I don’t think we’re any closer to finding out who killed Mrs. Fisher.”

  I didn’t respond. There was no way I wanted to tell Detective Bentley, but I thought we were much closer. The man in the gorilla suit was Martha’s brother. I would have to pay her another visit.

  “What’s next, Susan?” the detective asked. “Who do you think we should we talk to next?”

  “Craig,” I said. “His first art showing is at the Shaw Gallery on Rush Street this evening. I want to go. Craig’s a good guy, and I don’t want to see him go down in a sting operation by Wes and the police. Let’s give him a heads-up that Wes will be gunning for him. If we can convince him to talk to Wes first, and help him get to George Duarte, I think he can come out of this unscathed.”

  Detective Bentley nodded his head. “Susan, I like the way you think,” he said. “That’s a good idea. What time is the show?”

  “It’s at 8:00,” I said.

  He looked at his watch. “It’s a few minutes after five now. Why don’t you go lie down for a while? Even if you don’t nap, you can rest. I promised Mick I’d make sure you rested.”

  I smiled. Mick was a fantastic businessman as part owner of a small electric company, and he could do or make anything, but when it came to me, hard as he tried, he couldn’t control circumstances around me, and he was always asking others to watch out for me when he wasn’t around.

  “I’m going to make us some dinner,” he said. “We’ll eat around 7:00, and then leave by 8:00 to head over to the gallery.”

  As soon as he suggested resting, I felt incredibly tired and a nap sounded wonderful. I yawned. “That sounds good,” I said. “I don’t care what we have for dinner, but please nothing too spicy. As much as I like Chris De Floss, I don’t need him paying me a visit tonight.”

  He looked at me like I’d lost my mind and walked into the kitchen shaking his head. I started giggling and was soon laughing uncontrollably as I flopped down onto the bed.

  Chapter Ten

  The Shaw Gallery was elegant.

  We arrived shortly before 8:30. An attendant checked our coats, and upon entering the main gallery, we were greeted by a waiter wearing a full-tailed, black tuxedo, complete with white gloves. He offered a glass of champagne to us from his tray. The detective and I both passed on the drinks.