The Wedding Soup Murder: An Italian Kitchen Mystery (21 page)

S
ofia met me at the restaurant, where I filled her in on my adventures, starting with the encounter with Toscano and ending with my visit to Prosecutor Sutton. Dressed in her dance clothes, she sat with her chin in her hands, giving me more attention than I was used to. At least from her.

“So, Danny and Tim came to your rescue last night? I’m jealous,” she said.

“You’re kidding me, right? Tell me you’d want to be caught alone with a criminal.” I stopped short of calling him a murderer, however.

“If it meant two hot guys roaring up on a motorcycle to save me? Hell, yes.” She took the red folder from a large messenger bag and set it on the table. “Guess we can mark this ‘case closed,’ huh?”

“I’m not so sure, Sofe. Something struck me as I left Sutton’s office and—”

We were interrupted by the sound of the front door and turned around to face my mother, who walked straight to our table. “Hello, honey,” she said to me.
“Hello, Sofia,” she said quietly. Was there a softening in her tone?

“Oh, hi, Nicolina,” Sofia said. “How are you?”

“I’m well, hon, thank you.” My mom moved closer to her daughter-in-law and frowned. “But you look thin, Sofia. Are you feeling all right?”

The air around us was suddenly charged. I watched Sofia’s eyes widen slightly, her throat move as she swallowed nervously. “I’m . . . fine.”

Still frowning, my mother took a closer look at Sofia’s face. “There are little shadows under your eyes,” she said. “Are you getting enough sleep?” Her eyes flicked to Sofia’s V-neck leotard. My sister-in-law had always been curvy, but now her breasts swelled over the opening of her top. I guess there are some signs of pregnancy you can’t always hide. In the growing silence, I glanced at Sofia, who sat frozen in place. “It’s . . . it’s the heat,” she finally said.

“Probably.” My mother’s face gave nothing away. “Well, I need to get started in the office, girls.” She looked at Sofia. “You take care of yourself, now,” she said.

After her footsteps died away, my sister-in-law looked at me with panic in her eyes. “I’m so busted!” she hissed. “She knows, Vic. I can tell.”

“You’re probably right. But is that such a bad thing? You’ve found the absolute surest way to get back into my mother’s good graces, and you’re upset?”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “What if she tells Danny?”

I shook my head. “She’d never do that, even if she suspects. But don’t you think it’s time to tell him?”

She hung her head. “Yes. I can’t avoid it anymore.”

I grabbed her two hands. “I’m so glad, SIL. I know you guys will work things out. And in the meantime, I’m about to run out and buy little Bernardo or Isabella a whole bunch of presents.”

“Bernardo? Isabella? Do you really think I’ll name this baby after a character in your books?” She let out a laugh, sounding just like her old self. She packed the red folder and pushed in her chair. “My first class is in a few minutes, so I’d better hit it. And I’ll talk to Danny today. I promise.”

“That’s great, Sofe. And let me know how it goes, okay?” She was out the door before I realized I hadn’t told her what I remembered about Toscano. Or about Nina’s phone call. And how that information changed everything about this case.

But things got busy quickly once lunch preparation was under way, giving me a convenient excuse to avoid sharing what I now knew: that Toscano might not be Elizabeth’s murderer, and that Dr. C. was looking guiltier by the minute. Even cleaning lettuce at the salad station was better than facing that uncomfortable truth. And I would have to go back and tell Sutton what I’d remembered about Toscano and Elizabeth the night of the murder if I wanted to stay out of trouble myself. But at least I could try to talk to Sofia about it first. I glanced at the clock; if I hurried, I might be able to catch her between classes. Wiping my hands on my
apron, I whirled around to come face-to-face with my mother.

“Were you going somewhere, Victoria?” My mother’s normally cheerful expression was questioning, one might even say suspicious.

“Uh . . .” If I told her I was off to call Sofia, that would open a line of conversation I was not about to pursue. I was sure she had her suspicions about her daughter-in-law’s pregnancy, but no way would I confirm them. “Actually, Mom,” I said, “I was coming to see you. Could we talk in the dining room?”

