Cold Cut Murder: Book Three in The Darling Deli Series

by Patti Benning

  “I was born in California, but moved to Michigan when I got married. This is the second restaurant in the chain; my husband runs the other one. He’s in town right now to help out with opening night, though.” She returned Moira’s smile, the sharp lines of her face softening for a moment. “Thank you for your kind words. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to be so friendly. The man who owns that diner didn’t seem very happy that yet another restaurant was opening up in town.”

  “Arlo’s just grumpy, he’ll come around,” Moira assured her. “And I think our restaurants are different enough that there won’t be much of a problem. Plus, we women have got to stick together.” The two business owners traded another quick smile before Denise left to finish preparing for her grand opening. Moira watched her go, feeling happier than she had since her strange encounter with the man that morning. It seemed that she had just made another friend.

  After closing the deli for the evening, she made a quick stop at home to change and see if Candice wanted to go to the Redwood Grill with her. The house was warm from all of the baking that her daughter had been doing, and the air smelled like cookies. She was amazed to see plate after plate of sugar cookies when she walked into the kitchen; Candice really had been busy.

  It only took a few moments for her daughter to agree to go with her to the new restaurant. Moira waited in the kitchen while the young woman changed, and was unable to resist eating one of the cookies. The homemade frosting was perfect, and had dried to a crisp layer on top of the cookie itself, which was moist and full of flavor. I’ll really have to watch what I eat this week if I don’t want to go up a pant size, she thought. She had terrible willpower around desserts; it was one of the reasons that she didn’t bake much.

  “All right, I’m ready,” Candice said, bounding into the room in a rush of perfume and sleek blonde hair. Moira had suggested that they both wear something dressier than usual, and her daughter had definitely gone all out.

  “Let’s go,” she replied, feeling her stomach growl. The cookie had been tasty, but it wasn’t filling. “I’m starving.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Redwood Grill might have been in the same building as the Soup Shoppe, but it couldn’t have looked more different. The windows were now tinted so that the diners inside had privacy, and the sign glowed a deep red in the dark winter night. Inside, the air smelled of sizzling meat and a mouthwatering mixture of spices. Moira was glad to see that the restaurant was indeed busy; people were milling around at the bar and chatting as they waited for a table, and waiters and waitresses rushed back and forth carrying trays laden with food. When Moira gave her name to the hostess, she was surprised to find that Denise had reserved a table for them.

  “What do you think?” she asked her daughter as the server led them through the busy restaurant to a secluded corner booth in the back.

  “It seems nice.” Candice looked around, admiration evident. “It’s a lot fancier than any other place in town. I think they’ll do well—as long as the food is up to par, of course.”

  They ordered drinks from the server, and then began perusing the menu, occasionally looking up to make comments to each other about what was being offered. The Redwood Grill had steaks in every cut imaginable, but also fresh seafood, tempting pasta entrées, and a whole menu page devoted to desserts.

  “Hey, Mom,” her daughter whispered suddenly, her eyes shifting to the left. “Look over there. Isn’t that the food critic that gave us a bad review last year?” Moira followed the young woman’s gaze and saw the familiar curls of the man who had refused to finish her soup a year ago.

  “It’s definitely him,” she whispered back. “Oh dear, I hope he gives Denise a fair review. She’s obviously put a lot of work into the place.”

  “I’m sure he will,” her daughter replied. “Everything here looks and smells delicious. He’d be crazy to try to give this place a bad review. I can’t wait to try something—I just can’t decide what.”

  A few minutes after their food appeared and they had had a chance to taste each of the dishes that they had ordered—each one seeming better than the next—a handsome man who looked to be about Moira’s age appeared at the table. He was finely dressed, with a sharp black suit, a silk tie, and shoes that looked like they cost more than Moira’s car. There was a red rose tucked into his lapel, which he straightened before speaking.

  “Johan Donovan,” he said by way of introduction. “I hope our food is satisfactory. My wife tells me that you are quite the chef yourself.” His dark brown eyes met Moira’s as he said this, and to her embarrassment she felt a flush rise on her cheeks. The wine must be going to her head—this man was obviously Denise’s husband, and thus completely unavailable.

  “Everything is delicious,” she assured him. “The steak was cooked perfectly, not overdone like it seems to be at most restaurants, and the potatoes are creamy and practically melt in your mouth.”

  “You’ve definitely won us over,” Candice chimed in. “I don’t know how I’m going to stay away from this place.”

  “No need to stay away,” Johan said with a smile. “We’re open every evening, and welcome your company.” He took Moira’s hand, and, to her surprise, kissed the back of it. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Darling. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call. We restaurateurs have to stick together.” He slipped a business card out of his pocket and put it on the table, then released her hand. “I’ll have someone bring you a dessert menu—you must try the lava cake, it’s our chef’s special. On the house, of course.” He gave them a wink, just as the tall, red-headed form of Denise appeared at his shoulder.

