by Tina Kashian
A customer with a caffeine-deprived look on his face waited by the counter for Lola to complete his order. Other customers sat at colorful bistro tables in wire-backed chairs drinking coffee, lattés, and cappuccinos as they read the newspaper, checked e-mail on their smartphones, or worked on their laptops. Framed photographs of the beach during the busy summer season with sunbathers, colorful umbrellas, and sandcastles decorated the walls. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans made Lucy’s mouth water.
“Sure smells good in here,” Katie called out.
Lola looked up. “Hey, there, Katie.” Her gaze slid to Lucy. “Hi, Lucy. I heard you’re back for good.”
Why on earth did everyone in town think she’d permanently returned? And more important, did the small town’s rumor mill have to include her? Lucy hoped Lola wouldn’t mention what had happened at Kebab Kitchen.
“I heard what happened at your parents’ restaurant,” Lola said. “Are they all right?”
So much for hoping. “My parents are upset, but fine.” Lucy said. “Thanks for asking.”
“We’re looking for Paul Evans. Have you seen him this morning?” Katie asked.
Lola handed a mug to the eagerly waiting customer before turning back to Katie and Lucy. “Funny you should ask. I was wondering where he was this morning. Paul always sits over there”—she pointed to a cozy table in the corner—“but he’s not here today.”
“Do you know where he could be?” Lucy asked.
“Check Cutie’s Cupcakes. That writer has a serious sweet tooth,” Lola said.
Five minutes later, and with two large coffees in the jeep’s cup holders, Lucy and Katie continued farther down Ocean Crest toward Cutie’s Cupcakes. The air from the open window was warm and pleasant and hinted that summer was approaching. Soon dozens of tourists would be packing the sidewalks carrying beach chairs and sand toys, and heading for Ocean Crest’s beautiful beach. Lucy pushed the thought aside.
Katie turned into a small shopping strip, parked the jeep, and they hurried to open the door of Cutie’s Cupcakes. Inside, a refrigerated glass case displayed a delectable assortment of calorie-packed desserts—homemade apple, blueberry, coconut custard, and lemon meringue pies, huge chocolate chip cookies the size of Frisbees, red velvet cupcakes, and the baker’s house specialty of salted caramel cupcakes. Lucy gazed at the lemon meringue longingly and imagined the extra pounds on her hips.
Susan Cutie, a pretty woman with a shoulder-length bob and a quick smile, looked up from a birthday cake she’d been decorating with pink and blue balloons which read Happy First Birthday Emily! “Hey you two! I’ve been wondering how long it would take before you visited. Lemon meringue, right?”
Lucy religiously dropped into the bakery at every holiday visit, no matter how brief, to buy a lemon meringue pie to take to her family gathering. “Hi, Susan. I’ll take a slice of pie to go, but that’s not why we’re here today.”
“Oh?” Susan set down a pastry bag and a good tablespoon of icing oozed out onto the counter.
Lucy licked her lips. Butter cream was another weakness. “We’re looking for Paul Evans.”
“That writer has a thing for my red velvet cupcakes. Comes in a couple times a week, but he still stays as thin as a rail. Who knew writing could burn so—”
“Was he here today?” Katie said hastily.
“What? Oh, sorry. No, not today. Try the barber shop next door,” Susan said.
Lucy doubted Paul would get a haircut or shave so soon after his girlfriend’s demise. Maybe coffee and a pastry—a guy had to eat after all—but grooming?
“He hangs out with Ben Hawkins, owner of the barbershop,” Susan continued. “An unlikely friendship, a barber and a famous writer, but it’s true.” It made sense that Paul would seek the support of a friend. It’s what Lucy would do. She glanced at Katie standing beside her. Correction. It’s what Lucy had done the same day she’d come back to Ocean Crest.
Susan removed a lemon meringue pie from a refrigerated case, cut a piece and wrapped it in a Styrofoam container and handed it to her. Lucy knew from experience that Susan’s lemon filling was rich and tart with fresh lemon juice and lemon zest, the meringue light and sweet, and the crust just perfect, and Lucy couldn’t wait to eat it. After she paid, Susan picked up her pastry bag and went back to the birthday cake.