My mind raced as we walked down the hallway from the kitchen. What
did
I want to see her about? It had to be pretty big to keep her away from the subject of whether or not Sofia was pregnant. Maybe I should tell her what Nina had shared—she would find out soon enough from Brenda, anyway, and the news
did
have ramifications for us and the restaurant. I led her to the family table, where we both sat down.

“Listen, Mom,” I said. “You know I spoke with Regina Sutton this morning, right?”

Her eyes narrowed, her radar turned up high. “Are you in trouble, Victoria?”

“No.”
Not yet anyway.
I put my hand on her arm. “I just want you and Daddy to be prepared—”

“I know,” she said nodding. “Chickie could be under suspicion for murder.”

Could be?
“It’s more serious than that, Mom. Nina LaGuardia—you know, that reporter who drives me crazy—called to tell me that there’s an eyewitness.”

My mom’s hand flew to her mouth. “To the murder?”

“Not to the actual murder, no. But somebody saw a short, stocky bald man leading Elizabeth down that beach path.”

“No,” she breathed. “It must be a mistake. Someone’s lying—Chickie would never hurt anyone! And what about poor Brenda—”

“Mom,” I interrupted, “right now I’m concerned for you and Daddy.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re friends with Dr. Chickie. He and Daddy play cards together. There could be a . . . a
taint
on you guys or the restaurant. Don’t you see?”

She dropped her voice and leaned closer. “You mean because of what happened before Memorial Day?”

“Right. We could find ourselves associated with a murder yet again. At least in people’s minds.”

My mom let out a breath. “That’s ridiculous. Your father and I weren’t even there!”

“But I was, don’t forget. And I heard that exchange between Dr. Chickie and Elizabeth Merriman. She threatened him, Mom. If this goes to trial, you understand I’ll probably have to testify.”

She shook her head, her auburn curls jiggling. “This just gets worse and worse.”

I took her hands. “Whatever happens, we’ll weather it. I’ll do whatever I can, and so will Danny. We all know Dr. C. is innocent.” But as I spoke the words, I felt a flicker of doubt.

She squeezed my hands briefly and stood up. “Thank you for letting me know, honey. But don’t worry about Daddy and me. I think it will all be okay
in the end.” Her eyes took on a dreamy expression, and her lips curved in a slight smile. “I think there are good things ahead of us.”

She means the baby,
I thought, and I smiled back. “Me too,” I said.

I waited until she closed the door to her office before I got moving. We were only a few minutes from opening for lunch, and I had to get through to Sofia. But when I took out my phone, there was a text from my brother that made my heart sink:

Toscano alibi checks out

So Toscano had been telling the truth about that, at least. He hadn’t threatened me because I was about to expose him as a murderer, but as a fraud. I slipped my phone back into my apron pocket and sneaked into the one place I knew I’d have privacy: the Casa Lido restroom. Lovingly decorated by my mom with prints of the Amalfi Coast and Italian landmarks, and scented with dried lavender from the garden, it was actually a pleasant place to hang out.

Once I got her on the line, I filled Sofia in on what I remembered about Toscano and Elizabeth from the night of her death, what Nina had told me, and Danny’s text confirming Toscano’s innocence. I studied the pictures of the Ponte Vecchio in Florence and the Spanish Steps in Rome while Sofia talked.

“Natale must have done it, Vic,” she said. “He’s on the scene. He’s got a motive, and his only alibi is from his family.”

I leaned against the sink, making sure not to mess up the pristine state of the restroom. “But there’s no
proof that the man seen with Elizabeth was Dr. C. Maybe it’s someone we don’t know about or haven’t considered.”

But Sofia was insistent. “C’mon, Vic. A short, stocky bald man in a dark suit is seen leading Elizabeth Merriman down that walkway to the platform. Where else is there to go with this? Especially since Toscano’s alibi checked out?”

I dropped my voice in case someone was outside the door—and by “someone,” I meant my grandmother. “Eyewitness accounts can be wrong. Think about all the people who are wrongly accused or convicted of crimes because witnesses were mistaken.”

But she wasn’t buying it. As Sofia continued to repeat the litany of evidence against Dr. Chickie, I focused on one question: Were we missing something or someone? And then I had a thought.

“Hey, Sofe,” I interrupted. “William Fox is a short man.”

“With a head full of hair!” She laughed. “Did he shave his head to commit the murder? I suppose he’s been wearing a wig this whole time.”

