by Diana Orgain
Out the window, I saw an older couple approach DelVecchio’s. They peered around the darkened windows, then crossed the patio over to The Wine and Bark. They stood outside the door for a moment, their heads leaned in toward each other, having a serious discussion. After a moment, the door opened and the couple stepped inside.
Some kind of internal alarm went off in my head. It must have for Abigail and Max as well, because they suddenly cleared out from their seats at the bar and retreated together to a corner table.
The couple approached the bar. The woman looked anxious, the man protective as he guided his wife by placing a hand on the small of her back.
“May I help you?” I asked.
Part of me hoped they were tourists. Lost and hungry, looking for a place to eat after finding DelVecchio’s closed.
“Are you the proprietor of this establishment, Rachel Peterson?” the man asked.
“No, I’m her sister, Maggie Peterson. What can I do for you?”
The woman looked despondent as she sunk onto the barstool. Her red-rimmed eyes nervously darted about. The man remained standing, his eyes on me as his wife nervously fiddled with her dress.
She was painfully thin and had sunken cheeks. Her hands twisted endlessly as she searched the room. She looked like a woman desperately in need of answers.
“We’re Mr. and Mrs. Walters. Dan was our son,” the man said. “We wanted to come here, because the police told us this is where he died.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Walters. I’m the one who found Dan.…” I didn’t actually know what to say next. I couldn’t imagine a pain greater than the one I saw etched across Mrs. Walters’ face.
“Thank you,” Mr. Walters choked out. He squared his shoulders, but his face betrayed the raw emotion he was fighting.
Mrs. Walters dove into her handbag and dug out a white linen handkerchief. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes, and Mr. Walters squeezed her elbow.
“You found him?” Mrs. Walters asked. “Did it look like he suffered?”
“No,” I lied.
Actually, I had no idea. How would I know? But it seemed the humane thing to say.
“The police told us it’s an ongoing investigation,” Mr. Walters said. “They’ll have the autopsy reports soon. Although they said it’s likely that Dan died from trauma to the head.”
I knew this couple was in the midst of a deep grief, so I bit my back my desire to question them on the rumor circulating about suing The Wine and Bark.
“Can I offer you a glass of wine? Mr. Walters?”
Mrs. Walters bristled. “Definitely not.” She tugged on Mr. Walters’s sleeve. “Let’s go, Donald!”
Together they made their way toward the front door of the bar. Missy let out a little farewell bark, which seemed to annoy them further. They exited the building, and I felt like I’d missed an opportunity.
They were determined to get justice for their son and I didn’t blame them, I just hoped that they wouldn’t take The Wine and Bark down with them.
Chapter Twenty
As I was closing the bar, I heard a loud crashing sound out on the back patio. Who was out on the patio in the dark? And at this hour?
I searched the counter for a weapon. At one end was a small nail hammer, presumably used to hang the autographed framed photos of dogs in the restroom corridor. As I gripped the hammer, I noticed one of the bar windows was still open. I rushed to close it. Another sound, closer this time. My pulse quickened as I glanced around. Was I alone inside the bar?
Nothing looked displaced.
But what if someone had gotten in here without my tracking them? What if they’d hidden in the bathroom and not left with the others?
After all, Dan was dead, and Rachel was AWOL!
The logical part of my brain surged with a message, “Calm down!” but I gripped the hammer furiously over my head anyway.
Then I heard the footsteps.
Someone was in the bar!
Suppressing the scream rising in my throat, I ran behind the bar and grabbed the cordless phone. My heart racing, I punched in 9-1-1.
The operator said, “What is the nature of your emergency?”
I ran toward the front door. I had to get out of the bar. Inside I was a sitting duck.
“Someone’s broken into my business. Please send the police. Hurry!” I fumbled with the locks on the door, but couldn’t manage with the phone and hammer still in my hand, so I dropped the phone.
That was stupid!
I hadn’t even given the operator my address! Could they trace my call and get my address?
