“It sounds like a mess,” Moira said, refilling her glass of wine. “I’m so sorry, Denise. I know you are always very careful about people’s allergies.”
“Since we use peanuts in our cooking, we can’t legally promise any food that comes out of the kitchen is peanut-free. He was told that when he ordered. We even let people with life-threatening allergies bring in their own food, so it’s not like he had no choice but to order from us. I feel terrible that he died, of course, but I’m also scared about what could happen to the restaurant.” She took a deep breath. “Sorry, but it feels good to vent. I just have to try to keep reminding myself that whatever happens, things will turn out okay. Won’t they?”
“Of course,” Moira said. “I’m sure this will all get resolved soon enough.”
She smiled, but couldn’t get rid of the niggling worry that insisted on planting itself in the back of her mind. Her friend might be clear of legal trouble soon, but chances were high that the restaurant’s reputation would suffer. A man had died, and Moira knew first hand just how much the media loved to point fingers.
Chapter Six
* * *
Moira woke up the next morning feeling out of sorts. She was getting old enough that even the two glasses of wine that she had indulged in the night before were too many. She had overslept, and felt cranky. At least she wasn’t planning on going into the deli today; she would be able to take her time and clean the kitchen at her own pace. The fondue night had been fun, and Denise seemed to have been cheered up by it, which had been the whole point of the thing. She was glad that she had been able to help her friend, but she had made a lot of work for herself. Why, oh why, hadn’t she just soldiered through and cleaned up all of the pots and pans last night?
She looked over at the other side of the bed and was surprised to see that David wasn’t there. She must have been so exhausted that she hadn’t even noticed him getting up. It was rare for him to be up before her. Then again, it was rare for her to have more than half a glass of wine before bed.
After stretching and sliding on her slippers — the wood floors could be chilly underfoot in the winter — she went downstairs and greeted the very excited pair of dogs. She could tell by their cold noses and fur that they had recently been outside.
“Wow, David’s really on top of things this morning, isn’t he?” she said. She heard a clattering sound from the kitchen and, curious, looked around the corner. What she saw surprised her.
“Good morning,” her husband said. “I thought I’d get a start on these dishes.”
“Oh, David, you don’t have to —”
“You looked tired,” he said, pausing to give her a kiss. “I was up early, so I decided to make myself useful.”
It wasn’t that David was unhelpful around the house, but he tended to leave the chores until the last minute. To see him up early, doing the dishes, was unusual.
“You look energized,” she said, barely holding back a yawn herself.
He chuckled. “I’m just excited. This is the beginning of a whole new world for me.”
She blinked, and sorted through vague memories from late the night before. “The brewery!” she exclaimed. “You signed for it?”
“Yes.” He gave her a smile. “You were half asleep when I came to bed. I signed the lease and wrote the check for the equipment. Zander’s old brewery is mine now, and a friend of Karissa’s is coming in from out of state to help us with our first recipe. We ordered hops, and even have a shipment of bottles on its way.”
“Oh my goodness, David, I’m so happy for you.” She wrapped her arms around him. “We have to do something to celebrate. I know, do you want to meet Candice and Eli for lunch and tell them the good news?”
“Sure,” he said. “But first, let me finish these dishes.”
Candice and Eli met them at a small country diner in Lake Marion. Moira hadn’t mentioned anything about David’s new interest in the microbrewery to her daughter yet, and she was excited to share the news. A new business in the family was always a cause for celebration.
The beautiful blonde woman who joined them at the booth shared features with both her mother and her father, but in Moira’s opinion, she was better looking than either of them. She had straight, pale gold hair that was always kept trimmed and sleek. Her eyes were bright and intelligent, the eyes of a woman who knew how to handle herself. Every time the deli owner saw her daughter, she felt a mixture of pride and love for the young woman that she had raised. Despite having an unstable family for part of her childhood and even though she had gone through a rebellious phase as a teenager, Candice had developed into a strong, beautiful woman who followed her dreams.
Eli, her fiancé, was a good looking young man near her daughter’s age with curly hair and an easy smile. Moira liked him a lot, and was glad that he was the one her daughter had chosen to make her life partner. He was responsible, and from everything the deli owner had seen, kind. He was also in the food business; he ran a small ice cream shop in Lake Marion that his grandfather owned.
“Hey, Mom,” Candice said casually. “How are things? It feels like it’s been forever since all of us have gotten together.”
“It has been a while,” the older woman said. “With the holiday, things have been pretty busy.”
She realized that she hadn’t told her daughter about the death she and David had witnessed during their Valentine’s Day dinner. Between being worried about Denise and being supportive of David’s goals with the brewery, she just hadn’t gotten around to it. She opened her mouth to bring up the subject, then hesitated. She didn’t want to wreck David’s big news with something so tragic.
