Hummus and Homicide

by Tina Kashian

  Lucy blinked. “Why would you think that?”

  “We’ve been talking. You visited us at our businesses and asked questions. We also learned that your parents own Kebab Kitchen where Heather died,” Guido said.

  She shouldn’t be surprised. If both men had set aside their differences and started talking, it wasn’t a far leap to compare notes and figure out the truth. Talk of the murder had been a regular topic of conversation in town, and Paul’s arrest would only add fuel to the fire.

  “We also believe that we were on your list of suspects,” Mac said.

  Lucy squirmed beneath their stares. “Well now . . . I was just asking questions. I’m not a cop.”

  Both men laughed, and Lucy’s nerves eased a bit.

  “No hard feelings,” Guido said. “We don’t blame you. After all, it all worked out in the end.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The front door of Kebab Kitchen opened to welcome a flood of locals and a few early tourists. The tables were full within fifteen minutes, and Lucy’s parents were grateful for the show of support from their friends and the community. Her mother was in a particularly happy mood, and alongside Butch, offered scrumptious specials of fried eggplant appetizer, curried chicken, cheese bake called sou boreg, and green bean salad. Lucy tasted them all. The curried chicken was divine and the cheese bake was even better.

  Lucy spotted Susan Cutie from the bakery and Lola Steward from the coffee shop with their families. Theodore Magic was seated with a group of elderly widows, including Mrs. Kiminski, the old lady who’d first welcomed Lucy as she’d driven into town weeks ago. The white-haired ladies were peppering Theodore with questions about their ailments and he answered each one enthusiastically. The next customer to walk through the doors surprised Lucy the most.

  Stan Slade gave her a cocky grin. “Do I still get that exclusive?”

  Lucy plucked a menu from the hostess stand. “If you really want it, but there’s not much to tell.”

  “I disagree.” He sat at a table and waved away the proffered menu. “I’ll start with the hummus bar.”

  “Research for your next article?”

  “No. I want to know what all the fuss is about.”

  “The plates are at the end. Help yourself,” Lucy said.

  Azad had put on an apron to help Butch and her mother in the kitchen. Her father handled the register and floated around chatting with customers. Lucy, Emma, and Sally were busy waiting tables.

  Everyone was working efficiently and happily, yet Lucy was feeling tense and uptight.

  The events of last night should have made her content. Not because Paul Evans had driven off the road and had been taken away by ambulance, but because he’d been arrested for Heather’s murder. She should be relieved and just as joyful as the rest of her family. So what was her problem?

  With a pang, she realized she still had questions. Paul had seemed so sincere when he’d said he loved Heather and had pulled out the impressive diamond ring from his desk drawer. Was he that good an actor? Was a cheating girlfriend enough to turn him into a killer?

  She kept thinking as she greeted customers with a smile, took orders, delivered food, and tallied checks. Two hours later, when the lunch shift slowed, Lucy wiped her brow. “Can you cover my tables, Em? I want to call Katie.”

  “Sure,” Emma said, waving her off.

  Lucy went to her parents’ office in the corner of the storage room and called Katie’s cell. She answered on the first ring.

  “What’s the latest on Paul?” Lucy said without preamble.

  Katie lowered her voice a notch. “Bill told me he’s at the Ocean Crest Medical Center.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He hit his head on the steering wheel and is being treated for a concussion and bumps and bruises.”

  Lucy recalled Clemmons saying that Paul wasn’t wearing his seat best. “He’s lucky it wasn’t worse.”

  “True. He’s a flight risk so he’s handcuffed to the bed and a police officer is stationed outside his door.”

  “I feel sorry for him,” Lucy murmured.

  “Why? He killed Heather. No matter what we thought of her, she didn’t deserve to be murdered.”

  Lucy bit her bottom lip. “That’s true, but—”

  “But what?”

  “I’m wondering how he administered the cyanide. Has he confessed?” Did Paul lace Heather’s iced tea? If so, did the police find a cup? Or did Paul toss it out? And how did Paul obtain cyanide in the first place if it was regulated by the government and difficult to obtain?”

