Stabbed in the Baklava

by Tina Kashian

  “I remember watching with my mom and sister. My dad spent his weekends at the Atlantic City casinos,” Michael said.

  She glanced at Michael beneath lowered lashes. He didn’t seem saddened by his recollection, but deep down she wondered if he had regrets. In Lucy’s opinion, Mr. Citteroni should have lots of them.

  “Ready to go back?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Thanks. I needed this.” The bike ride, the ocean breeze, and the company had eased her tense shoulders. Not to mention she’d learned about Holly Simms and the opportunity she’d had to slip away and stab her adulterous husband. Add a million-dollar life insurance policy, and the motive grew.

  “My pleasure. Any time you want to go for a bike ride, all you have to do is ask.” He offered his hand.

  Oh, he was tempting. He helped her to her feet and together they walked back to the Harley. Twenty minutes later, they were in Katie’s driveway.

  She dismounted the bike and handed him her helmet. From the corner of her eye, Lucy spotted curtains fluttering at the window, and she knew Katie had seen the motorcycle. She expected to be peppered with questions as soon she stepped foot inside.

  “I’ll walk you to the door.” Despite the leather and the Harley, Michael was a perfect gentleman.

  Lucy halted on the porch. Katie was probably burning with curiosity and she wouldn’t be surprised if her friend’s ear was plastered to the door.

  “Thanks again. I’ll see you around,” Lucy said.

  “Wait.” He reached out to touch her sleeve.

  She froze as his gaze dropped to her mouth. He wasn’t going to kiss her, was he?

  “I admire you for wanting to help your friend by finding out who got rid of the best man, but be careful, Lucy. Not everyone is as innocent as they may appear.”

  * * *

  Lucy found Katie inside dressed in workout capris and a faded “Hard Rock Philadelphia” T-shirt. A kickboxing DVD was on the TV screen. Katie picked up the remote, pressed mute, and patted the couch for Lucy. “Sit. I want all the juicy details.”

  Lucy collapsed on the sofa. “There’s not much to tell. Michael Citteroni gave me a ride home on his Harley.”

  Katie looked at Lucy in disbelief. “That’s it?”

  There was no sense fighting it. Katie could be persistent. “We went the long way home and watched the fireworks on the boardwalk.”

  “First, Azad. Now, Michael. You’re on a roll.”

  Lucy held up a hand. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m not sure about either of them.”

  “Who says you have to pick?”

  “My parents. They’d be thrilled if I picked Azad. They’ve wanted us together since college.”

  Katie chuckled. “You’d get to keep everything in the family business.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “As if that’s a reason.”

  “Well, if you do decide to date Azad again, you’d best clear his name of murder first.”

  Lucy sat upright. “Talking about murder, you wouldn’t believe what I learned tonight. Michael was at Scarlet’s wedding reception.”

  Katie scooched forward on the couch. “He was? I didn’t see him.”

  “That’s because he came late and he was busy dodging Holly’s amorous advances all night.”

  “Holly Simms? The victim’s wife?”

  “Yup. She stuck to him like super glue, and when Michael tried to tell her he didn’t mess with married women, she shot back that her husband was a cheating jerk.”

  “That’s more proof that Holly knew of Henry’s affair,” Katie said.

  “That’s not all. Michael said Holly wouldn’t leave him alone, except for about half an hour near the end of the reception when she said she needed to use the ladies’ room.”

  Katie rubbed her chin. “Hmm. A half hour is a suspiciously long time to spend in the ladies’ room. It would definitely be enough time to sneak outside and stab her husband, and it fits the timeline of Henry’s death.”

  “I’m thinking she’s a scorned wife who wanted to get back at her husband. Plus, there’s the big life insurance policy. Holly has more motive than Victoria.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Holly was the murderer,” Katie said. “Except there is one small problem to that theory.”

  “What?”

  “Both you and Azad claim that you locked the van, and Bill said there was no sign of forced entry. So, how’d Holly get inside?”

