Chicken Pesto Murder: Book 5 in The Darling Deli Series (8 page)

“Do you remember anything else about him? Could you describe his face? Did he give you his name?” The deli owner leaned forward, staring hopefully at her friend. She was disappointed when Martha shook her head.

“No, sorry, he didn’t give me his name, and like I said, I wasn’t really paying much attention to what he looked like.”

Moira sighed, wishing that she had more to go on, but still feeling certain that the man her friend had gotten her dog from had been the thief. If only she had a way to identify him other than his shoes.

“Do you want a bowl of soup or anything?” she asked at last. “David’s coming from Lake Marion, so he’ll probably be about twenty minutes.”

Two bowls of soup and a grilled chicken breast for the dog later, David’s familiar black car pulled into the deli’s parking lot. He hurried inside, and then froze, staring at the dog. Pulling a picture out of his wallet, he compared it to the pooch.

“Carrie?” he said. The dog pricked up her ears and wagged her tail at him, recognizing the name. David grinned.

“It’s her,” he announced, turning to Moira. “It’s the stolen collie.”

Moira knew that it was good news; with everything that was going on in David’s life right now, a break in the case that he was working on was bound to be a relief. However, she couldn’t help but feel sad at the crushed look on her friend’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, walking to Martha and giving the other woman a hug.

“It’s okay. It’s good that her family will be able to get her back,” her friend said. “I hope that you catch the guy that stole her in the first place. Stealing people’s pets and reselling them is just a cold-hearted thing to do.” She paused, then continued, “but getting a dog is a really good idea. I’ll have to check out the shelter tomorrow.”

“We’ll catch him,” David promised. “Now, tell me exactly where you met him.”

David left shortly after with Carrie the collie in tow. He planned to return her to her owners straight away. They were probably frantic with worry about her; she seemed like such a sweet, well-cared-for dog that Moira couldn’t imagine her not being loved. At least one of the missing pets would have a happy ending. She could only hope for such a good outcome for the others.

The private investigator drove away from the small country house on the outskirts of Lake Marion with a glad heart. The collie’s family had been overjoyed to see her, and the pooch had returned the sentiment, jumping up and down eagerly as her people greeted her. He had refused payment; it felt good to do a good deed, and besides, the case still wasn’t over. The other dogs and the thief were still out there, somewhere.

He decided to drive by the parking lot where Martha had picked up the dog. He followed her directions to a small, deserted lot near the grocery store in Maple Creek. It seemed as good a place to start looking for clues as any, but he hadn’t really expected to find anything majorly helpful. He was surprised to see activity in the far corner of the parking lot; someone was standing next to a pickup truck, chatting intently on his cell phone. There were a couple of plastic kennels in the back of the truck, but David was at the wrong angle to see whether they had dogs in them.

His heart pounding, the private investigator coasted into the lot. He drove slowly towards the truck, doing his best to be prepared for anything. If the man really was the thief, there was no telling how he would react if he thought he was going to be caught. He could do anything from pulling out a gun to jumping in the truck and peeling away.

David got close enough to see that a couple of the kennels did have residents. He recognized the brown face and droopy ears of a beagle, and knew that he had found the right guy—or at least, the right dogs. There was still a chance that this man wasn’t the dog thief, but was a partner or accomplice.

“Excuse me,” he said, rolling down his window as his car pulled even with the truck. “Do you know where the closest gas station is?” He of course already knew exactly where every gas station was for miles around, but he wanted an excuse to talk to the man, to see his face and hear his voice. Anything that would help identify him later.

To his surprise, the man seemed to recognize him. When he looked into David’s face, his eyes widened, and his mouth parted in shock. He hung up the phone without saying goodbye to whoever was on the other line, then pointed down the road.

“That way,” he said quickly. “Just keep going, you’ll see it.” The man was pointing him in the opposite direction from the gas station. Intrigued, David nodded a quick thanks and rolled up his window. He pretended to follow the man’s directions, pulling out of the parking lot and rounding the corner, but turned his vehicle around at the first intersection. He idled at the stop sign, the parking lot and the man’s truck just barely in view. When the truck pulled out of the parking lot and drove in the opposite direction down Main Street, David followed, already on the phone with the Maple Creek police station.

Moira pulled into the parking lot of the Redwood Grill, feeling bad that she was slightly late. Yesterday, David had caught the man responsible for the rash of dognappings in the area, and tonight they were going to celebrate. It seemed like things were finally looking up again for the private investigator, and hopefully soon all of the stolen dogs would be reunited with their owners.

“He’s in the back. You know the way,” the hostess said with a smile, recognizing Moira instantly. She thanked the young woman, and slipped past the line of people waiting for seating. Sure enough, David was seated at their usual table. He had already ordered a glass of wine for both of them, and was perusing the appetizer menu while he waited for her.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she slid into the booth across from him. “The kitchen sink at the deli got clogged and flooded, and I had to stay late to make sure it got cleaned up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, offering her a grin. “I’ve just been looking at their new menus. Denise wanted to see what I thought. Well, she wanted
your
opinion on them, but since you weren’t here yet, she decided mine would do.”

“I’m sure whoever she hired to design them did a great job,” Moira said. “That woman doesn’t cut corners.” She took a sip of her wine, pleased that David had thought to order a glass for her. “So, have you had any luck figuring out who that jerk sold the stolen dogs to?”

“Not yet.” David grimaced. “From what I’ve heard, he’s not cooperating with the police. He’s refusing to say anything without his lawyer, so they’re holding him until his public defender arrives.”

“Did you find out anything about
why
he was stealing the dogs? What’s his name, anyway?” she asked.

