It Cannoli Be Murder

by Catherine Bruns

  A small oak bar was situated along the back wall of the room with two rows of wineglasses suspended from a shelf above it. Permits and licenses had taken forever to obtain, with my liquor license only coming through last week. I’d been one of the lucky ones because depending on the time of year, it could take months or years to receive one. But now I was proudly ready to serve bold red wines and tart limoncello, displaying an array of corked bottles like artwork behind the dark wood surface.

  I’d also ordered charming brass basket lamps for each of the red-checkered tablecloths, but they had not arrived yet. I’d been told they’d shipped two weeks ago and had received no updates since—one more thing causing my blood pressure to rise. There was a new gas fireplace next to the bar, because I loved the idea of a crackling fire on cozy nights in the winter, but now I wanted to kick myself for the extra expense. Perhaps I should have waited until the fall to install it. Who knew if I’d even make it till then?

  No, I needed to stop the negative thinking. I was a good cook and the place looked beautiful. Besides, we didn’t have an Italian restaurant in our small town. It was going to work. Think positive.

  “Tess?” Gabby looked at me inquisitively.

  I blinked. “Sorry. My mind was somewhere else. What did you say?”

  She beamed. “I was saying how gorgeous everything looks. Now what about your staff? They’re all set, right?”

  “Not exactly.” I exhaled sharply. “I have some interviews lined up for tomorrow and Sunday. So far, I’ve hired three part-time waitresses and need at least one more. A couple of the girls are in college and don’t want to work five nights a week. One isn’t sure if she’s returning to her hometown for the summer so I’m taking a risk on her. I’d really love to find someone who has skills to help me in the kitchen and maybe play hostess on busy nights, but so far I haven’t had much luck.”

  Gabby watched me with a thoughtful expression. “I did some waitressing in college, remember. I can help out if needed.”

  I made a face. “I’d love that, but you’ve got your own business to worry about.”

  She slung an arm around my shoulders. “If you find yourself shorthanded on opening night, let me know. I’ll be here for most of it anyway. Liza can always close up the bookstore if needed. Hey, family over everything, right? And who knows if my store will be around by then anyway? If Preston decides to ditch me—”

  “Stop talking like that,” I scoffed. “It’s going to work out fine.”

  My phone buzzed from my jeans pocket and I drew it out, praying that the repairman wasn’t canceling. Hey Tess. Hope all is well. I’m back in town. Are you around tomorrow? I’m working tonight.

  Gabby peered over my shoulder. “Everything okay with Justin?”

  “Sounds like it. He’s finally home.” Justin Kelly had been my husband’s college roommate and best friend for many years. Shortly after Dylan’s murder, he’d confessed that he had feelings for me that ran deeper than friendship. Justin was handsome, kind, and caring, and I’d leaned on him heavily after Dylan’s death. I was very fond of him but couldn’t entertain the idea of anything more happening between us yet. He’d respected my wishes and asked if we could continue spending time together as friends.

  After six months, it still felt at times that my husband had just passed away. Some days were better than others. Justin had always been there for me, and I appreciated him for it. We’d gone to the movies a couple of times, spending hours shopping, and I’d cooked him dinner at my house. These things had never been out of the ordinary for us. God knows I needed my family and friends around me now. I shot off a quick text to him.

  “How’s his mother doing?” Gabby asked.

  “She’s better, but I know that he feels guilty leaving her.” At the beginning of February, Justin’s father had passed away from a sudden stroke. He’d taken a leave of absence from his job at the fire station to fly to California, where his mother was now living alone.

  “I’m so glad he’s back. I told him to stop over at the signing or else I’ll have to wait and see him the next day.” I went back into the kitchen, grabbed the doormat and then laid it down on the front porch. I hurried down the steps, turned around, and surveyed the one-story building with immeasurable pride. It had been repainted last month to a tan shade instead of the former brown, and the blacktop of the adjacent parking lot resurfaced. “There. It’s perfect now.”