  Lucy had been asking herself the same question. Still, there had to be an explanation. “The catering van is old as dirt and it doesn’t have power locks, power windows, or an alarm. Maybe Holly used the old-fashioned method of a simple coat hanger?”

  “No way. The crime scene investigators combed through the van with a magnifying glass. They also looked inside the door compartment. A coat hanger would leave scratches. There weren’t any,” Katie said.

  “Then how did the murderer get in the van?” A thought crossed Lucy’s mind. “I placed the key on the counter beside Azad where he was working. He said he put it in his pocket. Maybe it sat on the counter in plain sight for anyone to snatch. The kitchen was a hubbub of activity that day. Anyone could have snuck in to take the key. They could have returned it just as easily.”

  “It’s possible. But I also think it’s time to talk to Holly. I was at the Big Tease Salon today and overheard the owner, Beatrice Tretola, mention that Holly comes in for a facial and manicure every other Thursday at noon. That’s two days from now.”

  “Her husband was just killed. Do you really think she’ll show up for a regular spa day?”

  “According to Beatrice, Holly’s super-high maintenance and swears the facials make her appear a decade younger. She wouldn’t miss a manicure either.” Katie glanced at Lucy’s short nails.

  Lucy curled her fingers to hide them from view. “Hey,” she said defensively. “Restaurant work is hard on the nails. I’ve also been trying to learn how to cook. My mom will have a fit if I show up with long, fake nails.”

  “Tough. You definitely need the manicure more than me. Besides, I’ll be at work. Make an appointment.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Oh, my gosh,” said Lucy, as soon as she arrived at the restaurant the following afternoon. “You put tables on the sidewalk.”

  “We didn’t have a choice.” Emma met her at the door, looking flustered. “We got a lot more calls this morning asking for reservations, and Azad helped me carry all the extra tables and chairs outside.” Azad came up behind Emma.

  “The place was booked?” Lucy asked.

  Azad nodded. “Booked solid.”

  “That’s wonderful!” said Lucy. “And I never had a chance to place an ad in the Ocean Crest Town News.”

  “People must be talking. The hummus bar is a huge hit.” Azad was busy buttoning his chef ’s coat.

  “It’s not just the hummus, Azad. Your specials have been fabulous, too,” Lucy said.

  Azad’s fingers halted on his coat, and his coffee-brown eyes held an intimate warmth. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  Her heart thumped uncomfortably. Lucy shifted her feet, suddenly nervous. “Are your dinner entrees ready for tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about the dining room tables?” Lucy peeked inside the dining room to see pressed white linens, lit candles, and silverware settings.

  “After our last lunch customer paid a half hour ago, we rushed to get everything ready,” Emma said.

  Gratitude welled in Lucy’s chest. “Everything looks great. Thank you both.”

  Emma slipped her waitress apron around her neck and tied it at the waist. “Excuse me. I still have to stock the waitress station and prepare the coffee.” Emma departed and left Lucy alone with Azad.

  “Do you really like the outdoor tables? Emma added hurricane candles, vases with a single rose, and folded the napkins into swans,” Azad said.

  “It looks fabulous.” It was a lovely summer evening, and a pleasant ocean breeze felt wonderful on her
skin. Azad held the front door open and placed a hand on her lower back as he followed her into the dining room. The simple touch made her knees weak and a quiver surge through her veins. “Azad, I—”

  Just then a flash of white caught her eye out the front bay window.

  Oh, no.

  Her heart hammered as a white van pulled up and brazenly parked in the handicapped space. Bold, black letters screamed across the side of the van: Ocean Crest Town News. A short, stocky man with black-rimmed glasses hopped out and headed for the front door.

  “What’s Stan Slade doing here?” Azad said.

  “Whatever it is, it can’t be good,” Lucy said.

