Page 66 of The Alibi Club

Flat black leather box housing the Golden Cobra. Check.

He grabbed it with his sweaty hands and cradled it to his chest, relief flooding through him like cool water.

He turned to Chanel, box in his hands as he opened it and presented it to her. “Feast your eyes on that, my queen.”

She stepped closer, looked at the contents of the box in the moonlight streaming through the window, and touched it. She chuckled and said, “Is this some sort of joke?”

Duncan turned the velvet box around so he could see. Where the stunning Golden Cobra was supposed to be, there was a necklace all right. Made of elbow macaroni.

“NOOO!” Duncan yelled so loud it woke up every labradoodle in the surrounding neighborhood.

Above the chorus of barking dogs, Duncan reached for his phone and with the will of someone who was convinced he was above the law, dialed 911.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

SWAT Team Tango

JAMIE

Jamie stood frozen, hands up, adrenaline rushing, as the barrel of an assault rifle was pointed directly at her head.

“Lower that gun, son.” A strong, sure voice came from behind the young man.

“Sorry, sir,” the young officer uttered as he immediately lowered the gun.

Jamie nearly fell over, she was so relieved.

The young man, who was clad in black gear, a helmet, and yellow goggles, was accompanied by five other SWAT team members, who rushed into the restaurant. Chef Pascal, his sous-chef, Justin the bartender, and Amber the waitress all came out from the kitchen.

The man with the deep voice walked in slowly. He had an air of authority; he was calm, observant, with a bushy mustache that looked like a push broom under his nose. He removed his helmet, looked around, and greeted them.

“Hello, folks. My name is Detective Sergeant Arliss Roverson, I’m the tactical team leader of this SWAT operation. We suspect there has been a series of explosions in this area of Manhattan Beach. It is unclear if these are bombings or something less sinister. At this point we are unsure of their origin. To keep everyone safe, we have locked down the immediate six blocks. We don’t know if there are more munitions planted, waiting to go off. We’ve scrambled all cell service to inhibit communication and movement by the perpetrators, and frankly, to impede another remote detonation, if that’s what this was. Please comply with this order or risk arrest. You are all on lock-down at this location until further notice. No one leaves.”

Everyone in the restaurant went silent.

“What about the stiff?” Rick asked.

“Pardon me, sir?”

Chef Pascal then stepped up and said, “Officer, I submit myself for arrest.” He offered his wrists to the detective as if he was expecting cuffs to be clamped on.

Detective Roverson squinted at Chef Pascal. “For what?”

Jamie piped up. “Detective Sergeant, it appears that one of the diners might have expired.” She pointed over in the direction of Nigel, whose body was arched forward, hovering over a plate of duck. Nigel’s wife sat six feet away, curled up in a corner, clutching a glass of red wine, mute but dry-eyed, probably still in shock.

“Who is he?” Detective Roverson asked, his jaw tightening with every chew of his gum.

Chef Pascal was nearly in tears. “Nigel Spokes. Ze eminent food critic of Los Angeles. He was ze only food critic villing to come and dine at Piccolo given my history of accidentally poisoning my patrons.”

Roverson raised both eyebrows at this, as did everyone else in the room except Jamie. He walked over to Nigel. He checked for a pulse and mumbled into his walkie. He got a response back in his earpiece and sighed. He turned around to the rest of them. “Well, folks, we can’t remove the deceased right now. Until we can secure the location and get forensics in here to investigate, the body has to stay.”

Justin the bartender suggested, “Can we at least move him to the freezer?”

Amber stiffened at the suggestion.

Roverson considered this and said, “I suppose that’s more sanitary. But we’re going to have to bag everything that might be evidence.” He glanced at Chef Pascal. “Including every speck of food the deceased may have consumed.” Roverson made a hut hut sound and the five other SWAT team members surrounded Nigel’s table, produced a stash of Ziploc baggies, and began to carefully bag and tag items including all the food.

Pascal turned white and nearly fainted.