  Gabby pointed at the blinking sign on top of my roof that read ANYTHING’S PASTABLE. “Hey, your G isn’t lighting up.”

  “Yeah, I know. Vince has a repairman coming to fix it on Monday.” Some days it was like I was beating my head against a brick wall, but these things were to be expected. Everything would sort itself out eventually, and I was excited to show my restaurant off. “I guess some days you take one step forward and then two steps back.”

  “Owning a business is like life, honey. You have good days and bad days. Loving what you do makes it all worthwhile, though.” She looked at me and I spotted unshed tears in her dark eyes. “Tess, I’m so scared—scared that something is going to ruin the signing tomorrow night. This could make or break the store. I still can’t believe that Preston agreed to it. This is a dream come true for me, and I can’t afford to let anything mess it up.”

  “You need to stop worrying.” It was so unlike Gabby’s carefree, go-with-the-flow character and made me realize how anxious she was. As a new business owner, I understood her feelings more than ever, and the same thoughts were constantly running through my mind about the restaurant.

  While I had no doubts about my cooking skills and had held every job possible in a restaurant before, that didn’t guarantee Anything’s Pastable’s success. What if no one showed up on opening night? The sign on the front door had said that we were accepting reservations for next Saturday night. It had been up for two weeks, but no one had phoned yet. I’d mailed out over two hundred fliers as well.

  “Stop worrying,” I assured her. “The signing will go great, you’ll sell lots of Preston’s books and, everyone will be well sugared up, thanks to me. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Two

  Although it was more convenient and spacious to bake in the restaurant’s kitchen, I decided to make the desserts for the signing at my house. I was not home much lately and felt like a neglectful cat mom to Luigi. Some people might argue that he was only a pet, but he was so much more. Luigi was my solo roommate and a major source of comfort, especially since Dylan’s death. He’d made the first six months of bereavement easier.

  I’d set the alarm for six-thirty, but Luigi roused me at six with furry head butts looking for his breakfast. After I fed him, I brewed myself a cup of coffee from the Keurig and sipped it thoughtfully in my living room window seat, staring out into the deserted street. With a sigh I watched the sun break through the gray cloudless sky. It was still a bit chilly for late April, with a high of only fifty degrees expected today. But this was New York State. Next week, we might be looking at a sweltering ninety. One never knew.

  My Cape Cod was only 1,400 square feet, but Dylan and I had both fallen in love with its charm when we purchased it three years ago. The hardwood floors underneath my bare feet were cold, and I’d forgotten my slippers upstairs. Oh well. No time for that. I had a lot to do this morning. I flipped through my day planner and ran my finger down the list of today’s activities.

  I had one interview scheduled for this afternoon and two for Sunday. That left me all morning to bake. Many interviewees preferred the weekend, especially if they were employed at other jobs. That was fine with me. I’d been at Anything’s Pastable every day for the past three months, so the day and time didn’t matter. I thought back to Gabby’s admonishments the previous night. Did I need to push myself so hard before the place even opened? No, but I’d chosen to do this. It helped fill the yawning, empty gaps in my life, and I was ready to devote as much time as
needed to the restaurant.

  Somewhere in between my interview and Gabby’s bookstore event, I was expecting my menus to be delivered and a couple of vendors to stop by. One was planning to give me samples of coffee to try, while the other was pitching their linen service. I’d briefly thought about doing the laundry myself to save money, but the idea was ridiculous. There weren’t only tablecloths to be considered but aprons, clean cloths, napkins, and rugs. The restaurant would be open Tuesday through Saturday, and I’d only have Sundays and Mondays off, leaving little time to throw in countless loads of dirty linens.

  Gabby had asked me if I could be at Once Upon a Book by five o’clock. Preston’s talk didn’t start until six forty-five, with the signing at seven. She needed help setting things up, especially with Liza gone.

  After I’d showered and dressed, I went back down to the kitchen. Luigi trotted after me and jumped onto one of the stools at the breakfast counter, his enormous green eyes watching me intently. Motorized purrs filled the room as I mixed ingredients together and my Kitchen Aid began to whir.