  Stan Slade was the town’s sole reporter. A New York City native, he’d relocated to Ocean Crest a few years ago for reasons unknown. Her mother had told her Slade had left a prestigious reporting job at a national newspaper to run Ocean Crest’s small-town paper. Lucy’s first experience with the reporter months ago hadn’t been good, and she doubted it would be better today.

  The front door swung open and Stan strode inside. “Lucy Berberian,” he said in a nasally voice that grated on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I heard you catered that socialite’s wedding.”

  She shrugged a shoulder as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Catering isn’t big news.”

  He huffed. “No. But a murder is. Seems like you attract dead bodies like flowers attract bees.”

  Slade’s brusque manner had rubbed her the wrong way in the past and it hadn’t changed.

  “That’s unfair. There were two hundred and fifty people at that wedding,” Azad said, coming to her defense.

  “Then how convenient for me that the two people who found the body are standing in front of me.” Slade pulled out a digital recorder from his coat pocket. “Care to be interviewed for the paper?”

  “No,” Lucy and Azad said in unison.

  Stan Slade’s gaze zeroed in on Azad. “Too bad. You’d make a great interview, Mr. Zakarian. Rumor has it you were more involved than just finding the best man stuck like a pig.”

  The reporter was downright rude. Lucy placed her hands on her hips. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I can’t divulge my sources. All I can say is that Mr. Zakarian has quite an extensive history with the bridal party. A kitchen brawl over a denied loan with the victim’s bank would make for a gripping exclusive.”

  Things were going south, and fast. “The police know all about that. I wouldn’t call that a gripping exclusive,” she said.

  “I’m not just talking about a fight or a failed loan,” Slade said.

  “There’s nothing else,” Azad said tersely.

  A smug look crossed Slade’s face. “You haven’t told her, have you, Mr. Zakarian?”

  “Told her what?” Azad retorted.

  “Your connection to the bridal party goes deeper.” Slade pulled out a newspaper from his briefcase and slapped it on the nearest table. It was the front page of the Ocean Crest Town News showing a homecoming parade. The homecoming king and queen were waving from the top of a float that looked like a multilayered frosted cake. The queen’s frilly gown and the large bow in her hair combined with the king’s ruffled tuxedo shirt dated the picture, and Lucy glanced at the date at the top of the paper.

  “This paper is at least a decade old. I don’t see anything but a crowd of people and a big pink float,” Lucy said.

  “Right here.” Slade stabbed a finger smack in the middle of the picture. Lucy bent closer to get a better look. Her eyes widened. There, in the thick of the crowd, was Azad with Cressida Connolly. She was wrapped in his arms, her face tilted to his, and they were lip-locked.

  Shock swept through Lucy, and made her limbs feel as sturdy as jelly. Somehow, she managed to stay upright and keep her composure. She pulled back her shoulders, but didn’t . . . couldn’t look into Azad’s eyes.

  Lucy’s gaze returned to the date at the top of the page. Her mind whirled as it did the calculation. A little over ten years ago. Right after they’d graduated from college. Azad had said that he wasn’t ready to commit—to take their relationship to the next level. He’d sworn that their break-up wasn’t because of another woman.

  Azad’s voice was strained. “Lucy, I can explain.”

  “How sweet,” Slade said sarcastically.

  Azad glared at the reporter. “This paper has nothing to do with Henry Simms’s murder.”

  “Maybe, but don’t you think it’s a coincidence that Cressida Connolly was Henry’s mistress?” Slade said.

  Whoa. Lucy’s eyes rose to Stan Slade’s. “Where did you hear that?” She may have known the truth, but how the hell did the reporter know?

  Slade smirked. “Like I said, I have my sources.” He pointed a stubby finger at Azad. “Maybe you still had feelings for Cressida and decided to stick a skewer in her lover’s neck.”

  A tense silence enveloped the dining room. “You should leave,” Lucy said to Slade before Azad could respond.

  The reporter shrugged. “Fine, but if you decide to give an interview, you know where to find me.”

  * * *

  “Lucy?”

