Hummus and Homicide

by Tina Kashian

  Lucy already knew about apple seeds and cherry and peach pits from her internet search. But something else he’d mentioned caught her attention. “Wait. You said apricots?”

  “Oh, yes. I remember a recall a while back of packages of roasted apricot kernels—which are the seeds inside the pit—sold in health food stores as a snack. Each package contained more than double the minimum lethal dosage for an adult human. So it’s safe to say that if a large enough amount of apricot kernels were consumed, they could cause cyanide poisoning.”

  Lucy felt as if her world had just tilted on its axis.

  Apricots.

  Apricots were prevalent in Mediterranean cuisine. Her father had once mentioned that Lucy’s grandfather’s family owned acres of apricot orchards back in Armenia before the First World War and the Armenian Genocide.

  She recalled her first day back in Ocean Crest. Big Al had made a delivery to the restaurant, and she’d glimpsed inside the box to see fresh apricots, their peachy skins soft, ripe, and juicy, perfect for eating. She remembered something else. One of her mother’s new hummus varieties included apricots and pine nuts.

  Could the apricot hummus be the source of the poison that killed Heather Banks?

  But how? Dozens of customers had eaten from the hummus bar and sampled the apricot hummus. Her mother didn’t use the pit or the kernel of the apricot, just the fruit. As far as Lucy knew, the pits were discarded in the trash.

  The same trash that the police collected. Would Calvin Clemmons or Prosecutor Walsh even identify the apricot pits and know that they contained cyanide?

  Even that was a stretch. The apricot pits would have been tossed in a large Dumpster of trash. Picking them out as particularly suspicious would be like finding a needle in a haystack, or in this case, a pit in a mound of rotten food.

  Her gaze snapped back to the pharmacist. “How much?”

  Theodore blinked. “Pardon?”

  “How much cyanide is fatal?”

  “Not much. Only a small amount is needed for a fatal dose.”

  “Thank you for the lesson. Oh, and what can I tell my friend about baby-proofing?”

  “The safest method is to not keep the cyanide in the house or the garage. Other than that, we carry some baby-proofing items in aisle seven.” Theodore smiled and handed her a bag. “If your father has any questions about his prescription, please call.”

  “Thank you.” Lucy was in deep thought as she walked to her car.

  Who’d had access to the apricots?

  Her mother, of course. But she wasn’t the killer.

  Azad had helped her come up with some of the recipes, including the apricot hummus. Why did everything always come back to him?

  Butch had been in the kitchen, but he didn’t make the hummus.

  Big Al had delivered the apricots. But he had no motive and no connection to the victim.

  Nothing made sense. She couldn’t say for certain that ground apricot kernels had killed Heather. It was more probable that Guido Morelli or Mac McCabe had poisoned Heather’s iced tea. And Paul Evans was still a suspect.

  So was it death by hummus, the tea, or something else?

  * * *

  “Wow! That is one hot dress,” Katie said.

  Lucy looked in the full-length mirror in the bedroom. Katie sat in the wicker chair, a pair of five-inch black heels dangling from her fingers.

  “I’m not sure about this,” Lucy said.

  “Why? You look great.”

  “It’s a bit dressier than what I’d intended.” She’d borrowed one of Katie’s dresses for Michael Citteroni’s surprise party. She had to admit she did look good in the sleek cocktail dress with spaghetti straps. Katie was taller than Lucy and she’d insisted Lucy take the dress to the seamstress for hemming and to let out a seam or two to fit. Katie had insisted she had no plans to wear the dress again and intended to donate it. Lucy wasn’t sure, but Katie had convinced her.

  “You said yourself it’s a black tie affair at a Victorian Cape May mansion. Everyone will be dressed to the hilt.”

  Lucy took the offered heels and tried them on. “Good grief. They’re so high. With my luck, I’ll trip walking into the place and break a leg.”

  “You need the height.”

  Lucy scowled. “Don’t remind me.” If there was one thing Lucy envied about Katie back in high school it was her long legs and five-foot-seven-inch height.