Leaving the bakery, Lucy and Katie headed for the spiraling red and white barber pole next door. Ben Hawkins was in his early forties, with a lightly pockmarked face, bushy eyebrows, and thinning brown hair. A draped customer reclined in a chair while Ben smoothed shaving cream over his cheeks and chin with a large bristled shaving brush.
“Hi, Ben,” Katie said.
Ben looked up. “Hi, Katie. Is Bill coming in today for a cut?”
Katie shook her head. “Not today. We were wondering if Paul Evans was here.”
“I haven’t seen him today. I’d think he’s broken up about his girlfriend. A real tragedy.” Ben picked up a sharp-looking razor and began to shave his customer.
“Do you know where he could be?” Lucy asked. She didn’t know Ben Hawkins. It wasn’t as if she or Emma had ever needed the services of a barber. Ben’s movements were sure as he skimmed over his customer’s prominent Adam’s apple. Lucy wondered how he didn’t nick the man.
“Why the interest in Paul?” Ben asked.
Katie didn’t miss a beat. “We both went to high school with Heather Banks. We want to check on Paul and offer our condolences.”
Lucy looked at Katie. When had she become such a good liar? She had a feeling she’d need to follow Katie’s example if they were going to get to the bottom of this mess.
Ben rinsed the razor in a bowl of water. “Why didn’t you say so? Did you check Lola’s Coffee Shop?”
“We did,” Lucy said.
“How about Cutie’s Cupcakes?”
They both nodded.
“Do you know where he’s staying?” Lucy held her breath.
“Sure do,” Ben said. “Paul’s renting a nice house at the edge of town on Sandstone Street. It’s a stone’s throw from Cape May.”
Katie had been right. Paul was renting.
Ben picked up the razor, shook it off, then resumed shaving his customer. “Paul likes to work at Lola’s in the morning then takes a break and visits here, but he hasn’t stopped by today so I assume he’s at home.”
“Thanks, Ben,” Katie said. “I’ll tell Bill to visit soon. He’s in need of a close shave.”
* * *
“I didn’t know they built such grand houses in Ocean Crest,” Lucy said.
“They’ve been building on the undeveloped land in town. They think it will bring in more wealthy tourists, but I think this one is grossly oversized and out of place,” Katie said.
They’d parked down the street from Paul Evans’ rental home and made their way up the winding driveway of the McMansion on foot. The sprawling white stone façade, towering pillars flanking the front door, numerous gabled roofs, and replicas of seminude Roman statues appeared gaudy and excessive to Lucy—as if too many details were borrowed from different historical periods and mashed together in a builder’s blender. But no matter how garish the design, it was the magnificent ocean view that proclaimed the house was worth a small fortune.
They reached the top of the driveway where a bubbling fountain with nude mermaids gurgled. The front yard boasted well-tended hedgerows, flowering shrubs, rosebushes, and an impressive lawn.
Lucy knew it was difficult to grow grass that close to the beach, and it cost money to maintain. “The rent must be a small fortune. His suspense novels must be paying good royalties,” she said as they climbed the steps to the front porch.
“No kidding. I suspect that was a huge part of his appeal for Heather. She always was high maintenance,” Katie said as she reached for the brass doorknocker.
Lucy was expecting a maid or a butler, but Paul Evans opened the door himself. He looked down at them, a blank expression on his face. On
ce again, she was taken aback by his nondescript looks. With his slender build and brown hair and brown eyes, people must walk past him all the time without recognizing him as the famous writer. Dressed in khakis with a white collared shirt, he looked similar to when she’d seen him at Mac’s Pub. The only difference was the dark circles beneath his eyes. Had he been recently crying?
“May I help you?” Paul asked.
Lucy stepped forward. “I’m Lucy Berberian and this is my friend Katie Watson. Do you remember meeting us at Mac’s Pub the other day?”
Paul’s brows drew together for a moment, then he nodded. “Of course, I remember you. You both went to high school with Heather.”