  It took a full thirty seconds before Lucy could look Azad in the eye. She felt light-headed for fifteen of those seconds, then raving mad for the following fifteen.

  “Lucy?” Azad asked again. “Are you ever going to speak to me again?”

  “Since you are the head chef, I suppose I have to. It would be difficult to run the restaurant without talking.”

  Azad’s expression was strained. “It was a long time ago, and a brief fling after you and I broke up. I haven’t seen Cressida since then.”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “I know you better than anyone. I owe you an explanation.”

  She gripped the hostess stand. Should she just leave? Come back when her head was clear? Would she even make it to her car without grabbing the nearest knife and throwing it at his head?

  She turned to face him head on. “You’re right. You do owe me an explanation.”

  He let out a breath. “I never lied to you.”

  “Oh, really? I’m a lawyer. I consider omission as lying.”

  “Fine. What I told you after college was true. I panicked. I wasn’t ready to get engaged. Your father was clear about his expectations for us and I just wasn’t ready to buy an engagement ring at twenty-one.”

  Lucy acknowledged what he said about her father was true. Raffi Berberian was old-fashioned and his expectations had been crystal clear. Azad had worked for her parents at the restaurant since he was fifteen, and he’d started dating Lucy a year later. It was no secret that her parents would have been thrilled for them to marry. When Raffi had sat them both down at the kitchen table at her home, Lucy had known it was serious. All serious business was conducted at that table. For the first time, Lucy hadn’t protested at her parents’ meddling. She’d been head over heels for Azad.

  But looking back, she knew the heartbreak she’d experienced when Azad had ended their relationship had been for the best. Marrying at an early age would have changed everything. She would never have gone to law school. She would never have experienced living on her own in Philadelphia, or acquired the inquisitive skills that had already helped her solve one murder. She would never have left Ocean Crest only to return and realize the true value of friends and family, and that the restaurant was where she wanted to be.

  She sighed. “Okay. I believe that you didn’t date Cressida until after we broke up, but that’s not what’s upsetting. You should have told me about your relationship with her in the first place, preferably as soon as Henry Simms was murdered.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Where did you meet her?” she asked.

  “At an Atlantic City nightclub. There was a popular cover band that night. We started talking and went on a few dates. It only lasted a couple of months.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Lucy experienced a sta
b of satisfaction when Azad appeared even more uncomfortable. “I know that I should have said something. I didn’t because I knew how it would look.”

  “With me? Or with the police?”

  “With you. We only recently started working together and I didn’t want to rock the boat.”

  “It’s too late for that,” she retorted. “Did you know about Cressida and Henry?”

  “No! The truth is, I find it hard to believe. He was old . . . not her type. But no matter whom she was sleeping with, my prior relationship with Cressida has nothing to do with Henry’s murder.”

  “If what Stan Slade said about Cressida being Henry’s lover is true, then Detective Clemmons won’t see it that way.”

  Azad’s normally dark complexion paled a shade. “It’s looking worse and worse for me. I know I asked you to listen to your mom, not your dad, and to stay out of the investigation, but I’ve changed my mind. Will you try to find out whatever you can?”

  Lucy hesitated. She was already investigating with Katie and they’d made some progress. She’d wanted to aid Azad, and she was still convinced of his innocence. But now, she was also angry at him. Angry—and hell—even a little jealous.

  But jealous of what?

  A relationship he’d had over ten years ago after they’d broken up? Or was she mad that he’d lied and kept the truth from her?

  Which led to an entirely different question: what else was he hiding?

  He stood still, waiting for her answer. “I told you I would ask around and see what I can find out,” she said. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Thanks, Lucy.” She turned to leave, but he touched her arm. “Wait. One more thing. What about us?”

  Her pulse skipped a beat. The depth in his eyes told her exactly what he meant. “Let’s keep it strictly business between us.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Business?”

  Her mouth felt like dry paper. What could she say? She needed time to think about the past and see if she was ready to move on to the future. “That’s right. I should focus on the murder. Everything else is a distraction.”