Penne Dreadful

by Catherine Bruns

  Although Justin and Dylan had both been easygoing and alike in temperament, they were total opposites when it came to looks. While Dylan had been fair-haired with crystal-blue eyes, Justin’s hair was an ebony shade and always a bit disheveled, as if he’d been caught in a sudden windstorm. It went well with his Mediterranean coloring. His nose was slightly bent on one side, the result of an on-the-job injury a few years back. He’d broken it when debris had fallen on him during a house fire, and he had barely made it out of the building. Though he’d still managed to rescue two children trapped inside.

  Other than his misshapen nose, it was difficult to find fault in Justin’s looks. Besides his solid but lean build, he possessed an oblong face with fine, classic features and had never had trouble attracting female admirers. I’d noticed this firsthand last year when he’d gone out to dinner with Dylan and me. Several women had been eyeing him from across the room, and Dylan had teased his friend mercilessly about it.

  Justin grabbed a slice of the white pie and placed it on a plate. The box was still hot to the touch and the tantalizing smell of cheese drifted upward, mixing with the faint aroma of garlic and cooked broccoli. “I checked the bathroom faucet before I went to work this morning. All fixed.” He pushed my house key across the counter. “For the record, I don’t like you leaving a key under the front mat. It makes me nervous.”

  Given everything that was going on in my life lately, he had a valid point. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” I took a bite of the pizza. The crust was tender and flaky, thinner than Slice’s pizzas. The cheese mixed well with the oregano and ignited my taste buds. Even though I was a big believer in tomato sauce on pizza, I could fully appreciate a creamy béchamel as well.

  Justin opened a can of beer and offered it to me, but I shook my head. “So you said you were working again. I think that’s terrific. Are you back at Sunnyside Up?”

  I grabbed a napkin to wipe my mouth. “No. I’m working at Slice.”

  Justin laid his half-eaten piece back down on the plate. “The pizza place where Dylan used to go for lunch all the time? It’s kind of a dump. Why would you go there?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you, but please don’t mention it to anyone.” I paused for a deep breath. “It looks like Dylan’s death wasn’t an accident.”

  He stared at me, his grayish-blue eyes darkening to the color of steel. “Please tell me you’re not serious. Who the hell told you such a thing?”

  I swallowed hard. “Gino did, a couple of days back. Someone tampered with Dylan’s car.”

  Justin muttered an expletive under his breath. “I can’t believe it. Hell, I don’t want to believe it. Why would someone do this to him? And why is Gino only telling you now? Surely, he knew before.”

  “He said he was worried how I’d react. I don’t know that Dylan’s death connects with Slice in any way,” I said honestly. “But he spent a lot of time there, and his car was parked in their alley right before he…crashed.” I blew out a breath. “They needed a cook, so it’s an angle I’m checking out.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is this why you asked me to stop by?”

  I leaned forward across the counter. “Part of the reason. I’m trying to get an idea of where Dylan went and who he saw the last couple of days of his life. When’s the last time you saw him? Did he seem different to you the last few months?”

  A shadow passed over Justin’s face. “Different how?”

  “I’m not sure,” I confessed. “Maybe he was worried that someone was after him or concerned about money. Was there anyone at the gym who tried to pick a fight with Dylan or didn’t like him?”

  Justin stared down at the counter. “We didn’t really socialize with anyone else at the gym, and he stopped going with me months ago.” He paused for a few seconds. “Dylan said he was too busy at work. Have you asked around there? Maybe he wasn’t getting along with a coworker.”

  I hesitated, deciding not to tell him about the embezzlement yet. It was too much for one day, and Justin looked more exhausted than I felt. “I have a couple of boxes of his stuff in the car that I picked up earlier. Personal items from the office. I need to go through them tonight.”

  “I’ll bring the boxes in for you before I leave.” Justin came around the counter to where I was still standing and put his hands on my shoulders, pinning me with a sober expression.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  “You know that I’m always here if you need anything, right?”

