It Cannoli Be Murder

by Catherine Bruns

  No, but I wanted her to stay optimistic. “Sure.” As far as I was concerned, a positive attitude was half the battle. In the meantime, Gabby might get some curious looky-loos, but I doubted they’d be buying books.

  We drove in silence to Sweet Treats, and Gabby gazed forlornly at her store on the way by. “It looks so lonely,” she sighed.

  I parked a few spots down from the bakery, hoping that Carlita’s roving eyes wouldn’t see us approach.

  “What should I say to her?” Gabby asked. “And where will you be?”

  “I’ll go around back and knock on the kitchen door. You pretend that you’re having another signing or something, and you want to buy the cookies from her this time. Ask Carlita what kind she thinks would be best.”

  She gave me a look of disbelief. “Um, hello. Carlita knows that you did the cannoli for Preston’s signing because she sulked and turned up her nose at me afterward. She’s going to wonder why you’re not making them.”

  “Tell her I’m too busy with the restaurant then. Jeez, Gabs, make up something.” I was nervous and not looking forward to asking Lorenzo about his relationship with Daphne, or if he knew about the baby.

  “All right, I’ll try.” She swung herself out of the car and walked down the sidewalk to the main entrance, while I scurried around back. The door was locked, as I’d expected. There was a good likelihood that Giuseppe, Lorenzo’s father and Carlita’s husband, was in the kitchen as well, but it was a chance I had to take. I rapped softly on the door and waited. Nothing. I rapped again.

  The door swung open, and I found myself face to face with Lorenzo, wearing a white bib apron dusted with flour. He looked at me in surprise. “Hi, Tessa. What are you doing here?”

  I stole a glance around the kitchen. It appeared that Lorenzo was alone. A bun-pan rack stood next to the oven, loaded with different types of recently baked cookies. There was a two-tier cake frosted with vanilla buttercream standing on the prep table. It read “Happy Birth” in green icing. I must have caught Lorenzo mid-sentence. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  He glanced uneasily over his shoulder toward the swinging doors that led to the storefront. “Um, it’s not really a good time. I’m working.”

  “It will only take a minute.”

  His eyes remained focused on the door, and I knew what he was thinking. Lorenzo was afraid Carlita might overhear our conversation. Her voice rang out loudly from the other side of the wall, and Lorenzo froze at the sound. He swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “All right, I guess.”

  Lorenzo’s dark, thick hair was contained underneath a baseball cap he wore backward on his head. He stuffed his hands into the bib apron’s pockets. “What do you want to talk to me about?” His tone had changed to one of annoyance.

  I watched him carefully. “You heard about what happened to Daphne.”

  He shifted from one foot to another and wouldn’t look at me. “Yeah. The service is the day after tomorrow. I wanted to go, but it’s private.”

  Just say it, Tess. “Does your mother know you were dating?”

  Lorenzo’s ominous eyes regarded me in brooding silence for a moment. “No, she doesn’t. I’m an adult, remember. My mother doesn’t call every shot in my life.”

  I blinked. This was not the polite, carefree Lorenzo I remembered. Was he grieving or could it be something else? Guilt? “Her death wasn’t an accident, Lorenzo. Do you know who wanted to kill her?”

  “Do you?” he shot back. “I heard Daphne had a reaction to something she ate at the signing. She was allergic to shellfish. Maybe you had a reason to kill her.”

  Gabby’s giggle sounded from the other side of the wall, loud and forced. Great. Carlita would see through her act in a second, so I needed to move fast. “You know that’s not true. I only want to find out what happened. Did you see Daphne again after the signing?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “No. She made it clear that we were done. You heard her.”

  “Did she—” I hated to bring up the pregnancy. What if he didn’t know about it? Maybe Daphne hadn’t planned to go through with it. Then again, she was four months along, so chances were good that she was planning to keep the baby.

  He watched me curiously. “What were you going to say?”

  “Did Daphne happen to tell you anything else that night? If she was seeing someone besides you, or if her life had recently changed?”