  “Bill said Clemmons is meeting with Prosecutor Walsh this afternoon to put all the pieces together,” Katie explained.

  “Hmm.”

  “Lucy, I never thought I’d say this, but stop thinking about it. Paul is guilty. Our investigation is over.”

  Logically, Lucy knew Katie was right. But if it was that simple, why did so many questions still plague her?

  * * *

  After the lunch hour, Lucy stayed with Azad in the kitchen while her mother saw to a delivery in the storage room. Emma and Sally left for a couple hours and would come back for the expected dinner rush. Raffi went home grumbling after Angela insisted he go home to rest. His hospital stay was fresh in all their minds.

  The reservation book was nearly full for that evening, which made everyone ecstatic, especially her parents.

  “Lunch service was great. Things are looking up,” Azad said to Lucy.

  They were slicing ripe tomatoes for a salad that would accompany a mezza appetizer plate tonight. To be fair, Azad was doing the cutting and Lucy the watching. His knife skills were impressive. The sharp serrated blade easily sliced the delicate tomatoes with impressive speed without squishing them into a bloody pulp like Lucy did whenever she’d tried.

  Lucy nodded. Every seat had been full, the food was delicious, and the staff enthusiastic. The place had worked like a well-oiled machine, and she’d found it thrilling. She realized what she’d been struggling with since coming back to Ocean Crest.

  She wanted to stay.

  She wanted to take a crack at running the restaurant. She’d need help, of course. Her parents’ expertise and guidance. Emma and Sally’s support. Butch would have to remain full-time, and eventually she’d have to hire another chef to replace her mother.

  One name sprang to mind.

  She gave Azad a sidelong glance. Would he want to work as the head chef instead of the owner?

  The more she thought about taking over, the more it made sense. She’d make some changes. She’d computerize the place for certain. And update and refresh the décor. But the essence of the place, a casual family Mediterranean restaurant offering mouth-watering dishes, would remain the same.

  If her parents were willing to give Azad a loan, then surely they would give her one. Or maybe they would agree to have her manage the place, and they could work part-time and ease into retirement. Azad might be upset at losing the opportunity, but if he was still interested in her afterwards, well . . . then . . . she just might let him woo her.

  But how could she consider a serious relationship with one man when Michael Citteroni and his motorcycle rides were too much fun to give up?

  She pushed her thoughts aside. It was too much to contemplate. “Hey, Azad. I’ve been thinking.”

  “Oh?” He kept slicing, his blade like quicksilver. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead and gave him a roguish look.

  “I may want to stay,” she said.

  He looked up, his knife halting in midair. “Stay?”

  She shrugged a shoulder and hoped for an air of nonchalance. “You know. Stay in Ocean Crest.”

  A corner of his lips curled in a smile as he looked at her. “That’s great. Did you find a law job in town?”

  “No. I was thinking of taking over the place.”

  His brow crinkled. “What place?”

  “Kebab Kitchen.”

  He stopped cutting, and his dark eyes became f
lat and unreadable as stone. “You mean taking over for your parents?”

  “I know you hoped to buy it yourself, but yes.”

  He set the knife on the cutting board. “Why? You never wanted it before.”

  Her mind was a crazy mix of hope and fear. “I know . . . but things have changed for me.”

  “In a little less than two weeks’ time?” he pressed.

  Things weren’t going well. He was clearly upset.

  Anxiety spurted through her. “Look, I haven’t even spoken about it to my parents. It’s just something that’s been in the back of my mind. I felt it for real today.”

  “One good lunch service and you decide you want to manage the place,” he said, his voice cold. He was getting hostile.

  Her anxiety increased. “There’s no need to get angry.”

  “I’m not angry. I’m just trying to understand you. After our breakup, you ran, and you’ve kept running for years. You hardly ever came back. When you did come back for longer than a quick visit, you decide to take over the family business?”