At Sofia’s words, the first moment of apprehension came as a tingling sensation, a tiny biological nudge to my system. Then I raised my eyes to the print on the bathroom wall, read the words across the bottom, and the tingle grew to a full-out shiver. “I have to go, Sofe,” I said, my voice echoing in the small space. I cut off the call before she had a chance to ask me anything else, tore off my apron, and ran like hell.

I
double-checked the address I’d written down as I pulled up to the house, a modern bi-level overlooking the sea, in a pale peach color that suggested the last rays of the sun at the end of the day. There was no doubt that its owner was a person of wealth. And now I had a pretty clear idea of where that wealth originated. I walked up the stone path to the door, thinking that I should have been nervous. Instead, a sense of sadness tugged at me.

She answered the door without her wig. She was completely bald. Her face was devoid of makeup. A few sparse hairs marked where her brows should have been, but her eyes were lashless and ringed in dark, purplish circles. Her skin had a yellow cast, her lips pale, her blue eyes faded. She didn’t seem surprised to see me; without a word, she motioned me inside.

She sat with a grimace, and I imagined that by now she was in a lot of pain. Next to her chair was a small table that held a glass of water, hand sanitizer, tissues, and several prescription bottles. This spacious, modern living room had become a sickroom.

I took a seat across from her and leaned forward in my chair. “You must know why I’m here, Kate.”

She nodded, took a tiny sip of water, and briefly closed her eyes. “You know,” she said in a raspy voice.

“I don’t know everything. But a couple of minutes ago some things finally fell into place. The scarf you always wore. The heavy makeup. Your weak grip when we shook hands. How you seemed to tire easily. And you wore black the night of the murder. And here’s something else I know: There are two men—both criminals, I’ll admit—who aren’t murderers.”

Kate looked me straight in the eye. “I’m the one who caused her death.”

“Because of your dad,” I said. I pointed to her table of medicines. “And because of you. Because you’ve got nothing to lose.”

One side of her mouth lifted in a strained attempt to smile. “You’re right on that score. I got nothing to lose. Except my life, of course.” She shifted in her chair and winced. “And that should be happening anytime now.”

“Kate, if you can’t do this, it’s okay. I shouldn’t even be here—”

She held up her hand. “Just let me tell it, okay? It will be a relief.” She took a sip of water, then a painful breath before she spoke. “My father worked for Merriman for more than thirty years before he died,” she said, “first for Mr. Merriman and then for her. Asbestos was in a lot of things they used all the time, like house siding and roofing, for example. Insulation for housing and pipes. It was in cement and joint compound—almost any building material you could think of. In the
early days, they didn’t know how dangerous it was to handle the stuff. But by the time Elizabeth took over, there were clear guidelines. Ones she didn’t follow.” She shook her head slowly. “Not even something as simple as using face masks to protect them from breathing that crap in.”

She paused, and I spoke. “Your father was one of the plaintiffs in the suit—Lorenzo DePonti.”

She grinned again, a real one this time. “That was brilliant of me, huh, calling myself Bridges?” I couldn’t help smiling back at her, but there was a part of me that was screaming:
You’re smiling at a murderer, Vic!

“Actually,” I said, “it took me longer than it should have. My family speaks Italian. I felt like an idiot when I finally made the connection.”

She shook her head. “What does it matter now? But, yes, I was born Catherine DePonti. And I invested my father’s settlement from Merriman and became a rich woman.” She lifted her arm and gestured at the paintings, the fireplace, and the expensive furniture. “For all the good it did me,” she said. She looked out a window toward the ocean and then turned back to me. “I don’t think I have to tell you that I’d trade it all to have my parents back. To buy myself even one more year.”

I was puzzled at her choice of words. “Did you lose your mother, too?”

