Chicken Pesto Murder: Book 5 in The Darling Deli Series (5 page)

Before he’d called, she had been unable to focus on the book that she’d picked up in town the day before, so she resorted to the one activity that always relaxed her: cooking. The results were stored in glass Tupperware containers in the fridge. Creamy chicken and dumpling stew, fried green beans, and homemade cheesecake-flavored pudding. She pressed a sticky note on the fridge, then set out a bowl and a soup spoon for Candice when she got home. She hoped that her daughter would see the note about the leftovers when she got home and would eat them instead of making something else.

She and David were meeting at a local animal shelter. The drive only took her about twenty minutes, but she had a hard time remaining patient even for that short time. She was relieved to see that his car was already in the parking lot when she got there, and she hurried to unbuckle her seatbelt, grab her purse, and go in. He met her at the front door.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he said, giving her a quick smile as he held the door for her. “I know you’ve got work later, but this shouldn’t take long.”

“What are we doing here?” she asked, looking around. They were the only people in the reception room, other than the receptionist reading a magazine behind the front desk. The air held a strange mixture of the scents of cleaning solution and dog. There was a cacophony of barking from the back.

“I thought I might as well check the shelter again to see if any of the dogs have shown up. It’s a good place to have a private discussion, too. No one will overhear us with that racket.” He inclined his head towards the room with the barking dogs.

“I’ve been thinking a little about getting a dog again,” she admitted as they walked back. “I just don’t know if I would have time for it.”

“Couldn’t you bring one to work with you?” he asked. “It’s not like you’d have to ask permission from the boss.”

“I couldn’t,” she said reluctantly. She loved the idea, but couldn’t risk it. “Not with all of the food there. Plus, some of my customers are bound to be allergic to dogs.” She paused as they stepped through the door to the indoor kennel, where dogs of all shapes and sizes were kept. The noise of the barking swelled for moment when the dogs heard the door open, and then declined again to more manageable levels. A quick look down the aisles showed that they were the only humans in the room.

“So, are you finally going to tell me what happened yesterday at the police station?” she asked as David began walking slowly down the first aisle, peering closely at each dog to see if it was one of the missing ones. “I’ve been worried out of my mind.”

“Long story short,” he said, “they think I might have killed Detective Fitzgerald.”

Aghast, Moira stopped walking. She couldn’t imagine the normally calm detective even getting into a fistfight, let alone committing murder. To make matters even more confusing, Detective Jefferson knew David pretty well; the private investigator often shared info with the police department about cases that he was working on. How could he seriously consider David to be a murder suspect?

“Why would they think that?” she asked.

“Well…” he hesitated. “They have some pretty good evidence tying me to Fitzgerald’s place the night of his death.”

“What did they find?” she asked, confused. As far as she knew, David hadn’t been anywhere near Fitzgerald’s house that night. They had been at his retirement party, for goodness sake. Plenty of people must have seen him there.

“My wallet,” he told her. “They found my wallet there.”

Shocked, Moira looked up into his face. He looked worried, but not terrified. The fact that he wasn’t in jail was a good sign, she supposed. She knew from experience just how terrible it felt to be a person of interest in a murder investigation, and for his sake, she hoped that whatever was going on got cleared up quickly.

“But you lost your wallet the night we went out. That was a few nights before the party.” she said, struck by sudden realization. He nodded. “Did you tell the police that?”

“Yeah,” he said. He turned back to the row of kennels, resuming his slow walk down the aisle. “I could tell that they didn’t believe me, though.
I
wouldn’t have believed me. It sounds like a convenient lie.” He shook his head. “To make matters worse, they’ve had a couple of witnesses come forward to say that they saw me arguing with the detective that night at the Redwood Grill.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, though. I mean, plenty of people argue. The two of you didn’t come to blows or anything.” She bit her lip, unable to shake the heavy weight of worry on her chest.
She
knew that David hadn’t killed anybody, but the police probably weren’t going to be quite as easy to convince.

