Luigi jumped off my lap, and I slumped forward, defeated. “I hate that he’s going to get away with this. And he may have already gotten away with murder.”
“I can’t believe that I’m even asking this,” Gino said, “but was Rigotta right? Did you harass him and his family?”
“No!” I cried. “Gabby and I went to the television station to chat with Sylvia. Then Gabby and I stopped over at their house today to—” I couldn’t tell him about the incident in the kitchen. He’d be furious.
His expression was stern. “Go on.”
“I had a talk with Sylvia and Willow. That’s all. Sylvia got upset and asked me to leave, so I did. That was the end of it.”
Disbelief clouded Gino’s eyes. “Right. I know you’ve conveniently left out something. Now listen to me. Do not, I repeat, do not go near that family again. Understand?”
“But—” I protested.
He cut me off. “No buts. Stay away from all of the Rigottas. That goes for my sister, too. Never mind, I’ll call her myself. Preston’s on our suspect list, and he knows it. When questioned, he told Paddy that he’s afraid people won’t buy his precious book because of this unfortunate situation.”
“That’s all he cares about—sales. Not the fact that Daphne is dead.”
“When killers are arrogant like that, they slip up. If he’s the one, we’ll nab him, Tess.” He rose to his feet. “I’ve got to get home. Would you like to come spend the night at our house? The twins would love it.”
That got a smile out of me. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.” Luigi sat by the front of the door, his eyes fixed on us. “I’ve got my alarm system and a guard kitty to protect me.”
Fifteen
“Hello, darling.” My mother’s voice greeted me warmly. “I got home later than I thought, and when I stopped at Java Time, Archie filled me in on what happened at Gabby’s store. How awful! Why didn’t she call her mother? How’s she doing? Aunt Mona’s been trying to reach her, but she hasn’t answered.”
This came as no surprise. Mona could be a lot for Gabby—anyone really—to handle. My aunt seemed to live in her own little world at times. She and her husband had divorced when their children were still in elementary school. My Uncle Hal had since remarried and was living in California. Aunt Mona was long past caring about it and instead devoted her time to driving her children crazy. She was the opposite of my mother—brass and outspoken, with no filter.
I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder as I placed a stainless-steel pot on my stove. “Gabby’s been busy with the store.” Okay, it was a bit of a stretch, as Gabby had only one customer yesterday, but I knew she couldn’t deal with her mother right now. I attempted to change the subject. “How was your trip?”
“Wonderful,” Mom gushed. “But never mind that now. Are you all set for the grand opening? Do you need me to help with anything?”
I set out the ingredients to make pesto sauce as she jabbered on. I loved my mother dearly, but she’d never understood my passion for cooking. She preferred dining out or getting takeout instead of making dinner herself. To each her own. Her mother, Greta, was the one who had inspired my love of cooking. Maybe these things skipped a generation.
Mom’s voice startled me out of my thoughts. “Theresa, are you listening to me?”
“Of course,” I lied. “I’m at the restaurant right now, doing a few last-minute things. Yes, all my permits and inspections are in place, repairs are completed, and my staff got to meet each other yesterday. Everyone’s excited and looking forward to opening night.” What I purposefully avoided telling her was that last evening had only been quiet and peaceful after Preston’s visit, and that I’d barely slept.
“You’ll be here opening night, right?” Gino had promised to come and bring his family, and Gabby had offered to waitress if needed. Unfortunately, I didn’t need her. At least two of the fourteen tables would be filled. My anxiety was increasing daily. The restaurant opened in three days, and I still had no reservations.
The Harvest Park Press had called and told me their food critic would be coming the first week to review Anything’s Pastable. At least they’d given me a heads-up. I hadn’t thought about restaurant reviews yet but knew how important they could be. I tended to wear my heart on my sleeve where my cooking was concerned, and reviewers were not always kind. The preparation of food wasn’t always their biggest concern. There were other factors that figured into their write-ups such as pricing, ambiance, and service. Their words could greatly affect the restaurant’s success. One more thing to be a wreck about.
“With bells on, dear. Now tell me all about your staff. Do I know any of them? How old are they?” Mom asked.
Like most people in Harvest Park, my mother lived for gossip. Might as well give her what she wanted. “I have three waitresses so far. Judy Henry, Renee Simons, and Hannah Gordon. They’re all part-time and I need at least one more. Renee and Hannah will be done with classes in a couple of weeks, so I may be able to hold off on hiring someone else until fall. I also have a dishwasher working daily three to nine. His name is Andy Brenner.”
“That name sounds familiar,” she mused. “Is his mother Patrice? There’s a Brenner family that’s been in Harvest Park for as long as we have.”
I packed fresh basil leaves and the other ingredients into my food processor, keeping it on low so I could hear her. “No, Mom. I didn’t ask him what his mother’s name was. Oh, and I hired an assistant in the kitchen. She’ll help seat people if the waitresses are too busy. Her name is Stephanie Beaudry.”
“No, I don’t know her either.” Mom sounded disappointed. “That’s not much of a staff. Only six people, including yourself.”
“Well, it’s all I can afford right now. It will work out.” My voice projected more confidence than I felt. If there were no reservations coming in, I would have too much of a staff.