Yanking open the door, I raced right into a dark mass. A man. He grabbed at my arms, but I was ready for the fight of my life.
I clenched my small hammer. I estimated the man was too tall for a successful blow on the head, so I brought it down onto his shoulder. I yelled out my best self-defense karate scream—“Hi ya-ah!”—and kicked at him and punched with blind fury. The heel of my foot caught the man on the inside of his thigh, missing his groin by an inch. What poor aim I had!
Thankfully, it still doubled him over, but he yelled, “Wait, Maggie. It’s me.”
I stopped suddenly at the familiar, kind voice.
I’d just beaten up Gus!
“Oh my God! Gus! I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you! I thought you were a criminal!”
He limped over to one of the patio tables and took a seat. He rubbed at his shoulder with his hand. “No, I came over to see if you were hungry. I figured you were closing around now and thought maybe you hadn’t eaten yet.”
My heart softened. “You’re so sweet!”
“Forget it now,” he joked. “If I feed you’ll just get stronger.” He rubbed at his shoulder. “What did you hit me with?”
My face burned with embarrassment. “A hammer,” I confessed, looking down at it still clenched in my hand.
He chuckled, a low rumble of warmth and relief vibrating out of him. “Oh my God! I’m glad you didn’t get my head. Might have knocked me out cold.”
Or worse … I shuddered at the thought.
Is that what had happened with Dan? Had he surprised someone and they’d struck out at him, thinking they were in danger? If that was the case, the killer really could be anyone. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Do you want me to get you some ice?”
“Nah, just need to catch my breath. He alternated rubbing his shoulder and rubbing the inside of his thigh. He turned around to look at the dark bar. “Are you all done for the night here? Want a snack at DelVecchio’s?”
“Yes and yes. I just need to take the trash outside.”
“I’ll help you with that,” he said, standing up.
He followed me inside and grabbed the black trash bags I’d tied up. I was happy to see that he was no longer limping.
I returned the nail hammer to behind the counter where it lived, then gave a final look around. All was quiet. We left the bar and I made sure to lock the door. No more boogeymen tonight!
I felt so relieved and secure now with Gus by my side. We rounded the buildings and entered the alley where DelVecchio’s and The Wine and Bark shared a Dumpster. Alongside the Dumpster were smaller cans: a black one for refuse, a green one for compost, and a blue bin for recycling. All the bins were stationed along the alley, the stench overwhelming after the hot day.
“Yuk. Smells like rotting fish back here.”
Gus shrugged. “I guess I’m used to it. I don’t even smell it anymore. Do you like fish? I have some fresh halibut. I can make you pesce alla stemperata.”
“What’s that?”
“Garlic, pine nuts, raisins, capers, and olives. Tomatoes, if you like them,” he said.
Despite the odor of refuse, my mouth watered. “I love halibut and tomatoes.”
He lifted the trash bag over his shoulder and easily threw it in the oversized garbage bin.
Grabbing his hand, I said, “Thank you, Gus.”
Sirens sounded in t
he background and something tickled at the back of my mind, as if I’d forgotten something.
Gus stepped closer to me, electricity sparking between our bodies. “I’m happy to help you, Maggie.”
The sirens were fast approaching, growing louder.
He began to lower his face to mine, and then it suddenly hit me. I jolted away from him. “Gus! I called 9-1-1.”
“What?” He had a dreamy intense look in his eyes, and he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer.
“The police. They’re coming here.”
“Police? Why?”
“I called 9-1-1,” I repeated. “I thought I was in danger.”
He pressed the lower half of his body against mine. “You’re in danger, all right.” His voice purred in my ear.
Another voice called out: “Freeze!”
Gus and I turned to find Officer Brooks with his gun drawn and pointing straight at us.
Whatever relief I’d been feeling earlier completely evaporated. Right now, panic threatened to overwhelm me.
Gus and I both managed to raise our hands in surrender.
Brooks swore under his breath and lowered his weapon.
