The Wedding Soup Murder: An Italian Kitchen Mystery (19 page)

S
ofia gripped the wheel as she drove just a bit too quickly down I-95. “That was like the mother lode of information right there.”

I nodded. “My mind is spinning. Toscano’s an imposter, and he’s probably a killer. His eyes, Sofe—remember I told you they had that cloudy look? He said he had cataracts—”

“Contact lenses,” Sofia interrupted. “I bet you anything he wears blue contacts. Did you ever see somebody with dark eyes wearing colored lenses?”

“Exactly, I know! They always look a little off. And, of course, Elizabeth wouldn’t have gotten a good look at his eyes.”

“And even if she did, she would have seen the blue lenses,” she said.

“But he told me he took a DNA test. Which means he—”

“Took something from the dead son. Hair or fingernails. We never asked Louise how Thomas died, but Toscano had to have been there, right?”

“I would think so,” I said with a small shudder. I had
a sudden image of Toscano leaning over the body of his dead comrade, taking a sample of his hair. “God,” I said, “what a cold-blooded, greedy, opportunistic—”

“Creep,” Sofia said.

“Yes, a creep for sure. And would you stop finishing my sentences, please?”

Sofia grinned and turned to me. “I wonder if Elizabeth was onto him, Vic, and he killed her to make sure he inherited. That’s how it looks, doesn’t it?”

“Probably. But there’s got to be more to this. Louise said that Thomas assumed his mother was dead. What if he just told
Louise
that? He had to have known something about his birth mother that Toscano got wind of somehow. I wonder if he found documents or something.”

“Vic, when we were looking at the picture from Afghanistan, Louise said that Thomas was very close to his commanding officer. They were the same age in a place with a lot of younger guys. Maybe Thomas confided in him; maybe he was planning to contact his mother all along.”

“And once Thomas was dead, Toscano saw a way to make a fortune.” I shook my head. “It’s so tragic, this whole story.”

“It would make a great subplot in your book, Vic,” Sofia said. “I mean the early stuff, about Tommy and the young Elizabeth.”

“Well,” I said, “it’s helped me see Elizabeth in a different light—that’s for sure. Maybe she turned into an Iron Lady, but she didn’t start that way.”

“And she didn’t deserve to get shoved off that seawall.”

“No, she didn’t.” I looked out the car window at the swiftly passing greenery and the cloudless July sky. Though I tended to be skeptical about the existence of heaven, I found myself hoping that Tommy and Elisabetta and Thomas had found one another again. “Too many lives cut short,” I said. “Too much sadness all around.” Whatever it took, I would make sure that Toscano was brought to justice. I wasn’t doing this for Dr. Chickie anymore—I was pursuing the truth for those long-ago teenagers and their dead son.

That night I took a walk along the beach. It was growing dusky; the day-trippers were long gone and except for a single fisherman, I was alone on the wide expanse of beach. The solitude and sound of the waves would help me think this through. I was due in Sutton’s office in the morning to give my statement. And I was hoping to have some answers by now. I would have to tell them what Elizabeth had said to Dr. Chickie the night of the wedding; those damning words constituted a threat and gave Dr. C. a motive for murder. He was already in custody for one crime. Would my statement bring on an arrest for another?

I stood at the water’s edge, watching the tide recede. I stooped to pick up a scallop shell, and under it was a piece of green sea glass, maybe from an old Coke bottle. I brushed the sand from its rough triangular shape and slipped it into my shorts pocket. Sea glass was a treasure these days; maybe it would bring me luck when I faced the Tiger Lady tomorrow.

Besides my formal statement, I would have to tell
Sutton what I’d learned about Toscano, but I would be risking her displeasure and a whole lot more. Giving her information about Toscano might take the focus from Dr. C. But doing so was an admission that I’d interfered in her investigation. I thought about my fictional detective, who at dark moments seemed more real to me than the characters in the drama all around me. I imagined his expression, his dark eyes serious under his Panama hat:
You must do the right thing, Victoria. Ah, but what is the right thing, Bernardo?

I rolled up my jeans and stuck my toes in the surf. Still a little chilly for July, but at least there were no jellyfish yet. As I watched the water, I remembered long summer days on this beach, digging in the sand with my brother, watching him and his friends—including Tim—surf for hours. I was more of a splasher than a swimmer, though Danny had spent many an afternoon trying to teach me.
Danny. Of course.
I would call my brother. He wouldn’t be happy about my involvement the case, but he could help me navigate the swift currents of events that threatened to drown me.

