“I’m glad things are working out so well, dear,” her grandmother said over breakfast on Saturday morning. “It seems like you have pizza in your blood. It must have skipped a generation.”
The last part was muttered somewhat bitterly under her breath. Ellie knew Ann was talking about Ellie’s father, her son Harvey. After the divorce, he had moved to Canada, doing his best to leave both his parents and Ellie and her mother in the past.
“I like fixing up Papa Pacelli’s, Nonna,” she said, pouring herself more juice. “I know Papa would be proud to see it now.”
“I’m sure he would. I’ll stop in later this week and look at all of the progress you’ve made.” Her grandmother’s eyes brightened. “Say, have you been down to the marina yet to see the Eleanora?”
“Huh?”
“Your grandfather’s boat,” the elderly woman explained, her eyes twinkling. “He bought after I convinced him his old one the Hermit Crab wasn’t worth repairing anymore. He named it after you. Let’s go to the marina this afternoon and take a look at it.”
The Kittiport marina was bustling with activity when they got there. It was a beautiful Saturday, the perfect sort of day for a fishing trip or just going out on the water with a friend. Ellie followed her grandmother as she weaved between young couples, families with kids, and gruff old fishermen. The Eleanora was moored in a slip at the far end of the marina. She was a beautiful white boat, similar to the type that many lobster catchers used, but a bit more luxurious. The name, printed on the side in elegant, curving letters, made Ellie smile.
“You can get on if you want,” her grandmother said. “I get horribly seasick, so I’ll stay on solid ground. I never was a boat person.”
Ellie stepped from the dock to the boat, taking a moment to steady herself as she got used to the bob and sway of the vessel. She walked around slowly, interested to see everything she could about the boat that was named after her. The cabin was small, but comfortable, and smelled of cigars. There were some high-tech screens by the wheel, but she had no idea what they did. She wondered what would happen to the boat, now that her grandfather was gone. She certainly wouldn’t know how to take it out safely, and it would be a pity to let such a beautiful vessel spend all of its days sitting at the marina.
“What do you think?” Ann asked when Ellie returned to the dock.
“It’s gorgeous. Thanks for showing it to me,” she replied.
“You can take it out whenever you want.”
“Thanks, Nonna. Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer, when I’m less busy at the pizzeria.” And after I get some sailing lessons, she thought. Do you even call them sailing lessons if the boat doesn’t have a sail? What would they be… boat driving lessons?
“Ms. Pacelli?”
Hearing her name, Ellie spun around. The sheriff, Russell Ward, was standing a few feet away, looking surprised.
“I thought I recognized you. Gotta say, I didn’t expect you to still be in town.”
“Why would I leave?” Ellie asked, puzzled.
“Not many people would stick around if they didn’t have to, not after a murder happened practically on their doorstep.”
“Well, I—” She broke off. Saying she had nowhere else to go would sound too pathetic. She was nearly forty, for goodness sake. She wasn’t about to admit that she had nothing more to show for her life than a tiny dog and a nice car. “The pizzeria is a family business; I wouldn’t just walk out on it.”
He nodded, and she thought she saw a flash of approval in his eyes. She realized for the first time that he was wearing casual clothing, and had a tackle box in his hand. He inclined his head toward a boat tied up on the other side of the dock.
“I’m about to head out with my buddy, Duncan,” he said. “We’re going to try our luck with the fish. You two have a nice day.” He nodded to them and took a step toward his boat, then hesitated. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to own a 9mm pistol, would you, Ms. Pacelli? Sorry to spring this on you now, but it’ll save me a phone call when I’m back on duty.”
He was talking to Ellie, but it was her grandmother that spoke up.
“I sure do, Sheriff. You know Art, he was always worried about leaving me home alone. He bought me one for our fifty-third anniversary.”
Russell’s eyes narrowed, and he swept his gaze over Ellie consideringly. She shifted on her feet, not sure where to look. His slate eyes seemed to pierce her. Did this have something to do with Ben’s murder? It had to.