  “Johan,” she said sharply. “One of the busboys just quit, and the sous chef is having a mental breakdown. I need you in back of the house, dealing with things. I thought we were past all this?” She arched her eyebrow, giving Moira an icy look. Confused, the deli owner looked away, pretending to focus on her food in an effort to give the pair privacy for what was obviously a personal conversation.

  “I was just saying hi to your new friend, dear,” he said. “It’s best to stay on good terms with the competition, don’t you agree? I’ll go take care of the sous chef now, don’t you worry.” With that, he drifted off, weaving his way around busy servers and bustling customers with ease.

  “My husband,” Denise said simply, looking after him with an unreadable expression. She turned back to Moira, none of her earlier friendliness visible. “I just came by to see how you are doing, but it looks like he beat me to it. I hope the two of you have a good night, and do try the lava cake.” A humorless smile twisted her lips. “It’s to die for.”

  It was late by the time the two women got home. Both of them had eaten far too much at the restaurant, but the juicy steaks had been worth it. The lava cake had been amazing as well, though she would have enjoyed it more if she hadn’t been trying to figure out what had happened between her and Denise. She had thought that the two of them had hit it off when they spoke at the deli. Maybe Denise had just been stressed at the grill tonight—logical, as it was the grand opening. Either way, the Redwood Grill had just become a new favorite for both her and Candice, though they would have to restrain themselves to eating there just once or twice a month. The food wasn’t cheap, and the portions weren’t small, bad for both her wallet and her waistline.

  Full and groggy, she managed to drag herself upstairs and change into her pajamas before she collapsed into bed. It had been a fun evening, and she was beginning to look forward to the rest of the week, even though it would be busy. The Winter Festival marked the last long stretch of winter before spring came, and she was looking forward to all of the opportunities of the year ahead.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The second day of the Winter Festival was in full swing as she drove into town that morning. Banners hung from windows, announcing the week’s sales, and snowflakes and Valentine’s hearts seemed to be everywhere she looked. The small bed and breakfast on Main Street had
a full parking lot, and there were plenty of pedestrians traveling to-and-fro on the sidewalk. It was turning out to be a busy week, which Moira welcomed. She was more than happy to help Candice with her dream of opening a candy shop, but the money had to come from somewhere.

  She was humming to herself as she unlocked the deli’s front door, eager to get started on the day’s soups—curried corn chowder, and green bean minestrone. She had never made the corn chowder before, but the recipe looked simple and delicious. After wiping her shoes off on the rug, she made her way to the cash register to unlock it and make sure they had enough one-dollar bills for the day. A shadowy form in the corner caught her eye, and she looked up, choking back a scream when she saw the man sitting at the corner table.

  He was sitting slouched in the bistro chair, head drooping towards his chest. The brown curls of his hair looked familiar to Moira, but her panicked mind couldn’t place them. He was wearing a brown suit, and had a red rose tucked into his lapel pocket. What was he doing here? He looked like he was passed out. Was it possible that some drunk had wandered in late last night? No… the front door had definitely been locked when she got here, and she only used the side door for deliveries—it locked automatically when it was shut.

  “Excuse me?” she said hesitantly when the man didn’t respond to her strangled yelp. He still didn’t move. Cautiously, she approached, gripping her keys in her hand tightly as protection.

  “Sir… are you all right?” It wasn’t until she was a few feet away that she noticed the dark stain down the front of his jacket and the red smear on his hand. Her heart pounded, but unable to stop herself, she gently tilted the man’s head back to find herself gazing into blank, staring eyes.

  * * *

  She was in a state of shock as she watched the crime scene photographers snap picture after picture of her deli. The front door had been propped open, letting in the icy air. Salt and snow had been tracked across the usually clean floor of the deli, and the parking lot was full of emergency vehicles.

  “Do you know the victim?” the taciturn Detective Fitzgerald asked her, his pen poised and ready against his notepad.

  “I, um…” She found her gaze dragged once again towards the man in the chair, his body half obscured by one of the crime scene technicians. “Yes. He’s a food critic. He comes here every year for the Winter Festival.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Jason Platte,” she said.

  “Thank you, ma’am, that will be helpful. He doesn’t have ID on him.” The detective sighed and rubbed his eyes; he looked older than he had when Moira had met him only a few months ago. “I think that’s everything I need from you right now. We’ll be in contact, I’m sure. You can either wait here, or get going home; this will probably take most of the day.”

  “I’ll leave—I need to tell my daughter what happened, and I really don’t want to have to see any more of this than I have to.” She hesitated, reluctant to leave her store alone even with the police. “Do you think you could have someone call me when you’re done? I just want to stop by and make sure everything is locked up.”

  “Sure.” Fitzgerald made a note on his pad before snapping it shut and putting it in his pocket. “I’ll have someone give you a call when we’re done. You know the drill: the deli is closed, but you need to stick around and be prepared to come down to the station if we need you to answer any more questions.” Moira nodded, and then grabbed her purse and numbly made for the door. She didn’t know what she would tell Candice, or how long the shop would be shut for. She just knew that once again, a tragic crime had struck too close to her life.

