Death of the Family Recipe (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 3) (34 page)

He turned on the alarm system. "It’s probably nothing, honey. Some kids pulling a prank." He hugged me. "We’re okay."

<<>>

By morning, the mystery of the doorbell prank seemed unimportant — bored kids playing around. I put on a cozy red warm-up suit, avoiding my whale-like reflection and went downstairs. When I walked into the kitchen a vase of sterling roses and a card were waiting for me on the butcher-block.

Ted was cooking and looked up from the stove. "Happy anniversary honey."

Breathing in the scent of the flowers, I smiled. "They’re beautiful." The card was sweet and simple, but it still made me cry and I kissed him. "Happy anniversary."

I eyed the stove top. "What’s going on here?"

Ted walked me backward to the butcher-block and into a stool. "Today I’m taking care of you. No cooking, no cleaning, no working. You officially have a day off, and I intend to see to your every need."

"But…"

He put a plate of crispy brown scrambled eggs, soggy toast and orange slices down in front of me. "No buts, now eat."

Because it’s the thought that counts, I said, "Looks great, honey."

For the rest of the day Ted treated me like a princess — foot massages, a bubble bath, antique shopping — anything I wanted, I received. And it was exactly what a fat, pregnant lady needed about then. Mid-day we returned home, and Ted put me down for a nap. I protested for all of three seconds before I drifted off to sleep. Two hours later I woke up laughing because Ted was tickling my face with a big red feather. "Hi."

He stroked my cheek. "How’d you sleep?"

I stretched and yawned. "Like a baby. Who’s been drugged heavily."

Ted helped me out of bed. "Time for presents."

We walked downstairs together, and he veered for his office while I veered for the kitchen. When Ted pushed through the kitchen door he held a small red gift box. I had a heart-shaped red velvet cake and a gift-wrapped box of my own waiting for him.

Ted grinned at the cake and swiped a glob of frosting off the top. He stuck his finger in his mouth. "Me like." He put the gift in my hand. "Happy Valentine’s Day, baby." The gift was a lovely antique silver locket with an inscription: Ted & Scotti and baby makes four. On one side was a picture of me and Ted — the other side open and waiting for a picture of the babies. He clasped the locket around my neck. "We’ll get a good shot of the babies and put it on the other side."

I leaned against him and giggled. "For a tough guy, you’re a pretty big softie."

He tweaked my nose. "Only when it comes to you."

I frowned and held the gift box against my belly. "My gift isn’t as romantic as yours."

He snatched the box and opened it. "Red silk pajamas." He laughed and held them up to him. "Just what I always wanted."

"You’re not the only one who likes dirty lingerie." I smiled wistfully. "Not that they’ll do you much good for the time being."

Ted wiggled his eyebrows. "We’ll see about that." He snatched the envelope sticking out of the pocket of the pajama shirt. "What’s this?" He opened it and grinned. "A gift certificate for Pink’s Hotdogs."

I smiled and shrugged. "It was our first date." Ted modeled his new pajamas and threatened to wear them to dinner. "Something tells me that you can’t get away with that — even at Pink’s."

But Ted didn’t take me to Pink’s, he took me to the Castaway — the site of his botched yet ultimately successful marriage proposal. This time, Ted’s family wasn’t giggling in the shadows watching us celebrate our anniversary, and I got to eat my dinner. After a while, I didn’t feel like a big pregnant lady, I just felt like a woman madly in love with her husband.

But growing babies is hard work, and I started yawning into my chocolate lava cake. Before we left, I excused myself to the rest room because two babies leaning on your bladder meant you excused yourself to the rest room frequently.

While I was in the stall fighting with maternity pantyhose, the rest room door opened, and high-heeled steps approached. "Sorry, someone in here." No response and through the crack in the door, I saw the black high-heeled feet pause. There was a tinkle of jewelry, a whisper of fabric and a waft of Chanel before the feet turned away. I felt the stare burn through the door. When I tilted my head to get a better look, I saw a sliver of blond hair. "Hello?" She didn’t answer, but I could feel her staring at the door. I fought my belly trying to see under the door but pregnant bodies don’t cooperate in such maneuvers. The rest room door creaked slowly open and sounds from the dining room filtered in. "Hello?"

