The numbers are far worse than I expected. I stare at the columns grimly. “This is pretty bad.”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “I warned him that we needed to overhaul the menu and freshen the joint up, but he was stubborn.”
I’d had the same conversation with him. It would have been perfect to use the quarantine periods to do this work, but he wouldn’t hear of it, insisting that his employees needed the money he’d spend on the renovations.
Which was partly true, but if there was no restaurant, there’d be no employees. I rub my eyebrow.
A cop wanders into the room from the kitchen, startling us both. He’s a tall, good-looking guy with super-short black hair. “Hey,” he says. “I let myself in the back door.”
Kara drawls, “Well, come on in, Officer. How can we help you?”
“Hi,” he says, offering a hand to me. “I’m Officer Vaca, investigating officer.”
I incline my head, a whisper of unease blowing through my body. “Meadow Beauvais.”
His eyes sharpen. “Wife?”
“Ex,” I correct. “A longtime ex.”
“When did you divorce, ma’am?”
Ma’am. Ugh. “In 2014.”
“But she’s still involved in the business,” Kara adds.
“Did you inherit the restaurant, then?” he asks.
“No, I own a portion, but most of it went to our daughter. His daughter, actually. My stepdaughter.”
“You’re okay with that?”
I shrug, meeting his gaze evenly. “I have my own business, Officer, and it’s a lot healthier than this one.”
“Mmm. What’s that business?”
“Meadow Sweet Organic Farms.”
“Really?” He looks up at me. “Oh, hey. You wrote that book.”
“Yes.”
He scribbles something down, underlines it. “I just have a few questions. It was pretty chaotic the night Augustus died, and I know we talked to you”—he nods toward Kara—“that night, but I need to go over a couple of things, if that’s all right.”
“Sure.”
“Are there any cameras or anything on the property?”
Kara nods. “Several. One on the parking lot, one on the front steps, a couple from different angles in the dining room, in case of disputes.”
“Nothing in the kitchen?”
“He didn’t want anything in there. Kitchen work can be pretty freewheeling.”
“I see.” He looks first at me, then Kara. “You’re the manager, right? Kara Williams?”
She nods.
“Where were you that night?”
“At home with my wife, as I’ve already said several times. I came down here when the ambulance was called.”
“And who called you?”
“He was here with an employee.”
“Oh, right.” He flips back to a previous place in his notes. “Emma Sunderman.”
Kara and I exchange a glance.
“How about you, Ms. Beauvais? Where were you?”
“Home alone in Ojai until Norah called me. His girlfriend,” I supply before he can ask. “She was hysterical, so I talked to Kara, then went to see if I could calm Norah down.”
“Did you?”
I shrug. “I finally got her to take an Ambien and she went to sleep.”
He nods. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“That afternoon. I dropped off some produce from my farm, and we spent an hour talking about arrangements for our daughter’s return from—” I stop, realizing that she might not want me spewing about her addiction.
“From?”
I glance at Kara, who gives me a bare nod. “From rehab. She was about to be released.”
“And was she?”
“Yes. She’s living in the house he left her.”
“That’s the house on the mesa?”
“Yes.”
He snaps his notebook closed and tucks it back in his pocket. “All right. That’s all I need for now.”
“Can we clean up the kitchen yet?” Kara asks.
“Should be all right. I’ll double-check and give you a call in an hour or so.”
“Do you know when they’ll release his body?” I ask. “We’d like to make arrangements.”
“I don’t actually know the answer to that question. Toxicology sometimes takes a couple of weeks.”
I frown, unsettled. “That seems long. I thought it was a heart attack.”
“Sudden death has to be examined, by state order,” he says. A beat of something, then: “I’m sure it’ll be done soon.”