But my brother wasn’t picking up his cell, which meant he was either at work or on his boat. It was nearly dark now, and I shivered in the cold surf. I walked back up the beach to my cottage, rinsing my feet in the outdoor shower before I went inside. The house was dark, and I fumbled for the light switch in living room. Still jumpy from my experience with William Fox, I turned on every light downstairs.
You’re being silly, Vic,
I told myself, but locked the front door anyway. It was time for some fortification. I opened
the fridge and poured myself a large chardonnay. I told myself I would sip it slowly and mull over our visit to Louise Romano. And then try to figure out what to do next. I sighed. I’d have to tell Sutton everything I knew; there was no way around it. I headed out the patio doors.

But no sooner had I sat down on my deck when I spied a distant figure making his way up the beach. He wasn’t wearing dark glasses, but his stiff gait and upright bearing gave him away, and my stomach clenched in fear. Jack Toscano was walking up the beach toward my cottage. (Maybe I needed to talk to Landlord Sofia about an alarm system.) I had seconds to decide what to do. He knew I was here and probably knew I was alone. Even locking myself in was no guarantee I’d be safe from him, and I couldn’t risk being trapped in the cottage with a dangerous man.
Please, God, let this be the right move.
I locked the door behind me and stood out on my deck. I would be safer out here, with a better chance of getting away or attracting attention. A wave of nausea washed over me as he made his way across the sand. I turned from his line of sight, took out my phone, and texted my brother:
Toscano at cottage. Feeling threatened. Come if you can, pls.
Then I
hit the record function.
Please let there be enough power,
I prayed, as I slipped the phone back into my pocket. Then I turned to face him, crossed my arms, and willed my heart to stop pounding.

“Are you looking for me, Mr. Toscano?” I called.

He was no longer wearing the glasses, but it was too dark to see his eyes anyway. Stopping about ten yards
from my deck, he stood with his hands jammed into the pockets of his windbreaker. “Yes, I was, Victoria.”

“You can stop right where you are,” I called back. “You can talk to me from there.”

“What I have to say is not for anyone else’s ears.” He took two steps closer.

Should I tell him the police were on their way? I wasn’t sure that was true; I hadn’t gotten a return text. But even if Danny
was
on his way, I wanted to hear what Toscano had come to say to me. I just had to hope he wasn’t there to kill me. “Don’t come any closer,” I said sharply.

“There’s no reason to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Then take your hands from your pockets and show me they’re empty.” What the hell was wrong with me? I was acting like a character in a police drama. I had no weapon, no way to protect myself against a former military man who could probably kill me with a well-placed karate chop. And I was giving
him
orders.

He slowly lifted both hands from his pockets, patted them quickly, and then spread his fingers wide. “See? No weapon. I’m just here to talk.”

“So you’ve said.” My hand still in my own pocket, I gripped my phone, willing it to vibrate in my hand.
Text me back, Danny. Please text me back.

Toscano pointed at me and I flinched. “Now as a show of good faith,” he said, “why don’t you put that phone down on your deck? Right where I can see it.”

I took it from my pocket and, bending down slowly, let it rest on my deck.

“Good girl. I don’t want you doing anything stupid now.”

Oh, right. ‘Cause I haven’t done anything stupid yet. Like scrounging for evidence at the Belmont Club. Like getting involved this mess in the first place
.
Dr. Chickie owed me big time for this one.
“I . . . I won’t,” I said, unable to keep my voice from shaking. “Just say what you came to say.”

“I will. But this isn’t the first conversation we’ve had, Victoria. When I saw you at the club, I knew you’d been over by the beach path—how else would you get a splinter in your hand and grass in your hair? But I chalked that up to curiosity. And then I told you about my relationship with Elizabeth, and the fact that I had no motive to kill her. I assumed that would be the end of it. I tried to warn you.” He shifted slightly in the sand, inching closer to the deck. “But then you returned to the club, didn’t you? Why? So you could listen to Sally’s gossip and snoop around the kitchen? For what—evidence?” He smirked, and I shuddered in a wave of dislike for this man.
Thank God you’re not her son,
I thought.

I lifted my chin, determined not to be afraid
and
to keep him talking. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m doing research for a book.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “Ah yes. I forgot I’m speaking to the famous mystery writer Vick Reed. And your visit to Louise Romano—was that research, too?”

My arms stiffened at my sides. “How did you know about that?”

“Let’s just say that William Fox has been doing a little work for me as a private detective.”

So that was why Fox had shown up that night. “You had him following me, didn’t you?”

