Chicken Caccia-Killer (A Jordan McAllister Mystery) (10 page)

“Would you mind if I tagged along? That way the house will be quiet for these two, and they can get a good rest,” Natalie said.

Crap
. It would be hard to do a little investigating with Alex’s mother tagging along, but how could she say no without fessing up about her intentions? Besides, Alex was now grinning at his mother, probably thinking there was no way she could get in trouble with his mother around.

“I’d like that,” Jordan said. “I don’t plan on staying long, and I can have you back in a few hours, unless you want to run by the mall after that.”

Natalie shook her head. “We’ll see how I feel after traipsing around in the Texas sun all day, but there’s really nothing I need at the mall. I’ll probably be ready for a nap myself after we leave the fairgrounds.”

“My mother is saying no to shopping?” Alex whistled, bending down to kiss Natalie on the forehead. “Somebody needs to check her temperature,” he teased before kissing Jordan’s cheek. “It’s settled then. I’m heading to bed, and I’ll see two of my favorite girls tonight.” He winked at them both before making his way to the bedroom.

“Come on,” Natalie said, pulling Jordan toward the door. “I can’t stand sitting around watching my daughter go through this without doing something—anything. Talking to the vendors with you might be the perfect opportunity to find out what goes on behind the scenes. Trust me when I tell you that the worker bees know all the really good gossip. Maybe somebody out there has some dirt on Marco that will help my daughter, and you’re just the pretty face that it will take to dig it out.” She gave Jordan the once-over before saying, “Put some lipstick on and get ready to bat those beautiful eyelashes of yours. We need information.”

Jordan stared at Alex’s mother, positive the woman had read her mind. Like an obedient child, she retrieved the new coral lip-gloss from her purse and smeared it on her lips. Looping her arm through Natalie’s, she said, “Come on, Miss Marple, we have some sleuthing to do.”

* * * * *

By the time Jordan pulled her Camry into the fairground’s parking lot, she and Natalie had forged a fast friendship. On the twenty-minute ride over, Jordan had discovered so many new things about Alex she hadn’t known, including his refusal to leave the family pet alone when the old yellow Lab was dying. According to Natalie, they’d had to pry his little body away from the animal long after the dog had taken its last breath.

Then there was the time during his sophomore year when Kate had begged him to play Mrs. Doubtfire in the school play. No other guy would do it, and according to Natalie, Alex had taken a lot of flak from his football buddies. But he adored his older sister, so he’d made the most of it. Wearing a fat suit and a wig, he’d turned in a memorable and hilarious performance. Was it any wonder that Kate adored him back?

Jordan had always known that Alex and his sister were tight, but it was fun finding out how he’d managed to grow up surrounded by all that estrogen and still turn out so macho.

“How should we work this? Do you want to take the lead, or do you want me to?” Natalie asked, sliding out of the passenger side of the Toyota.

Jordan thought about it for a moment before responding. “Let’s just play it by ear. Some of these folks may respond to you better because you’re Italian, and others may open up to me if they think there’s a chance of getting some free publicity out of it.” She giggled. “They don’t have to know I only write the culinary column.”

She locked the car and the two of them headed toward the fairgrounds which had been turned into a mass of tents, booths, and trailers. Scattered among the melee was a motley crew of men and women with leathery looking skin from too much sun, setting up the rides.

For a second Jordan was reminded of the Texas State Fair, held at Fair Park in downtown Dallas each autumn. A ginormous figure known as Big Tex was suspended above the entrance and bellowed a Texas-sized welcome to the fairgoers as they came through the gate. Unfortunately, the big guy had electrical problems and had gone up in smoke the year before. A replacement now stood in his place.

Here, instead of Big Tex, a huge balloon shaped like an Italian flag flew high in the sky above the entrance.

The fairgrounds were set on ten acres of farmland on the outskirts of Plainville and were the site of a monthly huge flea market. In between, many big corporations held their annual company picnics there and usually offered horseback riding and hayrides. Off to the right Jordan spotted a fenced-in area that she’d bet would house those very same horses.

As they got closer to the actual area where the vendors were setting up, Jordan recognized a few faces she’d seen at the party in Marco’s suite the night before.

She was determined to do everything in her power for information, and she nudged Natalie forward. “Okay, let’s see if we’re any good at this.”

She followed a step behind as Natalie walked up to the first booth where a fortyish woman with jet black hair pulled back into a bun was busy setting up.

“Hi,” Natalie began. “Can you spare us a few moments of your time? We have some questions we’d like to ask.”

The woman stopped long enough to make eye contact with Natalie and to brush at a stray lock of hair that had escaped from the tight bun. “Sorry. It’s already ninety-four degrees and supposed to hit triple digits today. I want to finish up before I melt.”

Natalie stepped back and motioned with her hand for Jordan to give it a try. Like the other half of a wrestling tag team, Jordan inched forward.

The lady gave her a fleeting glance before turning around to hang a sign on the back wall of the booth. CARLITA’S ITALIAN CREAM CAKE BALLS. Jordan had no idea what an Italian Cream Cake Ball was, but just the thought of a sugar treat right now had her mouth watering like Pavlov’s dog.

Although she had no intentions of taking notes, she pulled out a pad and a pen from her purse for show. “I’m Jordan McAllister from the
Ranchero Globe
, and I’ll be here all week interviewing vendors like you for my column.” When the lady’s head shot up, she felt Natalie squeeze her arm. But before she asked the important questions, her curiosity got the best of her. “What’s an Italian Cream Cake Ball, anyway?”

“You’re from the newspaper?”

Jordan flashed her press pass. “And I assume you’re Carlita?”