  She walked into a house redolent of cookies and peppermint. She had forgotten that Candice had been planning on bringing in another batch of cookies when she came in to work—she was just glad that she had opened the store today, not her daughter or either of her other employees. Finding the food critic had been horrible, but it would have been a hundred times worse if her daughter had been the one to find him.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Moira said, poking her head into the kitchen to see her daughter dressed in an apron with flour everywhere. The peppermint smell was even stronger.

  “Mom, what are you doing here? I thought you were opening the store this morning.” She saw the look on her mother’s face and immediately quit rolling out the dough that she had been working on. “What happened?”

  “Someone died.” Moira took a deep breath, and then began telling her daughter what had happened to her that morning.

  “Wow, I can’t believe it. Do you think it was an accident?” Her daughter peered at a candy thermometer that was poking out of a pot on the stove, then shook her head and turned her attention back to her mother.

  “An accident? No, I don’t see how it could be. I mean, he was bleeding from some sort of wound.” Moira shook her head. “I don’t think he would stab himself or whatever happened, and then decide to just sit down and wait while he bled.”

  “I guess.” Candice shuddered. “That means that someone else did it, though. Someone killed a guy in your deli.” Her daughter looked pale, and Moira reached an arm out to steady her.

  “I’m sure the police will figure things out soon.” She found herself wishing vehemently that she had installed security cameras like David had suggested when she had first met him.

  “Do you think they’ll blame you? I mean, he did give the deli a bad review, and he was killed in a building you own…”

  “They didn’t seem very suspicious,” she said, thinking back over the conversation. “But I guess they might think I had something to do with it.” She sighed. “I’ll just do what I did last time I was a suspect… be honest, and do what I can to help.”

  “And call David?” her daughter asked, giving her a weak grin.

  “Maybe.” Moira couldn’t help but to smile to herself at the thought of the handsome private investigator. “What are you making?” she asked with a nod towards the pot on the stove in an effort to distract her daughter.

  “Oh, I’m just trying to make some peppermint hard candies. It’s a pretty simple recipe, so I thought it would be a good one to start out with.” She eyed the thermometer once again, and then sighed. “It’s just a pain waiting for it to get up to the perfect temperature, and I have to keep stirring so it doesn’t burn.”

  “It smells amazing; if they turn out well, you can sell them alongside the cookies when we reopen.” She sighed, her thoughts brought back to the dead man in the deli. “I think I’m going to head upstairs for a bit. Let me know when the candies are done; I definitely want to try one.”

  Deciding that she should be comfortable since she couldn’t work, Moira threw on a pair of sweatpants and a loose tee shirt, then collapsed into bed. She still felt emotionally numb; after the shock of seeing the dead food critic, it was hard to feel anything else. It was terrible that he was dead, there was no denying that. But what she was beginning to feel more than sadness, was fear. Fear for herself, for her daughter, and even for her business. Someone had been in her store. Someone had killed Jason Platte in her store and left him there. It felt personal, and that was terrifying.

  She considered her options. Of course the police would investigate, but what was she supposed to do until they caught the killer? Could she really be comfortable in the deli knowing that someone had been murdered there? And how had Jason Platte and his killer even gotten in? There were too many questions for her to answer by herself. She was reluctant to turn to David for help so soon; he would start to think that she attracted trouble. Unable to sleep, she lay in bed until her daughter’s voice called up the stairs, letting her know that the peppermint candies were done and ready to be tested.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “This was a good idea,” Moira told her daughter, giving her a quick smile before turning her attention back to the road. “Getting out of the house was probably the best thing I could do. Otherwise I’d just be lying in bed, thinking about what happened and waiting for the police t
o call.”

  “Thanks for coming with me. I know it’s a bit early to start looking, but I just want to see what’s available,” Candice replied. She offered her mother another peppermint candy, wrapped in wax paper and dusted with powdered sugar. They had turned out well, sweet and minty without being overwhelming.

  “It’s exciting, isn’t it?” she asked as she took the candy. It was a bittersweet trip that they were taking. She and her daughter were going to drive around Lake Marion, Maple City’s neighboring town, and look at apartments and small commercial spaces. They wouldn’t be able to actually rent a place until the tourist season picked up, but it would give them both a good feel of what to expect.

  Candice had only ever been out of the house for the two years that she had spent at college getting her associate’s degree. Moira knew that it was reasonable to expect her daughter to move out at some point, but it was still an emotional event. They had finally developed a good relationship and she didn’t want to lose that. As a teen, Candice had blamed Moira for her parents’ divorce. It hadn’t been until her daughter had returned from college that they had finally begun to communicate and work together. Now, the young woman was a trusted and valuable part of the deli, as well as a caring and responsible daughter.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she added, popping the candy into her mouth.

  “I know, Mom. I’m going to miss you too. But I won’t be far away, and I’ll visit you whenever I can.”

  “No, no, you should feel free to live your own life. Don’t worry about me.” She slowed the car as they pulled into the city limits, the lake that gave the small town its name was a white expanse of ice to their right. A few huts for ice fishing were set up on it, and there was one man trudging carefully towards one. “It’s a nice town, and I’m sure you’ll feel right at home pretty quickly.”