Death Al Dente

by Leslie Budewitz

  “They were in the back hall when I got here,” Rick said. “I shouted ‘let her go’ and sprinted toward them. Somehow he got the basement door open—I didn’t even know it was there. We fought, and I ended up on the wrong side of the door. Then he shoved her down the stairs, too, grabbed the key from on top of the door frame, and locked us both in.” A look of terror struck him. “Geez, you scared me with that knife.”

  I’d picked it up without thinking. I put it back in the kitchen. “Are you hurt? Did you call the sheriff?” I asked Tracy.

  She shook her head, one hand pawing through her hair. “I tried to pull Ted off Rick. The landline was up front, and my cell’s upstairs, in my purse.”

  “And I’d left my phone in the car,” Rick said.

  No blood or visible injuries. I dashed to the front counter and grabbed the landline. It’s a lot easier to call in a crime than to text one. Even if you don’t exactly know what the crime is. I flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and locked the front door. No key needed, thank goodness.

  “Water first,” I told Tracy. “Wash down that shock. Then you can drink all the Diet Coke in the world. And ping the can if you want.”

  Her laugh teetered on the edge of hysteria. I knew the feeling—the fear and anger that rise up after physical danger ends. Things were starting to make more sense. I’d been looking in the wrong direction, and Ted had pointed me there.

  He was less of a doofus and more of a coward than I’d thought. If you’re mad at me, have the guts to yell at me, not my employee. Kim arrived while Tracy and Rick were sitting at the kitchen counter, telling me the story. Fresca had left with Bill for a late lunch. Ted barged in from the back. When he couldn’t find my mother or me, he’d turned on Tracy, telling her, “Make them see. Make them understand.”

  “What did he mean?” she asked.

  “He wants us to sell him the Merc. I couldn’t figure out why, but now I think I know. Claudette used to run Red’s kitchen.” I felt a flash burn inside me. Had it been Ted in my house earlier this week? And watching me in the woods last Saturday? “Trace, did he say—had he been following me, maybe gone to my cabin?”

  She nodded. “And to your mom’s house. Claudette loved working at Red’s. And she did a good job. She only left because your mom needed help. Erin, don’t sell.”

  I covered her hand with mine. “Don’t worry. When the move to Vegas fell apart, Claudette confided in Ted, and he suggested she take over Red’s again. To sweeten the deal—and prove his worth to his father—he promised to expand the kitchen into a full-scale restaurant. For that, he needed more space.”

  “The Merc,” Kim said.

  “The Merc,” I agreed. “But Fresca refused to sell. So he spread rumors, to disgrace Fresca and at the same time, create sympathy for Claudette by suggesting that Fresca built her success on Claudette’s recipes and management.”

  “I can’t believe Claudette had anything to do with that,” Tracy said.

  “She may have intended to help him by encouraging Fresca to sell,” I said, remembering some of the Facebook messages, “but his rumor campaign made her furious. She told him no. He confronted her in Back Street on Friday night. And he stabbed her.”

  Tracy yelped and began to sob. Rick draped an arm around her shoulder in a reassuring hug. A natural gesture, a protective response after the ordeal they’d been through. It didn’t mean anything.

  I turned to Kim. “Ted was with us in the courtyard while the caterers and musicians were setting up. I remember because I was irked at him for standing around and not pitching in. I didn’t realize he’d left, but when we were all gathered in the courtyard waiting for you, Ned told me he’d put Ted on guard duty out front, as payback for showing up late.”

  Kim flipped through her notebook, searching. “Ted said he arrived after the body was found and came in the front door.”

  “Ted never comes in the front unless he parks his Harley out there to show it off. But Red’s was closed for the Festa, so Ned parked his ’57 Chevy out front to keep the Harley crowd away.”

  “He came in the front,” Kim said, “because he knew what he’d find out back.”

  Claudette, sweet doomed bird, dead.

  “I think the blood on that knife your deputy found will match hers, and if you can lift any fingerprints, they’ll be his.” I told her about my conversation with Ted after I’d noticed he wasn’t wearing his knife. Had that been only yesterday? So much had happened so fast.

