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Hummus and Homicide

Page 16

by Tina Kashian


  Was the woman going to pull out an arrest warrant from her purse for murder or accuse her of meddling with an active police investigation?

  Marsha Walsh’s eyes were dark and unreadable. “Hello, Lucy. May we have a word in private?”

  Lucy swallowed and assumed a look of ease she didn’t feel. “Sure.”

  Her parents didn’t move. Clearly they were torn about leaving her alone with the prosecutor.

  “It’s okay, Mom and Dad,” Lucy said in her most reassuring voice.

  Angela elbowed Raffi and they turned and disappeared into the kitchen. Emma trailed behind them.

  Lucy and the prosecutor remained standing by the hummus bar.

  Lucy motioned to a table. “Would you like to sit?”

  “No, thank you. Right here’s fine,” Walsh said, glancing at the hummus bar where bins of different varieties of hummus awaited the lunch shift, then meeting Lucy’s gaze straight on.

  Lucy tried to swallow a lump that lingered in her throat.

  Walsh folded her hands before her. “As your father pointed out, you’re an attorney so I assume you know why I’m here.”

  If Lucy had a dime for every time someone assumed that just because she’d passed the bar she was an experienced police detective she’d be richer by now. “Not really, no. And I’m a patent attorney.”

  “I see. So I’ll be sure to explain everything nice and simple.” Walsh turned her attention to the bins of hummus. “I never knew there were so many varieties.”

  “I like to think of my mom as a culinary genius. She has over a dozen varieties of homemade hummus, although only eight are out at one time,” Lucy said.

  “I recently tried hummus for the first time. I was pleasantly surprised. I buy it at my supermarket.”

  What was Lucy to say to that? That’s nice. Good for you. Why are you staring at our hummus like you want to try it but you’re afraid you’ll die if you do?

  Walsh cleared her throat. “Detective Clemmons contacted my office. He believes Heather Banks’ death is suspicious. Upon a brief review of the facts, my office agrees.”

  Lucy looked up at her with an effort. “I see. Has Clemmons made any progress then?”

  Walsh held Lucy’s gaze. “You mean have the police found the source of the suspected poison that resulted in Ms. Banks’ death?”

  If anything, the woman was blunt. “Well, yes.”

  “You and I both know nothing official can be announced until the toxicology results are in.” The prosecutor pointed to one of the bins. “What variety is that?”

  Lucy was having trouble keeping up with the woman. She glanced to where Walsh pointed. “That’s sweet basil hummus.”

  “Sounds interesting. My supermarket doesn’t carry it.”

  “Like I said, my mother comes up with her own varieties.” Lucy gave an anxious cough. “If the tox results aren’t back yet, why are we even speaking?”

  Walsh raised an eyebrow. “Because you are a person of interest. Heather Banks died in the parking lot of your family’s restaurant.”

  Lucy watched her warily. “Is that the only reason?

  “Detective Clemmons told you the coroner suspects cyanide poisoning as the cause of death,” Walsh said.

  Lucy raised her chin. “No one at Kebab Kitchen would poison anyone.”

  “But you served Heather Banks her last meal here, correct?”

  Lucy shifted. She knew how bad that sounded. “You already know the facts.”

  “True.”

  The anticipation was killing Lucy. “If you had enough evidence, you would have made an arrest,” Lucy challenged.

  Walsh’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not something I’d talk to you about.”

  “What about my family’s restaurant? Can you talk about that?”

  “Let’s just say if we wanted to shut the place down, we could do it overnight.”

  Was that a threat? “Will you?”

  “Not yet.”

  Not yet. Lucy’s fingers twisted at her sides. The prosecutor’s words weren’t very reassuring.

  “What flavor is that one?” The woman pointed to another bin.

  Lucy’s brows snapped together. The woman was a complete mystery. One minute she’s discussing how the victim ate at the restaurant and then died, and the next minute she’s asking about the food.

  “That’s black bean hummus. No chick peas, but it still contains garlic, lemon, and tahini, which is sesame paste.”