  Lorenzo’s lips curled into a sneer. “Wasn’t it obvious to you? Because it was to me. She was only using me until someone better came along. I was in love with her.” He let out a ragged breath. “I thought we might have a future together. But all she was interested in was—how to do I put this delicately? Being friends with benefits.”

  “Lorenzo?” Carlita called out. “Who is in there with you?”

  Oh, crap. The color drained from Lorenzo’s face as I hurried toward the back door, but it was too late. Carlita pushed through the swinging doors and stood there, hands stationed on her broad hips, eyeing us both sharply.

  “Theresa.” Like my mother, she always called me by my given name. “What do you need?”

  In her mid-fifties, Carlita was Spanish while her husband Giuseppe was 100 percent Italian. Carlita spoke both languages and English fluently. She was about my five-foot, four-inch height, although heavier, with sharp dark eyes that missed nothing.

  I struggled to think of an excuse. “I was asking Lorenzo if he knew the ingredients that went into your cannoli.” Boy, did that sound lame to my own ears.

  Doubt registered in Carlita’s eyes. She glanced over her shoulder at Gabby who stood behind her, a distressed look on her face. “Aha. You two put nothing past Carlita.”

  “Mama, it’s not like that,” Lorenzo protested.

  Carlita beamed at me. “Theresa, tell the truth. Why do you see Lorenzo? You want to date him?”

  Oh. My. God. This was worse than I had imagined. “No, Carlita, I don’t.”

  Carlita nudged Gabby in the side and cocked her eyebrow at me. “You have your cousin keep me busy while you come and get cozy with Lorenzo.” She clucked her tongue like a chicken. “No, no. It too soon for you to date anyone. Your husband just died!”

  My cheeks burned at her accusation. “Carlita, I can assure you that I’m not dating Lorenzo.”

  “Tell her the truth, Tess,” Gabby suggested. “There’s no way around it.”

  “What is it?” Carlita demanded.

  Lorenzo’s face fell. I waited, giving him a chance to speak up first, but he remained mute and looked at me expectantly. Did Lorenzo expect me to answer for him? Resigned, I blew out a sigh. “I overheard Lorenzo talking to Daphne the other night. They were having a bit of a disagreement.”

  “The girl who died at Gabby’s store?” Carlita’s mouth hardened as she addressed her son. “You knew her?”

  Lorenzo’s eyes shot daggers at me. “Yes, I knew her. We went out a few times.”

  Carlita mumbled something under her breath in Italian, and then went over and grabbed Lorenzo’s ear as I winced.

  “Mama!” He tried to shake her off. “Stop it!”

  “Why did you not tell me?” she demanded.

  His mouth set in a stubborn streak. “Because it was my business.”

  That was the wrong thing to say to a Spanish mother of six. Carlita’s mouth exploded in a stream of Italian—no, some might have been Spanish—but every other word was punctuated by a shriek.

  “Are you crazy, my boy?” She turned to me with panic-stricken eyes. “The police—they think Lorenzo did this?”

  I tried to sidestep the question. “I can’t say for sure.”

  “Baloney!” she huffed. “You know.” She wagged a finger at Gabby’s face. “Your brother, he tell you that Lorenzo is in trouble?”

  Gabby shook her head. “Tessa overheard Daphn
e and Lorenzo arguing outside my store.”

  Carlita took off her apron and whacked Lorenzo over the head with it. “How many times I tell you?” she shrieked. “Work hard, get married to a nice Italian or Spanish girl. Have some babies. That Daphne always had a bad reputation, and now someone kill her. You going to ruin your life.” She sat down on a nearby stool and began to cry as she flung her apron over her head.

  “I didn’t hurt her!” Lorenzo insisted, but the look he shot in my direction unnerved me. He acted like he was hiding something. Did he know she was pregnant?

  Carlita defiantly squared her shoulders against me, as if I’d suddenly become the enemy. “Lorenzo, he would not do such a thing. They cannot arrest him.”

  “I’m sure the police will want to question him, but that’s no big deal, Carlita,” I said gently. “Gabby and I were questioned as well.”

  Carlita’s face paled. “There is something else. I know there is. You tell me now, Theresa.”