A scratching sound commenced at the back door, and I watched the doorknob turn as my mother jabbered on. Vince stepped into the kitchen, wearing a brown leather jacket and faded blue jeans. He carried a grocery bag in one hand. I held up a hand in greeting.
He shot me a grin. “I knew I’d find you here.”
I covered the phone with one hand and whispered, “You’d make a lousy detective. My car’s right outside the door.”
He laughed while I kept my hand over the phone. All I needed was for my mother to hear him in the background. She’d start making all kinds of assumptions. “Um, Mom, I have to go. Why don’t you stop by tomorrow? You haven’t seen the new light fixtures, the table setup, or the fireplace that went in. I want you, Gabby, and Mona to come in on Friday to sample some dishes.”
“Certainly, dear. Oh, my, so much to catch up on first. There’s an Altar Rosary Society meeting tomorrow, and my knitting group is coming here, plus I still must unpack. Yes, Mona’s dying to see the place. She hasn’t been in there since you took over from Slice. Now don’t work too hard. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” I clicked off and stared with curiosity as Vince emptied his grocery bag. There were two bottles of wine inside. “What’s this?” I asked, mystified.
“I thought we should celebrate your grand opening.” He stared down at the pan on the stove as I poured the mixture from the food processor into it. “Pesto? Perfect. The sauvignon will go great with it. Where’s your corkscrew?”
“The drawer to the left.”
After I grabbed two wineglasses from my overhead cupboard I noticed, with shock, the label on the bottles. Falducci Vineyard, Hamburg, New York. Was this a possible clue to the mystery man? “You own a vineyard?”
“It’s been in my family for many years. But, yeah, I guess you could say that I own it now.” Vince poured wine into each glass as I watched him. His movement was fluent and steady, something a great chef should possess, although I’d never seen him prepare anything but pizza. He was alway
s so sure of himself, a trait that I admired in a man. Dylan had had that same regal air about him, but I suspected Vince used it as a cover-up sometimes. He’d been through some rocky times with his restaurant closing. The demise of Slice hadn’t been easy on him either, although he hadn’t owned the business, only the building.
I was intrigued. “Did you grow up in the Buffalo area? I thought you were born in New York City.”
Vince handed me a glass and then clinked his against mine. “Nope. I moved there after culinary school. My four brothers and I all worked at the vineyard when we were kids. My brother Sergio and I bought the others out a few years back. All the wine for my restaurant in New York City came from the vineyard. Sergio lives close by, so he runs things and I show up whenever I feel like it.” He winked.
That sounded about right. Vince always seemed to do exactly as he pleased, and it made me a bit envious. At least the mystery man had finally given me a peek at his secretive life. I took a small sniff of the liquid. “It smells wonderful.”
“Come on. Let’s toast to Anything’s Pastable’s future and certain success. I hope to be here on opening night but may need to be in New York City on a business matter. Are you sold out yet?”
I took a small sip from my glass. The wine had a zesty peach flavor that tantalized my taste buds. “Don’t I wish. I’ve been advertising everywhere but no one’s called to reserve a table yet.”
“They’ll come,” Vince said as he watched me add grated cheese to the sauce. “People are always last minute about those things, so don’t worry. Ah, you need red pepper flakes. The spicier the better. That’s what my mother always told me.”
I laughed. “Sounds like your mother and I could be good friends.”
Vince smiled sadly and leaned against the counter as I shook a spoonful of flakes into the pan. “She died four years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. She would have liked you. I learned almost everything I know about cooking and wine from her. As a mother of five boys, she was a force to be reckoned with, in and out of the kitchen.” A small smile played on his lips. “I was the one my brothers always made fun of because I would rather watch her cook in the kitchen instead of playing cops and robbers outside with them.”
“That sounds like my grandmother and me. The hours I spent cooking with her were the happiest ones of my childhood.”
A faraway look came into those dark brooding eyes of his, but he forced it away and stared down at the pan again. “So, what’s this I hear about a woman dying in your cousin’s bookstore?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the abrupt segue. I gave him the condensed version of Daphne’s death, and he was shocked. “Wow. After what happened to Dylan last year, I can’t believe you’re involved in another murder investigation.”
“You’re not the only one. And I’m not an actual investigator, remember. Gabby and I are trying to find out who’s responsible before her place goes under. She’s worked so hard and doesn’t deserve to see this happen to her.”
Vince’s gaze locked on mine. “Gabby’s lucky to have you in her corner.”
I shrugged. “She’d do the same for me.”
His jaw tightened. “It must be nice to have family and friends who are ready to go to war for you. Other than my mother, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. Vince had given me a peek at his life today, but there was so much more I didn’t know and maybe never would. He was definitely not an open book.
He continued to watch me. The pesto was ready, but I continued to stir, even though it wasn’t needed. The process kept my mind occupied and off Vince’s dark eyes, which observed my every move. The room grew warm, and sweat gathered on my forehead. A good chef always respected another’s personal space, but then again, Vince was unlike any other chef I’d met before.
Vince gestured at the pan. “May I?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What, am I doing something wrong?”