“Russ?” a voice called out. Ellie turned to see a muscular man around her own age with closely shaven dark hair and a camo fishing vest approaching them, a large cooler in tow. He gave her a curious look before turning to the sheriff. “You about ready to go? The fish’re biting.”
“Yeah, I’m all set here. Duncan, this is Eleanora Pacelli. You know, Arthur Pacelli’s granddaughter? And of course, you know Ann, his wife. Ms. Pacelli, this is Duncan Reeves, an okay ranger at the state park.”
“And his best friend,” Duncan said, chuckling. “He always forgets that part. It’s nice to meet you both.”
He nodded to them, hefted his cooler, and carefully boarded the boat. Russell paused to say, “We’ll be in touch, Ms. Pacelli,” before following him, leaving Ellie with a bundle of nerves in her stomach. She didn’t want to be in touch; no, she wanted this whole thing to be over with, and Ben’s killer to be caught. She most certainly didn’t want to be involved in the case any more than she absolutely had to.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Don’t be silly, Ellie. Russell doesn’t really think you killed Ben,” Shannon said, adjusting her sunglasses.
“I don’t know about that. You didn’t see him. He looked so… serious,” Ellie told her friend. It was the next day, and they were walking down Main Street together, window shopping as they considered what to get for lunch.
“Russ always looks serious. He’s a serious guy. I think the last time I saw him crack a smile was at my wedding. But he’s good at what he does, and he’s not going to think you killed Ben unless you actually did it.” She peered at Ellie over her sunglasses, her blue eyes curious. “You didn’t, did you?”
“No!” Hands on her hips, she glared at her friend. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I kill Ben?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t like roses.” Shannon shrugged. “You’d be surprised what petty things people kill each other over.”
“Like you’d know,” Ellie snorted. “I know you’re a reporter, but come on, this is Kittiport. The most brutal crime you’ve seen before this was what? Some kids vandalizing the library?”
“Yeah, yeah. Kittiport isn’t the most exciting town to be a journalist in. I do watch a lot of crime shows, though. If you did kill him, tell me now so I can get the scoop.”
“I hate to disappoint you—I’m sure a story like that would get you a lot more readers than your columns about quilting contests—but I’m innocent in all of this.”
“You’re no fun,” Shannon said good-naturedly. “On the other hand, if you’re innocent, Russ will know. He’s a good guy, all right? He doesn’t want to waste his time barking up the wrong tree. He doesn’t have it out for you or anything, so relax. You’ll be fine, Ben’s killer will get caught, and we’ll all be able to go back to not locking our doors at night.”
“Okay,” Ellie sighed. “I’ll try to put it all out of my mind for now. Tomorrow I’ve got to go over the new chore schedule and rules with the employees at the pizzeria, and they’re not going to like it one bit. I’ve got enough on my plate without worrying about Ben’s murder, too. I’ll leave that to the professionals.”
“Good idea. Hey, I know just what you need.” Shannon’s mischievous grin was back.
“What?”
“A calzone.” She nodded at a brightly colored shop across the street with Cheesaroni Calzones in bright letters over the door. Next to it was a shop called Elkton Carpentry, with a Permanently Closed sign in the door. Ellie felt a pang.
�
�Wouldn’t eating at a calzone place make me a traitor to Papa Pacelli’s?” she asked. “Calzones are just a step down from pizza, after all.”
“Cheesaroni is in direct competition with your place, yeah. But don’t think of it as being a traitor… think of it as undercover research. We’ll go in, see what makes Cheesaroni Calzones so great, and as an added bonus, we’ll walk out with a delicious meal.”
“Oh, all right. Now you’ve got me curious to see if these calzones are actually something special or not.”
They turned out to be pretty good. She and Shannon sat down at a table in the corner and dug in. Ellie had decided to go with the artichoke spinach calzone, and didn’t regret her choice one bit. The flavors of real ricotta and Parmesan cheese gave the dish a richness that was almost sinful. Cheesaroni didn’t skimp on the filling, unlike some other calzone specialty places she had been to, and even after eating the entire thing, she didn’t have one complaint.
