Murder and Marinara (10 page)

“I don't want to
be
on this case! I want to write my book and learn how to make sauce.” I let out a loud breath. “But now I'm stuck.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Nina LaGuardia called me this morning.” While Sofia listened with shining eyes, I explained the terms of my deal with the journalist.

“Wait,” Sofia said. “You told her you'd solve this in a week?”

“I didn't really have a choice.”

“Okay, then.” She slapped her palms down on the table. “We gotta get moving, girlfriend. Did you look around here today, by the way?”

“I did.” I glanced at the kitchen to make sure Tim wouldn't be coming out of it anytime soon and then dug into my pocket. “I found these.” I spread out the packets of dried herbs.

Sofia pointed to the plastic-wrapped leaves. “What is that crap?”

“That's what I need to find out. Herbs of some kind, I think. They were in the pantry, but I don't recognize them. My grandmother grows a lot of this stuff.”

She grinned. “Think Nonna's been smoking it?”

“No, but she makes tisanes—special drinks with herbs.” I wrinkled my nose at the memory of the stuff she used to try to foist on me when I was sick. “There's dried bunches of stuff all over the pantry.”

Sofia's eyes widened as the light dawned. “And some of it might be poisonous.”

“C'mon, Sofe. That's kind of a leap, don't you think?” But even as I said it, I thought of our famous house dressing, flavored with dried herbs right from the Casa Lido garden.

“Right now, SIL, nothing's a leap. And nothing's off the table.” She pointed. “Including your grandmother as a suspect.”

“She wasn't even here!” As far as I knew. Couldn't she have slipped in and out of the kitchen? To what lengths would my grandmother go to keep “filth and shenanigans” out of her beloved shore town? It was ludicrous to imagine my grandmother as a murderer. And she had specifically asked me to find out who killed Parisi. Yet I could still hear her words:
By tomorrow, we will be rid of him
. I shook my head as if to rid myself of the thought. “Oh, hang on—I almost forgot.” I flattened the receipt out on the tabletop. “Check this out. I found it in the bathroom.”

“Good work.” She picked it up and peered closely. “Ah, my favorite store. So it's a silver necklace, but I'm not sure which one.” She pressed her palms together in prayer to the God of Little Blue Boxes. “But it doesn't matter, because I love them all.”

“Hang on there, princess. Before you get carried away—don't you even want to know who bought this jewelry?”

She rolled her eyes. “It was Parisi, of course. Why else would you be showing it to me? And you found it in the bathroom, where he probably went when he felt pukey.” She shook her head. “Do I have to do all the deducing around here?” She stood up and stretched. “It's getting late, SIL. Keep snooping.” She winked at me. “I'm gonna go work on your brother to see if he knows anything.”

“He won't tell you a thing!” I called after her.

She stopped in the doorway and shrugged her sweater off her shoulders to reveal a pink leotard with a deep V-neck and lots of golden brown cleavage. “Wanna bet?”

As I watched my sister-in-law sashay out the door, I was inclined to agree with her. But I was torn between hoping Danny would tell her something and worrying whether he'd compromise his position on the force.

I looked around the empty restaurant and sighed. We couldn't have many more nights like this one. I wandered over to the bar, resisting the urge to have another small taste of whiskey. Had Cal corrupted me already?

“Did Sofie leave?” Tim's voice came from behind me. I shifted on the stool to look up at him.

“Yes. If you knew she was here, why didn't you come out and say hello?” I shot him a tight smile. “Maybe you're feeling guilty.”

He ran his hands through his hair, a sure sign he was nervous. “Vic, how many times do I have to say it? It's not how it looks.”

“It's not how it looks? Please. Even in books that's a cliché.” I swung around on the barstool, unable to look at him.

He rested his hand on my shoulder. “You have to let me explain.”

Just as I turned around, the alarm system blared once and stopped. The next second, the room was completely dark. Tim's hand tightened on my shoulder.

“Please tell me we don't have a fire.” My voice sounded unnaturally loud in the darkness.

“No,” Tim said. “That's the sound it makes when the system loses power. I think a breaker's been tripped. There's not a light on in the place.”

“Great.” I shivered, my anger with Tim all but forgotten in my panic. Tim patted my shoulder.

“Don't worry,” he said. “I know this place like the back of my hand. I'll go check out the panel.”

Steadying myself on the edge of the bar, I slid down from the stool and grabbed his arm. “You're not leaving me out here by myself. I'm going with you.”

I could almost hear his grin. “C'mon, scaredy-cat. There's probably a flashlight in the kitchen.”

