“Well, you wouldn’t have to worry with me,” I assured him. “There’s no place I’d rather be than in the kitchen.” I gave him my most eager smile but sensed that something was holding him back. Could it have anything to do with Dylan?
Anthony pursed his lips, as if conflicted. “Why don’t you let me think about it for a few days and I’ll get back to you? Leave me your phone number.”
“No.” I put a hand to my mouth, but it was too late. The word had already slipped out between my lips. Impatience crept into my bones, and my emotions might start to show if this went on any longer. I needed to stay calm and not give myself away. “I’m sorry, Anthony. This is a one-time offer. There’s another restaurant that wants to hire me as well.” Okay, another white lie, but he didn’t need to know. “I prefer a closer commute, and that’s a major reason why your place is appealing. I promised to give them my answer today.”
Anthony looked torn. He leaned back in the seat and studied me for a few seconds, the lines deepening on his forehead. I could almost see his mind at work as the sharp, dark eyes weighed both the pros and cons. His expression brightened, and when he gave me a reassuring smile, I knew the decision was in my favor. “You’ve got a lot of spunk, Tessa. Okay, it’s a deal. Welcome to Slice.”
Relief swept over me. “Thank you so much.”
He leaned closer. “What I said about Vince, that’s between you and me, okay? Plus, I don’t know how long he plans on staying in Harvest Park.”
I remembered what Gino had said about Vince being new to the restaurant. “So, he’s only here temporarily?”
Anthony shrugged. “We’re closed on Sundays, so how about you start the day after tomorrow?”
“Sounds good.” I nodded. “What time?”
Anthony thought for a moment. “Come on in at noon. We’re running short on dough, so you can start laying up a fresh supply. We need to freeze more. How’s that sound?”
At that moment, a vision of Dylan entered my mind. The pain in my heart was so sharp, it managed to dull my senses. There was no reason to suspect Anthony had anything to do with Dylan’s murder, but he’d spent a lot of time here and it was the last place his car was seen before the accident. This could prove to be a dead end, but I was determined to find out what had happened and who was involved. I owed that much to my husband.
“Tessa? Did you hear me?”
I jerked my head up and forced a smile to my lips. “Sounds perfect.”
We walked back around the counter and into the kitchen area where Vince was placing anchovies on a pie. The prep table was open, displaying a range of toppings such as pepperoni, sausage, olives, peppers, and various types of cheeses. Vince didn’t strike me as the most organized of cooks. Dough, spatters of sauce, and toppings speckled the work surface. I was a stickler for a tidy kitchen.
“Let me grab the new hire forms from my office, and then I’ll see you out,” Anthony said in a cheery tone as he left me standing there with Vince.
Vince looked up as Anthony walked away. He noticed me watching and raised an eyebrow in return. “I guess congratulations are in order,” he said sourly, his former friendly face now twisted in a scowl.
Before I could respond, he strode across the room and disappeared into the cooler, slamming the door behind him.
Anthony emerged from his office and handed me I-9 and W-4 forms. “If you could fill these out and bring them back with you on Monday, that would be great.” The phone rang, and he gave me a quick pat on the shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of the weekend. You can go out the kitchen door if you want.” He reached past me and picked up the phone. “Slice. Pick up or delivery?”
I was headed in the direction of the back door when it burst open, engulfing me in a rush of chilly air. A skinny boy who looked about fifteen, different from the one I’d seen earlier, almost knocked me over. They seemed to be coming at me from all different directions. His lips twitched into a grin when he saw me. “Sorry, honey.”
I hated it when anyone younger than myself called me honey. The kid’s eyes boldly scanned me up and down. “So, who are you? Vince’s new babe? Or maybe Anthony’s getting a little action on the side?”
Besides the obvious smart mouth, the kid had dyed platinum-blond hair and a narrow face as white as flour with sunken cheeks. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept in days. He held a black warmer bag in his hand and wore jeans with holes in the knees.
