After shutting the back door of the kitchen behind me, I quickly transferred my bags of sauce into Tupperware containers that Anthony kept in the cabinet, then placed them on the shelf inside the fridge. Mission accomplished, I went into Anthony’s office and glanced around, wondering where to start my search. There wasn’t much here. Some empty pizza boxes were stacked on a small table against one of the walls. A four-shelf walnut bookcase stood against another wall, filled with binders, loose papers, and piles of mail. I reached for the main drawer of Anthony’s desk. Locked. Damn. One of his jackets was lying on the swivel chair behind the desk. I moved it, planning to check the pockets, and saw a mason jar filled with tomato sauce underneath it. I unscrewed the top and sniffed, then to be certain, I grabbed a plastic spoon from the kitchen and took a small taste. Definitely mine. What was he planning to do with my sauce?
I searched Anthony’s jacket pockets and came upon with a sheet of commercial labels with “Anthony’s Tantalizing Tomato Sauce” printed on them. Well, at least I’d solved one mystery. I now knew why Anthony had agreed to hire me. He wanted to get his hands on my sauce and was planning to sell it as his own. Rage boiled in the bottom of my stomach. What else did this mean? Would my days be numbered at Slice once he had figured out my recipe?
I stored the anger away for later since I had more work to do. The first three drawers of the file cabinet were also locked, but the bottom one was not. I opened it and thumbed through the manila folders, recognizing Dylan’s fine slanted handwriting on some of the file tabs. I looked inside the folders. Tax documents, notes, receipts from vendors. I thumbed my way through to the back of the cabinet, but nothing stood out. When I moved aside one of the files, I noticed a Post-it Note stuck to the bottom of the drawer. I reached down and removed it. This was also in Dylan’s handwriting although his name wasn’t on it. When I read the words he’d written, my chest constricted in pain.
Last chance if you want the pictures. $50,000 is the lowest I’ll go.
My hands shook as I stuck the note in my coat pocket. Dylan was blackmailing Anthony? What pictures did he have? Was this what Ned had meant when he’d slyly indicated Dylan was getting his hands dirty in other ways? Could Anthony have been the one to eliminate my husband?
The back door to the kitchen opened, sending a jolt of fear through my body. I shut the file cabinet noiselessly and rose to my feet. I had reached the doorway when I came face-to-face with Butchy.
He stared at me in confusion. “Hi, Mrs. Esposito. What are you doing in here?”
“Ah…Anthony asked me to drop off…err, make some sauce.” I tried to keep my voice steady.
He cocked his head to one side and studied me. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I managed a smile for him. “Oh, no. I’m fine, thanks.”
Butchy raised his left eyebrow. “Why were you in Anthony’s office?”
Shoot. He was suspicious. “The phone rang as I was walking past it,” I lied. Then I decided to turn the tables on him. “What are you doing here?”
“Anthony asked me to come take orders for pizza until he got back,” Butchy said smoothly. “He didn’t want to miss out on any. Who was on the phone?”
“Wrong number.” Who was this kid kidding? Anthony told Butchy to get his butt over here and keep an eye on me while I made the sauce. They thought I wasn’t coming until three o’clock, so I was glad I’d ask Gabby to meet me earlier.
Butchy scratched his head thoughtfully. “Where’s your car?”
I glanced at the wall clock. Two forty-five. Gabby should have been back by now. “My cousin brought me. She went across the street to the drugstore for a sympathy card. We’re going to Eric’s wake.”
Butchy smiled again, showing slightly crooked teeth this time. “Right. I’m going too, as soon as Anthony gets back to relieve me.”
Before we could exchange any more lies, the back door of the kitchen stormed open, and Gabby blew in. She glanced from me to Butchy, wild eyed. “Hi. I’m back.”
Nothing like a subtle entrance. “Butchy, this is my cousin, Gabby.”
“Nice to meet you,” Butchy said politely.
She nodded at him. “Sorry, Tess. It took longer than I thought—”
I cut her off. “That’s okay. It’s hard to find the right card sometimes.”
Her brow wrinkled. “What?”