He grinned and took the wooden spoon from me. “No offense, Tessa, but you stir like an old lady. And I can already tell that the sauce needs something.”
“Maybe your expertise?” I quipped, and then gestured grandly toward the stove. “Please, be my guest.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted by his remark, but I was curious to see him in action.
Vince poured half a cup of chardonnay into the mixture. “Come on, Tessa. You’re Italian and a chef. You know that wine works wonders. Even your award-winning sauce benefits from it. Wine makes everything better.”
The innuendo in his statement was obvious, but I pretended not to notice. “My tomato sauce is the award winner. But my carbonara and pesto are pretty darn good, too.”
“I love a chef who isn’t modest,” Vince teased. “Like me.” He continued to stir the sauce with one hand while refilling my glass with the other before I could stop him. He added another shake of pepper flakes. “You always look like you’re plotting something when you stir.”
His comment almost made me choke on the wine. “Actually, it’s sort of like therapy for me.” I paused for a moment. “Especially since Dylan died.”
Now it was Vince’s turn to be apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive.”
“It’s okay, really.” The sauce smelled heavenly. Vince filled a pot with water and set it on a burner. “You have pasta ready to go?”
I moved toward the freezer and removed a ziplock bag of noodles. “Yes, I made a fresh supply the other day.”
“I’d expect nothing less of you,” he chuckled.
“Don’t you miss cooking?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I still dabble. As a matter of fact, I’m looking into opening my own catering business. With any luck, I’ll have it off the ground in the next couple of months. That’s why I’ve been going back and forth to New York City so often. I have contacts there who’ve been instrumental in helping me.”
I leaned against the counter, in fascination. “What type of catering? Business lunches? Dinner parties? Italian cuisine? Should I be worried about competition?”
His eyes twinkled as he poured himself some more wine. “No, I wouldn’t do that to you. These are private dinner parties I’ll be catering. I have an associate from my former restaurant who is willing to relocate and work with me. I’m only interested in doing the gig on weekends. If it’s as successful as I think it will be, she’ll share some of the duties and even host a couple of events during the week.”
“She?” My interest was piqued. I started to reach for another sip of wine and then stopped myself. The glass was nearly empty, and one was my limit. I still had to drive home later.
Vince’s mouth twitched. “Yes, she’s a woman. Victoria and I have been friends for a long time.”
“Is she married?” Cripes. What was with all these questions? Why did I even care? Maybe it was the wine.
A grin spread across his face. “Divorced. Why are you asking?”
Why indeed? “No reason.” I was taking sleuthing to a whole new level. I liked Vince. When we’d worked together briefly at Slice, he’d been rude, arrogant, and constantly tried to downplay my culinary skills. But he’d had his reasons, and after Dylan’s death he had apologized for his treatment of me.
I didn’t believe in holding grudges, and since then, Vince had done everything imaginable to show me that he was a good guy. Anything’s Pastable wouldn’t have happened without his help.
“Come on and taste the sauce then.” Vince cajoled me like a little boy as he dropped the pasta into the boiling water. After thirty seconds, he removed it. “Ah. Delicioso al dente. This restaurant is going to be a huge success, mark my words.”
With interest, I watched as he layered the sauce over a bowl of the linguini, twirled it on the fork, and then held it out to me. Heat rose in my cheeks, but I opened
my mouth while he fed me the pasta. Holy cannoli. The sauce was spicier than usual, thanks to the addition of the red flakes and wine, but what a sensation. My mouth was ready to burst from the flavor, and I savored it for as long as possible.
Vince folded his arms over his chest, obviously pleased with himself. “Well? What’s the verdict?”
I reached for a napkin on the counter and waited until I had swallowed. “It’s fantastic.”
He beamed and gave a gallant bow. “Thank you, kindly.”
“Almost as good as mine.” I couldn’t help myself.
His eyes grew wide with astonishment, then he barked out a laugh. “A little full of yourself, aren’t you, Chef Esposito?”
I reached for a glass of water on the counter and accidentally brushed my hand against his in the process. “Look who’s talking.” I was so thirsty that I swallowed the entire glass.
“I like that in a woman.” His voice was low and husky. “Confidence. And it doesn’t hurt when she’s beautiful as well.”
“Thank you.” Silence emanated through the room.
Vince gazed over the rim of his glass at me, his dark eyes staring intently into mine until, embarrassed, I looked away. Finally, he spoke. “Did you like the flowers?”
“Oh.” How embarrassing that I’d forgotten to mention them. “Yes. They’re gorgeous. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
My skin was growing warm. Fortunately, the phone at the hostess station started to ring. It was a beautiful sound to my ears. “Oh, my gosh, maybe it’s a reservation!”
Vince laughed and waved me on. “Go, Miss Pastable. I’ll hold down the fort in here.”
I hurried into the dining area and exhaled a long, slow breath that I’d been holding for what seemed like an eternity. Vince was clearly still interested in me, and I didn’t know how to feel about it. He was fun to be around, and I enjoyed talking shop with him. But as I’d told Justin, I wasn’t ready for a relationship with another man and didn’t need distractions right now. Frankly, I had enough to contend with.
It Cannoli Be Murder Page 16