“Moira?” her husband said, looking at her questioningly. “Were you about to say something?”
Oh well, I’ll either tell her before or after. At least this way, we can end lunch on a happy note, she thought.
“I was just about to tell Candice about what happened at the grill,” she said.
“I heard about that,” her daughter cut in. “Some guy died from a peanut allergy, didn’t he? Wait, were you two there when it happened?”
“We were,” Moira said grimly. “We were just a few tables away.”
She began to tell her daughter and Eli the story. David joined in occasionally, filling in parts that she missed, or telling something from his point of view.
“It was an extreme reaction,” he said. “I saw him up close… the poor guy’s face and throat, even his eyelids, were completely swollen. It must have been a terrible way to die.”
“That’s horrible,” Candice said, aghast. “It’s different when you hear about it in the news… it doesn’t seem as real, you know? Do you think Ms. Donovan will get in trouble?”
“No,” David said. “They have a warning on their menu that food may have been exposed to common allergens, such as peanuts. Everyone eats at their own risk, and the chef comes out and talks to people with serious allergies to make sure they know the risks. Even just a tiny crumb of a peanut could have caused the reaction. I don’t think there’s any way Ms. Donovan will be held accountable.”
“Then why is she being investigated by the police?” Moira asked, frustrated.
“They need to make sure she or one of her employees didn’t kill the man on purpose,” he said. “With that woman, Brenda’s, allegations, they have to follow up.”
“I wish they would hurry. Denise needs her chef back, and she needs to get the restaurant running again. It’s not good for it to be shut down. She’s going to lose customers.”
“I think the grill will be fine,” David said. “Where else are they going to go?”
Moira frowned, but decided to change the subject. Thinking about her friend’s troubles was too stressful; she wanted to focus on something happier now.
“We have more news,” she said. “But this time it’s good. Go on, David, tell them…”
Chapter Seven
* * *
Even though it had been nearly a week si
nce Valentine’s day, the deli was still crowded with pink and red decorations. Moira knew it was time to take them down, though she would be sad to see them go. There was nothing like fresh roses and pink hearts to brighten up the inside of the little restaurant. Outside, it was as cold and dreary as ever. If it wasn’t for Valentine’s Day, the deli owner thought that February might be her least favorite month. The major holidays were long past, the snow lining the roads had long since turned grey and dirty looking, and everyone was tired of being cold.
The deli had been busier than usual over the past few days. Normally extra business made Moira happy, but this time she had a nasty suspicion that the additional customers were a direct result of what had happened at the Redwood Grill. More people stopping in for lunch and even an early dinner meant fewer people driving out to the grill for a real meal. She never liked to think of her friend’s restaurant as competition, but she had to acknowledge the fact that as the deli’s menu and hours expanded, their circles of potential customers began to converge.
“Jenny,” she mused, “do you think of the deli as a real restaurant?”
“What do you mean?” her employee asked, toying with the expensive diamond bracelet that Cameron had bought her.
Cameron was mind-numbingly wealthy, a fact that only Moira and Jenny knew. He was working at the deli because he enjoyed it, and it had brought him closer to the girl he had had a crush on for years. Moira thought their relationship was story-book cute, and was glad to see that they still seemed happy together after half a year. The red-haired man had been eager to court Jenny, but had wanted to be sure that if she fell in love with him, it was really him that she cared about — not his money. After they started dating, he hadn’t kept the truth from her any longer. Moira knew he had been torn between being honest, and his fear that she would end up staying with him only for his wealth. She thought he had made the right choice; Jenny was a sweet girl, and didn’t seem like the type to stay with someone she didn’t love.
“If, say, someone wanted to go on a date and invited you to a sit-down meal at the deli with them, would you think it was weird?”
“No, why would it be?” the young woman asked. “I guess I kind of get what you are saying though. I do think of the deli as a restaurant, but not like a fancy sit-down restaurant. Why?”
“I don’t know.” Moira sighed. “I just feel bad for what the grill is going through, that’s all.”
“Yeah, it’s sad. I met the man’s wife yesterday. She was at the church for his funeral. A friend of mine used to do housecleaning for her. Poor Paula.” Jenny sighed.
“Paula?” the deli owner asked.
“The dead guy’s wife,” her employee said.
“I thought her name was Brenda.”
“No, it’s Paula. I’m sure.”
“Pretty woman with curly brown hair and brown eyes?” Moira asked. “Sort of tall?”
“Well, you’ve got the eyes right,” Jenny said. “But no, she’s a petite woman with straight black hair. Very striking looking, you wouldn’t forget her.”
“Are we talking about the same man?” the deli owner asked. “His name was Brody Beaker.”
