Both Jordan and Natalie took a step closer to get a better look.
“Go ahead and try it,” Carlita prompted after handing each one a stick.
Needing no encouragement, Jordan bit into hers. She loved the Italian cream cake they served at Guido’s, but she wasn’t prepared for Carlita’s pastry. It was a moist cake covered with dark chocolate that melted in her mouth. What was not to like?
She decided this little number could easily take the place of her beloved Ho Hos in an emotional crisis. After finishing the treat, she threw the stick into the trash can on the side of the booth.
“That was awesome. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it or not, but I print recipes, too. I’d love to include this one in the column. Of course, I’d give you full credit.” So much for pretending she was more than a culinary reporter. But she could already imagine her readers going crazy over this dessert. Crossing her fingers behind her back, she hoped Carlita would agree.
The woman beamed. “Can you do a write-up on me before the festival opens and then post the recipe after it closes?” Jordan looked confused. “I wouldn’t want people to think they can go home and make these themselves. At least not until I’ve had a chance to sell out.” She shrugged. “These booths aren’t cheap, you know.”
“Oh, of course. I get that. A girl’s got to make a living, right? That’s why I’m out here in this unrelenting Texas sun today.” Jordan wiped her brow for emphasis before she leaned in and lowered her voice. She was going to have to warm this woman up if she hoped to get any useful information out of her—assuming Carlita knew anything at all that might help them. The fastest way to do that was to get her talking about herself. Who could resist that? “So, Carlita, tell us how you got started with the Italian Festival.”
For the next ten minutes, they listened to the woman relate her entire life history as a river of sweat rolled down Jordan’s back. Just when she thought the only thing she’d walk away with today was a great tasting treat and a recipe for her column, Carlita took a swig of water from a dirty-looking glass and lowered her voice.
“Guess you heard about the guy who was pushed off the balcony of his hotel room last night, right?”
Natalie pulled a tissue from her purse and swiped at the layer of sweat on her brow. She moved up as close to the counter as she could without falling over it. “Someone fell off a balcony last night?”
Carlita nailed Jordan with her eyes. “And you’re going to write about me before the festival opens?”
Jordan would have agreed to just about anything now that the woman had brought up Marco’s death the night before. Maybe this would be easier than she thought. “Of course. I think the locals would love to hear how you grew up. But first, I’d like to hear more about the guy falling off the balcony.” She stole a glance toward Natalie who was out of Carlita’s view and was now rolling her eyes.
“I didn’t actually see it, mind you,” Carlita began. “But my sister is on the planning committee this year and was at a big party at some swanky hotel last night. She said one of the bigwigs from the festival took a nosedive off the balcony and landed smack in the middle of the hotel entrance.”
When she paused, Jordan plodded her. “Go on. Did your sister say who did it?”
“Some young home wrecker who was having an affair with him even though he was engaged to be married to...” She lowered her voice. “Emilio Calabrese’s daughter.”
Jordan saw Natalie’s body stiffen but knew it was important to keep going. A respected journalism teacher at the University of Texas had always preached that when you had a person talking about controversial stuff, you should go in for the kill and ask the important questions to catch them off guard.
“Really. Why do you think that woman would want to harm the dead guy?”
“Why else? They had a lovers’ quarrel in front of God and the entire room full of people, according to Ginny. She didn’t get home until well after midnight because the cops kept them there asking questions. Everyone saw the two of them arguing and then later saw the woman screaming from the man’s bedroom. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what happened in that room.”
“Did you know the guy who was killed?” Natalie asked, finally recovering enough from the home wrecker reference about her daughter to jump into the conversation.
“Who didn’t? Marco Petrone was the biggest womanizer on the planet.” She huffed. “Why, I’ve heard he had a harem of women in almost every country.” She stopped to swipe her forehead with the same rag she’d dried her hands with earlier. “I’m not saying the man deserved to die, but it does seem like poetic justice that one of his Jezebels did him in.”
This time Natalie gasped so loud that Carlita stopped talking and turned to her. “You all right? Here.” She handed her the water from the countertop.
Natalie waved her off, scrunching her nose at the dirty glass. “I just choked on my own saliva,” she explained, swallowing hard before continuing, “So are you saying there were a lot of women who might have wanted to see Marco dead?”
Jordan saw the hope light up in Natalie’s eyes when Carlita nodded. “They didn’t call him the Italian Stallion for nothing, if you get my drift. He went through women like a kid in a candy store, grabbing whatever he wanted and spitting them out after he’d had a taste.”
Just then a commotion broke out behind them, and they all turned to see a middle-aged woman dressed in a short dress and heels arguing with a much younger man.
“Between you and me, that woman right there had a pretty good reason to off Marco Petrone herself,” Carlita said, clucking her tongue.
Jordan caught Natalie’s eye and bit her lip to hide the smile before turning back to Carlita. If there were other women out there with a motive for killing Marco, chances were one or two of them had been at the party. That would mean there might be reasonable doubt that Kate had been the one to push him over the ledge.