  “Yes, of course.” Next to Gabby, he was the dearest friend I had. We’d always had such a close relationship, ever since I’d first met him when Dylan and I started dating nine years ago. Since his death, we’d grown so much closer. Justin was a rare gem of a man.

  “I miss him too, Tess.” His voice was gruff as he squeezed my shoulders softly, his fingers warm against my back. “Every single day. It has to be so much worse for you though. I want you to remember that Dylan always wanted what was best for you.”

  I started a bit at the sentence, my head still reeling with the vision of Eric’s body lying on the ground. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  He cleared his throat nervously. “Sometimes husbands and wives keep secrets from one another. I’m living proof of that.”

  I sat down heavily on the stool he’d vacated and looked up at him. “What are you talking about?” Maybe some wine would help. I needed something to calm my nerves.

  “Dylan loved you more than anything,” Justin went on. “Tess, he—”

  My cell buzzed in the pocket of my jeans. I hadn’t checked it for hours and figured Gabby must have been wondering what had happened to me. I held up one finger at Justin. “Hang on a second.” I pressed the button. “Hey, Gabs? Can I call you—”

  Gabby didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “What the heck happened?” she demanded. “You never answered my texts, and when I finally got ahold of Gino, he said you were at the police station with him and there’d been a shooting.”

  I shuddered inwardly as I recalled Eric’s body lying on the ground once again. “Eric was shot to death while making a delivery and I was waiting in the car for him.”

  “What?” Gabby and Justin both exclaimed in unison.

  “I’m okay,” I told Gabby. “Justin’s with me at my house. I’ll call you back later.”

  Justin’s jaw went slack as he stared at me in confusion. “What the hell is going on? Someone you work with got shot? Why didn’t you tell me about this when I first got here?”

  Because I knew he’d be crazy with worry. “I’m fine. It was probably a random shooting.” Deep down though, I suspected this was not the truth. Someone had it in for Eric, but why and who? And did it have anything to do with Dylan’s death?

  Twelve

  Justin left fifteen minutes later, after carrying Dylan’s boxes in from my car. He’d offered to stay, but I’d assured him I was fine. His behavior made me a bit uneasy though. It was as if he knew something about Dylan but was hesitant to tell me what. Had Dylan already told him about the embezzlement?

  I fixed myself a cup of dark-roast coffee, hoping it would help me stay awake long enough to go through Dylan’s things. There probably wasn’t anything incriminating to be found, especially since an employee had already checked them out. Then there was also the matter of checking his cell phone messages, but like Gino warned, what if I found something even worse? I didn’t think I could handle it right now.

  Dylan had been a proud man. It would have humiliated him to tell me he’d been fired. There was no shame in losing a job under honest circumstances, but my husband had stolen from his employer, and he knew I would have been devastated to learn that. Even now, I couldn’t understand what possible reason he had for doing such a thing. My mind ran through all the different scenarios. Was he in some other type of trouble? Maybe he had been planning to run away with the money
and not tell me. If so, why?

  Dread settled at the bottom of my stomach as I lifted the lid off the first box, rummaging through its contents. As I suspected, the few files inside contained information on his personal tax business and not the work he did for We Care. Dylan was as meticulous and thorough with his paperwork as I was about a tidy kitchen. I thumbed through every single page but found nothing significant.

  Restless, I pushed the box aside and dug into the second. Luigi yawned and stretched, trotting over to see what I was up to. This box contained mostly personal items, Dylan’s photos, a pencil sharpener, a large calculator, and assorted knickknacks. His cherished signed baseball from Red Sox player David Ortiz was among them, along with a picture of us on our wedding day. I placed the crystal frame on the coffee table, then continued searching through the rest of the box.

  What did I expect to find? A secret bank account or maybe a handy diary where Dylan detailed each of his deceits? The last item in the bottom of the box was Dylan’s day calendar and organizer. It included notes about meetings, dentist appointments, and the mention of a tennis game with Justin last spring. I flipped idly through October, although I knew Dylan had been fired roughly two or three weeks before his death, which would have put the last work-related message in September. To my surprise, I found an entry on Thursday, October 5, the day before he died.

