Spicy Lasagna Murder: Book 13 in The Darling Deli Series (7 page)

The deli door jingled as it swung open. Moira looked up from the latest batch of emails to see Augusta Samwell, Mr. Samwell’s widow, enter the store. She looked pale and sad as she approached the register.

“It’s nice to see you,” Moira said, closing her tablet since she didn’t want to appear rude. “Can I get you anything? Would you like a fresh cup of coffee? On the house?”

“No, thank you,” the other woman said softly. Her voice was hoarse, as if she had been crying. “Actually, I came in here to see if I could hire you to cater something for me. Cordelia Franks and I want to have a joint event celebrating our husbands’ lives. They were competitors, but a lot of people don’t know that they were also friends—albeit grumpy ones.” She smiled faintly. “They both loved what they did, and wouldn’t want all of this sadness. I want to do something where people can come together and share their favorite memories of the two men, and remember with joy the long lives that they were blessed with.”

“I’d be happy to,” Moira said gently. “I think that’s a beautiful thing to do.”

She decided to charge the poor woman only the cost of food, without the normal service fee. She wouldn’t be making a profit on the event, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Darling. I know my husband was very impressed with your deli and how honest you were when you did business with him, and I just can’t think of anyone better to supply the food for this event.”

“What sort of layout were you thinking?” she asked, pulling a notebook and pen out from the drawer under the register.

“I really don’t know, dear. But it’s important to me that you incorporate some of the produce from our farm, if you can.”

“Of course, I’ll make a note of that, and try to bring as much of it as possible. I take it you want this to happen pretty soon?”

“Would next week be possible?”

Moira nodded. She usually preferred more advance notice, but in this case, since Mrs. Samwell wanted her to use food that she already had on hand, sooner was better than later. She wouldn’t have to order anything extra, and moving around the schedule for next week would be easy enough. She put the pen away, glad that she had the freedom to decide what to bring herself. Jobs with very specific requests were always nerve wracking because she worried about messing them up.

“Mrs. Samwell,” she asked, suddenly remembering her conversation with David over dinner a few days ago. “Can I ask you something?”

The older woman hesitated, then gave a quick nod.

“What are you planning on doing with the farm? I know your husband was planning on renting out the land and house.”

“Oh, he told you that?” Mrs. Samwell bit her lip. “Well, I’m planning on selling it, frankly. The last few harvests this year will likely just go in bulk to wholesalers. I don’t want to have to deal with finding renters and trying to figure out how to be a landlord on top of everything else, plus haggling with produce buyers.”

“That makes sense. I bet it will be hard to see the property go, though.”

“It definitely will.” The old woman sighed, then perked up. “Say, I heard of a contest you might be interested in. It was called the Grand Cruise Chef War. I read about it in one of my magazines. You just enter online, and if you get chosen, you get to go on a free cruise with a bunch of other cooks and take part in a contest. The winner gets a bunch of money, I think.”

“Really?” Moira raised her eyebrows. Something like that was definitely up her alley. Hadn’t she been considering taking a vacation, anyway? What could be better than a free cruise? “I’ll look it up,” she promised. “Thanks, Mrs. Samwell.”

“No problem, dear. I hope you win.”

The older woman gave her one last smile, then said goodbye and made her way outside. The deli owner watched her go, struck by how frail she seemed.
Poor woman
, she thought.
Her husband’s death must be really hard on her. She’s been married to him for over half a century. I haven’t even been involved with David for a year yet, and I don’t even want to imagine losing him.

Once Augusta Samwell had left the parking lot, Moira turned her tablet back on. Instead of going back to the emails, however, she searched for that competition the older woman had mentioned. Sure enough, it was still accepting entries.

The rules were simple. You had to work at or own a restaurant that served hot food and had been open for more than two years. You couldn’t be a celebrity chef, or work for a chain, and you had to be over twenty-one years of age. Moira easily qualified for all of those.

There was a twenty-dollar entry fee. After a few minutes of searching around, she found enough proof that the contest was legitimate and not some sort of a credit card scam that she felt comfortable paying the fee. She grinned to herself as she did so, knowing that she had most likely just wasted twenty bucks. She was certain that hundreds, if not thousands of other people would have entered by the time the contest closed in two weeks. What were the chances that her name would be drawn, really?

The chance for a free cruise would have been enough for her alone, but the contest also offered a cash prize of ten thousand dollars to the winner, and a chance to co-star as a guest on a celebrity cooking show. Moira knew that even if her name did somehow get drawn, she would have to work hard and be at her very best to compete with the other cooks, but even if she didn’t win, the experience would be worth it.

I deserve some good luck for once, don’t I?
she thought, crossing her fingers as she clicked the button to officially enter the drawing.
In just two weeks, I’ll find out.

Moira eased her vehicle to a halt near the big square building and frowned. A small farmhouse sat on the other side of the driveway, and she wasn’t quite sure which building she was expected to go to. She was beginning to regret even agreeing to this meeting in the first place. Luke Samwell had passed away just over a week ago. It felt wrong to make other arrangements with one of his competitors so soon after his death, but Zander was right: business didn’t wait. If Mrs. Samwell
was
planning on selling the remaining produce to wholesalers, then selling the farm itself, Moira would need to find new suppliers as soon as possible.

She saw Zander’s tall form waving from the odd square building’s front door and shut off her engine in relief. At least he hadn’t forgotten about their meeting. She was curious to see the inside of the building—it looked like a cross between a barn and a warehouse, and she wondered what was inside it. Zander was quite different from most of the farmers that she did business with. He seemed more modern than most, and was definitely a lot younger than the crotchety old farmers she was used to.