  “What’s wrong? You have that faraway look on your face.” Like any best friend worth her salt, Katie could always tell when Lucy was upset or distracted.

  “I’m thinking about what Theodore Magic told me this morning about the apricots.”

  “You don’t seriously think your mother accidentally poisoned her hummus, do you?”

  “No, of course not. But it would explain a lot. How Heather died soon after eating from the hummus bar. She ate a lot of hummus.”

  Katie leaned forward and the wicker chair creaked. “Think back. What types of hummus did she eat?”

  Lucy recalled the numerous dollops of hummus on Heather’s plate. She remembered how each different type of hummus had been placed around the perimeter of her plate like an artist’s palette. She’d thought it weird then. “Heather ate from every bin in the hummus bar.”

  Katie exhaled. “It doesn’t add up, Lucy. You said yourself only the apricot pits contain cyanide. My first bet is on Paul Evans. Second would be Guido or Mac spiking Heather’s iced tea. She saw all three of them right before coming to Kebab Kitchen.”

  A disturbing thought crept forward. “What about Azad? He admitted to helping my mom come up with the apricot and pine nut hummus. He also often comes by to help out in the kitchen, and he was there the day Heather died.”

  “You still think he’s capable of murder?” Katie asked.

  Deep down she didn’t, but the evidence against him kept creeping up. “He’s still a suspect.”

  “What about Mr. Citteroni?” Katie asked.

  Lucy recalled the mobster. “He admitted to being at the bike shop that evening. Sometimes we keep the back door open so workers can carry trash to the Dumpster. Do you think he slipped in and delivered poison?”

  Katie shook her head. “Not him, but one of his goons. Maybe the same young, good-looking one we saw in the alley of the massage parlor meeting with Paul Evans. He could have injected her in the toe with a lethal dose of poison in the restaurant parking lot for all we know. I saw a movie where the villain did just that and the medical examiner missed it.”

  Lucy had never thought of that scenario. “You watch way too many detective shows and movies.”

  “We can’t rule out any possibility,” Katie insisted.

  “Great. Now I’m even more nervous to go to tonight’s party. Mr. Citteroni will be there.”

  “Good. Keep your ears open.”

  “I doubt he’ll confess to hiring Heather’s killer.”

  Katie picked up a black clutch and handed it to Lucy. “You never know. Now hurry up or you’ll be late.”

  CHAPTER 19

  The Queen Victoria was located in Cape May on a street lined with three hundred-year-old sycamore trees. The stunning nineteenth-century home looked like an elaborate dollhouse with a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean. The three-story building was painted burnt sienna with pale yellow shutters in striking contrast. Tonight, lights shone brightly in the windows and guests with glasses of wine and sparkling champagne mingled on the wrap-around porch.

  Lucy climbed the steps, crossed the porch, and entered the vestibule. Sparkling chandeliers illuminated cream-painted walls, velvet curtains, and elaborately ornamented wood-trimmed furniture. Glass table lamps with marble bases sat on dainty rosewood tables. Figurines of dogs, cats, and farm animals decorated built-in bookshelves. A lush Oriental carpet covered the gleaming wood floor. Wood chairs with curved backs and a settee covered in red velvet were situated around a fireplace, welcoming guests.

  Men dressed in tuxedos and women wearing coc
ktail dresses with glittering diamonds looked dapper and elegant. Lucy smoothed her skirt with nervous fingers. Most of the guests were unfamiliar, but a few were Ocean Crest residents she recognized. Two ladies from the town council, Gertrude Shaw and Francesca Stevens, were standing by the fireplace balancing drinks and scallops wrapped in bacon on cocktail napkins as they talked. Lucy quickly turned away. Gertrude was a notorious gossip, and Lucy had no intention of drawing attention to herself and risking the nosy woman quizzing her on her presence at tonight’s party.

  A passing server carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres halted before Lucy. She took a spring roll and a cocktail napkin, then searched the sea of faces. The guest of honor hadn’t yet arrived. For a man who rode a motorcycle and enjoyed his freedom, she wondered what Michael would think of such an elaborate setting for a party. No doubt the big shindig was more for the father than his son.