I shoved my cousin in the direction of the door. “Nothing. Tell Anthony the sauce is in the fridge, Butchy.”
Butchy went to the fridge and looked inside. “Wow, that’s a lot of sauce.” He sounded impressed. “Anthony said you weren’t coming until three. You must have been here a long time cooking.”
“Oh, I managed to get here a little earlier than I thought. And it doesn’t take me that long to make it,” I assured him with a smile. Crap. He was onto my lies, I was certain of it. “Well, we’d better get going.”
“Mrs. Esposito,” Butchy said quietly.
I had my hand on the door and winced inwardly as I turned around. “Yes?”
Butchy held out a hand. “The key. Anthony needs it back. He said he left one for you.”
Gabby gave a little nervous laugh and handed the key to Butchy. “Sorry,” she said. “I figured I’d let myself in so I wouldn’t disturb Tessa while she was cooking.”
Butchy nodded but said nothing.
“Have a great day.” I quickly shut the door behind Gabby, and we hurried to her car, both of us exhaling loudly in relief as we shut ourselves inside the vehicle. “That was close,” I said.
Gabby started the engine. “I saw his car in the lot and was afraid that he’d caught you snooping. Did you find anything interesting?”
I stared in my side mirror. Butchy had opened the back door and was now standing in the doorway, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his jeans, staring after us. An icicle formed between my shoulder blades as I watched him. “No, nothing.” I decided not to share my biggest concern with her right now—that my husband had been doing more at Slice than their taxes.
Fifteen
Lighting Your Way Funeral Home was on the other side of town, about ten minutes from Slice. I listened as Gabby talked excitedly about a well-known local author who would be doing a signing at her store next month. “This is groundbreaking for me,” she breathed. “It should mean a lot of business for the store.”
“That’s awesome.” I stared out the window, lost in my own thoughts.
She squeezed my hand. “So what about this Ned character you went to see before? Do you think he killed Dylan?”
“He has a motive,” I admitted. “I’m almost certain he’s involved in the embezzling scheme at We Care somehow. Maybe Dylan was a threat and he had to get rid of him…but he also has an alleged alibi for the day of Dylan’s murder. Your brother’s checking into it.”
“Hmm, doesn’t sound promising,” Gabby said with a frown, then her face brightened. “Don’t forget Matt. He’s still at the top of my list.”
“Jeez, you’re like your brother,” I complained. “Neither one of you likes Matt, so he’s the first one you’d think of.”
She grinned. “Can’t argue with that logic. What about the employees at Slice? Who there might have tampered with Dylan’s car and why?”
“Well, it seems that Anthony’s daughter had taken quite a shine to Dylan, to the point of inviting him to fool around with her.”
Gabby sucked in her cheeks and accelerated on the gas pedal. “Shut up. Isabella?”
“Do you know her?”
She shrugged. “Not personally, but I know who she is, and Miss Bridezilla stopped in my store last week to ask if I had the newest issue of Put a Ring on It Magazine. She almost threw a hissy fit when I told her no.” Her eyes widened. “Let me get this straight. She’s getting married but was making a play for your husband?”
“Sounds like
she was at first, then something changed her mind and she had it in for him. At least that’s what Butchy told me.” I watched in horror as she ran a red light. “Jeez, slow down! We could have gotten in an accident back there. You need to be more careful.”
“Oh, stop,” she groused. “Now you sound like my brother. And what’s the deal with sexy bad boy Vince? Did you find out anything else about his restaurant?”
“Not yet. Gino is checking into a few things for me. When Vince found out who I was, he shut down completely. If Dylan was doing his taxes and ended up reporting the restaurant for larceny or embezzlement, that could explain why Vince had a huge motive to want Dylan dead. But wouldn’t it be public knowledge that Dylan had turned them in?”
Gabby shook her head. “There are ways you can report your findings to the IRS anonymously, so I’m sure Dylan had that covered. It does sound like Vince is hiding something. Is anyone else there a player? What about Anthony?”