Katie cleared her throat. “We may not always have gotten along with Heather, but we’re truly sorry for your loss.”
Paul rubbed swollen, red eyes. Expecting him to burst into tears, Lucy held her breath.
“Would you like to come inside?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Lucy said.
They followed Paul past a marble foyer and down a carpeted hall. He halted just outside a room and opened the door. Sunlight streamed through large windows to illuminate what had to be his office. A large oak desk was situated beneath the window. Stacks of paper were all over the desk, a laptop was in the corner, and a laser printer off to the side on an end table. A large white board with sticky notes labeled with chapter numbers hung on the wall. It was clearly a writer’s cave, no doubt where Paul produced his New York Times bestselling novels.
Lucy still found it hard to believe this mild-mannered man wrote edge-of-your-seat, nail-biting thrillers. She glanced at the computer screen where a document was open. Had he been working on his next novel when they interrupted?
“Please sit,” Paul said, motioning to the two empty chairs before his desk. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
“No. Please don’t go to any trouble,” Lucy said as they occupied the chairs “We know it’s a difficult time, but we were hoping to ask you a few questions.”
He frowned as he pulled up a leather armchair and sat across from them. “I thought you were here to pay your respects.”
“Yes, well. The truth is we’re looking into Heather’s death.” Lucy said.
Paul looked taken aback. “You two? The police were already here, and I told them everything I know. Why are you getting involved?”
Lucy supposed it was good news to learn the police had already questioned Paul Evans. At least Clemmons had interrogated the boyfriend. But, on the other hand, she suspected the detective was more interested in her as a suspect than Paul since she’d served Heather her last meal and cyanide worked quickly.
Lucy took a breath. “Mr. Evans, are you aware that Heather died in Kebab Kitchen’s parking lot? My parent’s restaurant?”
“Yes, the police told me.”
Heaven only knew what he thought. Did he also believe the food Heather ate killed her? Lucy cleared her throat. “I was waitressing the night Heather came into the restaurant. She received a call on her cell and was arguing with someone pretty fiercely. Do you know who she was talking to?”
Paul’s gaze narrowed. “What are you saying? You think she was fighting with me?” It was clear the question had made him defensive.
“We’re not accusing you. We’re just asking questions. The police took Heather’s cell phone and will soon have access to her phone records,” Katie said.
“It wasn’t me. I have nothing to hide.” A tense silence enveloped the room as Paul leaned forward in his chair. “Why are you two really here? Do you think I had something to do with her death? Or are you desperate to point a finger away from your parents’ restaurant?”
Lucy had expected this argument and was prepared. “I know it wasn’t from the restaurant’s food, and I’m confident everything will be revealed in the toxicology results. Still, we thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions of our own.”
When Lucy met his eyes, pain flickered there. “I know how this works. I’m a suspense writer. Everyone suspects the boyfriend. Well, I didn’t do it. I loved Heather. We weren’t fighting that night, or any other night either.” He stood and went to his desk, opened the drawer, and pulled out a black box. Flipping open the lid, he revealed a large square-cut diamond. Sunlight from the window reflected off the exquisite diamond in a kaleidoscope on the wall. “I was going to propose to her.”
Lucy’s eyes were riveted on the impressive ring. The diamond was at least two carats. She looked up at Paul. “I’m truly sorry.”
His face crumpled as he nodded. He closed the lid and dropped the box back inside the drawer. “I saw her before she finished her rounds that day. I stopped by on my way to Lola’s for a cup of coffee, then came home to write. I wish I had told her I loved her one more time.”
If he’d returned home to work after visiting Heather, he didn’t have an alibi for the time she’d been at the restaurant. Still, his grief seemed genuine.
“Do you have any idea who may have wanted to harm her? Did she have any enemies?” Lucy asked.
Paul met Lucy’s gaze, his eyes hardening like bits of stone. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told the police. There is one man.”
“Who?” Katie asked.