Another uniformed officer joined his side. “What’s going on? We got a call about an active burglary.”
My cheeks reddened. “I … I made a mistake.”
How had everything in my life gone so wrong?
Brooks groaned. “Crap!” He yanked on the radio attached to his shoulder and barked an order to dispatch.
The other officer remained tense. “No burglary?” he asked.
Brooks didn’t holster his weapon. “What made you call?”
“I thought I heard some strange sounds in the bar. I felt like I wasn’t alone, like someone had broken in, but I was wrong.”
Brooks squinted at Gus. “Did you hear anything?”
Gus shook his head. “No. I didn’t hear anything unusual.”
“Let’s check the premises anyway,” Brooks said to the other officer, “just in case.”
The other officer nodded and stepped down the alley in the opposite direction from us. Gus separated himself from me and I flashed him an apologetic look.
Brooks walked between Gus and me purposely. I shuddered. It was never my intention to set these two men against each other, but now it looked like I’d done just that.
Gus moved toward one end of the alley and Brooks the other. I stood still, not knowing in which direction to turn; if I moved toward either one of them, I was taking sides. My gaze dropped to the cobblestones and I aimlessly looked around the Dumpster area. There were dark marks on the stone by the trash bin. As if the bin had recently been moved.
Then I saw it.
Behind the bin, what looked like a white tennis shoe peeked out. The shoe looked like it was attached to a foot. Unable to control myself, I screamed a long, piercing, high-pitched wail.
Brooks and Gus dashed over to me.
Still screaming, I pointed at the foot. The other uniformed officer raced toward us.
I stepped away from the trash bin as the men together moved it to reveal the waiter from DelVecchio’s.
Gus gasped and cried out, “No! Oscar! No!”
Chapter Twenty-one
“Oh my God! Is he dead?” I shrieked.
Brooks leaned over the man, while the other officer shouted an order into his radio.
Gus’s arms were suddenly around me and I found myself sobbing into his shoulder.
Again?
It had happened again.
“He’s dead,” Brooks announced. “Gunshot to the back.”
Why? Why had someone shot and killed the waiter, Oscar? They’d left him by the Dumpster in the alley, and it seemed so cruel and disrespectful, to be left dead beside a can full of garbage as if his life had had no meaning. I held back my tears.
Gus held me firmly and I realized I was shaking. What had happened? Who had killed the poor waiter and Dan? Had it been the same killer?
The other officer ushered Gus and me out of the alley. “We’re going to need to take you in to the station. Strictly procedure, you understand. Just need a few questions answered.”
“Do I need an attorney?” Gus asked.
The officer answered, “For what? Mr. DelVecchio, you’re not under arrest. We just need a statement from you.”
“I can give you my statement now, Ellington. I was in the restaurant all night. Oscar was here around four thirty or so. We walked in together. He’d come to pick up his paycheck.”
“I saw him arrive,” I said, then regretted it. Anxiety rippled through me. I’d seen Oscar arrive at the restaurant, but I hadn’t seen him leave.
Officer Ellington squinted accusingly at Gus. “What were you doing at the restaurant all night? You guys were closed, right?”
“There was still work to do. I can show you.” Gus stuck a hand inside his pocket, but the officers immediately held out their hands and yelled, “Whoa, whoa!”
Gus looked surprised. “Come on, Brooks. I was going to show my meal plan. I’m not reaching for a gun or a knife or something. You think I’m some hood kid that packs heat?”
Officer Ellington jumped to Gus and pushed him against the wall, frisking him.
“Is that necessary?” I demanded.
“We have a homicide on our hands, lady,” he spat at me. “Are you a registered gun owner, DelVecchio?”
Brooks stepped up to me and said, “Come with me, Maggie. I’ll see that you get to the cruiser all right.”
“I’m not leaving him here,” I said.
“I’m not asking you to leave him,” Brooks said. “He’ll be right behind you.”
