Stabbed in the Baklava

by Tina Kashian

  Bill stepped into the kitchen and halted at the sight of the two women leaning against the counter.

  “Good morning.” Katie smiled and moved forward to place a kiss on his cheek. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  Bill looked from Katie to Lucy, then back to Katie. “I know that expression on your faces.”

  Katie blinked innocently. “I just asked if you wanted coffee.”

  “No, you’re wondering about the case.”

  “Hmm. Well, since you brought it up, what’s the latest?” Katie poured a mug and handed it to him.

  Bill took the mug, eyeing his wife warily. “You know I’m not supposed to discuss an active investigation. And to make matters worse, you were both at the crime scene. There’s a conflict of interest.”

  Katie shrugged a shoulder. “This is different from last time. Lucy isn’t a suspect.”

  “That’s true. But her head chef is—”

  “I knew it!” Katie folded her arms across her chest. “Lucy has been worried sick about Azad.”

  Bill’s frown deepened. “There may be good cause for worry.”

  Anxiety coursed through Lucy. “What about the wedding planner? She had it out with the victim, took his phone, and threatened him. She lied to Clemmons about that, and I’m worried the detective won’t believe me.”

  “I believe you. And from what I’ve heard at the station, Clemmons will most likely bring Ms. Redding in for further questioning.”

  “But it still looks bad for Azad, doesn’t it?” Lucy asked.

  “What can you tell us, Bill?” Katie asked.

  Bill frowned, his expression level under drawn brows. “Henry Simms was not killed elsewhere and moved into the catering van.”

  “You mean he was murdered inside the van?”

  “That’s right. Our crime scene investigators confirmed it.”

  Lucy recalled the puddle of blood in the van, and gooseflesh rose on her arms. “Henry must have broken into the van to search for his cell phone. He didn’t know Victoria still had it.”

  Bill shook his head. “We inspected the van. No one tampered with the locks or windows. No one broke into the van.”

  Her heart began to pound. “Then how did Henry and a killer get inside? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Lucy, are you sure you locked the van after you went back for the baklava tray?” Bill asked.

  “Yes.” She had a distinct memory of juggling the tray, digging into her pocket for the key, and locking the van. She’d been worried about dropping the extra tray and disappointing her staff.

  “And you returned the key to Azad and saw him put it in his pocket?” Bill asked.

  Lucy nodded, then thought back. It was the first time anyone asked if she saw Azad return the key to his pocket.

  Did she?

  She’d been anxious after she’d returned from hiding behind the van as Victoria fought with Henry. When Lucy had returned to the kitchen, Azad had grumbled that she’d taken too long. She’d glared at him, slapped the van key on the counter beside him, and stalked away.

  Had he returned it to his pocket?

  She couldn’t remember seeing him do so. The kitchen had been hectic. But Azad must have taken the key because he’d pulled it out of his pocket and given it to Clemmons at the crime scene.

  “I’m sure,” Lucy said. “And Azad handed the key to Clemmons.”

  Bill’s mouth dipped into an even deeper frown. “From Clemmons’s viewpoint, it doesn’t look good for Azad. He threatened the victim in a kitchen full of impartial witnesses while brandishing a shish kebab skewer. He had motive and access to the van.”

  “I’ve known Azad since middle school. He started working at the restaurant as a dishwasher, then moved on to busboy, and then as a line cook. My mom and dad treated him like their adopted son. He’s not capable of murder.”

  Bill lowered his mug. “I’m sorry, Lucy. You’ve been away for a while. People change.”

  She shook her head. “Not that much.”

  Her father’s request sprang to mind.“If Detective Clemmons tries to blame Azad, then you have to help him, Lucy . . . you have to find the real killer. You did it before, you can do it again.”

  She’d already begun thinking about who could have stabbed Henry. She caught Katie’s eye, and knew her friend was just as inquisitive.

  Bill’s gaze darted from Lucy’s to Katie’s. “Oh, no,” he mumbled, wagging a finger at them. “You two stay out of this. You haven’t forgotten the last time, have you?”