The woman dried her hands on a rag she pulled from under the counter, moving closer to them. “That would be me. Carlita Bruno. I’m from New Jersey, and my sister and I’ve been coming to the festival for a lot of years. I try to bring something new and different to sell every year.” She pointed across the way where a much younger woman who resembled her was busy setting up a booth. “Ginny’s Chicken Cacciatore usually sells out on the first day, even though she brings more every year. And her pepperoni bread doesn’t even make it that long.” She reached back under the counter and brought out a tupperware bowl. “This is my latest concoction.” After opening the bowl she took out two sticks with what looked like a huge chocolate bonbon on the end of each.

Both Jordan and Natalie took a step closer to get a better look.

“Go ahead and try it,” Carlita prompted after handing each one a stick.

Needing no encouragement, Jordan bit into hers. She loved the Italian cream cake they served at Guido’s, but she wasn’t prepared for Carlita’s pastry. It was a moist cake covered with dark chocolate that melted in her mouth. What was not to like?

She decided this little number could easily take the place of her beloved Ho Hos in an emotional crisis. After finishing the treat, she threw the stick into the trash can on the side of the booth.

“That was awesome. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it or not, but I print recipes, too. I’d love to include this one in the column. Of course, I’d give you full credit.” So much for pretending she was more than a culinary reporter. But she could already imagine her readers going crazy over this dessert. Crossing her fingers behind her back, she hoped Carlita would agree.

The woman beamed. “Can you do a write-up on me before the festival opens and then post the recipe after it closes?” Jordan looked confused. “I wouldn’t want people to think they can go home and make these themselves. At least not until I’ve had a chance to sell out.” She shrugged. “These booths aren’t cheap, you know.”

“Oh, of course. I get that. A girl’s got to make a living, right? That’s why I’m out here in this unrelenting Texas sun today.” Jordan wiped her brow for emphasis before she leaned in and lowered her voice. She was going to have to warm this woman up if she hoped to get any useful information out of her—assuming Carlita knew anything at all that might help them. The fastest way to do that was to get her talking about herself. Who could resist that? “So, Carlita, tell us how you got started with the Italian Festival.”

For the next ten minutes, they listened to the woman relate her entire life history as a river of sweat rolled down Jordan’s back. Just when she thought the only thing she’d walk away with today was a great tasting treat and a recipe for her column, Carlita took a swig of water from a dirty-looking glass and lowered her voice.

“Guess you heard about the guy who was pushed off the balcony of his hotel room last night, right?”

Natalie pulled a tissue from her purse and swiped at the layer of sweat on her brow. She moved up as close to the counter as she could without falling over it. “Someone fell off a balcony last night?”

Carlita nailed Jordan with her eyes. “And you’re going to write about me before the festival opens?”

Jordan would have agreed to just about anything now that the woman had brought up Marco’s death the night before. Maybe this would be easier than she thought. “Of course. I think the locals would love to hear how you grew up. But first, I’d like to hear more about the guy falling off the balcony.” She stole a glance toward Natalie who was out of Carlita’s view and was now rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t actually see it, mind you,” Carlita began. “But my sister is on the planning committee this year and was at a big party at some swanky hotel last night. She said one of the bigwigs from the festival took a nosedive off the balcony and landed smack in the middle of the hotel entrance.”

When she paused, Jordan plodded her. “Go on. Did your sister say who did it?”

“Some young home wrecker who was having an affair with him even though he was engaged to be married to...” She lowered her voice. “Emilio Calabrese’s daughter.”

Jordan saw Natalie’s body stiffen but knew it was important to keep going. A respected journalism teacher at the University of Texas had always preached that when you had a person talking about controversial stuff, you should go in for the kill and ask the important questions to catch them off guard.

“Really. Why do you think that woman would want to harm the dead guy?”

“Why else? They had a lovers’ quarrel in front of God and the entire room full of people, according to Ginny. She didn’t get home until well after midnight because the cops kept them there asking questions. Everyone saw the two of them arguing and then later saw the woman screaming from the man’s bedroom. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what happened in that room.”

“Did you know the guy who was killed?” Natalie asked, finally recovering enough from the home wrecker reference about her daughter to jump into the conversation.

“Who didn’t? Marco Petrone was the biggest womanizer on the planet.” She huffed. “Why, I’ve heard he had a harem of women in almost every country.” She stopped to swipe her forehead with the same rag she’d dried her hands with earlier. “I’m not saying the man deserved to die, but it does seem like poetic justice that one of his Jezebels did him in.”

This time Natalie gasped so loud that Carlita stopped talking and turned to her. “You all right? Here.” She handed her the water from the countertop.

Natalie waved her off, scrunching her nose at the dirty glass. “I just choked on my own saliva,” she explained, swallowing hard before continuing, “So are you saying there were a lot of women who might have wanted to see Marco dead?”

Jordan saw the hope light up in Natalie’s eyes when Carlita nodded. “They didn’t call him the Italian Stallion for nothing, if you get my drift. He went through women like a kid in a candy store, grabbing whatever he wanted and spitting them out after he’d had a taste.”

Just then a commotion broke out behind them, and they all turned to see a middle-aged woman dressed in a short dress and heels arguing with a much younger man.

“Between you and me, that woman right there had a pretty good reason to off Marco Petrone herself,” Carlita said, clucking her tongue.

Jordan caught Natalie’s eye and bit her lip to hide the smile before turning back to Carlita. If there were other women out there with a motive for killing Marco, chances were one or two of them had been at the party. That would mean there might be reasonable doubt that Kate had been the one to push him over the ledge.

Natalie pointed to the couple who were still in a heated discussion not far from them. “Who is that?”

Carlita narrowed her eyes, tilting her head that way.

“Georgette Calabrese. She’s married to Emilio and is the mother of Petrone’s fiancée.” She lowered her voice and looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was close enough to overhear. “Rumor has it she was one of Marco’s throwaways.”