“I’m glad we stopped here, although I’m starting to regret leaving the cars so far away,” Ellie said, leaning back in her chair and gazing around at the restaurant. “I can see why this place is doing so well. The food is great, but it’s not just that. Look at how clean everything is, and how friendly the server was. Service makes or breaks a restaurant, I’m telling you.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Shannon asked, poking at the remains of her own calzone. “Do you think you’re going to end up firing anyone at the pizzeria?”
“I don’t want to,” Ellie admitted. “I think that the employees that are there now are mostly good people, they just haven’t had the right encouragement. I hope that they’ll be willing to work on improving.”
“That’s optimistic of you. I think—” She broke off as a commotion started near the cash register. The person behind the register, a man in his thirties, was not quite shouting, but was talking loudly at a younger employee. His face was beet red, and his hands were clenched in fists.
“What do you mean you told that family to go to Papa Pacelli’s? That was a big family. You cost us at least thirty bucks! That place is garbage, anyway. They don’t deserve the money.”
The kid quailed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dunham, but they said they wanted pizza, and Pacelli’s was the only place I could think of…”
“If someone walks in here wanting pizza, you don’t tell them to go to a pizza place! You tell them that calzone is just like a pizza, just easier to eat, and then you sell them two.”
The man the younger employee had called Mr. Dunham gave a sharp huff of anger and stomped through the doors that led to the kitchen. The kid, who looked like he was on the verge of tears, made his way over to Ellie and Shannon’s table to clear their trash.
“Who was that?” Ellie asked. “Is he your boss?”
The young employee nodded. “Yeah. That’s Jeffrey Dunham. He owns this place.”
“He shouldn’t have treated you that way.” She reached into her purse and took out enough cash for a sizable tip, which she stuffed into the kid’s hand. “Here, take this. You deserve it. No one should have to deal with a boss like that.”
Shannon gave her a sideways look once they hit the sidewalk. “What was that about?”
“I felt bad for him,” Ellie told her friend. “And, well, a bit guilty. If Jeffrey Dunham is that worried about a little competition, then he’s going to be even more upset once he sees just how well Papa Pacelli’s does under good management. On the other hand, if he’s the sort of person the pizzeria has to compete against, then I’m not too worried.”
“Well look at you,” the other woman said. “I’d know that determined look anywhere. If I was a betting woman, I’d put down money that you’ll run him out of business within the year.”
“Nothing can stop a Pacelli once we’ve set our mind to something,” Ellie said. “And there’s no way I’m going to let a jerk like that badmouth my family’s restaurant.”
CHAPTER NINE
When Ellie sat down that evening for a New England-style dinner with her grandmother—complete with a scrumptious seafood chowder—her mind was still on her plan for getting the pizzeria’s good name back. It would take a lot of hard work and dedication, but she was prepared for it.
“You haven’t told me about the encounter with Sheriff Ward from yesterday yet,” her grandmother said while they ate. “He seemed very interested in you.”
“Nonna,” Ellie said, almost choking on a bite of chowder. “He was interested in me because I’m a suspect. I was the last one to see Ben alive, after all. And the first one to see him dead. Why did you chime in about the gun, anyway? What do you even need a gun for?”
“Personal protection, my dear. This is a nice house, and there were a few break-ins nearby a while back. Your grandfather thought it was a good idea. I keep it in my nightstand drawer.”
Ellie shook her head, not quite sure how she felt about her octogenarian grandmother packing heat.
“You know, the sheriff is a very nice man once you get to know him,” Ann continued. “I voted for him last election. Or maybe I voted for the other guy… well, either way, he’s a good sheriff. You could do worse.”
“Let’s at least wait until the guy doesn’t think I’m a murderer before you start trying to pair me up with him, okay, Nonna? Now let’s eat… I want to get back to Papa’s study and go over his files again. I feel like I’m missing something.”