  Lucy opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say.

  The restaurant’s phone rang, piercing the awkward silence and making her jump. She wiped her hands on a towel. “Excuse me. It’s probably for a reservation. They’ve been calling all day.” Relieved to have an excuse to escape, she rushed into the dining room to answer the landline by the hostess stand. “Hello. This is Kebab Kitchen.”

  “Lucy Berberian?” said a low raspy voice.

  Static crackled through the line. “Yes.”

  A cough. “I need to see you.”

  Lucy frowned and pressed the receiver closer to hear. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Paul.”

  “Paul Evans?”

  Another few coughs. “Yes.”

  “Why are you calling me?” Lucy asked, her voice sharp.

  “I need to see you.”

  Her body stiffened in surprise. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “I’m listening now.”

  “No. In person. They could be listening. Please.”

  Who could be listening? And why was he so desperate to meet with her? Katie had told her that Paul was restrained and under guard at the hospital. She didn’t think she could meet with him even if she wanted to.

  “First, I heard you’re handcuffed to your bedrail with a police guard outside your hospital door. Second, you should be talking with your lawyer,” she said.

  “You’re a lawyer.”

  Lucy gritted her teeth. “I don’t represent you.”

  A woman’s voice sounded in the background. “Time for blood work, Mr. Evans.”

  “I’m in room 323. Please come,” he pleaded.

  “Lucy!” Azad shouted from the kitchen and she jumped, automatically covering the receiver with her hand. “How many appetizer trays did your mother want?” His voice was hoarse with frustration.

  Lucy suspected he wanted to finish and leave after their discussion. “I’ll be right there,” she shouted.

  She lifted her hand and uncovered the receiver, but Paul had already hung up.

  CHAPTER 22

  “You’re not seriously thinking about going to see Paul in the hospital, are you?” Katie looked at Lucy as if she’d lost her mind.

  Lucy paced back and forth in Katie’s living room. “I am. You should have heard him. He sounded so desperate.”

  Katie folded her arms across her chest. “Of course, he did. He was arrested for Heather’s murder. He’d say anything to get someone to believe him.”

  “But why call me?”

  Katie threw up her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe because he knows we were investigating on our own.”

  “Hmm. Maybe—”

  “You really have doubts about his guilt.” It was a statement more than a question. Katie always knew what she was thinking.

  “I can’t help it,” Lucy said. “I remember the first time we went to Paul’s house and he pulled out that diamond ring. He really seemed sincere and broken up over Heather’s death. And then there’s the question of how he got his hands on cyanide to begin with.”

  “All right. I’ll help.”

  “What?”

  “You’re my best friend, and I trust your gut,” Katie said. “If you need to talk to Paul to put your mind at ease, I’m in. What’s your plan?”

  Lucy blinked. “My plan?’

  “You need to get past the front desk and obtain a visitor’s pass, and then you need to slip by the armed police officer standing guard outside Paul’s door.”

  “Yikes. You’re right. I do need your help.”

  Katie rubbed her chin. “You’re in luck. I spoke with Bill this morning and he told me the cop on duty at the hospital today is Don Stevens.”

  “Why does that make me lucky?”

  “He was the only Ocean Crest police officer who didn’t show up at Kebab Kitchen the day Heather died.”

  Lucy’s pulse pounded. “He won’t recognize me.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But I still have to get past him to see Paul.”

  Katie reached for a pen and pad on an end table, and Lucy immediately thought of a military sergeant drawing up battle plans.

  Katie tapped her pen on the pad, then eyed Lucy’s waitressing uniform. “I have an idea, but it requires a change of clothes.”

  Lucy nodded. “Then let’s get to work.”

  * * *

  Lucy pushed open the door to the Ocean Crest Medical Center and stepped inside the lobby. She was immediately reminded of when she’d visited only a day ago when her father had been admitted for what had turned out to be a panic attack masquerading as a heart attack.

  Whether or not she should be there today was another question entirely. According to Katie, the police considered the case closed, and Heather’s killer was wrist-shackled somewhere in the building.