  At five years old, Luigi was in his prime of life and enjoyed sleeping in the window seat soaking up sunshine during the day or batting around the stuffed mice strewn around the floor. I’d thought about getting him a playmate, since I was away so much, but wasn’t sure how he’d react. He seemed to enjoy being the one and only King of the Roost.

  I made dough for one hundred and fifty cannoli. I shaped even more dough into one hundred cinnamon chip biscotti, which weren’t hard or crunchy like the typical biscuit treat. My biscotti melted in the mouth like butter. I’d recently decided to feature cannoli on my menu in addition to four other desserts—cheesecake, tiramisu, genettis, and spumoni, but my grandmother’s biscotti recipe was still just for me. While Italian entrées and sauce were my main passion, baking classic desserts always set my mind at ease.

  Piping the cream into the shells and decorating the cannoli with chocolate chips was the most time-consuming part. After this phase, I placed them in the fridge while I cut the biscotti, my hands moving on autopilot as I worked my way through the morning.

  It was almost one in the afternoon before I finished loading the dishwasher, and I remembered my interview was scheduled for two o’clock. My back ached from bending over to fill the cannoli, but this was important to Gabby, and despite being busy I was happy to do it. Although Gabby’s bookstore was the only one in Harvest Park, many preferred to buy books online or e-book versions instead of supporting local business owners. If tonight’s signing was a success, it might attract more authors and sales—something she sorely needed.

  “It’s going to be a huge success,” I assured Luigi, who was busy cleaning his paw and seemed disinterested in Gabby and her plight. I checked my watch and raced upstairs to change, my mind already shifting gears back to the restaurant, my upcoming interview, and other items on my to-do list before Gabby’s big night arrived.

  * * *

  It was shortly after five o’clock when I pulled up behind Gabby’s store. She opened the back door before I had a chance to knock, so I assumed she’d been waiting for me. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “How’d the interview go?” she asked.

  “It didn’t. The woman never showed.” This had been my third no-show. I’d hoped to have all my staff in place by now. Time was growing short.

  Gabby helped unload my car. “Aw, her loss. Wow, Tess. These look terrific. How many did you make?”

  “Two hundred and fifty.” I glanced around at the desserts, baffled. “Shoot. I think I forgot a tray of cannoli.” How on earth had I done that? My mother had called while I was loading the car. It had taken me a few minutes to get her off the phone; then my neighbor Stacia had run over for a quick chat and Luigi had knocked over my purse, spilling the contents onto the floor. It was a wonder I hadn’t forgotten my own head before rushing over.

  At least the forgotten tray was still in the fridge or so I thought. “Maybe we won’t need them,” I said. I could always freeze them for the restaurant next week. Or, if we ran out, I could make a quick dash home.

  Gabby waved a hand. “Don’t worry. I’m short on space and not sure my fridge will hold all of this anyway.” Gabby’s back room, where we were standing, was designated for employees only. It had a tiny dorm-size fridge and a microwave stand on wheels with a drawer for silverware and a cabinet at the bottom. A ten-cup coffee pot was squeezed in next to the microwave. In the back corner of the room, which led to the alley, was a metal table loaded with a cardboard box of books. Two folding chairs sat at both sides.

  Gabby pointed at the forty-cup coffee urn next to the box of books. “I rented this for the occasion. I’m using my ten-cup if anyone wants decaf.” Her face reddened as she looked at me. “If we run low, do you mind making some? I hate to treat you like an unpaid employee, but you’re all I’ve got tonight, kiddo. I’ll be ringing up sales in the front and answering phones if people call to order a book.”

  “Use me and abuse me,” I teased. “It’s fine. Like I said, I’m all yours for the evening. Too bad our mothers are out of town. You could have put them to work, too.” They’d gone to New Jersey for the weekend to visit a friend of Aunt Mona’s. My mother had told me on the phone earlier that they expected to be back on Monday.