“A player? Really, Gabs. Sam and Butchy have to be considered too. There’s something strange going on at Slice, but I can’t put my finger on it yet. Your brother wants me out of there. I guess he thinks it’s getting too personal for me.”
Gabby turned into the funeral home’s parking lot and glanced sideways at me. “But it is personal. Someone you’re working with might have killed your husband or know who did.”
We silently walked across the lot and toward the gray, single-story brick building. There was a large sign mounted on the side of the building with Lighting Your Way Funeral Home in bold block lettering, surrounded by a border of lighted candles. I shivered, thinking about how the last wake I’d been to was my husband’s. We stepped onto the wide wraparound wooden porch, where two men were leaning against the rail, smoking. As we approached the front door, an older gentleman dressed in a black suit opened it and nodded politely at us. “Welcome.”
We stopped to sign the registry and then took our place in the line. I glanced around at the crowd but didn’t see anyone I knew.
“Didn’t you say this Eric kid was a jerk?” Gabby whispered.
“Shh.” I put a finger to my lips. “Don’t be so disrespectful.”
She surveyed the surrounding mourners. “I’m surprised he got such a good turnout. There must be twenty people ahead of us, and look in the viewing room! It’s completely full.”
“The obit made reference to a large, extended family.” Sure, the kid had been a creep, but someone must have loved him.
“No one looks especially broken up either,” Gabby added.
The perfumed scent from the many flower arrangements was overwhelming, and I put a hand over my nose, afraid I might sneeze. We both stared with interest at the collage of pictures by the viewing room’s door. There were photos of Eric from his high school graduation, a prom picture, and one of him standing in front of his vehicle, arms folded across his chest. It was the same car I’d ridden in the other night. His last ride. Eric wasn’t smiling in any of the pictures.
“Boy, he was a happy one,” Gabby remarked.
Gino had mentioned that Eric had a record and was a drug user. Was that why he’d been targeted, or could it have been related to Dylan’s death?
Gabby nudged me in the ribs. “Hey, it’s almost time.”
The people ahead of us in line had moved from the kneeler in front of the coffin to speak to family members. Gabby and I walked toward the casket together, positioned ourselves on the kneeler, and made the sign of the cross on our chests. I’d always hated this part of a wake—not that any moments were especially enjoyable. As I feared, memories of Dylan’s service came flooding back.
The pain was real and blinding and forced me to draw a deep breath. There had been such an influx of people the day of Dylan’s service that for a while, it seemed like it would never end. My husband had known many people and had been liked and respected by everyone, or so I’d thought. I remembered sitting between Justin and my mother at the service, holding Justin’s hand for support.
I exhaled and forced the memories away, then stared down at Eric. He looked like a different person in his impeccably pressed dark-brown suit and matching silk tie. The sullen face I remembered was peaceful, and he seemed barely older than a child. His last words continued to haunt me. We’ll talk when I get back. What had he really known about Dylan’s death?
We rose from the kneeler and paid our respects to the family, shaking hands and repeating the polite expression, “I’m sorry for your loss,” to to each one—the same phrase I myself had loathed hearing. As we made our way to the back of the crowded viewing room, I turned around and scanned the mourners one last time. I nudged Gabby in the side.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Anthony and Vince are here,” I whispered. “And Izzy. They’re in line over there.”
Izzy was wearing heavy eye makeup and a skintight black mini dress with a plunging neckline. Both men wore black slacks and blazers. They turned as we walked past, catching my gaze. Anthony waved, Izzy sneered, and Vince glared, then turned away. Jeez, nice to see you too.
“Wow, if looks could kill,” Gabby muttered. “What’s his problem?”
I didn’t answer, more ideas running through my head. Anthony must have wondered how I’d arrived so soon. I’d never even called him from Slice, as he’d requested. By his calculation, I should still be making sauce. Maybe it would have been smarter if Gabby and I had stopped somewhere between Slice and the wake. Oh well. Too late now.
Someone grabbed us each by an arm from behind, and I emitted a small squeak as a familiar voice spoke low and angry into my ear.
“What the hell are you two doing here?”