“Guido Morelli, the owner of the Hot Cheese Pizzeria. Heather had repeatedly cited his restaurant for health violations. The day she died, she’d planned on delivering inspection reports to some restaurants and Guido’s place was on her list. Guido hated her. I remember one night we took an evening stroll on the boardwalk and ran into him. That hot-tempered Italian flung a string of curses at Heather. He claimed she was corrupt and the town would be better off without her. If that’s not motive, I don’t know what is.”
* * *
An hour later, Katie and Lucy were at Kebab Kitchen in time for Lucy’s shift.
“Well, that was fruitful,” Katie said as she chose a maple booth in the corner.
“We need to talk about what we learned, but I won’t have time until my shift slows down. Can you stay for lunch?”
“You bet. I’m starved.”
Lucy handed Katie a menu just as Sally came around the corner, crying. “Where’s my tabbouleh salads?”
Emma hurried out of the kitchen, carrying a tray that held plates of tabbouleh salad. “Here they are. Mom made a trip to the famers market yesterday for fresh mint and parsley.”
Sally took the tray from Emma. “Good. I have tables waiting.”
Lucy jumped into action and helped Sally deliver the food. The refreshing salad of chopped mint, parsley, tomatoes, and cracked wheat in a savory lemon and olive oil dressing was a customer favorite.
The rest of the lunch menu featured traditional Mediterranean cuisine of madzoon soup, a yogurt based soup; white snapper, a firm and flavorful Mediterranean fish; lamb chops marinated in olive oil, lemon, and fresh herbs; and delectable almond cookies for dessert.
Lucy took orders, delivered food, and cleared tables. It wasn’t a busy lunch service, and soon there was a lull. She was able to join Katie and slipped into the maple booth opposite her. Katie was already enjoying a mezza appetizer platter of tabbouleh salad, falafel, and stuffed grape leaves for lunch.
“This is delicious,” Katie said as she bit into a stuffed grape leaf.
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to tell my mom you like it. She’ll probably send you home with a dozen.”
Katie’s fork hovered in midair. “Really? I’ll have to hide them from Bill.”
Lucy played with her apron strings. “Do you believe Paul’s story?”
Katie chewed slowly. “He seemed quite sincere. He had that huge diamond ready to go.”
“We still don’t know who Heather was arguing with on her cell that day. Maybe they’re one of those couples who thrive on arguing and then making up.”
Katie chuckled. “You mean like your sister, Emma, and her husband, Max?”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “They’re a perfect example. But even if Heather was fighting w
ith Paul, it doesn’t necessarily make him a murderer.”
Katie set down her fork. “I think we should talk to Guido Morelli. But first, let me confirm Paul’s story by checking the township records when I go back to work on Monday to find out if Heather did cite the Hot Cheese Pizzeria for violations in the past as well as the day she died.”
“Good idea. We should also find out what other establishments Heather inspected that day. Paul said she was supposed to go to others. Any one of them had opportunity to slip her poison,” Lucy added.
“I’ll see you back at the house.” Katie took one last mouthful of food, grabbed her purse, and headed toward the door.
With nothing much to do, Lucy set to rolling silverware in cloth napkins when the kitchen doors swung open and her parents entered the dining room. Angela stopped short, a dismayed expression on her face as her gaze swept the empty tables and booths. “Where are all our regular customers?”
“I don’t know, Mom. We only had a light lunch service.” Lucy didn’t feel the need to point out that within two days of Heather’s untimely demise, most of the town residents had already heard the news, and as a result were afraid to eat there.
The phone rang and Angela hurried to answer it at the hostess stand. She pulled the black reservation book from the shelf and started to scribble in it. After hanging up, she came over, a frown marring her brow. “Another cancellation. The third one for this evening. What are we going to do?”
“We’ll think of something,” Raffi said.
Angela stiffened and looked out the window. “Asvads! Dear Lord! A news truck is outside.” Her face was pale as she clutched the reservation book tight to her chest.
Lucy raised the blinds to get a better look out the window. A white van with a sign in bold, black letters, proclaiming OCEAN CREST TOWN NEWS, was parked in the restaurant’s lot. She took one look at her parents’ horrified faces and made a quick decision. “Let me handle them.”