Then the door closed with a slow hiss, and I was alone. Quickly, I pulled myself together and stepped out of the stall. I could still smell the Chanel and followed the scent out to the front desk.

Ted stepped in front of me. "Where you going, cupcake?"

I looked past him toward the dining room. "There was someone in the rest room."

Ted chuckled and put his hand on the small of my back. "I think that’s allowed, honey."

I kept my eyes on the dining room. "No, that’s not what I meant."

Ted put his arm around me and guided me toward the exit. "Time to get you home to bed. It’s been a big day."

I looked away from the dining room and let Ted guide me outside to the valet station. "I am dying to get out of these pantyhose."

The parking attendant helped me into my seat and closed the door. Ted got into the driver’s seat and buckled up. "Ready?"

I nodded, but kept my eyes on the restaurant. As Ted eased toward the exit, I saw a flash of blond hair and craned my neck. "Is that Ingrid?" I turned in my seat to get a better look. "Stop."

Ted continued slowly toward the exit. "What? Why?"

I pointed behind us. "That was Ingrid. That’s who was messing with me in the rest room." I stared at him. "Will you stop the car?"

Ted frowned but braked. I buzzed down the window and stuck my head out, but the only person I saw was the slightly shivering parking attendant. I buzzed up my window and muttered. Ted raised his brows at me. "Well, is it her?"

I shook my head. "Nobody there now." I frowned at Ted’s skeptical face. "It’s not my hormones, I saw her."

Ted patted my hand. "Okay honey, I believe you." But his eyes said he was humoring me. "You don’t see her now, right?"

I slumped in my seat. "No."

"Then can we go home?"

I waved my hand toward the exit and nodded, but my eyes stayed on the side mirror. It wasn’t my hormones — Ingrid was back in town — if she'd ever left.

The more pregnant I got, the less I was willing to do things I didn’t want to do —chief among them, work on the Atkinson case. I gave Zelda and Eric a heads up that I was through and the website was now their headache. After that, I had only to confront the beast named Joe. He fumed. "You can’t do research in your condition?"

I snapped at him. "It’s more than that. This whole thing rattles me and puts me on edge. And rattled mommy is not good for the babies." He scowled. "Don’t make faces at me — you knew from the beginning how much this case got under my skin. But you pushed me anyway and I let you. But not anymore. That’s over."

Joe pouted and waved a dismissive hand. "So this all is my fault? Sounds to me like somebody’s making excuses."

I groaned. "Excuses? Joe, what is the matter with you? You’ve never forced me to work on a case. And now when I’m obviously distressed about working this case, you’re badgering me to stay on it." I looked into his eyes. "This case is hurting me and Ted. You really can’t understand that?"

Joe drummed his fingers on his belly. "I s’ppose."

"And we haven’t done squat on Rose’s case, either."

Joe pointed a finger at me. "Now the truth comes out. This is pay back." I threw my hands up and groaned. "Can’t you understand this is a murder case? I gotta prioritize."

I bristled. "So is my case." I jabbed a finger at him. "I hired you four months ago, and we’re exactly where we were when we started."

Joe shook his head. "No ma’am, that ain’t true. I found Rose and your family. I found quite a bit. Which you obviously don’t appreciate." I glared at him. He held out his hands pleadingly. "Your case don’t have deadline on it. This one is in the here and now."

I grabbed the edge of his desk to pull myself to my feet. "Fine, you need to prioritize? Well so do I." I was fuming so much my cheeks burned. "And if you think you can convince me that that stupid ass website is more important than my mother, you’re nuts." I leaned across his desk. "We all know it’s bullshit and has been from day one." I shrugged. "But Zelda will stay on it, so you’re not being deserted."

Joe didn’t argue the point but stared at his chubby hands and continued to stew.