“Ms. Darling, it’s great to see you again,” he said, taking her hand in both of his and shaking it warmly when she drew near enough. “Come on in. This is my office, and also doubles as my brewery. Did I tell you I made my own beers and ales?”

“No, you didn’t. Is it difficult? I have to admit; I know nothing about making drinks.”

“It’s not too tough if you have the right equipment.” He grinned. “Which I do, and then some. Would you like a tour?”

She didn’t, she really just wanted to talk business and leave, but she thought it might be rude to say so. He seemed so passionate about it.

“Sure,” she said.

He led her through the brewery, pausing every once in a while to explain what a certain piece of equipment did. It was obvious he knew a lot about his art, and had spent quite a bit of money getting the best machines that he could.

“I grow all of my own ingredients,” he told her. “I’ve been looking to expand. With the land from Samwell’s farm, I can grow a greater variety of ingredients for my beer and ale, and also expand my other produce. I’ll have to hire a few more people of course, but that’s no problem.”

“You’re planning on buying his farm then?” Moira asked, suddenly on high alert. Could this be the man who’d killed the two farmers? If he was, just how much danger was she in alone with him? The killer must have seen her through the flames, which meant that whoever it was knew that she had seen him, too.

“Yes. I hate to sound like I’m taking advantage of someone’s misfortune, but it is what it is.” He shrugged. “Business waits for no man. If I don’t swoop in and buy it, someone else will.”

“It still seems kind of… gruesome,” she said.

“I can see that. But old man Samwell was talking about renting it to me anyway, so I kind of figure it’s what he wanted, you know?”

Moira nodded, trying not to let her suspicion show on her face. So Zander had known that Mr. Samwell was going to rent out the property? She didn’t know if that made him more or less likely to be the killer. She would have to talk to David about this new development as soon as possible. For now, it was probably best to change the subject. She needed to finish up what she had come here for and leave.

“So, um, about the business deal you wanted to make?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, of course. Here, let’s go sit down in my office. Can I get you a drink? Everything in my fridge is freshly brewed, of course.”

She sat down at the seat he indicated in front of a big desk and shook her head, glad that she had a good excuse not to drink right now.

“Thanks, but I can’t. I’m on painkillers, and I’m not supposed to mix them with alcohol.” She held up her broken arm, indicating the cast with a nod of her head.

“My bad, I wasn’t thinking,” he said. “Here, I’ll get you a water.”

Before she could decline he had ducked into another room and came back a moment later with a clear glass of water. The crazy thought that he had poisoned it flashed through her mind. Careful not to let anything show on her face, she raised the glass of water to her lips, but didn’t take a sip.

“Business,” he said, sitting across from her and rubbing his hands together. “Where to start? Would you mind telling me your arrangement with Samwell? It may be easiest to just keep it up for now. After I buy the property—I know I’m not supposed to count my chickens before they’ve hatched, but I’m willing to pay well above market price for the place so it’s a pretty safe bet—after I buy it, I may make some changes to next year’s crops. I doubt I’ll do so much corn, for one thing, but I can’t imagine that would affect you much, would it? The deli doesn’t strike me as the sort of place that would buy a lot of corn.”

“No, we don’t,” she told him. “Mostly it’s fresh fruits from the orchard, and beef and dairy products. He was one of the few cheesemakers I bought from that wasn’t Amish. He’s always been very open about the cheese-making process, and all the feed for his cattle is organic. Plus, I like the way he treats his cows. Like they’re living beings, not just money-making machines.”

“Well, I don’t plan on making any changes to whoever he has hired to take care of the livestock, so you shouldn’t have to worry about that. How big were your monthly orders from him, usually?”

She told him how much she usually ordered, and then the prices he had quoted her for each variety of produce. He seemed to accept what she said outright, but whether that was because all of this was for show and he wasn’t actually planning on selling her anything, or he truly believed that she was an honest person, she didn’t know. At last he smiled and reached across the desk to shake her hand.

“I think we’ll work together just fine, Ms. Darling,” he said.

“Me too,” she said. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Mr. Marsh.”

“Oh, call me Zander,” he said, laughing. “I like to be on a first name basis with everyone. Last names make me feel old.”

Feeling like she would be rude if she didn’t return the sentiment, she said, “Well then, call me Moira, I insist.”

“Well thank
you
, Moira, for being willing to give me a chance. I promise to uphold the same standards that Mr. Samwell had, and then some.”

He walked her out to her car and stood outside his brewery, watching as she drove away. The deli owner kept him in sight of her rearview mirror until she turned out of the driveway. She couldn’t decide whether she had just had a successful business meeting with an honest man, or a tense meeting with a murderer, but either way she was glad that it was over. Her arm was aching, and she wanted nothing more than to go home, check on the puppies, then lie down and take a nap.

“Thanks so much, Logan,” Moira said, pausing at the front door as she shrugged on her jacket. “I know that between work and school, you’re pretty busy. I hope this isn’t cutting into your study time.”

“Nah, I can do my homework here, Ms. D,” he said. “You know I love hanging out with the dogs. I’ve missed them.”

“I think they’ve missed you too,” she said with a smile. Keeva and Maverick had greeted the teenager so enthusiastically at the door that they had nearly knocked him over. “The vet’s number is on the fridge, so if something happens don’t hesitate to call them. I think everything will be fine, though. Hazel has been great with the pups.”

“Okay, will do,” he promised. “I’ll keep a close eye on them.” He glanced over the gate at the squirming nest of puppies, and Moira recognized the warmth in his expression.
The surest way to tell that someone is a good person is whether or not they like animals
, she thought. Some of the worst people she had ever met mistreated animals, like the dog thief that had owned Maverick before she had taken him.