“His name is Mikey Strauss, and from what I gathered he’s not admitting to
anything
right now. He said that the dogs in the truck were his, and that he had to find them new homes because his landlord said he had too many.” He sighed and took another sip of his wine. “He’s not making this easy for any of us, but if your friend Martha can pick him out of a lineup, then things should go more smoothly.”

“She’ll be more than happy to do that, I’m sure. She was pretty upset that she bought a stolen dog.” Moira lowered her voice and glanced around to make sure no one was nearby listening in. “Has there been any more news about the other case?”

She didn’t have to elaborate; he knew immediately what she was talking about. David’s expression darkened, and he put down his wine glass.

“No,” he said. “Not that I’ve heard. But everyone at the Maple Creek police department seems to think that I did it. You should have seen some of the looks I got when I came in with Strauss.”

“I’m sure they’ll find another lead eventually,” she told him. “And even if they don’t, they don’t have enough to arrest you on. The only evidence that they have that really points towards you being the murderer is the fact that your wallet was found in Fitzgerald’s house. I already told Detective Jefferson that you’d lost it the night we had dinner, and once they check with your credit card company and your bank, they’ll see that you reported it missing days before the murder. I just wonder how it ended up at the crime scene?”

“I’ve got no idea. Most likely, I dropped it outside while I was arguing with Fitzgerald. Maybe he picked it up and meant to return it to me the next day, and then forgot about it,” David suggested.

“What was that argument about, anyway?” Moira asked, still curious about what would have caused the normally calm private investigator to lose his temper, and with a police detective of all people.

“It wasn’t anything important,” he said, looking away. “Do you know what you want to order?”

Why won’t he just tell me?
Moira wondered.
What could be so bad that he won’t say it?
Neither David nor the detective were unreasonable men, and she couldn’t imagine what would cause them to argue, especially in such a public setting.

“I think I’m going to go with the mushroom-stuffed chicken breasts today,” she told him, deciding once again not to press the matter. “How about you?”

They were only a couple of bites into the main course when David’s cell phone rang. He ignored it at first, muting the call and cutting a bite from the juicy steak on the plate in front of him. When it rang again, he sighed and gave in, shooting Moira an apologetic look as he answered it. She gave him a quick smile to let him know that it was okay—both of them were dedicated to their jobs, and that meant being available twenty-four hours a day. She took another bite of her chicken, savoring the rich, smoky cheese flavor of the creamy mushroom filling.

“I have to go,” David said when he hung up. He dug into his new wallet and put some bills on the table. Moira looked up at him, concerned. Had something gone wrong with one of his cases?

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“They want me down at the police station,” he told her. “They said they have some questions to ask me. You should finish up here. Visit with Denise.” He gave her a small half smile. “I’m sure it’s just about the dog thief.” Moira couldn’t help noticing how worried he looked as he walked away.

* * *

David walked into the police station, going over his brief telephone conversation with the detective. Nothing had been said to indicate that he was in any sort of trouble, but he had picked up on something off in the detective’s tone. Why was he being asked to come to the station so late in the evening? Surely anything to do with the dog thief could wait until tomorrow.

“David Morris,” he told the woman behind the counter at the police station “I’m here to see Detective Jefferson.”

“I’ll let him know,” she said. “Have a seat.” He obediently went to sit in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, but had barely reached the seat when a door opened and Jefferson poked his head out.

“David,” he said. “Thanks for coming down to the station. Come with me.”

He followed the detective down the familiar halls, and was surprised when they stopped in front of the suspect interview room instead of continuing to Jefferson’s office. What was going on? Had the dog thief decided to talk before his lawyer got there? If so, why would they need him there? Usually, once David turned a criminal in to the police, the matter was out of his hands. He wasn’t involved with the investigation past that point at all. So what was going on here?

“Right in here, if you will,” the detective said. David preceded him through the door. Instead of seeing Mikey Strauss sitting at the table in the center of the room, there was a uniformed officer standing in the corner. There were only two plain metal chairs in the room, one on each side of the table. David sat in the one on the far side from the officer, and Jefferson sat across from him. He looked sad, which scared David more than anything.

“Do you know why you’re here?” the detective asked.

“No,” David said honestly. “I thought at first that it must be something to do with the Strauss guy that got arrested yesterday, but I’m beginning to think that it doesn’t have anything to do with that.”

“Well, you’re mostly right about that,” Jefferson said. “This is a much more serious matter than someone selling stolen dogs.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go over the night of the retirement party again, David.”

“What do you want to know?” He felt sick. Enough time had passed since the murder for him to start hoping either that the police had found another suspect or had decided that they didn’t have enough evidence against him. It looked like he had been wrong.

“Where were you that evening?”

“I was at the party, with Moira. I’m sure other people saw me there too. We already talked about this—”

“I just want to make sure that I’m getting the facts straight, David,” the detective said. “Bear with me. Now, we both know that you arrived to the party later in the evening than Moira did. Can you tell me where you were before that?”

“I was at the office, working on a case.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

“No.” David sighed. He’d told the detective all of this already, and his answers weren’t going to change.

“What route did you take when you were driving from your office to the party?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” he replied, thrown for a moment. This was new. “I took Main Street to Greene, I think, and then parked on the street.” The detective scribbled a note.

“Do you remember what you were wearing that night?” Another new question. Where was the detective going with this?

“Ah… a black duster, black jeans, and a dark green button-down shirt, I think.” He only remembered because he had changed at the office right before meeting Moira at Fitzgerald’s retirement party. He had spilled coffee on his other clothes earlier in the day, and hadn’t wanted to show up to the party stained and smelling like a cappuccino.

“When we interviewed you last week, you were favoring your arm. Do you remember how you injured it?”

“A biking accident. I’ve been trying to exercise more regularly lately.” He had already answered this question, too. Why was Jefferson going over all of this again? “Would you mind telling me what’s going on?” he asked the detective. “Am I being held here, or am I free to leave?”