“Shut up, you two-bit punk.” Anthony had ended his phone call and moved back across the room toward us in time to hear the wisecrack. “Eric, this is Tessa. She’ll be working here from now on. You treat the lady with respect or else. Understand?”
Eric snorted. “Yeah. Whatever.”
Anthony stuck a finger in Eric’s face. “We’ve been getting complaints all afternoon that you’ve been running late. I even had to give one guy a free pizza because he was so pissed off.”
“I couldn’t help it. My car stalled,” he complained.
“Sure, it did.” Anthony folded his arms over his chest. “Keep it up. You can easily be replaced.”
Eric opened his mouth to say something, then shut it without comment. He pushed past me and grabbed the pizza boxes Vince had set on the work table.
“See you Monday, honey,” Anthony called over his shoulder as he went into the office and shut the door behind him.
Eric rushed past me to hold the door open, like a gallant gentleman. “So, sweet thing,” he said. “You married?”
Being near this kid was causing my skin to crawl. “My husband died in an accident a few weeks ago.” My voice shook slightly as I said the word accident, but I wanted to gauge his reaction.
“Bummer.” Much to my dismay, he continued to walk alongside me as I fumbled for car keys in my purse. “What kind of an accident?”
This part was so difficult for me to say. Would it ever get easier? “His car caught fire, and then he crashed into a tree.”
He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to me, veins bulging in his neck. “Wait a second. Are you Dylan Esposito’s old lady?”
Now it was my turn to ask a question. “You knew my husband?”
The smile faded from his lips. “Yeah, I knew him. Anthony treated him like his son.”
“Sounds like it bothered you.” I forgot the revulsion I felt for the kid for a minute, curious to know what exactly he’d thought of Dylan. Maybe he’d been jealous of his relationship with Anthony.
He laughed bitterly. “Nah, not me. But—” He stopped, paused, and looked around. “Let’s just say that not everyone at Slice liked your husband.”
I inhaled sharply. “Who didn’t like him? Vince?”
He ignored my question as he pulled open the door of his rusted, dark-red sedan with the Slice sign on top, depicting a single piece of pizza hovering in the air above the remainder of the pie. “I heard your old man tell Anthony once that you were an awesome cook.” Eyes that had been dull and listless now regarded me with interest. “How come you want to work in a hole in the wall like this, and why would Anthony hire you?”
This kid was more intelligent than I’d given him credit for. “Why wouldn’t he? I love Italian food, and my husband loved Slice. I think it would help me to work here—make me feel closer to him.” Sure, that part was bogus. I felt the closest to Dylan in our own home, but hopefully Eric wouldn’t see through my ruse.
Eric laughed. “Yeah, right.” He got into the car, and the window whirred down as he continued to watch me thoughtfully. “Tell you what. Maybe you could fix me a private dinner sometime, and we’ll have a nice, long chat about your husband.” His eyes roamed over me one last time. “See you soon, beautiful.”
Three
After leaving Slice, I decided to stop over and visit Gabby at her bookstore. Once Upon a Book was only about a quarter of a mile from Slice and located on the same side of Harvest Park
Avenue. The brilliant sunshine temped me to walk, but I didn’t want Anthony to become suspicious if he found my car in his lot after he thought I’d left.
I needed to talk to someone besides Gino. Gabby always gave sound advice, and she never pulled any punches. Although I adored both my cousins, Gino was still a cop, through and through, and overprotective to the core. He didn’t realize that I intended to take snooping at Slice to a whole new level when I began working, nor would he be happy about it.
While I had no siblings, Gino and Gabby had always felt like a brother and sister to me. My father had passed away from a sudden heart attack five years ago, and my mother now lived alone in the house where I’d grown up in Harvest Park. My mother had one sister we seldom saw, and she preferred to spend time with my father’s sister instead. Aunt Mona, Gino and Gabby’s mother, was divorced from their father and spent her spare hours reading Danielle Steel novels and pretending that she lived in one.