  Meeting with Ned.

  That was all—only three words but powerful ones at that. I searched the rest of the year again, in case there was something I’d missed but found nothing. Dylan met with Ned after he’d been fired? Why? He couldn’t stand the guy.

  It was after one o’clock in the morning by the time I placed my mug in the sink, picked up the Ortiz baseball, and carried it into Dylan’s study, which also functioned as our guest room. Luigi followed me in and rubbed against my legs as I placed the baseball on Dylan’s desk. Beside it sat a twin-size bed and dresser, and a padded chair was tucked in the corner, used for Dylan’s personal clients. Dylan had always done taxes for friends and family here. I never asked what he charged them, but now I realized I should have paid more attention. If Dylan had embezzled from work, there was a chance he was mixed up in some other illegal doings as well.

  I opened the main drawer of the desk and started to rummage through his neat pile of papers. There was nothing of interest, normal business documents and spreadsheets, and I noticed a gold watch of Dylan’s that he had said needed a new battery tucked away in the far corner. As I reached into the back of the drawer, my fingers brushed against a smooth, leather surface flush against the wood panel of the desk. Puzzled, I drew out an unfamiliar black address book. I flipped through the pages. There were names, dates, phone numbers, and one-word comments next to the names in Dylan’s efficient slanted script. Paid, Not Paid. Owes Money. It seemed an odd way to keep track of how his customers owed him for taxes. On a hunch, I checked the Rolodex rotary business card file he kept on top of the desk for some of the names listed but didn’t find any. Strange. He was always so conscientious about keeping his contacts in order. If this journal wasn’t related to work, what was it for?

  I was about to place the journal back in the drawer but stopped myself. Were these clients of Dylan’s? If so, would they know something? I couldn’t very well call them up and ask about their taxes, but maybe Gino could do some checking around. What if one of them had been involved with Dylan on a tax evasion charge?

  I sorted through the other drawers of Dylan’s desk and found an envelope labeled Christmas Party with a few pictures inside from We Care’s get-together last year. Obviously, someone had made copies and given them to him because Dylan wouldn’t have been interested in hunting them down himself. There was one of Dylan and me, both wearing Santa hats and with our arms around each other. A tear dropped onto the picture, and I hastily wiped at my eyes. How happy and in love we’d been then.

  I let out a despondent sigh and picked up another photo of Dylan with several of his coworkers, Olivia included. Standing on the end of the row and looking particularly unhappy was Ned Reinhart. A third photo showed Ned with his head averted, as if trying to avoid the camera. His gray hair was slick from too much gel. In fact, his hair always had an unwashed look to it, almost greasy, even earlier today when I stood in front of him at We Care. The picture stirred my memory, and suddenly Archie’s words from the other day returned with force. Was Ned the man with greasy-looking hair he reported seeing with my husband at the coffee shop? The date would fit with the one I’d found in his planner. My gut instinct assured me that it had to be Ned. If I showed Archie the photo, maybe he would recognize him and confirm my theory.

  Luigi and I went back downstairs, and I placed the small journal and pictures in the zippered lining of my purse, intending to show Archie the photos of Ned and tell Gino about the journal tomorrow. He might be able to help me figure out if the names meant anything.

  Bone tired and finally ready for bed, I glanced out the window, scanning for any cars parked out front. The street was clear, always a good sign. I double-checked the lock and chain, then turned out the light and went back to my lonely bedroom.

  I snuggled under the covers and opened my steno pad while Luigi made himself comfortable on Dylan’s pillow. My eyes came to rest on Eric’s name, and I shuddered. Sure, I hadn’t liked the kid but didn’t want to see him come to any harm. What if he’d been lying and did have something to do with Dylan’s death? It was entirely possible. But it was also possible Eric knew who had killed my husband. A pang of regret shot through me. I’d been so close to discovering the truth. The opportunity, like Eric’s life, had been snatched away in the blink of an eye.