“It’s still the only lead they’ve got, Moira,” he said softly. “And what I said before is even more important now. Stay away from this case; I don’t want you to get drawn into this.”

She heard real concern in his voice, and understood that he was serious. The police would be turning over every rock as they tried to solve this crime; one of their own had been killed, after all.

“I don’t see how they could tie me to the crime,” she said, trying to be reassuring. “Obviously I didn’t have anything to do with it. Not that you did,” she added quickly. “But they don’t have any evidence tying me to the crime. How did your wallet get there, anyway?”

“It was either planted, or Fitzgerald found it after our argument. I must have dropped it outside the restaurant.” He rubbed his forehead. “I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t have returned the wallet to me if he had been the one to find it.”

“I’m sure he would have returned it the second he found it,” she said, remembering how serious the detective had always been about his job. She couldn’t imagine him keeping David’s wallet just to spite him for some petty argument. “So it must have been planted.” She frowned as she realized just what that meant. Someone who hadn’t hesitated to kill the cop was for some reason also targeting David. No wonder the private investigator wanted her to stay away from the case. They were dealing with a very dangerous person.

“I think so, too.” He paused, bending down to get a closer look at a poodle, then rose with a sigh. “Wrong gender,” he said.

“None of the missing dogs has turned up yet?” she asked. She knew that the longer a person was missing, the lower the chances of them being found alive. The same must hold true for pets.

“Nope. And even more have disappeared. I’m really at a loss with this case.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could help.” She looked around at the pooches, each one waiting for the right person to come in and take them home. “I hope all of them are found safe, and get reunited with their owners.”
And I hope that they catch Fitzgerald’s real killer quickly,
she thought.
David doesn’t deserve this. No one should have to worry about being arrested for a crime that they didn’t commit, least of all someone like him who has done so much good for the community.

She got to the deli with just enough time to spare before opening to get a head start on the day’s special. Soon, the rich scent of mushrooms sizzling in butter had filled the kitchen. She tossed some cubed beef into another pot, and her stomach rumbled as the meat began to brown. The beef and mushroom soup was an old recipe and a popular favorite. She couldn’t wait to have some for lunch, but first came the familiar routine of opening the deli for business. Dante arrived just as she was switching on the lights in the display cases, and he gave her a quick wave as he let himself in through the front door.

“It smells great in here already,” he said. “I bet we’ll be busy today. Who wouldn’t want a cup of hot soup on such a gray day?” The weather was overcast and chilly, with a misty drizzle that made everything feel damp. It was indeed the perfect day for a warm cup of soup, though first her customers would have to brave the unpleasant weather to make it to her store.

“Feel free to grab a bowl for lunch,” she told him. “It’ll be ready in about ten minutes. I’m glad you got here early; there’s actually something that I want to try.” She led him back into the kitchen and, after pausing to give the soup a quick stir, took a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator.

“I’ve been thinking more about opening the deli for breakfast,” she explained. “And I went over the numbers yesterday. I think it’s a good idea, but there’s still a few things that we need to figure out.” She grinned at him. “You said you could make quiches, right? So let’s put them to the test. There’s a mini muffin pan in the cupboard, and a whole batch of fresh eggs. All of the other ingredients that you’ll need should be in the fridge or pantry.”

“Are we going to sell these?” he asked, giving the eggs a nervous look. “I’ve really only ever cooked for my foster family and friends before.”

“We’ll set them up in one of the display cases out front as free samples today,” she assured him. “Just relax and do what you normally do. If people like them, we can start selling them once we extend the hours. I’m also going to buy a juicer and a new coffee maker, so people will have a few beverages to choose from.”

“All right. I’ll do my best,” he promised.

“That’s all I want.” She gave him a quick, reassuring smile, then left him to it.

