One Feta in the Grave

by Tina Kashian

  Not a good sign.

  She trudged up the boardwalk ramp. Madame Vega, at least, was doing a brisk business today with three people waiting in line for her fortune-telling insight. A teenage couple was in line at Cooney Brothers, the custard stand. She approached the Sun and Surf Shop and saw Harold folding sweatshirts on a shelf, but no customers were inside. She slowed down as she came up to Archie’s storefront, Seaside Gifts. It was open, but there was a high school kid manning the register. Where was Neil?

  Was he mourning the loss of his uncle? She recalled the Gray sisters saying that Archie had volunteered for a local teen drug program, and Lucy couldn’t help but wonder if that’s where Neil had ended up as a teenager before his uncle had taken him in.

  She kept going until she reached the end of the boardwalk, jogged down the steps to the beach, and kept running. It was harder to run on the sand, and sweat beaded on her brow. Sand sprayed the back of her legs. She was careful to steer clear of the boardwalk. The memory of finding Archie’s body under the boards was too fresh. She trudged along. The late-afternoon sun was still hot.

  She headed closer to the surf where there was always an ocean breeze. She took a glance at the ocean, and she nearly tripped.

  Neil Kincaid was surfing. Dressed in neon yellow board shorts, he rode a wave. He made it to the surf, picked up his board, and walked to where he’d left a towel spread out on the sand.

  Lucy headed straight for him. “Hey, Neil!” she called out and waved.

  He shook his head, water spraying from his long, shaggy hair in all directions like a wet dog, then looked up. Whiskers covered his chin and cheeks. He looked at her as she approached. “Yeah.”

  “Hi. I’m Lucy Berberian. We haven’t officially met, but I knew your uncle. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” He squinted from the sun, and she was surprised to see he wasn’t as young as she’d initially thought. Maybe his late twenties? Not much younger than she was.

  He didn’t seem overly broken up about his uncle’s death. He certainly wasn’t very talkative. She needed to engage him and learn more. “I watched you surf. You’re pretty good.”

  His face lit up. “Thanks.”

  “You ever compete?” she asked.

  He snorted in distaste. “Ocean Crest doesn’t have great surfing. The competitions are pathetic.”

  “Oh? Where is it better?”

  “California. Hawaii. That’s where the true surfers gather for competitions.”

  Her gaze dropped to his surfboard. “That’s a nice board. Is it from your uncle’s shop, Seaside Gifts?”

  He shook his head. “No way. We don’t sell boards like this.” Neil rested his hand on the top of the surfboard with pride. “This baby is top of the line. A Firestone.”

  A Firestone. She didn’t know much about surfing, but she’d grown up on the beach and had heard the brand name. Lucy had dated a surfer wannabe in high school. He’d forgotten her birthday, but he could spew out the cost of his dream board. Highly annoying, but the knowledge came in handy now.

  A quality Firestone shortboard could cost a little over a thousand bucks.

  That was a lot of cash for Neil to put out, even if he had visions of surfing greatness for himself. So how had he afforded it? “You ever use that board to compete in California or Hawaii?” she asked.

  “Nah,” he said, laughing. “I wish. It costs and arm and a leg just to enter, not to mention the flight, and I’d have to find a place to crash.”

  “Sounds expensive. Maybe one day,” she said.

  His eyes filled with a curious deep longing. “Sooner rather than later.”

  Well, stroke his ego and all kinds of stuff spewed out. “Hey. I was wondering. What’s going to happen to Seaside Gifts?”

  “I’m taking over.” He scratched his scalp and bits of sand fell onto his tanned shoulders.

  “Really?” she asked innocently.

  “Yeah. Archie willed it to me.”

  “I just jogged past the store and there was someone at the register,” Lucy said.

  He shrugged a shoulder, dislodging a clump of sand. “A kid who’s helping me out.”

  Helping him out so he could surf? She knew people mourned the loss of a loved one in different ways. Some cried in private while others were weepy in front of anyone who would lend a comforting shoulder. Others, she supposed, surfed. But she couldn’t help but get the feeling that Neil wasn’t too broken up about the death of his uncle.