I turned to see the other officer getting in Gus’s face and yelling, “Answer the question! You a registered gun owner or not?”
“Yes,” Gus said. “Of course I am. I own a restaurant. Lots of cash trades hands.”
Oh God, if the gun matched … I couldn’t even think it.
Ellington finished frisking Gus, then together we all headed in silence to the police cruiser.
* * *
At the station, Officer Ellington escorted me to a small stark room. In the middle of the room was a table with a box of tissues, a couple of notepads, and a small recorder. There was also a dark mirror on the wall, which I absently wondered about. Was it a two-way mirror? Was someone watching on the other side? Perhaps Brooks? Or Sergeant Gottlieb?
I sat in a hard orange plastic chair and Ellington sat across from me. He hooked a microphone into the recorder and said, “I tend to forget things, so I’m going to record it so I don’t mess up.”
Hmmm. Felt sort of like he was playing dumb. I had a nervous energy zinging through my body. I hadn’t inquired about an attorney, but now felt the need to ask. “Do I need a lawyer, Officer Ellington?”
Not that I had one. Who would I call? Brenda was an attorney, albeit not criminal law. Could she help me out in a pinch?
The door to the room opened and Sergeant Gottlieb entered, scowling. Apparently he wouldn’t be observing me from behind the two-way glass. Gottlieb and Ellington exchanged looks, then Ellington leaned forward and said all our names, the date, and the time into the microphone. When he finished he looked at me. “Ms. Patterson, can you tell us exactly what happened this evening, beginning from when you arrived at the bar, then when you called 9-1-1, and up to when Officer Brooks and I arrived on the scene?”
I took a big inhale, ready to launch into my story, but instead the mixture of dread and nausea that’d been building inside me dissolved into tears and I found myself sobbing.
* * *
“My client has told you all she needs to tell you at this time,” Brenda insisted, ushering me out of the small interrogation room.
I gripped Brenda’s arm as if my life depended on it. She walked me through the police station, past the deserted front desk and out to the street.
“Brenda, you’re a lifesaver,” I said, wrapping my arms around her neck and squeezing
.
“I don’t know how I did it. It’s a good thing I remembered enough from law school—”
“Now you have to go get Gus,” I said.
She bit her lip and screwed up her face. “Oh Maggie, don’t you think we should let him work it out?”
“No, go get him,” I said, pushing her toward the police station door.
I stood at the doors, looking out at the industrial parking lot of police black-and-whites. It was so dark out that only the immediate area was illuminated by the streetlamps. Brenda followed my gaze out into the parking lot, her small blue Honda parked nearby. She looked at it longingly.
“But, what if … you know,” she said. “Poor Dan and Oscar—”
“Innocent until proven guilty, Brenda, come on. Everyone has a right to get help and all that stuff, I mean, Hippocratic Oath and all.”
“That’s for doctors.”
“Right to counsel, or whatever it is! Don’t get technical on me.” I sighed. “It’s been a long night.”
“He does have a right to counsel. That doesn’t mean it has to be me!”
“Please, Brenda.”
“I have a large shipment of Ivanka Trump’s pumps coming in the morning, beautiful blend of suede and snake—”
“I’ll never serve you another greyhound if you don’t—”
“Don’t say it.” She turned on a heel. “Get in the car. I’ll go get your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I called after her.
I’d have to try to explain that to Brooks later.
* * *
Unfortunately, Brenda hadn’t been able to get Gus out of the police station. The police were detaining him until further notice. My suspicion was that Gus would likely have to produce his registered gun and/or a criminal attorney.
I tossed and turned all night dreaming about poor Oscar, Dan, and Rachel. In my dreams, Rachel was chasing me down a long dock toward a cruise ship. She had butcher knife in her hand, screaming at me to give her a chance to cook some halibut, only the fish that jumped around me out of the ocean reeked like garbage. The ship’s foghorn blasted through the fog, until I realized the noise wasn’t in my dream at all, but rather a loud pounding on my front door.