“Hello, and welcome to Darling’s DELIcious Delights,” she said, looking up from the register as the front door swung open. It had been a busy afternoon, but they were finally slowing down a little bit before the dinner rush. “Our daily special is written on the blackboard. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

The woman smiled at her, and then began to browse the selection of cold cuts. Moira’s gaze drifted past her to the view outside. The weather was still drab, but at least the rain had stopped. Someone was walking down the sidewalk with a couple of dogs—an apricot colored poodle, and a chubby beagle. The difference in build between the two dogs made her smile, but the expression quickly faded as she realized what she was looking at. A poodle and a beagle; the same breeds as two of the missing dogs. Thinking quickly, she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and snapped pictures until the trio had disappeared from view. Whoever it was had their hood up, but there might be something about the person that David or the police would recognize. Then she hit speed dial and put the phone to her ear. Hopefully David was still in town, because she may have just solved his case.

“No sign of him?” Moira asked, disappointed to see David walking back into the deli empty-handed.

“No.” He sighed. “He’s probably long gone. Can I see those pictures again?”

“Sure.” She handed him her phone. “I’m sorry. I should have done more. I could have followed him, at least.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t like the thought of you putting yourself in danger.” He handed her back her phone after scrolling through the pictures of the hooded person and the dogs for a second time. “It’s definitely two of the dogs. Can you send me a couple of the clearer ones? I may get lucky and see someone wearing the same outfit in town, and I want to be able to compare things quickly. I wouldn’t want to nab the wrong guy.”

“Of course, hang on.” She swiped through her phone’s gallery, selecting a few of the better images and attaching them to an email, which she then sent to David. “At least you know two of the dogs are still alive,” she said.

“Yes, that’s good news. I don’t want to tell the owners just yet, though. I wouldn’t want to give them false hope.” He fell silent as someone came through the deli’s front door, stepping back so that Moira could help the customer. The man grabbed a raspberry-flavored sparkling water from the refrigerator, and ordered a bowl of the beef and mushroom soup at the register.

Moira’s eyes kept flicking between the man and her fingers as she punched his purchases into the register. He looked familiar, but she wasn’t able to place him until he turned his head to look at the cheese wheel in the display case and she saw the tattoo on his neck. He had been at Detective Fitzgerald’s retirement party; she remembered him because he had been watching Detective Jefferson so closely. He looked better now than he had then—less tired, and healthier. She handed him his receipt and the paper bag with his to-go bowl of soup in it without saying a word, and watched him leave.

“I’ve seen that guy before,” she explained to David in a hushed voice. She told him about seeing him at the retirement party, and how she recognized him today from his tattoo.

“He was watching Detective Jefferson while he was getting the news about Fitzgerald,” she continued. “Do you think he had something to do with Fitzgerald’s death?”

“It could be.” He glanced at the receipt in her hand. “He paid with his credit card, didn’t he? Give me his name, and I’ll see if I can pull up any information on him when I get back to the office.”

“His name is Shawn Dietz,” she told him. “Let me know if you find anything.”

“I will,” he promised. “Thanks for calling me about the guy with the dogs. You’ve given me hope that this case may have a happy ending yet.”

Shortly after David left, Dante emerged from the kitchen. “The quiches are done,” he said. “Do you want to try one?”

“Definitely. Why don’t you bring a platter out? We can start offering them to customers and see how people like them,” she suggested.

“All right, hang on.” The young man went back into the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later carrying a large platter of mini-quiches.

“Those look great,” the deli owner said. She grabbed one and bit into it, enjoying the strong cheesy flavor. “And they taste amazing,” she added.

“I hope customers think so, too,” he said nervously.

“I’m sure they will,” she reassured him. “They taste delicious, and they are the perfect size for people to grab on their way to work or school. Paired with a glass of freshly squeezed juice, or a cup of coffee, and breakfast should be a hit.” She knelt down to rearrange some of the meats in the display case to make room for the quiches, then slid the tray onto the shelf and covered it with a glass lid.

“We should probably start advertising that we’re extending our hours,” she said after a moment’s thought. “Could you make a poster or a flyer for us to hang in the window? I figure we can start with the new hours in two weeks, which should give us enough time to find another employee and rearrange when everyone works. We’ll try opening at seven, and see how that works.”