“It’s amazing what that man will do in anticipation of a great big payout. Too bad he’ll never see that money.”

I had a sudden image of the little man standing outside his sad house in his bathrobe and pajamas, and felt a lurch of pity. “Did something happen to William Fox?”

Toscano’s voice had an edge. “William Fox is not your concern.” He shuffled his feet in the sand, bringing him a few inches closer to the edge of my deck. “What
is
your concern, however, is that visit to Louise Romano. And now it’s mine, as well.”

Because I know your secret, Toscano. I know you’re not Elizabeth’s son
. I tried to keep my emotions under control—if only I’d inherited Frank Rienzi’s famous poker face. “You don’t need to be concerned about my conversation with her, Mr. Toscano.”

His face split into a sneering grin. “Oh, Victoria, do call me Jack. But I’m not sure I believe you.” He took a step forward, and I glanced around wildly, first to the empty beach and then the quiet street behind me. Where was my brother?

“Why so skittish, dear?” he asked. “I’m only here for information. And you’re going to give it to me.
What
did Louise tell you?” He bared his teeth like an aggressive dog, and I clamped my hands to my thighs to keep them from shaking.

“She told me that . . . that her nephew had served courageously in the Middle East.” I let out a breath.
“That he looked a lot like his father. That she was grateful she’d found him and that she’d gotten to know him.”

“Interesting choice of language there. But you’re a writer,” he said, edging closer to the cottage. “And words are your thing. And I’m sure you’ve been telling yourself all kinds of stories about me and Elizabeth Merriman.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I went to see Louise Romano because I’m doing research for a book. I . . . I’ve told you everything. She barely mentioned you.” Which was true. But of little comfort at this moment.

“I’d like to believe you, Victoria. I really would.” With that, he stepped close enough for my outside light to flash on. He froze in the sand as the light fully illuminated his face—including his dark brown eyes.

Startled by the bright light, Toscano threw his arm over his face. I was about to make a run for it when I heard the roar of a motorcycle coming down my driveway. There were two men on the bike, one of them in police blues. It was still moving when my brother jumped off, tore off his helmet, and aimed his service revolver at Toscano.

“Hands in the air, Toscano. Now.”

Toscano complied, but affected an injured air. “Officer, you’re making a mistake. I was just speaking with Miss Rienzi.”

“Right,” Danny barked. “And William Fox locked himself in the trunk of your car. Now keep your hands where I can see them.”

What had Toscano done to William Fox? And why? Maybe Fox had gotten cold feet about following me and tried to call off the deal. But my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the other man cutting the bike’s engine. In the dark, I assumed he was a fellow officer in plainclothes, but when he took off his helmet, I got a clear look at his curly hair.
Tim, coming to my rescue.

Was it shallow of me—not to mention foolhardy—that the sight of Tim barreling toward me banished any fear I had of Toscano? As I threw myself into Tim’s arms, I went from starring in a police drama to a chick flick in the space of about three seconds. He was holding me so hard I couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t care.

“Are you okay, Vic? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He pressed his hands flat against my back, and I could feel his heart banging in his chest.

“No, he didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.” I slid my arms around him, rested my cheek against his chest, and, for the first time in days, felt truly safe.

He grabbed my face in both hands, and I was sure he was coming in for a kiss. I was about to close my eyes when I saw the look on his face. “You have to stop doing this, do you understand?” he said through his teeth. “You’re not a cop. You’re not a goddamned detective.” He let go of my face and stepped back, ran a hand across his face, and shook his head. “You have to stop doing this,” he said again. “My heart can’t take it.”

“But—” I started to say, but was interrupted by the appearance of two squad cars, lights flashing, one of them from Belmont Beach.

“Your brother called for backup,” Tim said. “You know, ‘cause
he’s
the professional.”

As Danny led Toscano to one of the cars, he paused just long enough throw me a look of cold fury. My eyes were pleading
please don’t tell Mom,
but he merely shook his head. Tim and I stood in my driveway in silence, watching both cars drive away, one of which held a murderer.

I was still hanging on to Tim when a white van swung around the corner. I had seen that white van before, and as it approached my cottage, I could see its
NEWS 10
logo and the equipment sticking up from the top of it.

“Oh no,” I said, as it screeched to a halt in front of my house. In a flurry of activity, doors opened, tech guys jumped out, and my old friend Nina LaGuardia appeared, already in full makeup. Even in the dark, I could see the glint of triumph in her eyes as she shoved her microphone under my nose.

“Ms. Rienzi,” she said, “how does it feel to apprehend a murderer—
again
?”