  After a moment’s pause, I added Ned’s name to the list, convinced that he was hiding something. Fortunately, I wasn’t scheduled at work for the next two days. Tomorrow seemed like a good time to have another little chat with Dylan’s former boss.

  I tried to drift off but tossed and turned for hours. When I finally did fall asleep, Dylan was prevalent in my dreams. Dreams that I could not remember when I woke.

  The buzzing of my phone startled me out of my semiconscious state. Sweat had pooled on my forehead, and for a moment, I didn’t remember what day it was. I turned in the bed, almost expecting to find Dylan there, lying next to me. Instead, Luigi was curled up on his pillow, eyeing me like a bag of Meow Mix.

  My phone buzzed again, and I fumbled for it on the nightstand. “Hello?”

  “Did I wake you, sweetheart?” my mother wanted to know.

  “Yes, but that’s all right.” I squinted at the time on my phone. It was almost ten o’clock. I never slept this late, but in my defense, I hadn’t drifted off until sometime after five. “Actually, I’m glad you did. I have a lot to do today.” My mind immediately began forming a to-do list. I thought I might de-stress with some baking, talk to Archie, and then go see Ned, if he was around. But first, how to get my mother off the phone? The less she continued to know, the better, especially about the shooting.

  It was almost as if she could read my mind. “What’s this I heard about a car accident? How come I always have to learn about my daughter’s life from Mona? Are you all right? What else are you not telling me?”

  Great. She was relentless sometimes. Heaving a sigh, I swung my legs out of bed and padded down the stairs in my bare feet, listening while she badgered me to buy a new vehicle, this time one with a five-star rating, and otherwise babbled on about meaningless gossip. I grabbed the newspaper off the front porch and scanned the front page while she continued yammering on. There was a picture of Eric and a paragraph about the shooting, causing my heart to stop beating for a moment. I read the article silently and quickly, and to my relief, my name wasn’t mentioned.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Mom asked suddenly.

  “Sorry, what?” I was in desperate need of caffeine and turned on my Keurig. Luigi rubbed against me, yowling. His breakfast was late, an
d he was clearly outraged about the wait.

  My mother continued as I fed the cat. “Were you aware that you hit Jenny Ravole’s car? I guess you don’t know her. She’s an assistant at the library, but there’s rumors she and her husband are moving out of state. Thank goodness no one got hurt. You know your insurance will go up, right? Oh, and don’t forget about the cookies for the Altar Rosary meeting. It’s only a few days away, on Saturday, remember.”

  “Yes, Mom. I have to go. Talk to you later.”

  “All right, sweetheart. Love you.”

  I stood in front of the bay window while I drank my coffee, exhausted and drained from lack of sleep and feeling beyond depressed after everything I’d learned yesterday. It was apparent my mother hadn’t heard about the shooting because she would have gone bananas. Hopefully she wouldn’t learn of it for a while. Gino had promised to try to keep my name out of the media.

  My mother would have been sympathetic if I’d shared the news about Dylan, but I didn’t want her pity. Or she might have gone into denial mode. Dylan was trustworthy. Such a wonderful son-in-law. He wouldn’t steal.

  As I stared at our wedding picture on the coffee table, tears welled in my eyes. Frustrated, I wiped them away in agitation. This would not do. I had to face the facts. My marriage had been a lie—as simple as that. It was time to pull up my big-girl panties and get on with my life.

  I spent the next couple of hours making cookies for my mother’s upcoming meeting. After yesterday’s events I needed some alone time, to bask in the solace of baking as I mixed sugar and flour and lost myself in the warm, delicious smell of chocolate chips and vanilla. However, I wasn’t thrilled with how the biscotti had turned out. My chocolate ones had a softer texture than most, and I wondered if I’d accidentally skimped on the baking powder, resulting in a harder consistency. I still had a couple of days to perfect another batch, but it annoyed me that distractions in life were starting to affect my cooking. By midafternoon, I decided some of Archie’s specialty coffee might hit the spot, plus I needed to show him the pictures of Ned.