  She bit into the spring roll.

  “Lucy!” A deep masculine voice bellowed.

  Lucy whirled around to see Anthony Citteroni approach. He wore a tuxedo with a checked black-and-white bow tie nestled just below his ample chin. “Michael will be happy that you came.”

  Lucy nervously swallowed a lump of spring roll. “Thank you for inviting me. This house is lovely.”

  He snatched a bubbling flute of champagne from a passing server’s tray and offered it to her. “Eat. Drink. Enjoy.”

  She clutched the delicate stem of the crystal. “When will Michael arrive?”

  “Soon. His sister, Teresa, is bringing him. He thinks it’s a surprise party for one of his cousins.” Suddenly Mr. Citteroni ’s bushy eyebrows drew together like a hairy caterpillar and he glared at her. “You didn’t say anything to him to ruin the surprise, did you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  He pointed a thick finger at her. “I told you I always know everything that happens in town.”

  Her eyes widened and a trickle of apprehension coursed down her spine. “I don’t doubt it.”

  He grinned. “Just joking. No need to look so fearful, Lucy.” His smile couldn’t entirely disguise his ominous nature, and the hair on her nape stood on end.

  “Come. There’s someone I want you to meet.” He took her elbow and tugged her along to a group of four men drinking what looked like whiskey in the corner of the room. “Luke Santiago is a business associate of mine. He’s going to run my Ocean Crest trash pick up and linen supply businesses this summer. Since one of the establishments he’ll serve is your parents’ restaurant, I thought you should meet him.”

  They reached the group of four men and Mr. Citteroni called out in Italian. One of the men immediately turned around.

  Lucy’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Lucy, meet Mr. Santiago.” Mr. Citteroni turned to his associate. “Luke, Ms. Berberian’s family owns the Mediterranean restaurant next to one of my bicycle shops.”

  A corner of Luke Santiago’s lips curled in what resembled a grin. There was no mistaking his height, the swath of tawny hair that brushed his forehead, or the goatee. Up close, Lucy knew women would find him attractive. He was also the man that had met Paul Evans in the alley outside the massage parlor.

  Luke Santiago extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Berberian.”

  Finally? What did he mean by that? As Lucy shook his hand, a mocking look flashed in his icy blue eyes.

  A frightening realization washed over her as her mind turned back to that night. Could there have been video surveillance outside the massage parlor that she hadn’t seen? Or maybe someone had spotted them spying and had reported it to Mr. Citteroni?

  That could only mean one thing. Mr. Citteroni knew she and Katie had been there that night.

  * * *

  Well that worked out splendidly, Lucy mused as she turned away after the brief introduction. She wondered if Anthony Citteroni’s true motive for inviting her tonight was to put her on notice that he was aware of her clandestine surveillance. Was the mobster toying with her? Or did he really want her there for Michael?

  Thank goodness Mr. Citteroni and Luke Santiago had lost interest in her. Both men had wandered off to greet other guests. Neither had directly confronted or questioned her, but the warning was clear—keep your nose out of our business.

  Lucy reached for her second glass of champagne from a passing tray. The bubbling alcohol had served to take the edge off, but she knew she’d have to stop drinking in order to drive home.

  Despite what had occurred, she wanted to stay until Michael’s arrival.

  A hushed murmur ran through the crowd and Lucy knew the guest of honor would arrive soon. Minutes later, Michael stepped inside the entranceway with his sister.

  “Surprise!” the party revelers shouted in unison. Colorful balloons were released from nets in the ceiling and guests blew party bugles.

  Michael kissed his sister’s cheek as men stepped forward to shake his hand, and women rushed to embrace and kiss him. He looked handsome in a tuxedo, which accented his dark hair and vivid blue eyes, but she noticed his smile did not quite reach his eyes.

  He’s not pleased.

  Lucy stayed back and watched. Teresa, stunning in a red dress and platform silver heels with rhinestone buckles, appeared to enjoy the attention much more than Michael did. Her coloring was similar to Michael’s, with long, dark hair and blue eyes, but there was a sharpness to her features and a shrewdness in her eyes that Michael didn’t possess. Lucy was reminded of what Michael had said about his sibling. She was more like their father, whereas Michael seemed to favor his mother and wanted to be his own man.