Natalie pointed to the couple who were still in a heated discussion not far from them. “Who is that?”
Carlita narrowed her eyes, tilting her head that way.
“Georgette Calabrese. She’s married to Emilio and is the mother of Petrone’s fiancée.” She lowered her voice and looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was close enough to overhear. “Rumor has it she was one of Marco’s throwaways.”
CHAPTER NINE
Natalie grabbed Jordan’s arm and nudged her toward Georgette Calabrese and the man she was arguing with. Jordan had just enough time to tell Carlita she’d be back later for the recipe.
“What about my story?” Carlita asked.
“As soon as I get the recipe, I’ll write a review of you and your cake pops with the interview. Then I’ll follow-up next week with the recipe, but I do need it now,” she said right before Natalie propelled her away from the booth. There was no way Carlita was getting her name in the Kitchen Kupboard without giving up that recipe.
“I should’ve known Emilio would go for someone like this,” Natalie said as they approached the two people who were obviously still in a heated discussion.
“You need to stand up for yourself, Frankie. Now’s the perfect chance to show him you can step up and take charge if something happens to him. Convince him you’re not a screw-up.” The woman stopped talking when she noticed Natalie and Jordan closing in. The irritated look on her face left no doubt she wasn’t happy about being interrupted.
“Can I help you?” she asked, not even attempting to hide the annoyance in her voice.
Jordan held out her hand. “I’m Jordan McAllister from the Ranchero Globe, and this is Natalie Moreland.”
At the mention of Natalie’s name, Georgette jerked her head around to make eye contact before focusing back on Jordan and shaking her hand. “I’m sorry you came all the way out here today, Ms. McAllister, but I have no desire to be interviewed. I have a lot of work to do before the festival opens, so if you’ll excuse me.” She dismissed the two women and turned back to the youn
g man beside her.
“I’m not here just to interview you, Mrs. Calabrese,” Jordan said, a little louder than before. “I was told I’d have access to the planners the week before the festival opens. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’ll let my editor know his information was incorrect.” Jordan paused to see if Georgette was buying her story.
The old ‘if looks could kill’ adage popped into Jordan’s head as the woman glared at her. “I misunderstood. I have a lot of people vying for my attention today, most of them reporters. I just spoke to someone else from your newspaper—a Loretta something or other.”
Jordan mentally kicked herself for letting Loretta get one step ahead of her. “I’d like to report on what it takes to pull off a big event like this. I’ve been told you play a big part in it, and—”
“Who told you that, Ms. McAllister?” Georgette interrupted.
“Please call me Jordan. And I’ve already interviewed several other people who indicated that you’re the one I needed to speak with about what goes on behind the scene leading up to opening day.”
Just then a delivery man walked over and stood behind the younger man who had been arguing with Georgette, tapping a pen on a clipboard until she noticed him. When he announced he had a large shipment of game prizes and concession supplies waiting to be offloaded, she turned to the man beside her. “Frankie, go with him and make sure everything arrived in good condition.”
Waving a hand in the air—one that sported a diamond the size of a cherry—Georgette barked out a few more commands to both the delivery man and the one she called Frankie. Jordan used that short time to check out the woman Emilio Calabrese had married after Natalie had rejected him.
Wearing a pale green sundress that showed off a tiny waist and a perfect tan, Georgette Calabrese had pulled her long blond hair off her face into a ponytail, making her appear to be in her late thirties. Jordan stole a glance Natalie’s way and saw that she was also giving the tall, well-built woman who’d married her old lover the once-over.
When the two men walked away, Georgette finally turned to Jordan. “Sorry about that. You asked how this event goes off without hitches.” She pointed to the delivery truck by the entrance. “It isn’t easy. Everything has to be right on schedule, or it throws things off. We’re still waiting on a liquor shipment that was supposed to get here a few days ago. That means a lot of people will have to hustle to make up for lost time when it does arrive. My job is to find out why that happened, and I’ll start by having a long talk with the distributor to make sure it doesn’t happen again. That’s the kind of thing I need to stay on top of daily.”
Natalie moved forward and asked the question before Jordan could. “And who is the distributor?”
Jordan remembered that Emilio had asked Marco about the liquor at the party and that Marco had assured him it would arrive on time. And Alex had mentioned that Marco was the owner of the company supplying all the liquor for the festival. Obviously, Marco couldn’t take the heat for the late shipment, so who was Georgette going to “have a long talk” with?
“The Petrone Brothers.”
“Marco had a brother?” Jordan asked.
At the mention of Marco’s name, a flash of sadness registered in Georgette’s eyes before she quickly glanced away. “Yes. Bernardo,” she said finally. “Their company is based out of New York City.”
Finding out that Marco had a brother gave Jordan another avenue to pursue. Maybe there was sibling rivalry between the brothers or a long-standing family feud. That would definitely throw a little reasonable doubt Kate’s way if they could prove it.