  “Well, now that you have the store you may be able to afford to go to Hawaii and compete with the best.”

  His face brightened. “That’s right. Sooner than I’d ever thought.”

  * * *

  As Lucy jogged back to Kebab Kitchen she spotted Jose parking his truck in the restaurant’s lot. Jose stepped out and opened the two back doors to reveal a packed space full of pliers, screwdrivers, wire strippers, measuring devices, fish tape, and poles.

  “Hey, Jose!” she called out as she approached. “Are you here to install the ceiling fans?”

  She’d checked the calendar in the small office in the storage room and didn’t see anything about Jose coming today. Her father was computer challenged and the calendar was still on paper and not computerized. It was on the list of items she wanted to change as the new manager, but there never seemed to be enough time.

  She’d also learned to pick her battles with her father. He may be semi-retired, but Raffi Berberian was still stubborn as ever when he did show up to work in the restaurant. He thought e-mail was evil and couldn’t fathom how Lucy read it on her phone. She needed her ten-year-old niece, Niari, to give him smart phone lessons.

  Jose took a battered, red toolbox out of the truck. “I’m not ready to install the fans yet. I need to install the electrical boxes first. I also have this for you.” Reaching in his truck, he took out a plastic container and handed it to her. “Maria loved the stuffed grape leaves you sent home with me last time. She wanted to give you flan that she’d made today.”

  Lucy opened the container and her mouth watered. The custard topped with caramel sauce looked and smelled delicious. If she had a spoon, she’d dive right in. “Tell her thank you. How is she?”

  “As cranky as ever. She still has lower back pain, but now her legs hurt, too. I massage her back at night.”

  “I asked my sister, Emma, about it. She used to have back pain when she was pregnant with my niece, Niari. She said moist heat helped a bit.”

  “I’ll pass along the advice.” He slipped on a tool belt, and Lucy walked with him to the front door of the restaurant. A thought occurred to her, and she turned to look at him. “Jose, weren’t you working on Archie’s store the day he was killed?”

  His step halted. “I was, but I spent most of my time at the food tasting wiring the rental equipment.”

  “I remember. I was just wondering if you saw anything strange.”

  “What do you mean by ‘strange’?”

  “Did you see anything suspicious or out of the ordinary while you were in Archie’s store?”

  “No. It was a quick visit. I needed to measure the old electrical box to make sure the new one would fit in the space, then I left.”

  “Was Archie in the store?” she asked.

  “No, only his nephew.”

  “Neil?”

  Jose nodded, then his eyebrows drew downward. “He was talking to a woman. I remember because they seemed to be getting along, and then they started arguing. Their voices carried to the back room where I was working.”

  “Was this before they announced the winner of the sand sculpture contest?” Lucy asked.

  “It was. After everything was wired for the food tasting, I took ten minutes to run into Archie’s shop. They must have come downstairs from the apartment above the store after I was already inside. They never even spotted me in the back of the store.”

  If Neil was arguing with a woman before they’d announced the winner of the contest, then she
must have left. Lucy recalled seeing Neil with

  Archie at the back of the bandstand when Katie announced the winner. A woman wasn’t standing with them.

  She filed away the information. Lucy wasn’t aware Neil had a girlfriend, but then again, she hadn’t known that Archie had been dating Rita Sides either.

  “Can you describe what she looked like?” Lucy asked.

  Jose shook his head. “I was in the back and they were in front of the store. But I do remember that she had an annoying voice.”

  “An annoying voice?”

  “It was very gravelly . . . not pleasant to listen to. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation, but they were loud and I couldn’t help but hear. Something about the cost of a new surfboard. He said he’d pay her back soon.”

  Lucy had doubted Neil could afford such a pricey board, let alone airplane tickets to California or Hawaii, where the best surfing competitions took place. If his girlfriend had loaned him the cash for the Firestone surfboard and Neil couldn’t pay her back, then he needed a way to get the money and fast. As far as Lucy had heard, he’d received the boardwalk store in the will, not a large sum of cash. But the stores were lucrative during the summer.