  Uncomfortable to intrude with the crowd of well-wishers—many of whom appeared to be relatives—Lucy waited until the group dispersed.

  The guests thinned out and Michael spotted her. He grinned as he approached. “Lucy,” he said, his gaze traveling her from head to toe. “You look beautiful.” His smile was genuine, not strained.

  Her cheeks grew warm under his admiring look. The noise of the party faded until it seemed like just the two of them were standing there. “Happy birthday.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. Did you suspect the party was for you?”

  “No. Although I’m not all that surprised. My father loves throwing large parties. He conducts more business at these types of gatherings than he does all year in his office.”

  She thought of the way Mr. Citteroni had introduced her to Luke Santiago. Yes, he’d conducted business with her, too.

  Michael glanced at the near empty glass of champagne in her hand. “May I get you another drink?”

  She shook her head. “This is my second, and I need to drive home.”

  “I’ll drive you. We can come back for your car tomorrow.”

  She motioned to her cocktail dress. “I don’t think this outfit is suitable for a motorcycle.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “I drove my sister in my car. She wouldn’t be caught dead on a motorcycle.”

  She smiled. “Then I may take you up on your offer.”

  Two men approached and began talking to Michael. Lucy knew she couldn’t dominate his attention for the entire party, but now that he had arrived, she was more at ease. Mr. Citteroni’s presence or that of Luke Santiago didn’t frighten her.

  She motioned to the dining room to let Michael know where she was headed. Stepping into the room, her eyes widened at the lavish buffet spread on a long mahogany dining table and sideboard. All manner of Italian delicacies were being served from chafing dishes. The aroma of Sicilian seafood soup with couscous, sausage stuffed potato gnocchi, marinated artichoke hearts, and dozens of additional delicious dishes filled the air. Fine china and polished silver flatware wrapped in crisp cream-colored linens tied in satin bows invited guests to dine.

  Lucy filled a plate with orecchiette pasta with cauliflower and sausage, baked ziti, and lentil and faro salad, then wandered to a room that appeared to be a parlor. It was a lo
vely room with red velvet settees and large windows. A few other guests were finishing their own food and rose to offer Lucy a seat. The food was delicious, especially the perfectly seasoned lentil and faro salad.

  She spied a glossy black grand piano in the corner and carried her plate from the settee to study the instrument more closely. Old sepia photographs of women in Victorian gowns with lace fichus and men in cravats and superfine wool jackets and checked waistcoats were arranged on the piano. The photographs, in combination with the décor, made her feel like she’d been transported back in time to a quaint Victorian parlor.

  “Well, I wish my father had invited the famous author. It would have made good entertainment.” Teresa Citteroni’s voice cut through Lucy’s thoughts. She was standing by the fireplace with another dark-haired woman Lucy didn’t recognize.

  Neither woman noticed Lucy as she froze by the piano. Was Teresa taking about Paul Evans?

  “He managed to get himself involved with the wrong girlfriend, that’s for sure,” the second woman said.

  Teresa picked up a brass candlestick from the mantle and appeared to study the workmanship. “I went through my father’s files and saw just how much Heather Banks had borrowed to pay off her gambling debts. She had an addiction. Paul Evans was foolish enough to vouch for the loans. Now he owes it all.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred grand.”

  A hundred thousand! Lucy couldn’t imagine anyone gambling that much money.

  “Whew. That’s a lot of cash,” the second woman said, echoing Lucy’s thoughts.

  Lucy’s heart pounded, and she shifted a few steps in an attempt to hear more clearly.

  “That’s not the best part. He backed her financially before he knew she was cheating,” Teresa said.

  “Don’t hold out. You know I love juicy gossip,” the second woman said.

  “She was sleeping with one of my father’s men, Luke Santiago.”

  “The tall, blond one with the goatee?”

  “Yup,” Teresa said.

  The other woman sighed. “I’ve always thought Luke was hot.”