“That’s him. Paula Beaker is his wife.”
“No, I’m sure it was Brenda…” Moira frowned, trailing off. Was it possible that Brenda hadn’t been his wife? What sort of married man took a woman who wasn’t his wife out on Valentine’s Day?
“I’m sure there’s something in the news about him. I’ll go check,” Jenny said, pushing through the door to the kitchen.
Moira shifted her weight, tempted to pull out her phone and look it up herself. If the man had been involved in an affair, that would give at least two people a good motive to kill him. What if Brenda was so adamant about blaming Denise for his death because she was trying to take the blame off of herself? If he was having an affair, the police would know and I’m sure they would look into it, she thought. Or maybe Jenny is wrong about this whole thing and Paula wasn’t his wife, but his sister or something. I suppose it’s also a possibility that I’m wrong about the woman’s name. It was a pretty crazy evening.
The door to the deli opened and she forced herself to stop thinking about the death she had witnessed a few days ago. She had a job to do. Mulling over something like that wouldn’t sell soup.
“Welcome to Darling’s DELIcious Delights,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “How can I help you?”
“I’d like to order your special to go,” the man said, glancing at the small chalkboard she used to write the day’s unique soup and sandwich combo on. “And a drink from the fridge, please.”
“All right, it will be just a minute.”
She poked her head through the door to the kitchen and called the order back to Jenny. Returning to the register to take the man’s payment, she got a better look at him. He was wearing nice clothes and had a broad smile on his face. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
“Special day?” she asked as she swiped his card.
“I have a job interview,” he said. “At a place I’ve wanted to work at for a long time.”
“Good luck,” she said, giving him a genuine smile as she handed his card back. “Hey, you were at the Redwood Grill on Valentine’s day, weren’t you?” She had just recognized him as the man who had helped David restrain Brenda.
“I was. You were there?”
“Yes. My husband, David, is the one who checked the body.”
“Oh. Small world. Well, small town, I guess.”
She laughed. “Yeah. Thanks for holding that woman back. You kept my friend from getting assaulted.”
“Anyone would have done it.” He shrugged.
“Say, do you remember what her name was? The woman whose… companion… died.”
“Brenda,” he said. “I only heard the police say it about fifty times.”
Feeling satisfied, she handed him his food and thanked him again. When he left, she went into the kitchen to find Jenny peering at her phone.
“I found it, Ms. D. His wife’s name is definitely Paula. They mention her in the obituary, and the photo they used of him was their wedding photo. See?”
She held out the phone and Moira took it, looking closely at the screen. The woman standing next to Brody in the picture looked nothing like the woman he had been having dinner with. She couldn’t be misremembering the woman that badly.
“That’s not the woman he was on a date with,” she said, handing the phone back to her employee. “It looks like he was having an affair. I wonder if his death wasn’t an accident after all.”
Chapter Eight
* * *
David’s office, out of which he did most of his work as a private investigator, was kitty-corner to Candice’s Candies on Main Street in Lake Marion. Moira loved the little town almost as much as she loved Maple Creek. The lake, which was the town’s namesake, was beautiful in the summer, and made the town the perfect spot for tourists. In the winter — when it was cold enough — a group of volunteers would clear the snow off of a portion of the frozen lake so the locals could use it for skating. On the ice, further away from town, ice fishing huts dotted the white surface of the lake. On the opposite shore, she could see the houses that were lucky enough to have beach front property.
How wonderful it must be for them to be able to look out their windows and see a lake every morning, Moira thought. If I didn’t love my little stone house so much, I might consider moving here. She wondered if David missed living in his hometown. Of course, their house wasn’t far away, but it was technically in Maple Creek. Moira knew that as much as she enjoyed visiting Lake Marion, she would miss her own hometown if she ever left it. She had a lot of memories there, some not so great, but the good definitely outweighed the bad.
She parked on the street outside of the office and fed the meter a few coins. The meters were only enforced during tourist season, but dropping her spare change in had become a habit. All of the profits from the parking me
ters went towards maintaining the roads and sidewalks in the small town, and it was a system that seemed to work, because Lake Marion’s roads were noticeably better than the streets in Maple Creek were. Of course, no roads in Michigan were perfect, and every spring a few more potholes appeared in both towns.
Moira let herself into the office, giving David a quick wave when he looked up from his desk. The old building wasn’t fancy, but it was comfortable. There was a working fireplace in the back wall, an assortment of odd chairs around a table in the corner, and a worn couch against the wall with the window. Of course, the huge desk dominated the room. The piles of papers on the surface were organized in a way that only David understood. She was always impressed when he managed to find a paper or a file in an instant, hardly looking as he snatched it out of the mess.
A Side of Murder: Book 18 in The Darling Deli Series Page 3