  Yet there she was, trying to figure out how to sneak into a guarded hospital room. At least Katie supported her. Lucy realized for the umpteenth time how valuable she considered Katie’s friendship. It was one more reason to stay in Ocean Crest.

  Lucy smoothed the skirt of her navy business suit. After Katie had explained her plan, Lucy had rummaged through her suitcases until she found the right clothing. She prayed the ploy would work. Katie had stayed behind to visit Bill at the station with a box of doughnuts from Cutie’s Bakery. If she saw a policeman leaving for the hospital, she would text Lucy, who would hightail it out of the hospital.

  Lucy halted by the snack machine in the lobby. Feigning interest in the selection behind the glass, she eyed the receptionist. Thankfully, she recognized the middle-aged woman with dyed red hair and a prominent gap between her two front teeth. Paul had told her he was in room 323, but she couldn’t just waltz up to the receptionist and ask for a visitor’s pass for a guarded room.

  Lucy approached the front desk. “Good morning. I’m here to visit my father, Raffi Berberian, in room 306B.” Lucy smiled and held her breath.

  “Ah, yes. I remember you. I hope your father is feeling better. Here you go.” The woman handed Lucy a visitor’s pass. Thank goodness, she didn’t bother to look up her father’s name to realize he’d been discharged yesterday.

  “Thanks,” Lucy took the badge and hurried to the elevators, feeling like a security guard would seize her by the arm and yell, “Stop!” at any second.

  The elevator doors opened and Lucy pressed the button for the third floor, only letting out a breath once she was alone. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Glancing out, she scanned the floor and spotted the policeman.

  A stocky cop with a mustache stood guard outside a door. Lucy’s mind spun back to the night of Heather’s murder and the group of policemen, EMTs, and the coroner who had descended upon the restaurant. Katie was right. The policeman stationed outside room 323 wasn’t one of them.

  Thank her lucky stars.

  S
canning the hospital floor, she was relieved to find it busy. A group of people stood outside one room, speaking in hushed whispers. By their somber looks it was obvious someone they cared about was not doing well. Lucy’s heart went out to them.

  Two doctors in white coats and hospital scrubs talked to a nurse at the desk. A woman pushed a multi-tiered food cart, quickly stopping at each room to deliver a meal. A patient in a hospital gown and socks walked past Lucy, reaching back to ensure his gown stayed closed.

  Taking a deep breath and straightening her navy jacket, she headed for Paul’s room, her high heels clicking on the tile floor. It was the first time she’d worn business attire since her arrival home, and the skirt, pantyhose, and heels felt more uncomfortable than she’d ever remembered.

  The police officer glared at her as she approached. “This room is off limits.”

  Lucy glanced at his nametag which read OFFICER STEVENS. Her eyes snapped to his, and her voice was cold and precise. “My client is in there. I need to see him.”

  Stevens straightened. “I’m sorry, but I have my orders. No one is allowed inside but authorized medical personnel.”

  “I’m not anyone. I’m Mr. Evans’ attorney and he’s entitled to legal representation.”

  The cop wavered a bit, then shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Do you want me to call County Prosecutor Walsh?” Lucy knew it was an empty threat, but hoped he didn’t know. The prosecutor couldn’t care less whether Paul Evans had an attorney or not.

  A flash of uncertainty crossed Officer Stevens’ face, and Lucy leaped. “I only need a few minutes,” she pressed.

  “All right. But make it quick, Counselor.” He stepped aside, and Lucy opened the door.

  When he moved to follow, she scowled up at him. “I must meet with my client alone. Attorney-client confidentiality.”

  Stevens frowned, but backed away. “He’s drugged pretty good. I don’t think he’ll be much use to you anyway.”

  “Thank you for your concern.” Lucy shut the door and turned to the room.

  Paul was unmoving in the bed, the sound of his deep breathing and the hum of the monitors the only sounds in the room. He looked ashen in the artificial light.