Death of the Family Recipe (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 3) (22 page)

I leaned against him and sighed. "I guess it’s not."

"That’s all I’m saying."

"But I want it to be my idea. When I’m ready." I looked up at him. "You read me?"

"Roger that."

I considered bringing up Atkinson’s jury selection. But keeping the peace had more appeal, and we could always argue again later.

At three in the morning my eyes popped open. Ted smiled in his sleep, the wind rattled the window and a full moon cast a silver light into the room. Nothing even slightly menacing. Didn’t matter – I was wide awake and rolled out of bed. I covered up my sleeping husband, tossed on my robe and went downstairs.

Boomer raised his head and wagged his stub when I came into the kitchen but stayed in his warm little bed. I made a cup of chamomile tea, but it didn’t relax me, and I paced the floor, stopping to peer out the window to the backyard. The night, the nerves, peering out the window into the darkness all conjured thoughts of Ingrid. She’d completely dropped out of sight after the break-in a few weeks earlier. But that didn’t mean I didn’t expect her to blindside me again, because I did expect exactly that. Melinda is a very persuasive woman, but I doubted even she could permanently stop Ingrid.

But Ingrid was a problem for another day, and Rose took center stage in my head. I made another cup of tea and took it to my room. Boomer followed and curled up on the bed while I pulled the Rose files from my chest of drawers. I paused at the open door and cocked an ear. The only sound was the house settling and the wind scratching at the windows. I carried the files to the bed and crawled under the comforter to read.

The kidnapping file was sparse; the police report, a partial transcript of Rose’s interview, and summaries of witness statements. Joe said he hadn’t gotten everything, and I’d never get my hands on the complete file if I couldn’t prove I was Rose’s daughter. DNA testing would require a sample of Rose’s DNA or a close relative, like her sister Jennifer. I let that thought simmer in the back of my mind.

The police report supplied the basic facts — the time of the report, the claim of kidnapping, and the lack of evidence that a crime had occurred. I could almost see the smirking cop who took the report. And a broken-hearted Rose begging him to believe her. A search was conducted, but neither the baby nor a suspect was found. There was a notation of an infant being found at St. Daniel’s church three days later, with no indication of a follow-up. I circled that sentence. And made a note: Where was I for three days?

The partial transcript of the interview revealed unsympathetic and sarcastic questions. I imagined how scared Rose’s must’ve felt and how alone. I wondered if there were a taped recording that I could listen to — I made a note to ask Joe. As to the facts of the crime, there was little more information than I’d read in the newspaper article. The baby was asleep in her crib when Rose lay down, and the baby was gone when she awoke. Rose found the back door ajar. Aside from the baby, the only thing missing was the yellow blanket. Rose had received no calls or letters demanding a ransom. No threats to her or the baby. She had no enemies or any disputes that would’ve motivated anyone to take her baby.

There were a few cryptic notes by the investigating detective, Marley. Rose inquired once a month about any new leads — apparently there were none. The case remained unsolved as far as the North Hollywood Police were concerned. Clearly, they believed Rose had abandoned her baby and concocted a cover story. But without evidence or proof their investigation petered out.

I moved on to Joe’s report. He hadn’t interviewed Father Fran, the priest who found the baby, but spoke to a Curtis Severied, who claimed to be there at the time. The baby was bundled in the yellow blanket in a pew near the altar and Child Services was contacted. I made a note to talk to Father Fran to see if he could shed more light. Though Joe had mentioned he was in a rest home — maybe his health prevented Joe from meeting with him.

The last file was of Rose’s murder investigation. My heart jack hammered in my chest and my stomach lurched as I held the file.
Are you sure you’re ready for this?
Could I ever be ready to read about my mother’s murder? I opened the file.

A coroner’s Polaroid of Rose was attached to the inside flap; Ghostly white with eyes closed, her curly hair was wet and slicked back, with the top of the closed Y-incision showing above the sheet. I bit back a gag that threatened to rise and struggled to connect to the detached section of my mind that allowed me to analyze the horrible things people do to one another.

The coroner’s report listed physical details — twenty-three, one-hundred-twenty pounds, green eyes, blond hair, well nourished and an otherwise healthy adult female. Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head, likely caused by a trash dumpster that the victim struck when pushed or shoved. Manner of death, homicide. Additional injuries included a small laceration to the scalp where hair had been pulled out, a few bruises, minor scrapes and scratches but no other defensive wounds. From which I concluded that Rose hadn’t seen the attack coming. Maybe she tried to talk the robber down or reason with him, but something caused the situation to escalate and he pushed her. She hit her head and that was it.

According to the police report the attack occurred during a presumed robbery. In addition to the missing cash from the register, Rose’s Celtic wedding ring was also presumed stolen. Did Rose lose her life protecting a ring? People had died for less.

The sole witness was Rose’s friend and co-worker Kathy Morrissey. According to her statement, she and Rose worked the graveyard shift together. The cook left early with Rose promising to cover for him. Kathy unexpectedly started her period and left the restaurant to go home, change and get a sanitary napkin. She was only gone for twenty minutes but when she returned, she found broken dishes on the floor in the dining room and the cash register drawer empty and left open. She ran into the kitchen and found the back door open then discovered Rose lying in the alley, bleeding and called 911. Rose was pronounced dead at the scene. The police found no other witnesses, or a suspect. And Rose’s murder remained unsolved.

Though I’d managed to read the reports without freaking out, I couldn’t make myself look at the crime scene photos. I doubted they’d tell me anything that wasn’t written in the report and I didn’t want to see pictures of my mother dead. Though I did notice that the same detective who investigated my kidnapping investigated Rose’s murder. I made a note of that too.

