Spooning Leads to Forking (Hot in the Kitchen #2) - Kilby Blades Page 0,66

It lent the yurt a bit more warmth and a comforting smell.

“Shea overheard something…” Dev started in, not wanting to leave the others in suspense. “…sitting back-to-back from Don Packard Jr. at the Spoon. It didn’t strike her as suspicious then, but hearing a few things from me tonight…. well, let’s just say they got her thinking.”

Dev watched the range of expressions that he’d first seen on the others faces morph through rapt attention, to disbelief, to understanding as Shea explained. Though, if they hadn’t put two and two together, she spelled it out for them.

“It didn’t sound like brainstorming. It sounded like a done deal,” Shea said as she came to her conclusion. “They weren’t talking about whether to build—they were discussing the tradeoffs of different configurations. Like, whether a higher number of short-stay condos could actually have better GOPPARs than the alternative.”

“GOPPARs?” Laura was a sharp listener.

“Gross Operating Profit Per Available Room,” Shea spelled out.

“How do you know all this stuff?” Cliff asked.

“My ex is an investor. I’ve been a fly on the wall for a few hospitality deals.”

Shea had been married to another investor. It unsettled Dev—more possibilities that he might remind Shea of Keenan in any way. If he did, that said something about why she got cagey sometimes talking about her ex.

“That explains all the theatrics,” Laura concluded aloud. “And why he won’t take any of your calls.”

“I told him straight, I had a business proposition.” Dev took up the conversation. “And a deal that would be favorable to him. He knew if I offered him more than the mills were worth and he didn’t take the deal, it would rouse suspicion.”

“More than suspicion,” Shea chimed in. “The fact that he wouldn’t even hear your proposal means he’s in deep enough on his deal not to back out. Most investors would want to hear all offers. That means—” Shea stopped short and locked eyes with Dev.

“What does it mean?” Stanley asked a bit testily.

“Probably that he’s been planning this for a while.”

Shea’s words sat heavy and unmoving as the space grew quiet. She looked sick, as if she regretted having said anything at all.

“It’s disgusting,” Stanley said finally, with somber disdain. “Circling us like a vulture. Waiting for us to take our dying breath…”

“Only, what if he couldn’t wait?” When Cliff said it, he looked at Dev.

Walking into the meeting, Dev hadn’t been able to imagine much worse than his running theory: that Packard had no plan to reopen the mills. Now, he’d stumbled on motive.

“I can’t talk about this,” Dev said abruptly. It was meant for the whole room, but his eyes were still on Cliff, whose expression said clearly what they had both figured out.

“I can’t continue to speculate in this kind of setting. Any conversations I have about Packard from here on out have to be part of the investigation.”

Dev rose then and held his hand out to Shea, who took it and quickly did the same.

“Don Packard Jr. is now officially a suspect.”

“You’re in early.”

Dev was so bleary-eyed and out of it as he let himself into the front door of The Big Spoon, he hadn’t heard Trudy come in, hot on his heels. Trudy was the person he’d skipped going home to come in and see—his last stop on a long night that had ended at Duff’s.

After taking Shea home well after midnight and not leaving until they’d shared a long, tempting kiss, he’d headed out to tell his boss the narrative he was still working out in his head. It was still a theory, but, what if? What if Don Jr. was the vandal? It was unlikely that Don Jr. was the physical perpetrator, or had come all the way from New York to commit the crime, but what if he’d hired someone to have it done?

The case had reached other dead ends by then, yet Don Jr.’s behavior remained suspicious—what was he still doing here for days on end without having returned to New York? Was he here for business? Pleasure? He’d come with an entourage of other men, some of who had been introduced; all of those who had were said to be employees of Packard. Only, whenever they’d been seen in town, their meetings had seemed less like official business and more like a bunch of guys who didn’t work much getting together for three-martini lunches.

“Mornin’, Trudy. You’re just the woman I want to see.” Dev tried to perk up a little as he slowed—long enough