Still holding on to Tim's arm, I strained to see any source of light. There was a faint glow near the front doors, probably from lights on the boardwalk. But inside was pitch-blackness. As I shuffled behind Tim, I was startled by a metallic creak coming from the back of the restaurant.

“Tim!” I whispered. “Did you hear that?” My heart thudding in my chest, I squeezed his arm tightly.

“It sounded like the back door. I had it propped open and it probably just swung shut. Hey, ease up on the grip, okay?”

“Sorry.” I loosened my hold as we made our slow way down the narrow hallway. As my eyes got accustomed to the darkness, I could just make out a rectangular shape a few feet ahead of us, and I halted. “Tim, wait! The pantry door is open, and I know I locked it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” In my mind, I saw myself replacing the key. “Absolutely.”

“I'm going to check it out. You wait here.”

“No.” I gasped. “You can't leave me in this dark hallway.”

“Then follow the light from the front door and wait outside.”

I considered my rather limited choices. Wait here alone while Tim walked into the pantry where someone could be waiting. Stumble out toward the dining area alone where someone could be waiting. Go with Tim and hope—no, pray—that we could get the lights back on quickly. My fingers tightened on his arm again. “I'm going with you.”

“Okay, but stay behind me.”

As if I would consider any other course of action. Wishing I'd poured myself that whiskey, I slid one heavy foot in front of the other while the pantry door loomed closer. Tim shook off my arm and strode into the dark room. “Is someone here?” he called, his voice like the crack of a gun shot in the silence. I jumped and moved quickly into the pantry myself. “Hello?” he said again, turning to look at me. “Vic, there's nobody here. C'mon. We gotta get downstairs to that electrical panel.”

“I think there's a flashlight in the dresser over there,” I whispered. But just as the words left my mouth, I heard the creak of the floorboards in the hallway. And then the pantry door slammed shut behind us.

“H
ey!” I shouted, frantically turning the knob. I opened my mouth to yell again, but Tim clapped his hand over it.

“Stop, Vic! We need to hear what's going on out there.” As he spoke, soft footsteps sounded in the hall, then died away. “There's definitely somebody in the restaurant.”

I turned and leaned my back against the door, my heart still pounding. “Your powers of deduction are amazing there, Sherlock.”

“Shhh. Listen, will you? I think that's the kitchen door.”

“I said that before, Tim,” I hissed. “Somebody's in that kitchen.”

“But why, Vic? They gonna steal my Cuisinart? The money's out in the dining room.” He shook his head. “It doesn't make sense.”

It does if you're not looking for money
, I thought,
but something incriminating you might have left behind. My God, we could be trapped in here with a murderer running around the restaurant.
I took a deep breath to steady myself and slow my frantic heartbeat. “We are such idiots,” I said. “We did everything wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“That open pantry door was a trap. We should have either slammed it shut or turned around and left the restaurant.” In the dark, windowless pantry, the herbs hung like black bats over our heads. I shivered, due to the room's chill and a healthy dose of fear. “I've been writing some version of this scene for years. What we did was the equivalent of walking up the dark attic steps in the haunted house.” I slid down against the door and landed on the floor in a helpless heap.

Tim sat down next to me and put his hand on my arm. “Don't worry. We'll—” He paused, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Do you hear that?”

I pressed my ear against the solid oak door. There were definite sounds coming from the kitchen: muffled thumps and crashes as drawers and cabinets were opened and closed. “Yeah, I do.” I shivered again, and unconsciously moved closer to Tim. What could they be looking for that the police (and I) had overlooked? And if they found it, would they leave—or come and find us?

“When the hell did they get in?” Tim asked.

“They could have gotten in anytime. Don't forget, you propped the back door open. At some point they slipped in and threw that breaker, knowing we'd head straight for the panel box and right past that open pantry door.”

“How'd they know which key locks this door?”

“I don't know.” But I had some ideas I wasn't yet willing to share. It could be someone connected to the restaurant who knew the layout and our routine, like Mr. Biaggio. But Mr. B was thickset, with a lumbering walk. The tread I'd heard in the hallway belonged to someone sure on his feet, even graceful.
Like Cal
, a voice in the back of my mind said. I shook my head. Anybody on staff could have shared information about that key, even innocently, to the wrong person. I turned to look at Tim, and the dawning suspicion forced me to my feet. “Maybe someone told them,” I whispered.

“What are you saying, Vic?”

“I'm saying that maybe you sent your ex-girlfriend here on a mission tonight.”

Then Tim did something I've never heard a person do: He laughed in a whisper. “Vic,” he said, “I was in the kitchen all day. I'm in the kitchen
every
day. If there was something to get rid of, don't you think I would have done it by now?”