  Gabby made a face. “Come on. You know it’s better that they aren’t here—well at least my mother. She’d ask Preston all kinds of rude, blunt questions. Mom received an early copy of his book Destiny Calls, and she’s the type who’d go blabbing the ending to everyone.” She sighed. “She means well, but some days her mouth has no filter.”

  I loved Aunt Mona, my father’s younger sister, dearly, but she wasn’t the most subtle of creatures. My mother, on the other hand, was very prim and proper. Although my father had been gone over five years, she had no interest in dating anyone else and had plenty of opportunities, too. At the age of fifty-five, she was attractive with a great figure and always knew when to turn on the charm. It was ironic because she seemed more interested in my non-existent dating status than her own.

  Gabby helped me arrange a tray of cannoli and biscotti on a small table she’d set up in the back of the store, where Preston would give his talk and then sign books. She’d either rented or borrowed folding chairs, which were placed in rows around the author’s speaking area to accommodate his guests. “Preston personally came out to the store last week with his daughter after I met them at their home. He said the place was positively charming.”

  “Preston has good taste.” The store was indeed glorious—a 1920s one-story building with a high ceiling, Mediterranean-style floors, and bookshelves made of knotty pine. The former owners had operated a candy store for several years and were in their seventies when they’d decided to retire. They’d sold the building to Gabby at a very reasonable price, and everything had fallen right into place. “Stop worrying. It’s going to be a huge success and give the store more exposure.”

  Lines of worry had etched themselves into Gabby’s face. “Tess, if things don’t pick up soon, I might have to let Liza go. Sales have been stagnant since Christmas. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the head? ‘Hey welcome back from vacation. By the way, you’re fired’.”

  Ouch. I’d hate to see that happen to anyone, especially Gabby’s lone employee. Liza was as bookish as her employer and had told me that working at Once Upon a Book was her dream come true. “What if I loaned you a few grand to help tide you over? When I get home, I’ll look over my numbers and—”

  “No way,” Gabby said sharply. “I know that the restaurant has cost you far more money than you planned on.”

  The silver bells attached to the front door began to jingle and Gabby gasped. “Holy cow. People are early!”

  Gabby made a beeline for the register while I rushed into the back room to make sure she’d hit the switch on the coffee, since large urns took a while to brew. Fortunately, it
was already percolating, so I started a pot of decaf. I gathered cream, sugar, and napkins from the back room and then placed them next to the tray of cannoli in the signing area.

  “Is there any decaf? My husband prefers it to regular.” An ethereal female voice spoke from behind me.

  “It will be ready shortly.” I turned around to see whom the voice belonged to. A tall, rail-thin woman with honey-colored hair pulled into a French twist stared at me. I recognized her immediately. “You’re Sylvia Rigotta.”

  Preston’s wife cocked her head proudly and adjusted the lapel on her designer pink suit. Her smile was thin and brittle, her blue eyes sharp and inquisitive as she extended a slender hand. “The one and only. Are you Miss Mancusi’s salesgirl?”

  Her condescending attitude wasn’t lost on me. I’d seen Sylvia’s cooking show, Spice it Up with Sylvia, on Channel 11 and hadn’t been fooled. In fact, I secretly suspected that she couldn’t even fry an egg. As a trained chef, I could easily spot the small mistakes that gave her lack of training away. For example, she’d once braised meat in a Crockpot, covering it completely with liquid, when anyone with cooking skills knew that only a little bit was permissible since her method would result in a stew.

  Gabby had not mentioned that Preston’s wife was attending the signing, and I wondered if she’d known ahead of time. I smiled pleasantly. “No. I’m Tessa Esposito, her cousin. I’m helping out with the refreshments tonight.”

  “Aren’t those cute,” Sylvia cooed as she eyed the pastries. “I meant to bring cannoli with me but forgot them at home. Well, they won’t go to waste. I’ll bring them to my show tomorrow morning.” She gave a low giggle. “See, there isn’t time to make them on the air, so I do it before the taping. Of course, mine are made from scratch, though. Did you buy these at a bakery?”