  “And the prints on that spaghetti sauce jar,” I said. Criminy. “He went to my place at least twice. First Saturday. Tuesday, at the Merc, he tried to convince me to move the business out to the highway, and I brushed him off. And he kept calling Fresca, increasing the pressure. Then Wednesday, he went into my cabin, then came back here and he tried to scare me by vandalizing my car.” I was speculating about his presence in my cabin, but every instinct said I was right.

  “Taking advantage of the atmosphere of fear in the village,” Kim said.

  I nodded. So much made sense now. No doubt he’d been watching me at the cabin, maybe other places, like he’d waited for me after the meeting Friday morning to keep an eye on me. I shivered. “Right. But that incident didn’t fit the pattern, because it was aimed at me. And he kept it up. Friday afternoon, the crazy motorcyclist I nearly hit on the highway—I bet that was Ted, coming from the orchard, pressuring Fresca.”

  “Who’s pressuring me?” my mother said. “Why are you closed with the front door locked? What’s happened now?”

  None of us had heard her come in, we’d been so focused on working out Ted’s movements. Her eyes flitted from me to Kim to the others, and back to me. Bill stood beside her, one hand resting protectively on the small of her back. Kim gave her a quick rundown. Her dark eyes widened with amazement, then narrowed with anger, as she realized, along with the rest of us, how much danger we’d faced from someone we never suspected.

  “But I don’t understand what you were doing here,” she said to Rick.

  “Uh, well.” His broad Nordic cheekbones flushed handsomely. “I planned to drop in, see how you and Erin liked the product samples I’d left, see about placing an order. But truthfully”—his eyes on me were intensely blue—“I wanted to see Erin again.”

  My turn for hot cheeks.

  “Erin, you left the produce cart outside.” My mother kicked into command chef mode. “Bring it in and cut up some vegetables. Finger food is best, I think. Tracy, open some tapenade and slice some bread. Bill, you’re in charge of beverages.” She, of course, was in charge of all of us. That would never change.

  Other deputies arrived to start the search for Ted. Kim kept tabs while taking statements from Tracy, Rick, and me. My mother fed us all, even the deputies.

  I showed Kim my timeline and the Spreadsheet of Suspicion.

  “Not as fancy as your murder board,” I said, “but retail managers have skills, too.”

  “I hope you understand,” she said, “why I focused on your mother.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.”

  “Oh. Almost forgot.” She pulled my phone from her pocket and set it on the counter. “We copied your text and the recording of your conversation with Angelo. Good work.” She extended her hand, and as I shook it, I noticed the bracelet on her arm.

  “Thanks.”

  * * *

  There was no point reopening that day. After Kim and the deputies finished up, Bill took Fresca home, where a deputy would stand guard. Another deputy took Tracy home and would keep watch over her. No word on Ted yet, but while we couldn’t rule out more trouble, I figured we’d all be safe. Put a desperate man on a Harley, and he’s long gone. I’d misjudged him, but I didn’t think he’d intended to kill Claudette—or to terrorize the rest of us. She’d frustrated his plans, ill-conceived as they were, and he’d reacted impulsively. After that, he’d
attempted to misdirect or stymie the investigation by pointing fingers at Dean and Linda Vincent, and scaring me so I’d stop asking questions. Selling might have convinced some people of Fresca’s guilt, but he’d seemed genuinely horrified to hear that Kim had threatened to arrest her.

  Time to think about all that another day.

  I glanced around my beloved, beleaguered Merc, site of too much work and not enough play. My eyes filled.

  Rick’s gaze followed mine. “It’s a grand old place. Don’t let this incident spoil your memories. And don’t let anyone take it away from you.”

  “I don’t intend to.” I turned to face him. “I’m so sorry you got caught up in it. Not quite the reception you’d hoped for.”

  “I like a woman who’s full of surprises. And one who can rescue me from my own stupidity.”

  “Ted had the advantage of surprise. And desperation. Plus he knew about the key.” I smiled wryly.