I parked my car in front of Java Time, a coffee shop that was two doors down from Gabby’s shop, and glanced around at the town with an air of contentment. Although a bit chilly, the sun was shining in a glorious blue sky, giving hope that winter was still a ways off. Leaves crunched under my boots as I got out of the car and locked it with my remote. Harvest Park was a small town located outside the city of Albany. There was an historic feel to the place, with lots of brownstones, cobbled streets, and a peaceful air about it. Close to a dozen shops peppered the streets on either side of the town’s main attraction—a beautiful park rich in greenery during the summer but still quite beautiful in mid-November, despite the almost bare trees.
During the summer, the park was always populated with mothers taking their children to play on the swing set and jungle gym while dogs pranced happily about on leashes. Tulips in various colors bloomed every spring, and the grounds crew set out pumpkins in the fall and a festive tree lighting display for the holidays.
The park was also the primary location for the Harvest Park Apple Festival that had occurred every October for years. For an entire weekend, local restaurants set up booths, with vendors selling everything from Buffalo chicken wings to Manhattan clam chowder. A live band provided entertainment, and there were plenty of activities like coloring contests and face painting for children. In the past few years, Dylan and I had enjoyed stuffing ourselves silly with fried dough and salted pretzels. We’d stroll hand in hand along the grassy path and watch the sun set while kids played in bouncy castles and waved to their parents from a lit-up merry-go-round.
I’d been especially excited to secure a booth this year and had decided to sell my homemade stromboli, which I took immense pride in layering with pepperoni, freshly grated mozzarella, and tender pieces of baked ham, wrapped in my homemade pizza dough brushed with butter. Dylan had planned to take orders while I prepared the food. His death had occurred a week before the festival, and this was the first time I’d let myself think about the event. I hadn’t even asked for my deposit back or remembered seeing the crowds around the town, which were always so prevalent that particular weekend. It was amazing how one’s priorities could change in the blink of an eye.
As I walked toward Java Time, I glanced over at Gabby’s store, checking for the Open sign on her door. Her store was in a prime location as far as I concerned. All the main necessities in life were located on the same side of Harvest Park Avenue—the Meat and Greet where I’d occasionally stop for spare ribs to add to my sauce and sirloin roast to make my braciole, Java Time Coffee, Sweet Treats Bakery, and Gabby’s store. On the other side of the park was Spice and Nice, which carried every kind of seasoning imaginable, the Flower Girl, a florist that specialized in exotic flowers, Grab and Go Grocery, and Suit Yourself, a men’s clothing store that had counted Dylan as one of their most frequent customers. Once I could see the Open sign and soft light coming from Gabby’s front window, I pulled open the door to Java Time and basked in the nutty smell of fresh coffee.
Archie Fenton owned and operated Java Time. He was like your friendly bartender dispensing advice, but instead of alcohol, he served up specialty drinks along with my favorite type of coffee, his rich, dark roast. He also had French vanilla cappuccinos and mocha lattes to die for. I was especially fond of his peppermint hot chocolate with homemade whipped cream, which he only served around the holidays. The shop was closed on Sundays, but other than that, he never took a day off. His wife had died several years back, and their kids were grown and had moved away, except for one son. The shop and its customers had become Archie’s extended family.
He watched me now from behind the front counter, a Giants hat on top of his bald head, his large jowls drooping as his mouth formed an enormous grin. He handed change to a customer and immediately came out from behind the register to greet me.
I put my arms around him and squeezed. “Hey, Arch. What’s the special of the day?”
“Tessa.” His voice was gruff as he gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “It’s so good to see you out and about again.”
My eyes started to fill. “Thanks. I’ve missed you.”
“Chin up, honey. Right now, it’s hell to get through a single day, but things will get easier with time. I promise you that.”
He took my left hand in his, and I noticed the wedding ring that he still wore, ten years after Ella’s death. I glanced down at my own gold band and diamond solitaire, remembering how I’d cried happy tears when Dylan had placed them on my finger. It seemed like such a long time ago.
“I’m here if you ever need to talk.”