After cleaning up after dinner, Ellie shut herself in the study while her grandmother went to bed. The stack of records waiting for her was nothing new—she had already gone once through the entire pile, which documented nearly every month of the pizzeria’s financial history since it opened. Still, there was something that kept drawing her back to the pile. She kept telling herself she would go to bed after going through the next folder, and then the next, and gradually the night wore on, inching toward morning with her still sitting at her grandfather’s desk.
Ellie jerked awake, blinking groggily and looking down at the desk where she had been resting her head. The papers were a mess, she still wasn’t any closer to finding the clue to the pizzeria’s financial hardships that she had been looking for, and it was nearing three in the morning. Falling asleep at the desk had left her with a kink in her neck, which she rubbed gingerly before beginning the task of stacking the papers into semi-neat piles.
Suddenly she froze, a file clutched in her hand as her heart rate jumped up a notch. She might still be half asleep, but she could have sworn that she had just heard a voice. She listened hard, but the old house was silent. She was just about to relax and brush it off as a figment of an overactive imagination when she heard it again.
Quietly, from beyond the heavy oak door of her grandfather’s study, sounded a quiet “Hello?”
It was a woman’s voice; of that she was sure. Ellie felt a chill seep into her bones. She didn’t believe in ghosts, and she had to keep telling herself that as she eased out of the chair and made her way silently toward the door. A quick glance down at Bunny, who had been napping by her feet a moment before, showed her that she wasn’t going insane—the dog heard it too.
It’s probably Nonna, she told herself. Either she’s sleepwalking, or she’s just confused. She is old, after all, and I think she mentioned that she has had trouble sleeping since grandfather died.
“Hello? Hi. How are you?”
The voice was clearer now that she was standing near the study door, and it did sound almost like her grandmother’s voice. It was off just enough to give her goosebumps. Something wasn’t right.
Telling herself not to be such a wimp, Ellie eased the study door open and slipped out into the hallway, the files still clutched in her hand. She heard the voice again, much more clearly this time.
“Hi. Good birdie. How are you?”
Feeling like an idiot, Ellie realized what the voice was right before she rounded the corner to see Marlowe’s cage next to the stairs. Not planning to stay up as late as she had, she had left the lig
ht on in the entrance way, and had evidently kept the bird up. She had never heard the parrot talk before, and was surprised by just how human her voice sounded.
“Hi. You almost gave me a heart attack,” she said. The bird turned her head to one side, staring at her with one eye. “Are you going to say anything else, or do you only talk when no one’s around?”
Marlowe remained silent.
“Well, sorry for keeping you up. I’m sure you’re just as tired as I am. Let me just return these papers to the—”
She broke off, staring at the papers in her hand. It was all so obvious, all of a sudden. She rushed back to the study and spread the files out in front of her, squinting as she tried to read the dates on her grandfather’s handwritten notes. There it was, plain as day. Why hadn’t she seen it before?
The pizzeria had been doing well up until about two years ago. The restaurant’s profits first started to drop the month after her grandfather had hired Xavier as the manager, and they had been dropping slowly but steadily ever since. She still needed more proof, but Ellie was all but certain that the pizzeria’s manager had something to do with the restaurant’s financial trouble. The only question that remained was whether it was due to his poor management skills, or something much more sinister.
CHAPTER TEN
Ellie hurried into the pizzeria early the next morning, hoping to have a few good hours to look for the proof that she needed before the employees started showing up. All of her grandfather’s files were based on the sales records that Xavier had given him. To prove her theory right, she needed the original records, which meant trying to figure out the ancient lump of a machine that they used as a cash register. It was easier than she had expected—the instruction manual was easily found online. After she printed out the old receipts, she spent a couple of hours comparing them to the records Xavier had given her grandfather. She found what she was looking for easily enough, and could hardly believe her eyes.
Pall Bearers and Pepperoni: Book 1 in The Papa Pacelli's Pizzeria Series Page 4