“So that didn’t turn up in your research, Victoria?” Her mouth twisted. “Yes, I lost my mother, too. Elizabeth Merriman killed us all, just as if she’d used a gun. Except that bullets are quicker and the pain is short-lived.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

Her eyes fluttered closed again, and I could see she was trying to conserve what was left of her energy. She opened her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was strong. “I was an only child. Italian family—you know how that is. It’s not like I was spoiled, but I got lots of love and attention. We were close, all three of us. In fact, it was our closeness that killed us. Every day when my dad came home from work, my mom and I would wait by the door, and before he did anything else, he’d hug and kiss us both.” She took a sip of water and rested her head against the back of the chair. “My dad worked with that stuff for years. He’d come home with it in his hair, on his clothes. Clothes my mother would shake out and launder. And there was enough of it to make her sick. In fact, she got sick first. I don’t know if you found this out when you were digging, but family members of people exposed to asbestos can get sick, too, and it’s always fatal. It wasn’t long before she died that my father started developing tumors, too, and I watched it all again. You might even say I had a ringside seat to my
own
death.”

I blinked, feeling the tears start behind my eyes. But something told me that if I showed any emotion, I’d never get the full truth from her. I swallowed hard and took a breath. “When were you diagnosed?”

“A little over two years ago.”

“I’m confused about something,” I said. “Your parents died more than twenty years ago and—”

“Why did take so long for me to get sick?” she interrupted. “My doctors tell me the latency period for
mesothelioma is long, decades sometimes. But once those tumors take hold, you’re done. All the chemo does is buy you time.” She pointed to her bald head. “This round was the last try. But I’m out of options.”

“So you knew when you came here a month ago . . .”

“I knew I was dying. Yes. In fact, I had hardly any time left. That’s what helped make up my mind to do it.”

“Kate,” I said quietly, “can you answer some questions for me?”

“Okay.” She sighed, and even that seemed to cause her pain. “I’m gonna have to answer to the police soon enough, right?”

I nodded. “I’ll try not to tire you out, okay? I think I’ve pieced most of it together. When you came to work at the Belmont last month, you knew she was president of the club?”

“Yes. I worked my ass off to rise as a pastry chef, just so I could eventually get the chance to get close to her. And then I did,” she said simply. “If you’re asking did I come here to kill her, the answer is yes.”

Her words were chilling, but I couldn’t help being fascinated by them. “So you planned it all?”

She looked at me with sunken eyes. “Yes, I planned it. I’ve wanted revenge on her long before I got sick myself.”

“That night,” I said, “I overheard you both fighting. Was it anything specific?”

Kate gave a small, crooked smile. “That was just me pushing her buttons and her threatening to can me. We did that once a week.”

“When I saw you after that, you said—”

“That somebody should put her lights out. And you’re wondering why I’d say that when that was actually my plan.”

“Right. Why call attention to yourself in that way?”

She rubbed her eyes. “You know, I’m not sure myself. Maybe I was just that cocky that I wouldn’t be caught. Or maybe I didn’t care if I was caught.”

“Or maybe you
wanted
to be caught,” I said. “Like calling yourself Bridges, which is essentially your real name. And then giving yourself a really obvious alibi at eleven thirty when you left the bar in such a loud and public way.”

“I don’t have time for psychoanalysis,” she growled, and for a minute I saw a glimmer of the feisty Chef Kate.

“Maybe not,” I said. “But I think implicating Dr. Natale didn’t sit right with you.”

She sighed. “I didn’t like having to do that to him. But here was a short, stocky bald guy who’d just gotten caught taking money from the club. He was handed to me on a silver platter.”

“I’m not sure his family would see it that way. But you’re right—your builds are close. All you had to do was wear black that night, wash your face, and take off your scarf and wig. From a distance, it would look as though a short bald
man
in a dark suit was leading Elizabeth down that walkway.”

She nodded. “After I went out the front door at eleven thirty, I went only as far as my car, where I wiped off the makeup and took off my wig. I waited
until I saw the Natales leave. I knew Elizabeth would go back to her office, as she did every night after an event. She’s often the last to go. Well, her and Toscano.”

I leaned forward in my chair. “Wouldn’t Toscano have been the one to drive her home that night?”

“Usually. But I told him she’d called a cab. And I told
her
he’d left without her.”

“And you offered to drive her home?” My heart sank at the thought of the old woman accepting an offer of a ride from her killer.

“Yup,” Kate said. “And she wasn’t happy about it, believe me. But she had no choice.” Her voice hardened. “I didn’t give her one.”

“But once you left the club, she must have realized you weren’t going out to the parking lot. Her eyes weren’t that bad.”