I knew he wouldn’t give up the murder case for me, but I hoped he’d at least agree to work on Rose’s case again. No such luck. Furious, I gave up and headed for the door. "I’ll see you around I guess." Joe didn’t move a muscle or say a word and that made my blood boil. I spun back to him. "Did you want to know when the babies are born? Or does that interfere with your here and now murder case too?" I threw up my hands and stomped to the door. "Forget it. I quit!"

"You come back here Miss Scotti!"

I spun back one last time and shook my fist at him. "And you’re fired!"

I wasn’t really surprised. From the beginning, Joe was beguiled by the Atkinson case. I knew it was only a matter of time before he chose it over me. But it still hurt. And the truth was, I’d been investigating on my own for a while. So what difference did it make if Joe was too busy? Or if I fired him? I switched on the ignition and headed for the freeway. Now that I was done with Joe, it was time to interview the priest who gave me to Child Services. "Today’s the day, Father Fran. Hope you’re up for visitors."

<<>>

Father Fran resided at the Shady Hills Rest home in Van Nuys — an upscale facility that looked more like a gated community neighborhood than a nursing home. The current trend in rest homes – make the old folks and the infirmed feel like they’re living at home, not an institution. Too bad that didn’t extend to foster homes where all you needed was a closet with a bed in it to get that monthly check.

After convincing the nurse at the desk that I was Father Fran’s great niece, I was escorted to a garden courtyard to wait. The tranquil setting could’ve lulled me into a nap on the bench if the weather had been nicer. But the air was chilly and I shivered as I waited. There was lovely atrium where I could’ve met the priest, but I didn’t want to risk being overheard. Provided we had any kind of conversation at all — Father Fran was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.

A perky young nurse with golden curls and sharp blue eyes brought Father Fran to me. "Now be sure to keep the conversation short and light." She patted the priest’s gnarled hand and smiled at him. "He gets tired easily. Don’t you Father?" She pointed to a screened day porch. "I’ll be waiting right there. Wave when you’re finished." Then she bopped away with the energy and pep of Boomer in pursuit of a squirrel.

Father Fran was a big, rawboned character with bushy gray hair and rheumy blue eyes. His ill-fitting clothes hung on him like cheap drapes in a motel and gave him a tragic air. In his day, he was probably an imposing figure but now likened a hunching uncertain child. He stared straight ahead.

Quietly I said, "Do you remember me?"

The old priest’s cloudy eyes flitted in a sidelong glance. "I don’t know you."

I angled in my seat and put myself in his line of vision. "But you do know me, don’t you?"

His eyes filled with uncertainty and he whispered. "Rose?"

I nodded. "Yes, Father Fran, it’s Rose."

He whispered again. "Rose is dead."

I shook my head. "How can I be dead when I’m right here?"

He tilted his head then smiled, exposing brown, crooked teeth. "Rose? Rosie?"

I took his leathery old hand. "That’s right, it’s me, Rose. How are you, Father?"

His hand trembled in mine. "You came back for her?" He shook his head. "Too late. Gone. They already took her."

My pulse skittered, and I reined in the urge to shake him. "Who took her? Where did they go?"

The priest’s eyes looked away and wandered toward a oleander bush. "Sweet child." He murmured a lullaby. "So pretty."

My body buzzed with energy, but I kept my voice calm and even. "Yes, she was my sweet child. What happened to her, Father? Who took her?"

He smiled down at his arms as though he held a child. "She never cried. Coo, coo, coo."

I squeezed his hand to get his attention, and he gave me his eyes. "Who gave her to you, Father? Who gave you my baby?"

The old man shrunk back. "Not my idea." He shook his head violently. "I wanted to help. You were so sad, so sad, so sad, Rosie."

I fisted my thigh to keep from pouncing on the old man. "Please Father Fran, I have to know where my baby is. Do you know where she is? Tell me. Please."

The old man settled back and chuckled softly. "Rose can have more babies. Rose can have more babies. Pretty Rosie can have pretty babies."

I blew out a sigh and looked toward the screened-in porch. The nurse watched and was poised to dash out. I smiled and nodded, hoping it would reassure her, but she looked more than ready to spring into action. I bent my head close to Father Fran’s and whispered. "You stole my baby and gave her away. God will punish you if you don’t confess."