“I know.” The lump in my throat expanded and I had to remind myself to breathe. “Hey, how about two of your fabulous dark roasts to go?”
“Right away.” He went behind the counter and started to fill the paper cups from a machine. “I’m guessing one of these is for your book-loving cousin. I haven’t seen her all day. Must be busy.”
“She usually does well on Saturdays,” I agreed, glancing around the shop. Archie’s place was pleasant and warm, smelling of cinnamon and coffee beans. There were a few tables and a solitary booth in the back of the shop that were all currently vacant. The entire shop was inviting with its dark, wood-veneer walls and pine-beam ceiling overhead.
Archie placed the cups in a cardboard tray on the counter and took the money I handed him. “I’ll miss seeing your other half in here. Dylan always lent an air of elegance to this place. Whether he was in a suit and tie or sweats and T-shirt like the last time I saw him, your man always reeked of class.”
I smiled. It was true, Dylan had always looked like a million bucks. He was a firm believer in dressing for success. “You must have seen him on a Saturday.” I almost didn’t realize I’d spoken the words out loud. Dylan had often worked out on Saturday mornings with his friend Justin but over the summer had started cutting back on the exercise and went to the office instead. He claimed his workload was getting unmanageable and We Care, his employer, wouldn’t allow him an assistant.
“Nope. It was the day before he—” Archie lowered his eyes to the floor. “You know. I remember it well. I wish I’d gotten a chance to talk to Dylan more, but he was with some other guy, and I was swamped at the counter anyway.”
“Oh. A Thursday then.” Dylan had died on a Friday—a beautiful fall day filled with sunshine and unusually warm for the time of year. My forehead wrinkled at the memory. Dylan hadn’t taken the day off from work that Thursday. I always left before him, but on that particular day I hadn’t felt well and decided to call in sick. He’d come into the bedroom to kiss me goodbye, and I remembered that he was wearing a three-piece, dark-blue suit. It was my favorite because it went so well with his eyes. Archie must have gotten the dates wrong. “Are you sure that was the right day?”
He tapped the side of his hat proudly. “Positive. There’s no cobwebs in this brain. My memory is as safe as money in the bank.”
I tilted my head to the side and stud
ied him. “Who was he with? Justin?”
Archie shook his head. “Definitely not Justin. This guy had gray hair. Real greasy looking too. Dylan came up to get their coffee, and the guy had his back to me, so I didn’t get a good look at him. By the time I got a chance to go over and say hi, Dylan was sitting by himself. He seemed a bit out of it too. I asked him if he was all right, but he just nodded and left.”
Maybe it had been a client. “Did they argue?” I asked.
“Don’t think so. They had their heads bent together pretty well.” Archie’s face sobered. “I didn’t think much about it then, but if I’d known that would be the last time I’d see or talk to him—”
I interrupted, not wanting him to finish the sentence. “You don’t know if this guy lives in town?”
“Well, I didn’t see his face, so no, I can’t swear to it. But I might recognize him from the back of his head.” He tried to make a joke out of it but must have noted my pensiveness. “Something wrong?”
“No. It must have been someone he did taxes for.” Dylan often met personal clients at our house or in various parts of town if we didn’t know them well, so that part seemed normal enough. What struck me as odd was the fact that he’d been in sweats and a T-shirt in the middle of a workday. Dylan was the consummate professional and never wore sweats unless he was at the gym or we were relaxing at home on a weekend. Even when he came home from work at night, he’d often stay in his slacks and dress shirt until bedtime. If Harvest Park had ever nominated a man for GQ, Dylan would have won hands down.
The door of the shop opened and a crowd of five gathered behind me, waiting for service. I moved out of the way and waved to Archie. “I’d better get over to Gabby’s. See you soon.”
He winked. “Don’t be a stranger, honey.”
I pushed the door open, nearly hitting a man on his way into the shop. The cardboard tray started to slide from my hands, and Matt Smitty, my former boyfriend, reached forward and grabbed my drinks before they fell to the floor.
Penne Dreadful Page 3