  Dang, she was good. I glanced at Lorenzo, but he merely shrugged. “Maybe I shouldn’t be the one to say this, but I happen to care about both of you.”

  “Just spill it,” Lorenzo said sharply.

  Carlita came over and whacked him on the head with her apron again. “You shush up and listen. Tell us, Theresa. Now.”

  I swallowed hard. “Daphne was four months pregnant.”

  The room was so quiet that you could have heard a chocolate chip drop. It was difficult to say who looked more shocked, Lorenzo or his mother. Carlita stood stock still for a moment and then started to sway from side to side, as if about to collapse. Gabby and I both jumped forward to grab her before she fell to the floor.

  She began to sob in my arms. “Oh, my God. She was going to have a baby. This is bad. Very bad.”

  I looked over Carlita’s head at Lorenzo, who was motionless. “You didn’t know?” I asked him.

  Lorenzo appeared dazed as he shook his head. “She never said a word. Was it—mine?”

  Carlita let out a low moan and looked like she might faint. Gabby helped her sit back down, rolled her eyes at me, then glanced at the door. Yes, I wanted to get out of here as badly as she did.

  “They don’t know yet. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. If you’d be willing to take a blood test, you’ll know for certain if it was your baby—” I hesitated, “or someone else’s.”

  Carlita wiped at her eyes with a tissue. “It cannot be his. That girl, she was always promiscuous. I remember—”

  “Mama!” Lorenzo’s face was suffused with anger. “Stop it. I didn’t kill her, and I don’t have to take a test if I don’t want to.”

  “You will take the test,” she snapped back. “If you don’t, it look like you try to hide something.” She turned to me. “Who else knows—about pregnancy?”

  “I can’t say for sure,” I admitted. “The police and at least Daphne’s family must have been told.”

  Lorenzo slammed his apron on the counter. “That does it. I’ve had enough. I need to get some air.” The look of contempt he shot me sent a shiver down my spine. “And all of you need to stay out of my life.”

  Carlita shouted after her son—in Spanish this time. Lorenzo ignored her and slammed the door in response, the sound reverberating in my head.

  Carlita wiped at her eyes again. “He is no killer.”

  I didn’t answer because in truth, I wasn’t sure. Gabby had once told me that “no one was exempt” when it came to a murder, and I believed it. She gazed at me quizzically now, as if she’d guessed what I was thinking.

  Carlita twisted her hands so tightly together that I was afraid she might wring them off. “Is there something else?” I asked.

  “I—no. Nothing.” She swallowed hard, as if trying to force back words.

  I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Carlita, we’re not the police. You can trust us.”

  Her eyes swam with tears. “I am afraid for Lorenzo. When the police find out what else he has done—” She sobbed into her hands. “They may arrest him—again.”

  Ten

  A sick sensation swept over me. “Carlita,” I said slowly, “are you trying to say that Lorenzo has a record?”

  Carlita inhaled several gulps of air before she spoke, her head still in her hands. “Si. He was arrested a few years ago.” Her head jerked up. “But it was not his fault.”

  Gabby and I exchanged glances. “What was he arrested for?” I asked.

  “He was only twenty at the time,” she began. “Lorenzo make friends with some other boys. They do not live in Harvest Park. I told him they were no good, to stay away, but Lorenzo—he no listen.” Carlita’s face hardened like stone. “They told him they play a joke on a friend. They take his television and then bring back later. Lorenzo stay in the car. When they come out they have all these expensive electronics—the Play Stations, televisions, computers. They yell at Lorenzo to drive the car—drive it fast.”

  “Oh, no,” I murmured.

  Carlita nodded in misery. “Oh yes. The police chase them and arrest everyone. Lorenzo try to tell them that he did not know—he would never rob anyone. He call up Giuseppe and me at three o’clock in the morning! We go down to the police station and bring bail money.”

  Gabby’s brow furrowed. “Did Gino arrest them?”

  She shook her head. “I ask for your brother, but he was not working. Take two weeks off when Lucy have the twins.”

  “He must have known about it, though,” I murmured. Gino had never mentioned Lorenzo’s arrest to me, but then again, why would he? Gino was a detective for goodness’ sake. He didn’t kiss and tell, and it was none of my business anyway.