The idea of contacting Jennifer Scarpello – Rose’s sister and my aunt – bounced around in my head for a while. But it kept coming back to how to approach her —I needed to think about that more before I made a move. I closed the files, stacked them together and shoved them into the drawer of the bedside table.

"What are you doing?"

I flinched and looked up. Ted stood in the open doorway — very sexy in a pair of black pajama bottoms. My body tingled. "For a man with such big feet you sure can sneak up on a person."

Ted entered the room and scanned it with his eyes, noting the empty tea cup on the table and the semi-closed side table drawer. "What are you doing down here?"

"I couldn’t sleep." I picked up a baby book from the bedside table. "I thought I might read up on motherhood."

Ted frowned. "Honey, it’s five o’clock in the morning."

I scooted over and folded back the comforter. "Then how about an early morning snuggle?"

Ted sat next to me and stroked my cheek. "How about you come back to bed?"

I shrugged. "I’m wide awake, and Matt will be here in a couple of hours. No point in going back to bed."

Ted puckered his lips. "So now that you have your own room, I’m going to be sleeping alone?"

"I didn’t want to wake you." I tweaked his nose. "I was trying to be considerate, you silly man."

Ted pulled me out of bed and to my feet. "I don’t like my bed without you in it."

I laughed. "Afraid of the dark? Monsters in the closet?"

He switched off the bedside lamp and walked me toward the door. "Nope, I need the body heat."

We walked toward the staircase. "Any particular kind of body heat you had in mind?"

Ted picked me up in his arms. "Now that you mention it." He started up the stairs. "There is something we could do to warm things up."

Matt and I had a couple more lessons during the week, and on the days I was alone, I studied Rose’s files. A couple of times I even went to the library to search through old newspaper archives but didn’t find any other articles about Rose.

On Saturday, Matt begged me to give him a cupcake lesson. "I really want to learn that swirly frosting thing you do." It was hard to say no to his enthusiasm, and Ted would be parked in front of the TV watching the game all day, so I agreed.

Mid-morning, Ted announced he had a project of his own. I noted that special glint in his eye that said he was up to something. "What project?""

He pinched my butt. "A little something me and the bro’s are cooking up."

I put my mitted hand on my hip. "But you can’t tell me? It’s a big secret?"

Ted tugged on my braid. "Honey, it’s Christmas time. Be advised that it’s nothing but secrets until New Year’s."

I smirked. "Is that a fact? Well, remember that goes both ways then."

He pinched my butt again. "Go ahead, make jokes Smarty McSmartAss but you’re stuck in the kitchen until I’m done."

I gaped. "So now I’m aiding and abetting your secret keeping? What if I have to pee?"

"There’s a door to the bathroom from that fancy kitchen office I built you."

"What if I get hungry?"

"I have it on good authority you’re an excellent cook."

"What if I don’t feel like cooking?"

"We’ll get sandwiches from Billy’s." He whipped out his phone. "I’ll call in the order for lunch now. Pastrami on corn rye with lots of mustard and pickles? Potato salad and Cole slaw?"

My mouth watered and I would’ve swapped Ted for one of those babies right then. "What if…"

Ted put his finger to my lips. "What if you stop trying to ruin my fun?" He looked at the six dozen unfrosted cupcakes lining the counter and licked his lips. "You going to trade me some of those cupcakes for the sandwiches?"

I hip-bumped him. "Yeah, maybe. If Matt doesn’t ruin all of them. Today we’re practicing frosting swirls." Entranced, Ted walked toward the cupcakes but I intercepted him and pushed him out of the kitchen. "Come back when you have something to trade."

Since his brothers were involved, I guessed it was a new nursery and that they’d go overboard as is the way of the Jordans. But if Ted and his brothers wanted to make me a new nursery, who was I to complain?

Matt got the hang of frosting swirling quickly, and we moved onto other decorating techniques. While we worked, we heard a lot of thuds and stomps but the big crash overhead got my attention. "Good God, what are they doing up there?"

Matt smiled and shrugged — he knew exactly what they were doing and that was probably why he just had to learn about frosting swirls that day. Around one, Ted brought in bags of deli takeout. I clapped my hands and tore into the bags —along with the sandwiches and salads he got a large carton of matzo ball soup. As a thank you, I gave him a big sloppy kiss and four dozen beautifully frosted cupcakes. "You have to share with your brothers now."

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "They’ll have to wrestle them away from me first."

"Need any help carrying those out?"

Matt quickly grabbed the two remaining platters. "I got them." He nodded to the take out. "You get started on lunch, and I’ll be right back."

I tried to see what they were doing through the swinging kitchen door, but all I saw was the dining table. I looked back to the sandwiches and soup, and the food won — the secret could keep another couple of hours.

After lunch, we made doughnuts and custard so I could teach Matt the art of filling and pastry tubes. "Damn! I’m getting it everywhere but inside, dude."

"Be patient, you’ll get it."

By the end of the day, we had trays of mis-shapened, oozing, semi-filled doughnuts that would require a knife and fork to eat. But Matt wouldn’t let me toss them because they were still edible. I laughed. "Then you’re going to eat them."

Matt started packing them up. "No problem dude, be happy to."

I nodded to the left over custard and unfilled doughnuts. "Those too, if you want to practice on your own at home.

That only made him happier, and he pulled out a box for those too. "Awesome. This is like Christmas, man."

He was so dedicated to learning his new craft that I gave him the box of the old baking gear I was saving for the thrift store — including a pastry tube set with various tips. "Here you go bro, pipe to your heart’s content."

Matt stacked up his new baking gear and doughnut rejects and said, "See you Monday." He kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks Scotti, you’re the best, man."

He left through the back door, and I stared after him, smiling to myself. "Go figure."

"What?" Ted walked into the kitchen looking good enough to eat. He’d showered, shaved and changed into a pair of snug black jeans and a gray turtleneck sweater.