“I’m sorry about what happened to Marco last night,” Jordan began, thinking it was the perfect opening to see if Georgette could shed any light on his death. “I’ve heard you and he were close.”
Anger lit up Georgette’s eyes. “Of course I was close to Marco. He and my husband were business partners, and he was about to marry my stepdaughter.”
“Tina is your stepdaughter?” Natalie asked.
Georgia bit her lip before replying. “Emilio’s first wife died of breast cancer when the child was five. I’ve raised her since then and love her as if she were my own daughter. Everything I do has been for her.”
Including test-driving her fiancé before the wedding?
Jordan stopped herself before blurting that out. What was the point in making this woman angry? They still needed information.
“Was Bernardo at the party last night?” Natalie asked.
Georgette narrowed her eyes. “Yes, he was, as were most of the people involved in the planning of the festival. Unfortunately, I had a business meeting in New York City that couldn’t be postponed and missed it. I only arrived in Dallas this morning.”
“And did Bernardo have a beef with his brother?” Natalie asked.
Georgette took a menacing step toward her. “They were brothers. Of course, they fought. Marco had a way about him that didn’t sit well with a lot of people. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it your daughter who was having an illicit affair with Marco and pushed him off the balcony last night?”
Jordan reached out to keep Natalie from making contact with the younger woman.
“For your information, my daughter had no idea the man was engaged. So no, there was no illicit affair on her part. Although I can’t say the same about you, since you were the one he sampled and tossed aside. I guess not everything you’ve done has been for Tina.” Natalie’s eyes turned defiant as she waited to see how Georgette would react to that remark.
“We’re done here,” Jordan said, grabbing Natalie’s arm and turning her around. “I’ll be in touch, Mrs. Calabrese,” she said over her shoulder as she pushed Alex’s mother in the opposite direction from the irate Georgette, who looked like she was close to committing murder herself.
* * * * *
On the way back to Alex’s house, Natalie begged Jordan not to tell her son about the encounter with Georgette Calabrese. She was afraid if Alex decided to have a chat with her, Georgette might bring up the fact that Natalie was once engaged to Emilio—assuming she even knew about that. It didn’t take much persuasion to get Jordan to agree. Telling Alex would also be confessing they’d been snooping around, and he’d pitch a fit. Both she and Natalie would have to listen to a long lecture about leaving police business to the police.
It was after four when Jordan dropped Natalie off and made it back to her apartment. There was no news about Marco’s death, and Alex and Kate were meeting with Hamilton later that evening to discuss what to do next.
Alex had invited her to stay and have dinner with them, but she’d excused herself, saying she needed to get her notes straight so she could begin her article for Thursday’s Kitchen Kupboard. She was anxious to see what Loretta Moseley had to say in Tuesday’s column, secretly hoping the woman bombed. As much as she wished for a job in the sports department, the culinary reporter gig had proven to be a great second choice for her.
And she would do whatever it took to keep the job, although being related to the editor did give Loretta a huge advantage. Jordan would just have to work harder. She grinned, thinking she had a few tricks up her sleeve, too. She couldn’t wait to see the readers’ reaction to the Italian Cream Cake Pops recipe.
Crap! She’d left so quickly after Natalie and Georgette had verbally attacked each other that she’d forgotten to go back for Carlita’s recipe. Even though she’d promised not to print it until the festival was over, she wanted it in her hands in case Carlita changed her mind about giving it up. Her plan was to write about all the food and tease the readers with the hint that Carlita’s fantastic recipe would be coming out in her column the following week.
There was no way Egan could can her if she had the good people of Ranchero clamoring for her next column.
Halfway home, she decided now was as good a time as any to get the recipe, and she headed over to the fairgrounds. Maybe she’d even get another sample of the sugary treat as a bonus.
> Just thinking about the pops made her stomach growl, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since before noon when Alex surprised her with the meatball hoagie. Carlita had mentioned that her sister was famous for her chicken cacciatore and pizza bread. It might be possible to mooch a free sample of that, too. With a little luck, she’d get enough to count as dinner, and she wouldn’t have to stop at Taco Castle on the way home. After splurging on the dress and heels for the party, she shouldn’t spend the extra money.
It was just after six when Jordan pulled into the parking lot for the second time that day. She found a spot closer to the entrance and assumed most of the worker bees had already gone back to their hotel rooms. She hoped Carlita wasn’t one of them. She got out of the car and walked toward the entrance, noticing that the Italian flag balloon flying above the entrance was now flapping at a good clip. At least the wind had cooled things down since her earlier visit, and the breeze felt good.
As luck would have it, she spotted Carlita as soon as she walked through the gate. Waving, she approached the booth.
“There you are. I wondered why you’d run off so quickly,” Carlita said, wiping her hands on the same dirty towel she’d used earlier. “I still have a lot to tell you about my life for the article.”
Oh, great!
Jordan forced herself to smile. “Good. I came back for that as well as the recipe.” She giggled. “I don’t suppose you’d let me have another taste?”
Chicken Caccia-Killer (A Jordan McAllister Mystery) Page 8