  Either way, money was a great motive for murder.

  * * *

  “Careful when you plate the choreg,” Butch cautioned. “They are straight from the oven.”

  The delicious aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen and spilled into the dining room. Choreg was a sweet, flaky Armenian bread and best served warm with Muenster cheese.

  Emma ripped a piece of paper from her order pad and slipped it into the cook’s wheel. “Table four ordered the moussaka appetizer,” Emma said. “Table six the lemon chicken soup, and is the pork tenderloin ready?”

  “Azad’s working on the pork,” Butch said as he spun the wheel and checked the additional order. He worked efficiently and soon began plating the next order.

  Emma was already busy filling glasses at the soda fountain. Lucy grabbed the finished plates and looked at Sally. “I’ll deliver these for Emma. You work on plating the cheese for the choreg.”

  “Got it,” Sally said.

  Lucy hurried across the dining room, dodging a customer on his way to the register to pay. When she returned, Emma and Sally were at the waitress station reading a newspaper. Anxiety crossed both their features when Lucy approached.

  “What is it?” Lucy asked.

  “A customer left this behind,” Emma said. “You’re going to want to see it.”

  It was the Ocean Crest Town News. Splashed across the front page was a picture of an ominous black body bag strapped onto a stretcher. Paramedics pushed the stretcher, followed by Detective Clemmons and other police officers.

  The headline read: SAND SCULPTURE CONTEST TURNS DEADLY. FORMER FESTIVAL JUDGE MURDERED UNDER THE BOARDWALK.

  Beneath the grave image of Archie’s body was another picture. This time the image was of Lucy standing in the middle of Kebab Kitchen at the emergency festival committee meeting. She was facing the mayor, Tom Huckerby, who stood behind a podium. The committee members were all seated, and serious looking.

  The caption beneath the picture read: KEBAB KITCHEN MANAGER FINDS BODY. RESIDENT SLEUTH AT IT AGAIN!

  The article went into detail about how Lucy had an uncanny knack for finding bodies and killers. It went on to state how she “vehemently” disagreed with the mayor over hiring additional police to monitor the busy summer season. It suggested she bypass the town detective and take matters into her own hands and solve the murder once again.

  Lucy tossed the paper on the counter as her temper flared. “What a liar! I didn’t vehemently disagree with the mayor. I merely said I didn’t think additional police would have prevented Archie from being shot that day.”

  “He makes you look heartless,” Emma protested.

  “Not just heartless, but a troublemaking sleuth. I’m already at odds with Detective Clemmons for interfering in past investigations. Now Clemmons has reason to suggest I’m sticking my nose in his business again.” She wasn’t scared of Clemmons, more like wary of him. But she prayed the county prosecutor didn’t read the article. She was already on the woman’s bad side, and Marsha Walsh was highly intelligent and did frighten her.

  “Stan Slade strikes again,” Sally muttered.

  Emma reached for the paper. “Slade also mentions a fight between Katie and Archie during the judging. Emma read aloud, “‘Heated words were exchanged resulting in tossing Mr. Kincaid to the curb like an unwanted mutt.’” Emma tsked. “We also heard about it from the customers.”

  Lucy wondered which customer had blabbed the gossip. “It didn’t go down like that. Katie didn’t toss Archie out, he violated the rules.”

  Emma patted Lucy on the back. “Don’t sweat it, Lucy. Slade prints what he thinks will sell papers. It’s not always a hundred percent accurate.”

  “I’m not worried about my reputation, but I am worried about Katie’s. He makes it sound like she shot him.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “All you have to do is go into The Big Tease Salon and ask for Rita,” Katie said.

  Lucy gave her sidelong look. “We aren’t exactly friends. What makes you think she’ll talk to me?”

  “Offer her sympathy for her loss, then see if you can get her talking. I would do it if I could, but I’m on my lunch break and have to get back soon,” Katie said.

  “I thought you didn’t work Fridays in the summer.”

  “I don’t, but I’m covering for a coworker who’s on vacation this month.”