  “Hmm. Interesting choice.” Walsh turned back to Lucy. “We’re aware you’re residing with an Ocean Crest police officer and his wife.”

  Lucy blinked at the change in topic. What was the wily prosecutor’s intent?

  “Yes. I’m staying with Bill and Katie Watson,” Lucy said.

  Marsha Walsh pinned her with a hard glare. “You wouldn’t happen to be questioning people on your own about Ms. Banks’ demise, would you?”

  Trepidation coursed through Lucy. It was as if the woman could read her deepest secrets. “Of course not,” she lied.

  “Good thing. I wouldn’t want to arrest you for obstruction of justice. And if I learn that Officer Watson has leaked pertinent information about an active investigation to you, that could result in ruining his career.”

  Good Lord. That was the last thing Lucy wanted. She already felt indebted to Bill. Harming his career would be devastating. Why couldn’t Calvin Clemmons investigate other subjects like Paul Evans, Guido Morelli, or Mac McCabe to name a few? If the stubborn man would look past his long nose, maybe he could find the real killer.

  The prosecutor leaned forward. “Am I being clear enough for you now, Ms. Berberian?”

  Lucy met the woman’s gaze straight on. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Marsha Walsh reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you need to speak to me.”

  Lucy took the proffered card with the raised county seal. Did the woman think she’d call her and confess?

  “I’m glad we have an understanding.” Walsh eyed Lucy and raised a finger. “Oh, and one more thing. I’d like a take-out container for the hummus bar.”

  * * *

  As soon as the prosecutor left, Emma and their parents rushed out of the kitchen and bombarded Lucy with questions.

  Lucy held up a hand. “All’s fine.” For now, she kept to herself. “The prosecutor is not shutting down Kebab Kitchen. It’s business as usual. Just like we already knew, the police are waiting for the lab results before making any decisions.”

  Angela pinched her lower lip with her teeth. “Meanwhile, business is slow. Maybe that’s what they really want. For us to close on our own.”

  Raffi’s cheek muscles stood out when he clenched his jaw. “I don’t like it. That woman makes me nervous.”

  “The prosecutor loaded a take-out container with hummus from the hummus bar,” Emma said. “She must not think it’s poisoned.”

  “Or she doesn’t think it’s poisoned any longer,” Angela said.

  “Let’s not overreact,” Lucy said. “It could have been worse. Let’s be grateful the restaurant stays open.”

  That seemed to pacify her parents, and they went back to their office, leaving Lucy alone with Emma.

  “Did you tell Mom and Dad the truth?” Emma asked.

  “I did. Marsha Walsh isn’t planning on shutting down the place any time soon.”

  Emma threw a dishtowel on the counter of the waitress station. “The thing is, maybe it’s best if we did close.”

  Lucy glared at her sister. “Good grief, Em. How could you say such a thing?”

  “We’ve all had it with the business. Mom and Dad are exhausted from working nights and weekends. Combined with diminishing profit margins and increasing overhead and the rising cost of inventory, the restaurant business is one of the toughest around. Maybe this is an omen and the push our parents need to let the business go.”

  Lucy blinked in surprise. “You can’t mean that.” The time back home had truly changed her
point of view. The business was in her blood, in all of their blood. She couldn’t imagine her parents fully retired. They just needed someone else to take over and then they could cut their work hours.

  The only chance her parents had to keep the place in the family was if she stayed and saw it through. Was that something she wanted to do?

  “I’m quite serious about this,” Emma said. “When Mom and Dad announced they wanted to sell, I wasn’t opposed to it. Max feels the same way.”

  “But you’re the dutiful daughter who stayed behind, married a town resident, and popped out a kid. You’re the one who has always worked here.”

  “That’s just it. I’ve stayed and it gives me a perspective different from yours.”

  It hit Lucy then. “You’re bitter I left, aren’t you? If I had married Azad all those years ago, I’d be here alongside you.”

  “I won’t lie and say I wasn’t bitter. You had an exciting life in Philadelphia making good money. I never pursued a career. But lately I’m fortunate for the way things worked out. You wouldn’t have the worldly experience you do now. You wouldn’t be able to help us by investigating Heather’s murder.”