  Carlita gulped. “We hire very good attorney, and he get Lorenzo off on community service. But people in this town, they like to talk. Many treat Lorenzo different after that. I know he a bit lazy, but he is no killer. He would not hurt Daphne or any other woman.”

  “Talk to him, Carlita,” I suggested. “Please try to convince him to take the test. He’d want to know if the baby had been his, wouldn’t he?”

  “But what if it was his baby?” Tears ran down her cheeks. “Maybe they would put him in jail. They would think that is why he kill her.”

  Would Daphne have told Lorenzo that she was carrying his child? Or did her silence mean that the baby was Preston’s?

  “Theresa, help me,” Carlita implored. “You must find out who killed Daphne. I trust you. This will destroy Lorenzo’s life. Please.”

  How could I refuse her? “We’ll do what we can,” I said slowly.

  “This is affecting us too, Carlita,” Gabby announced. “The detective in charge of the case is looking at both Tess and me as suspects.”

  “Baloney,” she declared. “I know all about that man—Patty something? He think he still in the big city. We are bunch of hicks to him.”

  I struggled to keep a straight face, even though I agreed with her sentiment.

  “It is true,” she insisted. “He come in bakery for bread last week. I try to talk to him. Ask about his wife, kids. He tell me he is divorced, no kids.”

  “Gee, it’s difficult to imagine why a woman wouldn’t want to stay married to him,” Gabby murmured. “Must be that soft, endearing side.”

  Carlita sniffed. “I tell him, you stick with me, I find you nice Harvest Park lady. Lots of pretty ones at the Catholic church. He start to laugh, then say he no go to church. Say God is punishing him by sending him to our town. Then he say it like purgatory here.” Shock registered on her heart-shaped face. “So blasphemous.”

  “Yeah, he’s a keeper,” Gabby agreed.

  The bells chimed from the storefront, announcing that Carlita had a customer. She rose to her feet and wiped her eyes. “I must go now. You girls take care of everything, okay?” With that, she pushed through the swinging doors with her usual determination.

 
Our job was done here, so to speak. Gabby and I drove back to the restaurant in silence. When we were back in the kitchen, she leaned over the counter, watching with interest as I cut up each ball of the sitting dough into six parts and fed them through my pasta machine. “Why do you have to put each piece through the machine eight times? I’d go crazy with boredom.”

  “It has to be smooth and not sticky,” I told her, “otherwise the pasta won’t be the right texture. And it’s not boring—the process helps me to think.” Homemade pasta was so much fresher and tastier than store-bought and totally worth the time spent. The thought of people eating and enjoying my food on opening night filled me with anticipation and joy.

  “What are you smiling at?” Gabby asked.

  “Was I smiling? Sorry, I won’t do it again.”

  “Don’t be a wise guy. Do you think Lorenzo could have killed her?”

  I fed the sheet of dough through the machine one more time and then cut the flat piece into long, even strips of noodles. “I don’t know.”

  She looked at me, startled. “Tess!”

  “Well, I don’t!” I wiped my hands on a dish towel. “Don’t get me wrong. I hate the idea that Lorenzo could be a killer. It would devastate Carlita. But we both know what people are capable of when they’ve been wronged. Daphne was pregnant, and someone may have killed her because of it.”

  “Don’t forget the Rigottas,” Gabby put in. “Maybe Sylvia poisoned the cannoli and got her doting daughter to help. Before Saturday, I would rather have cut off my tongue before saying this, but Preston’s a suspect, too. If it was his baby and Daphne told him, that would ruin his squeaky-clean image and his book sales.”

  “Who else might have a motive?” I finished cutting the pasta into slices and placed it in freezer bags.

  “Maybe her father knows of someone. I mean, no offense, but there had to be other people that she made miserable—besides me, that is.” Gabby’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. “Hey. Check this out. Lou said he got word from the higher-ups that I can reopen the store! He also sent the list of ingredients used in the cannoli and asked me to pass them along to you. Hang on, I’ll forward the message.”