  It didn’t seem right to just send him away, after he’d been trapped in the basement by a madman mad at me. But Kim had ordered me to go home and stay home, and had assigned a deputy to trail me until Ted was caught. Plus, if I knew Liz and Bob, they’d be watching me with hawk eyes until all danger had ended.

  Which didn’t mean I couldn’t invite him to the cabin, or the dock. We’d be amply chaperoned.

  But as appealing as Rick was, and apparently interested—at least before said madman came on the scene—I wanted to be alone. To relax, and think, and spoil my cat.

  From the window display, I grabbed a basket filled with the Merc’s goodies and held it out. “For the road. Come back anytime for a refill.”

  He gave me a long, understanding look, followed by a smile. “You bet.”

  • Thirty-three •

  A soft, warm touch brushed my leg. I opened my eyes slowly. A pair of eyes stared back at me.

  Yellow-green eyes with almond-shaped pupils.

  “You slept in.” Sandburg’s tail swished across my skin again, and his eyes closed. “Good boy. Too wet out for cats or mice.”

  Sunday morning’s deluge had the feel of an island off the Northwest coast, or the heart of a jungle forest, all gray and green, the only sound rain pelting the roof. Even the squirrels were napping.

  Thank heavens for my warm house and full pantry.

  I left my sweet little guy curled up on the cool cotton sheets. While the coffee—extra-strength—brewed, I found my phone. Might be time to rethink the policy against carrying personal cell phones on the shop floor.

  “Take the day off,” I told Tracy.

  “But you always say rainy days bring people off the lake and the golf course into the shops.” In the background, Bozo the Harlequin Great Dane gave a rare bark.

  “Nobody needs the Merc today. And you and your dog need some quality time together.”

  Then, crossing my fingers for voice mail, I made another call.

  “Adam Zimmerman,” the message said. “Talk to me.” I took a rain check, literally. Too much had happened, and I was not ready to put my emotions on the line. Not until Ted was behind bars, rumors were squelched deader than any field mouse who’d ever crossed Sandburg’s path, and all my questions about Dean, Linda, Claudette, and my mother were answered.

  I rubbed the stars on my wrist.

  Soon.

  * * *

  “You stop stopping cree-me-nals,” Max said Monday morning, “or we go broke giving you free breakfast.”

  I scooped up my latte and pain au chocolat. “Thanks, Max. You’re a prince.”

  “Ehh.” He waved a hand. “I am but a chef.”

  “You are the real thing,” I said with a wink.

  Wendy emerged from the back room, smiling. She stepped around the counter and wrapped her arms around me. With my hands full, I couldn’t return her hug, so I brushed her cheek with mine and smiled back. “I thought he killed her,” she said, “I thought if he—Angelo—knew I’d told you, my grandmother might be in danger. But I know now, it’s better to talk. To trust the people you’ve always trusted.” She looked happier than I’d seen in ages. “I’m so glad you’re running the Merc. I’m so glad you came back to Jewel Bay.”

  My jaw tightened and my own eyes grew damp. “Me, too.”

  By mutual agreement, there’d been no family gathering at the Orchard on Sunday. We all needed the extra day to rest. It worked—I was raring to go today.

  Almost ten and no Tracy, so I set up the cash box, swept the sidewalk, and refreshed the produce cart. The Monday morning opening ritual is fun, signaling to the world that the Merc is ready for business.

  I was about to call Tracy when she charged in the back, wearing a white open-weave sweater over a sunshine yellow tank dress, matching seed bead earrings that brushed her shoulders, and an impish expression.

  “Time off agrees with you.”

  She set a large round cookie tin on the kitchen counter, and gave it a pat. “A surprise for later.” At my wary look, she clarified. “A good surprise.”

  A new variety of dog biscuits, no doubt.

  If it’s made in Montana, it must be good.

  More customers than we expected—more of that crime-is-good-for-business effect—kept us hopping. Fresca roasted peppers for a batch of Summer Red Pesto, and I set out the demo sign.