“Hey, big brother.” Gabby smiled winsomely at Gino, who was dressed in a conservative suit. “Nice to see you too.”
Gino’s face twisted into an irritated frown. “Answer the question, please.”
Gabby made a tsk-tsk sound. “Go away now. You don’t want to blow your cover, do you?”
He gave his sister a murderous glance. “There are a lot of people here who know that I’m a detective. What they don’t know is that I’m related to you two, and it’s probably best to keep it that way—especially since you’re both trying to do my job.”
“Tessa worked with the kid,” Gabby said in my defense. “She came out of respect and has a right to be here.”
His eyes shifted over to me. “Why is it that I’m having a difficult time swallowing this garbage?”
“Man, he gets so cranky some days,” Gabby muttered. “Was Carlita’s bakery out of doughnuts this morning?”
I glanced over my shoulder and watched Anthony and Vince approach the kneeler. Izzy had disappeared. “Did your sources get back to you about Vince yet?”
Gino pursed his lips. “Yeah. I was going to call you when I left here. Vince was co-owner of a restaurant called the Skylight in New York City, a fine-dining establishment. It started out well a couple of years ago, then slowly started going under, thanks to the senior owner, a guy named Bobby Pietro. He was dipping his hand in the register and failing to pay his employees proper wages. He’s currently in prison for larceny and a bunch of other related charges.”
He cleared his throat and continued. “Vince Falducci was found not guilty and claimed he knew nothing about the goings-on. Although he had a share in the restaurant, he was also one of the chefs, so there’s a possibility he was telling the truth. I can’t find information on who might have blown the whistle on the place. Did you see anything in Dylan’s stuff to link him to Vince’s restaurant?”
I was getting nervous as Vince glanced over in our direction, and I had the weird sensation he knew we were discussing him. “No, but I found a note in the bottom of Anthony’s file cabinet with Dylan’s handwriting today.” There was no way I was pulling it out with Anthony only a few feet away. “I think Dylan was blackmailing Anthony over some photos.”
“Photos of what? And why were you snooping in Anthony’s filing cabinet?” Gino asked.
“That doesn’t matter,” I said.
Gabby looked startled. “You didn’t tell me you found anything!”
Gino’s nostrils flared. “Don’t play that game with me, Tess.”
“Oh, leave her alone,” Gabby chided her brother. “She’s already found out more than the police department has.” She tossed her head arrogantly. “And I helped too.”
Gino’s face became a bright shade of red. “Some days I want to knock both of your heads together. It’s like Lucy and Ethel all over again.” He turned to me. “I’m not finished with you yet. I have to work late, but expect a call from me tonight.”
Gabby wrinkled her nose. “Wow. What a grouch.”
He shot his sister one last irritated look and then crossed the room to speak to a white-haired gentleman in a gray suit. The older man threw his arms around Gino and kissed him on both cheeks.
Gabby shook her head. “My brother. Remember what a jerk he was as a kid to us? Now he’s Mr. Law, the shining beacon of our town.”
I merely nodded in reply. The smell of the flowers, the crowd, and hushed laughter were all too familiar. They brought back memories—painful memories that I longed to forget.
Gabby glanced sharply at me. “You okay, hon? You’re awfully pale.”
“I need some air.” My head was pounding, and some aspirin might help. “Do you know where the bathroom is?”
She pointed straight ahead. “Go out and take a right down the hallway. I’ll stay here and check things out.” By checking out, she obviously meant the two attractive men leaning against the wall opposite us. They seemed to be interested in meeting her as well. I struggled not to roll my eyes. Leave it to Gabby to find romance at a wake.
In the bathroom, there were some plastic cups on the counter, and I filled one with water. I set my purse on the edge of the sink and rummaged through it until I found a bottle of Tylenol. After I’d swallowed the pills, I turned to throw the cup away, my right arm connecting with my purse, knocking it onto the floor. I bent down to retrieve it, and a small sound made me pause. Through a vent under the sink, I heard a muffled voice coming from what I assumed had to be the men’s room and leaned in closer to listen. A chill ran down my spine when I recognized Anthony’s voice.
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