“You washed his plate.” The words flew from my mouth and echoed in the dark room.

“Right. To get rid of all that poison I put in his salad.” Tim reached his hand out to me and smiled. “Come back and sit down, will ya, please?”

I sighed and sat back down, allowing several inches between us. “Tim, admit it. You've been acting guilty as hell.”

“Because I knew how it would look. I served the guy. I had complete access to him, and I used to be involved with his wife.”

I shifted a few more inches away from him on the floor. “Why'd she come here today? To case the joint?”

He shook his head. “You really have been writing mysteries too long. That imagination's working overtime. I mean, we still don't know for sure that it's murder.”

Not officially, I thought. But it was clear somebody did away with Parisi, and I had to make sure it wasn't Tim. “You haven't answered my question.”

“I think she came for the reason she said. She wanted to know about his last moments and try to get a sense of what killed him.”

“'Cause she's so grief-stricken, right?”

But the sound of the back door closing heavily jolted us before he could answer. “You think they're gone?” Tim asked.

“Wait.” I put my hand on his arm just as the sound of a car engine reached our ears. “They weren't parked in the lot; that sound is too far away.” I strained to listen as the sound of the car died away. “Well, let's hope they're not coming back.”

“They won't risk it.” Tim got to his feet. “Did you say there's a flashlight somewhere in here?”

“In one of the dresser drawers.” Blinking in the darkness, I could just make out its square shape in the corner of the room. “And watch out for the shelves.”

“Please,” he said. “I told you. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

Before I could answer, the crash of canned goods started my heart thudding again. “Will you please be careful? I jumped a mile, and I don't need any more scares tonight.”

“Sorry.” His voice softened. “Do you remember the first time we were in this pantry together?”

My face grew warm, and I smiled in spite of myself. “A girl doesn't forget her first kiss. You were sixteen and had just had a growth spurt. Your hands hung out of your shirtsleeves.”

Tim held the flashlight out between us, and I had the strange sensation that we were telling stories around a campfire. Not scary ones, though. “You followed me in here,” he said.

“No way. You followed me.”

“Whatever.” Tim grinned, and in the soft light he became that sixteen-year-old I had so crushed on. “It ended up the same way. We were right there.” He pointed with the flashlight to the corner where my father's wine was stored. He shook his head. “I remember it so clearly. Your nose was peeling from sunburn.”

“Your lips were chapped. They felt rough.” I touched my lips at the memory.

Tim grinned at me. “I was too cool for lip balm. You didn't seem to mind, though.”

“I didn't. But then when school started, you ignored me. And continued to ignore me for four years.”

“C'mon, you were only a freshman. I was waiting for you to grow up.”

“Right.” I stood up to stretch. “But we're breaking Rule Number Two. And, anyway, we don't have time to reminisce. We need to figure out a way out of here.”

He shook his head. “Not gonna happen. Even if I could find a screwdriver in here, we couldn't budge that oak door, assuming I could get it off its hinges. Nope, we got only one choice. We have to spend the night here.”

The thought of spending the night in the same room with Tim was only marginally less frightening than fighting off the mysterious intruder. “You're kidding me.”

Instead of answering, Tim used the flashlight to find his way to the very spot we'd kissed nearly twenty years before. I heard the crash of breaking glass, and the unmistakable odor of grapes hit my nose.

“Did you just break the top of one of my father's wine bottles?”

“How else could I get it open?” He held out the broken bottle and a small flowerpot, which he handed to me. “I think I got most of the dirt out of it.”

I used my shirt to wipe it out for good measure, then held it out toward the flashlight. “No drainage hole. Good work.”

Tim poured me a full pot of Chianti and lifted the bottle.
“Salute.”

“Wait—you can't drink from that bottle.”

“Damn right.” He pointed to my flowerpot. “We're gonna share.”

“That's kind of intimate, don't you think?”

“Well, we're in kind of intimate circumstances, aren't we?”

“You could say that.” I took a deep swig of my father's swill, and it rushed to my head like a freight train. The next swallow went down a bit easier, though my legs were shaky. I sat back down and Tim joined me on the floor. I took another quick sip for courage and wiped the rim of the pot before passing it to Tim.

“I don't mind your germs, Vic.” He filled the little pot again and swirled the wine as though it were the finest Montepulciano instead of Frank's Thursday Chianti. “Not a bad nose.” Then he took a sip and choked. “Geez, that's got a kick.”

“It tastes better as it goes down,” I said, feeling warm and cozy as the Chianti coursed through my veins. “With each successive sip.”

Tim laughed. “You said ‘suh-cess-ive.'” He took a deeper swallow this time and pounded his chest as it went down.