  Lucy hadn’t. She knew how dangerous it could be to get involved in police business. She’d almost gotten herself killed by pursuing the last murderer in Ocean Crest. But still . . . this was Azad. Whatever her tumultuous feelings, he didn’t deserve to be the fall guy for a horrible crime he didn’t commit.

  Bill finished his coffee and placed his mug in the sink. “I mean it, ladies. Keep your noses out of it, and let the police do their job.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Lucy breathed in the ocean air as she jogged on Ocean Crest’s boardwalk. It was a beautiful June morning and the sunlight shimmered on the Atlantic Ocean. Tourists rode rented bicycles and surreys alongside the joggers. Her running shoes pounded on the boards as she passed a burger joint, a pizza parlor, and a frozen custard stand. She picked up her pace and ran by a tattoo shop and a palm and tarot card reader. A teenage worker stood outside one of the stores hawking T-shirts. The Ocean Crest boardwalk had an eclectic array of shops, and combined with the single pier, which featured an old-fashioned wooden roller coaster, Ferris wheel, and carnival games, there was something for everyone.

  “Watch the tramcar, please!” Lucy jumped as a loudspeaker blared behind her, then she moved to the side to let the newest addition pass—a boardwalk tramcar. Bright yellow and blue, the tramcar was a trackless train with twenty seats. It offered tired tourists a ride up and down the boardwalk and stopped at designated spots to pick up riders. Tourists loved the tramcar, especially senior citizens and parents with baby strollers and tired toddlers. Locals put up with the annoying recorded message which repeated every time a pedestrian was in its way.

  Lucy jogged to the end of the boardwalk, ran down a wooden ramp, and began making her way across the beach. A few early morning families were already making the trek across the sand with their loaded beach carts and colorful umbrellas. Children sprinted ahead to splash in the surf and search for shells.

  She headed for the wooden pier projecting into the sea, and one of her favorite spots overlooking the ocean. Slowing as she approached the pier, she walked down the wooden piles until she reached the end and sat. A cool ocean breeze blew wayward curls that had escaped her ponytail as she drank from her water bottle. Seagulls cried and circled above. A crane looking for its morning meal skimmed the water. The isolation, combined with the vastness of the ocean, made all her problems seem small. It also cleared her head and allowed her to think.

  Lucy’s thoughts turned back to the wedding. Katie had brought up a good point. If Henry Simms was married, where was his wife during the wedding? The police must have delivered the horrible news by now.

  Or had the woman already known because she’d stabbed her own husband?

  And what about the rest of the bridal party? For starters there was the pretty, young, red-headed maid of honor, Cressida Connolly. She’d certainly known Henry since he’d been her escort as the best man. And Lucy couldn’t overlook the groom, Bradford Papadopoulos. She recalled Henry’s speech that he’d known Bradford since college and the two had been fraternity brothers.

  Did Cressida or Bradford have a reason to kill the best man?

  Lucy sat and took another deep breath of ocean air. She hoped Bill was right and Detective Clemmons would summon Victoria Redding to the police station for further questioning. If not, then Lucy would have to take matters into her own hands.

  Again.

  A cold knot formed in her stomach. Could she do it? She knew Katie would be on board despite
Bill’s warning not to get involved. But was she willing to track down a cold-blooded murderer herself?

  Yes, if it means saving Azad from hard prison time.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to resume romantic relations with Azad, but their past wasn’t easily forgotten. Azad Zakarian had been a friend before he’d ever been a boyfriend.

  Pushing to her feet, Lucy brushed the sand off her running shorts and jogged back. Sand sprayed the backs of her legs and stuck to her sweaty skin. She’d stop by the restaurant, refill her water bottle with ice water, then jog to Katie’s house and shower before she had to return for the dinner shift. Thankfully, her sister, Emma, had volunteered to manage the lunch shift to give Lucy a break after the harrowing wedding.

  Just as she cut through the back parking lot of the restaurant, she heard a welcoming meow, then spotted the orange and black cat by the back door.