  Lucy was flattered, but then logic took over. “I’m not sure how much help I am, Em.”

  “If anyone can crack this case, you can,” Emma said. “I know Calvin Clemmons has a grudge against me. I didn’t exactly treat him nicely back in high school.”

  “It’s not your fault. He should be unbiased in his duties,” Lucy said.

  Emma hugged Lucy. “Well, Max and I are glad you’re back. And not just because we need you after what happened to Heather. So many people are happy that you’re back. Sally, Katie and Bill, Mom, Dad, and Azad. Even Susie Cutie and Lola Stewart told me they’re excited that you’re here.”

  “Thanks.” Her sister’s words struck her. Since returning home, Lucy realized she had more friends in town than she’d made in all the years she’d worked in Philadelphia.

  Maybe Ocean Crest wasn’t so bad after all.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Mind if we both leave early tonight? Niari is at a sleepover party and Max and I are going out,” Emma said as she tallied a check for a party of two sitting at a cozy table.

  “And it’s my bowling night,” Sally added as she untied her waitress apron.

  Lucy waved a hand. “No problem. You two have fun.”

  The three of them had worked the dinner shift together, and Lucy was glad to help out by staying until closing. Since she had no husband or children—as her mother was fond of pointing out—and no other social plans for the night, she didn’t mind. For obvious reasons, Kebab Kitchen had been slow. She could easily handle the rest of the evening as the sole waitress.

  “Thanks bunches,” Emma said as she kissed Lucy’s cheek and sailed out the door with Sally.

  Lucy waited on a couple of stray customers, then cleaned up the waitress station and prepared the tables with white linen tablecloths, matching napkins, and flatware for the next day before wandering into the kitchen to find Butch.

  He was busy chopping tomatoes, cucumbers, parsley, and scallions for tabbouleh salad, and the fragrant scent of the herbs filled the kitchen. She took off her apron and hung it on the row of hooks in the kitchen. “I locked the front door and finished cleaning up. Will I see you tomorrow?”

  Butch smiled and his gold tooth flashed in the fluorescent kitchen lighting. “You bet. Good night, Lucy Lou.”

  “I’ll take the trash on my way out.” Lucy opened the back door and stepped into the parking lot. Clouds passing over the moon cast the parking lot and the Dumpster in shadows. She looked around for Gadoo, but didn’t see the calico cat anywhere. His water bowl was full, but he’d eaten whatever her mother had set out for him. She took a few steps forward, then halted.

  For a heart-stopping moment, she experienced déjà vu. She’d been in the process of carrying out the exact same task—dragging a trash bag to the Dumpster—when she’d tripped over Heather’s body. She vividly recalled Heather’s sprawled limbs and her red hair spread out across the asphalt like blood.

  Gooseflesh rose on Lucy’s arms.

  Don’t be such a ninny.

  Lucy heaved the trash bag across her shoulder and marched toward the Dumpster. Halfway across the parking lot, a dark figure stepped into her path. Lucy dropped the bag and screeched.

  The figure stepped forward into a swath of moonlight to reveal a short, stocky man dressed in a black trench coat. His head rested directly upon his shoulders, giving a no-neck appearance. He had a square wall of a forehead with heavy brows, black eyes, dark hair, and a thin, carefully clipped mustache.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said in a deep, gravelly voice.

  “Who are you?” Lucy demanded.

  “My name is Anthony Citteroni. I own the business next door.”

  Good grief. This was the mobster? Lucy scanned the parking lot. She could understand why Paul Evans feared him.

  “I assume you are Lucy Berberian?”

  “Yes.”

  “My apologies again if I frightened you.”

  Sure. That was probably what he said to all his friends before he gunned them down. Did he know she had followed Paul Evans? Or that she’d witnessed Paul hand over a fat envelope of cash to the young, tall henchman who worked for Mr. Citteroni?

  Jeeze. She hoped not.

  “I heard a tragedy happened here . . . to the health inspector. I was at my bike shop next door. I would have helped if I’d known.”