  Just great. It was the day after Lucy had spoken with Neil, and she’d met Katie outside the salon. They’d driven there separately, and Lucy’s Toyota Corolla was parked next to Katie’s Jeep. One of them had to speak with Rita Sides and find out what she knew about Archie’s death.

  It was Lucy’s lucky day.

  She eyed the bright red awning of the salon. The Big Tease Salon was in the center of town across from Ben’s Barbershop, Cutie’s Cupcakes, and the town park. Lucy made a mental note to stop by the bakery after leaving the salon for a slice of her favorite lemon meringue pie. If she had to get a haircut or manicure in order to talk with Rita, she’d deserve the pie and the calories.

  “Okay. I’ll do it. If Rita knows something, I’ll try to wheedle it out of her,” Lucy said.

  Lucy knew deep in her bones if she left it up to Detective Calvin Clemmons, he may not get Rita to admit to anything. Bill had wanted Lucy to ask around and see what she could learn. At his request, she hadn’t shared that conversation with Katie, and she was feeling guilty about it. She’d never kept anything from her best friend.

  “We have nothing to lose. Plus, you might also get a new hairdo or polished nails out of it,” Katie said.

  “You know how I feel about salon stuff.” Lucy wasn’t high maintenance and rarely got a manicure. Spending time in the kitchen with her mother had convinced her to keep her nails short and unpolished—the same way her mother claimed aspiring chefs did. Lucy was far from an aspiring chef, but she knew better than to show up for a cooking lesson with long, painted nails. She still remembered Angela’s laser-eyed look of disapproval when she’d arrived in the kitchen with bubble-gum pink nails from her last manicure. She’d been looking into a murder then, too.

  “You sound like you’re marching to your doom. It’s a salon, Lucy, not a gynecologist visit.”

  “Easy for you to say. Every time I step inside, Beatrice Tretola wants to give me a keratin treatment to straighten my hair. I looked into it. It has enough formaldehyde to preserve the frogs in the jars from back in high school!”

  “Don’t be a drama queen. You can always tell her just to blow-dry it straight.”

  Lucy didn’t have time for a two-hour-long beauty appointment. And why bother?

  Her curly hair would frizz as soon as she stepped outside in the Jersey shore humidity or when she walked into the hot kitchen. Plus, she couldn’t ask
questions with a noisy hair dryer buzzing in her ear.

  “And if she insists on the keratin?” Lucy asked.

  “You’d look nice with straight hair for three months. Completely different, but nice. It might be worth the smelly treatment if you can get info out of Rita.”

  “It’s unfair. Your hair is naturally poker straight.”

  Katie grinned. “Our differences make us a good team. Good luck.”

  * * *

  The bell above the door of The Big Tease Salon chimed as Lucy stepped inside. Ladies sat in black vinyl chairs getting their hair cut and styled while others, at manicure tables, soaked their fingers in bowls of pink suds or were having their nails filed and trimmed with ominous-looking instruments.

  Beatrice Tretola, the owner, was busy wrapping a woman’s hair with dozens of small pieces of tinfoil. The woman looked like she could pick up radio signals. Beatrice reached for what looked like a paintbrush and started to dab bleach on the tinfoil sheets when she spotted Lucy.

  “Hi, Lucy! How’s the restaurant business going?” Beatrice, who preferred to dress in a Bohemian style, wore a flowing green dress with bright yellow flowers, chunky jewelry, and gladiator sandals. She was chewing a wad of pink bubble gum as she worked.

  “Managing Kebab Kitchen is a lot of work, but I like it,” Lucy said.

  “I plan on stopping by soon,” Beatrice said. “Does that hot chef of yours come out to ask if the customers like his food?”

  Lucy cracked a smile. “Azad’s been known to leave the kitchen from time to time.”

  “Woohoo! A man who can cook and who looks like he does is a woman’s dream come true,” Beatrice said, fanning herself.

  “I’ll be sure to tell him you were asking,” Lucy said. “Meanwhile, I’ll bring over a tray of baklava.”

  “The ladies will love it.”

  There was a chorus of yays from the other hairdressers.