  “What would you think about retiring the artichoke pesto?” she said.

  “Don’t you dare. Why not add CLAUDETTE’S FAVORITE to the label instead?”

  Her eyes filled and she gave me a long hug. “You’re brilliant, darling. Where did your passion for this business come from?”

  I gestured around me: tin ceiling tiles, pine doors milled when the town was young, oak floors smoothed by a century of feet. “It’s in my blood.”

  “Murphy blood,” she said. “I’m fond of the place, but not like you are. I think it’s time you took full control of the building as well as the business. Consult me when you want to, but make your own decisions.”

  “Mom. Seriously?” I took a step back. Then I remembered. “Are you ill?”

  “What?” Her brow furrowed. “No. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “We—Chiara and I—wondered, when we realized you’d been consulting Bill. Never imagined he was giving you legal advice. But Saturday morning, he made up some formula, then delivered the bottle to you and, well, I’m worried is all.”

  She grabbed an oven mitt and slid the peppers out of the oven. The hot skins snapped and popped when the cool air hit them, and I breathed in the sweet-sharp smell.

  “Darling.” She put one gloved hand on her hip, gesturing with the other. “There is nothing to worry about. He made me a calming remedy. I’ve been a little anxious, with Ted’s pressure, then Claudette, the vandalism, the accusations. But I’m fine. Bill and I . . .” She paused, blushing, unsure how to tell a grown daughter about a new relationship.

  When Sparky the Border collie died, my parents jokingly asked who would tell them what to do. I felt a bit like that now. But no worries—Fresca would always be part of the Merc.

  I touched her hand. “I’m glad, Mom. I like him. Especially if it means you won’t be leaving town.” My father lived on in all of us. Nothing would change that. “Be happy.”

  The front door chimed and a gaggle of customers entered. “Back to business,” I said. “Now that I know we still have a business.”

  “There have been Murphys here since this town began, and you and I will not be the last. Besides,” she said with a laugh, “I can’t sell. My buyer’s on the lam.”

  Just before noon, Fresca, Tracy, and I stood at the front counter, making plans for the week. Old Ned came in, aged a decade in two days.

  “Girlie,” he said to me, “I am so ashamed. I knew Ted was greedy and irresponsible. Maybe if his mother had lived . . .” He shook his head. “But I never imagined anythi
ng like this. Can you ever forgive me?”

  For all his gruffness, I realized now that Ned had coddled his son. Would he have come up with the money for Ted’s expansion scheme, as Ted had counted on, despite his protests to Fresca and me? No way to ever know.

  “Don’t blame yourself, Ned,” Fresca said. “Our children have grown up. They make their own decisions.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I raised a killer. Whether it was pre—prima—what’s the word?”

  “Premeditated.”

  “Premedicated or not don’t matter. Nothing can bring Claudette back, but if I can make up for what he did to you girls, you just tell me.”

  “Ned, that’s sweet,” Fresca said, “but there’s no need—”

  “I have an idea. Lend us a couple of your employees for the afternoon. We’ve got a basement to clean out.” And neither Tracy nor I were in any rush to go back down there.

  Maybe the boys could find her lost earring.

  “You got it, by jingo.”

  Right then, Kim Caldwell arrived, natty in a navy blazer and matching slacks with a silky red T-shirt. “Good to see you, Ned. I have some news. Highway Patrol stopped Ted outside Deer Lodge.” My eyes widened at the irony of being arrested outside the town that housed the men’s state prison. “A tricked-out Harley and an inexperienced rider aren’t a great getaway combo. He’ll be arraigned this afternoon, and sent back here.”

  My mother clasped a hand to her chest. Ned paled, but his expression remained stern.

  Angelo would be charged with attempted deliberate homicide for the poisoning. The prosecutor was investigating possible charges for presenting an altered prescription and whether he’d violated any laws by using a false name. I hoped his sentence included a psychiatric evaluation and therapy. And maybe community service, teaching basic cooking skills in a shelter or halfway house.

  “Ian and the window?” I asked.

  “No charges, if you agree.”