  His words piqued Lucy’s curiosity. “You were? Did you hear anything?” She wasn’t aware that Anthony Citteroni had been next door the day Heather died. Michael hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe he didn’t know. But if Mr. Citteroni had been so close, couldn’t he have slipped inside the back door and somehow poisoned the hummus bar or Heather’s iced tea?

  He certainly had opportunity and his motive would be the same as Azad’s. Both men wanted to buy the property and the business, but for different reasons. One wanted to keep it a Mediterranean restaurant, the other wanted to tear it down and make a glorified parking lot.

  But would the mobster go to such lengths to get the property?

  Or was she being paranoid?

  “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your parents.” Citteroni shook his head. “I’m sure the health inspector’s death is the last thing they need.”

  What was that supposed to mean? “You know my parents?”

  “We used to talk often. We are neighbors.”

  Her parents had never mentioned any type of friendship with Anthony Citteroni. From what Lucy understood, he didn’t visit his property often, and he certainly didn’t participate in the day-to-day running of the business.

  So why was he talking to her in the dim back parking lot? “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Citteroni?”

  “My son, Michael, told me about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Lucy.” He extended his hand.

  Lucy swallowed as she glanced down at his proffered hand. The fact that Michael had spoken about her to his father was as unexpected as Anthony’s Citteroni’s appearance. She watched him warily as she shook his hand. It was firm as it engulfed hers.

  “My son says you are a charming lady. He doesn’t speak favorably of many women. I had to see for myself who had captured his interest.”

  “We are just friends.” Her nerves tensed. She didn’t want the man to think her relationship with Michael was serious.

  “My son is turning thirty-five next week. I’m having a surprise birthday party for him in Cape May tomorrow night. I’d like you to attend.”

  It was more of a statement then an invitation. If her nerves hadn’t been strained she might have made an excuse. But she considered Michael a friend—and his father was a bit frightening—so she agreed. “Thank you for the invitation.”

  He nodded once as if her acquiescence had been expected.

  “Eight o’clock. Black tie affair. I’ll have a
n invitation sent with the address.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Lucy said.

  He turned to leave by the opening of the fence that led to the small patch of sidewalk separating the restaurant from the bike shop. Lucy exhaled, but her relief was short-lived when Mr. Citteroni halted and looked back at her. “Don’t forget it’s a surprise party.” He grinned. “Michael may try to ask you, but I trust you’ll keep it secret. After all, I know everything that happens in this town.”

  Lucy let out a held-in breath when he was out of view. She headed toward her car where she planned to lock the doors before starting the engine. A meow sounded as soon as she reached for the car door handle.

  Gadoo sauntered past.

  “Now you show up. Some guard cat you are.”

  Gadoo blinked.

  She picked up the cat, held him close, and buried her fingers in his soft fur. The tension in her shoulders eased a notch. Mr. Citteroni had invited her to his son’s party, but she couldn’t help but wonder if his ominous farewell warning was the true purpose behind his visit.

  * * *

  “You’re going to want to see this,” Katie said, handing Lucy the newspaper the following morning.

  Lucy choked on her coffee as she glanced at the front page of the Ocean Crest Town News. The headline jumped off the page. COUNTY PROSECUTOR DECLARES DEATH OF HEALTH INSPECTOR SUSPICIOUS. A large picture of Kebab Kitchen was right below the article. Her gaze homed in on the first paragraph.

  Heather Banks, Ocean Crest’s new health inspector, eats her last meal and dies at local restaurant. Bad food? Bad service? Or both. It was all a killer to Ms. Banks.

  Lucy crumpled the paper in her hands. The article cinched the noose around her family’s neck as neatly as if the prosecutor had shut down the restaurant herself. Business had already been slow and now it would be dead. Even her mother’s catering business could be affected.

  Anger simmered in Lucy’s veins. She felt like a volcano on the verge of erupting. “I can’t believe this! Stan Slade went too far.”

  “I agree,” Katie said. “The police haven’t officially said anything about poisoning or cause of death. All they said on record was that it’s a suspicious death.”

 

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