I reached for the flowerpot. “Lessee how good you talk after another ounce of this crap.” I sipped again and then sniffed; the air was filled with the smell of old wine. “Nonna's gonna kill you for making a mess in here.” I handed him back the pot. “She scrubs the cement.”

He drained what was left in the pot and grinned at me over the rim. “She ‘
shrubs
the cement,' huh?”

“Oh, ha-ha.” I flapped my hand at him and he grabbed it, pulling me closer to him on the floor. I got to my feet as quickly as my rubbery legs and foggy head would allow. “Wait a minute, there, buddy. Whoa. Don't get any crazy ideas.” I swayed a little. “That's Rule Number One.” I frowned, trying to remember. “Or maybe it's Rule Number Two. Anyway, it's one of them.”

“You're right, Vic, and I'm sorry.” But his expression was anything but sorry. He jumped to his feet pretty quickly, considering how much wine he'd put away. “But if we have to stay in here tonight, we might as well be comfortable.” He shined the flashlight onto the dresser and began opening the lower drawers; he threw us each a couple of tablecloths.

“Those are clean, Tim! And I just ironed all those!” I wailed, as several napkins sailed toward me.

“We need pillows, don't we?”

I sighed. Even the image of all those crumpled linens that would need laundering wasn't enough to keep me from creating a makeshift bed. Fear was exhausting. Tim's “bed,” set suspiciously close to my own, resembled a pile of soon-to-be-dirty laundry.

As we struggled to get comfortable, I turned my back to Tim. Much safer. But the wine had loosened my untrustworthy tongue.

“Are you involved with her?” I asked over my shoulder. Despite my stupor, the words rang out clearly, as did the meaning of “involved.”

He didn't have to ask whom I meant. We knew each other far too well for that. Instead, he just sighed. “No, Vic, I'm not. She got in touch with me about a week ago, out of the blue. She wanted to know how I was doing. I told her I was here, and she stopped in to see me.” He paused. “She thought Parisi was cheating on her.”

I had to stop myself from bolting upright in my pile of tablecloths. Another woman equaled another suspect and another motive for Miss Angie. I tried to keep my voice casual. “Is that so? What made her think that?”

“She didn't really get into details. It's not like she made a habit of confiding in me. Angie and I were over a long time ago.”

I shifted on my pile of damask cloth, feeling every bump in the cement. “Then why did she show up today?”

He lifted himself up on one elbow, treating me to the shadowy outline of his muscled arm. “I told you. I don't know. She was hysterical. Maybe she had nowhere to turn.”

Men
, I thought. She was hysterical, all right. Hysterical enough to come snooping around here and throw suspicion on her old boyfriend. “I wonder what he did die of,” I said.

Tim spoke through a long, loud yawn. “It was probably just a heart attack, Vic. And as soon as the police release those results, this will be old news.”

“I hope so,” I said. “The Casa Lido's future depends on it.”
And maybe yours as well
.
But if it was just a heart attack, why were there broken blood vessels in his eyes? Why was somebody ransacking the kitchen? And more to the point, why are we locked in this pantry?

“Hey, Vic?” Tim's voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“I'm glad you're back. I missed you.”

The sound of his voice—deep, warm, and familiar—coursed through me as thoroughly as my father's homemade wine and with the same potency. A little light-headed, I tried to control my response, but my answer came out as a sigh. “I missed you, too,” I said, and tried to settle myself into my bed.

Whether it was the wine or utter exhaustion, I slept pretty well, considering we'd probably had a brush with a murderer and that my bed was a tablecloth and my pillow a pile of slippery napkins. When the dim light of morning broke through my consciousness, I groaned and put my hand over my gritty, foul-tasting mouth. Ugh. A toothbrush followed by about seven Tylenol was the first order of the day.

“Hey,” I croaked.

Tim turned to face me, rumpled in that morning sexy way that is usually only true on television. “'Morning, sunshine,” he said brightly.

I held my head and groaned. “Turn it down, will you? Frankie's Chianti is having its terrible revenge.”

Just then came the scrape of the key in the pantry lock, and the door swung open to reveal my grandmother, fists on hips and thunder in her face. I listened in dazed, hungover horror as Italian invective rained down over us. The words dropped with painful thuds onto my aching head, and I could only imagine the scene as she saw it: spilled wine, broken glass, crumpled linens, and the two of us lying side by side on the pantry floor. I winced as she went on, ever louder, ever more virulent. Finally, after shaking her fist at the two of us, she turned with a jerk and stalked down the hallway into the kitchen. I took a breath and looked at Tim.