  “Hello there, Gadoo.” Lucy squatted down to pet the patchy orange cat. She was rewarded with another meow as the feline rubbed against her legs. “Did Mom leave you enough food and fresh water?” Her gaze went to the bowls by the back door leading into Kebab Kitchen’s storage room.

  Gadoo had plenty of kibble, and Lucy made a mental note to pick up more of the cat treats he loved at Holloway’s grocery store. She had grown quite attached to the cat, and she’d even ordered a new cell phone case online of a picture of herself and Gadoo. Emma had snapped the picture of the two of them on the front lawn of the restaurant. Lucy had been holding Gadoo in her arms and he was looking up at her, his yellow eyes alert.

  She refilled the cat’s water bowl from what was left of her own water bottle before opening the back door and entering the storage room.

  The room was filled with the staples of Mediterranean cuisine—containers of bulgur, rice, jars of tahini to make hummus, and exotic spices. Before Lucy had taken over management of the restaurant, everything was stored on old wooden shelving. She’d wanted to make long-needed changes, starting with installing a computerized ordering and inventory system and replacing the wooden shelves with stainless-steel ones. But any changes meant butting heads with her technology-resistant and fiscally challenged parents.

  Especially her father.

  She’d finally won a single argument and convinced her father that the investment in steel shelving would be worthwhile. After Raffi Berberian agreed, Lucy ordered the shelves from a restaurant supplier. But her grand plans came to a grinding halt when the new shelving was delayed by a strike at the manufacturer’s factory. Meanwhile, the local handyman, Jonathan Hartman, had already dismantled the wooden shelves. Then, a day before the steel shelving finally arrived, Jonathan had thrown out his back installing a hot water heater at the local Sandpiper Bed and Breakfast, and he hadn’t been able to finish the job. Finding a handyman during the height of the summer season had been harder than Lucy had anticipated. As a result, all the restaurant’s supplies currently rested upon wooden pallets and cheap, temporary plastic shelving.

  The room was disorganized and had thrown her father into a fit. Raffi had wagged a finger in her face and said, “I told you not to mess with things. If it isn’t broken, don’t change it.”

  This was not how Lucy had envisioned her first attempt at improvements.

  Even though it was only a matter of time before the steel shelving would be installed, it was still disconcerting every time Butch or Azad had to rummage through the storage room to find a needed item. Taking inventory also took a lot more time. But Lucy knew she could be just as stubborn as her father, and she still planned to install a computerized inventory and ordering system, and was gearing up for an epic battle with her parents.

  As soon as she entered the kitchen, the wonderful smell of Butch’s homemade vegetable barley soup, wafted to her.

  “Smells great, Butch.” Lucy’s stomach growled as she came close. All she’d eaten for breakfast was a bowl of cereal, and running made her hungry.

  Butch smiled as he stirred an enormous stockpot on the industrial-sized stove. “I’ll save you the first bowl, Lucy Lou.”

  “That sounds—”

  “Lucy!”

  Lucy whirled to see Emma by a large coffee urn, her cheeks flushed. “You’re not supposed to be here this early.”

  “I know, Em. Thanks for covering for me. I just stopped by to refill my water bottle.” She raised her now empty bottle, then halted when she saw the worried expression on her sister’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  Emma switched the urn to “brew” and wiped her hands on her apron. “Marsha Walsh is here. She gave me her card and asked for you.” Emma pulled a business card from her apron and handed it to her sister. “When I told her you weren’t expected for at least an hour, she asked for a table and ordered.”

  Lucy froze at the sight of the raised gold seal of the state of New Jersey on the card. “Oh, no. It’s the county prosecutor.”

  There was only one reason for Marsha Walsh to come to Kebab Kitchen, and it wasn’t for the cuisine.

  Not again. The last time the prosecutor had surprised her by showing up at the restaurant, Lucy also had been returning from a run. The woman had impeccable timing.

  “Are Mom and Dad here?” Lucy asked.

  Emma shook her head. “No. Just Sally and Butch.”