“Oh, her eyes were pretty bad, believe me. But I wanted to make sure, so I cut the lights. I threw the breaker for the part of the kitchen that included that side-door light. She was standing in the dark kitchen, panicked. I took her arm and told her I’d lead her out.”

“But that cane was like an extension of her senses. Once her feet hit those wooden boards, she would have known where she was.”

Kate nodded. “Oh yeah. And of course she could hear the ocean, too. She knew just where I was taking her.”

I suppressed a small shiver, followed by a flicker of fear. No matter how sorry I felt for this dying woman, she was still a killer. And I was alone in a house with
her. And then it hit me that Elizabeth Merriman would have fought for her life; she might well have used her cane. Kate was in a weakened condition, and a smaller woman than Elizabeth. Something still didn’t add up. “Once she knew that, Kate, did she fight you?”

“She started to, all right. Lifted that cane like a weapon. But I stopped her.” She took a sip of water, then a slow breath.

My hands tightened on the arms of my chair and I stared at the sick, exhausted woman across from me. “How?”

“I told her I had information for her.” She met my eyes, a small spark of defiance in her own. “Information about her son.” I gasped, and she cocked her head in my direction. “You think you’re the only one who can do research? I’ve spent my life studying Elizabeth Merriman. It was an obsession.”
She probably knows more about Elizabeth than I do.
“What did you tell her when you were out on that platform?” I asked.

She shrugged. “The truth. That Toscano was a liar. That he was not her long-lost son and that he’d been taking her for a ride.”

“How did you know that?”

“I didn’t. But I found out she’d had a baby sixty years ago, and he was the right age. I never believed the boyfriend rumors, anyway. So I took a chance, and I was right.”

“But did you tell her—?”

“The rest of it?” Kate dropped her head and rested her hands on her knees. “You mean did I tell her that her real son was dead? Yes,” she said. “I did.”

“That was cruel,” I said, my anger rising. “Maybe telling her that was revenge enough.”

“It should have been,” she said. “I watched her face crumple up like a piece of old newspaper.” When she raised her eyes, they were full of tears. “And that’s when I knew I couldn’t go through with it.”

“What do you mean you couldn’t go through with it?” My voice grew louder, echoing in the quiet room. “A woman is dead.”

“Victoria, I said I’d caused her death, not that I’d killed her.” She took a tissue, wiped her eyes, and then blew her nose. “I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me, but Elizabeth Merriman’s death was an accident.”

“An accident?”

Kate nodded. “She slipped off that platform.”

“How?” I whispered.

There was a pause while Kate took a breath and again rested her head on the back of the chair. “After I told her about her son, she asked why I was doing this. She actually said, ‘What have I ever done to you?’
That’s when the anger came back, so I told her the story of what happened to my father. What happened to our family. What happened to me.” She closed her eyes then, clearly exhausted.

“What did she do?”

“She started to cry. Loud, deep sobs. The kind of crying that comes from somebody who’s not used to it. She wasn’t a crier.” She paused. “Neither am I.” She wiped her mouth with a tissue and kept it clutched in her hand. “Then she started twisting her hands. It was dark and I couldn’t tell what she was doing. But she
was struggling to take off that big ring. She held it out to me,” Kate said through her teeth, “like it was some kind of payment for what she did. She begged me to take it.”

“Did you?”

She opened her eyes then and looked at me. “Yeah, I took it from her. And then I chucked it across the beach. For all I know, the tide came in and got it.”

So the mystery of the missing ring, at least, was solved. “What did she do then?”

“She just cried harder. She was leaning over the side railing and dropped her cane. I tried to calm her down. Like I said, she was loud, and I figured someone might hear us. So I tried to take her arm, but she shook me off and moved closer to the stairway.” Kate swallowed audibly. I tried to hand her the water, but she shook her head. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “So I tried again, and she got mad. She jerked her arm back—she was pretty strong—and slipped. I was reaching my hand out to her when she went over. I can still see her falling.” She dropped her head in her hands. “I wasn’t gonna go through with it,” she said through her fingers. “I really wasn’t.”

“I believe you.”

She lifted her head from her hands and looked at me. “What do you plan to do?”

“Well,” I said, “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do anything. That you’d go to the authorities yourself. Both Toscano and Dr. Natale broke the law. But they haven’t killed anybody. And you said it was an accident.”