  Sweaty and sandy after her run, Lucy smoothed her frizzy ponytail. The prosecutor was the last person she wanted to see. “All right. Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

  Lucy took a breath and entered the dining room. Marsha Walsh sat checking her smartphone at a table by herself. With her short-cropped hair, navy pantsuit, and leather briefcase, she looked every inch a lawyer. Not long ago, Lucy had dressed similarly and had probably given off the same vibe.

  But things were different now, and Lucy felt a jolt of momentary panic. She’d looked up the prosecutor after her last visit. Walsh was in her late forties and an accomplished prosecutor. From what Lucy had learned, she was careful about what cases she prosecuted and rarely lost a trial.

  It was early for lunch and the dining room was empty except for a young couple seated five tables away. By the way they were looking into each other’s eyes, Lucy suspected they were lovers or newlyweds and not paying any attention to their surroundings. Perfect.

  Marsha Walsh lowered her cell phone as Lucy approached. “Hello, Ms. Berberian.”

  “Hi, Prosecutor Walsh. I was surprised to hear from my sister that you were here, asking to see me.”

  “I don’t blame you. The food here may be exceptional, but I didn’t think I’d be back again so soon.” Walsh motioned to the chair across from her. “Please join me. I’ve already ordered.”

  Lucy pulled out the chair and took a seat. She glanced at the plate before the woman and noticed that she’d made a trip to the hummus bar. Lucy’s parents had installed the hummus bar several months ago and it had quickly become popular with the customers. It featured her mother’s traditional hummus and a dozen of her unique varieties. Bins of sliced vegetables for dipping were at the end of the bar, and homemade pita bread could be ordered from the kitchen.

  Lucy couldn’t help but find it odd that Marsha Walsh had helped herself to the hummus. The last time the prosecutor visited, it was because the health inspector had died after eating the hummus.

  Walsh dipped a carrot slice into the hummus and took a bite. “It’s very good. I see you’ve added several different flavors since the last time I was here.”

  “My mother created different flavors, and we like to change them every week.” Lucy eyed her plate. “Roasted red pepper, lemon pucker, and black bean. All good choices.”

  “You’re very perceptive,” Walsh said.

  Lucy shrugged a shoulder. “It’s my business. I have to be able to tell the difference between them all.”

  Walsh’s stare drilled into her. “Perception is a skill that is useful in my profession as well. I wonder if you can use it to guess why I’m here today.”


  Lucy’s fingers twisted beneath the table. “It’s not difficult. I assume it has to do with Scarlet Westwood’s wedding.”

  Walsh raised her water glass. “It’s not every day a celebrity socialite has a wedding in our county. It’s even rarer that there’s a murder during the reception.”

  “I still don’t see why you’re here. Kebab Kitchen had nothing to do with it.”

  “That’s for law enforcement to decide.”

  Lucy refused to be waylaid. “I know Detective Clemmons is trying to pin this on our head chef, but he’s off.”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  “I was there when he was initially questioned. I also have a feeling Clemmons wants to be quick about making an arrest.”

  Walsh lowered her glass. “Are you playing investigator again? We’re not going to have a repeat of your prior clandestine activities, are we?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You should know me better by now, Ms. Berberian.”

  Lucy’s anxiety rose another notch. Marsha Walsh was much smarter than Calvin Clemmons. That meant she wasn’t as narrow-minded. Plus, she didn’t have a grudge against Lucy’s family.

  “I told Detective Clemmons that I’d overheard a fight between the victim and the wedding planner, Victoria Redding.”

  “We’re looking into that.”

  “Have you questioned her further?” Lucy asked.

  Just then, the kitchen doors swung open and Emma arrived. Balancing a plate in one hand and a pitcher of ice water in the other, she set a platter of lamb shish kebab in front of the prosecutor, refilled her water glass, and departed. The aroma of the lamb made Lucy’s mouth water. She’d never had a chance to sample Butch’s soup. But then she looked at the skewer and her pulse did a double take.

  Walsh carefully lifted the shish kebab and removed the meat from the skewer with her fork. The tender lamb came off a piece at a time. She slipped her finger through the loop on one end of the stainless-steel skewer and dangled it in front of Lucy. Sunlight from the window glinted off the sharp tip.