“Okay,” she said after a moment, deciding to trust him for now. “I’m so sorry that happened. What’s next? Are the police going to shut your agency down while they investigate? Do they have any leads?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he said. “None of this should concern you, though. I’m sure you have your own things to worry about.”
“Yes, I suppose, but nothing as important as this,” she told him. “I want to help, if I can.”
She touched his arm gently, and was hurt when he shifted away.
“Well, you can’t,” he said shortly. “This doesn’t involve you, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Moira bit back a frown, surprised at his tone; he’d never before tried to shut her down like this. She had no idea what was going on. Was he just upset over the murder, or was there something else?
“All right,” she said after a moment. “I’ll just let the police do their thing.”
“Thank you.” He turned to her and she saw some relief in his eyes. “I don’t want to have to worry about you getting hurt, too.”
“I won’t,” she said. “This doesn’t have anything to do with me or the deli.”
He hesitated, then said, “Whoever did this to Fred... I think they might have done it to get to me. The way they set up his body and left it in my office, well, it feels personal. I want you far away from this.”
“David, you’re the one I’m worried about. I’ll be fine.” She forced a smile, then got up, determined to cheer up the private investigator if she could.
“Do you want something to eat? I’ve got plenty of leftovers from the deli, or I could whip us up something fresh. There’s some amazing iced tea in here that Candice made when she came over before she left, if you’d like to try some.”
“Sure, I’ll take a glass,” he said, standing up to follow her to the kitchen. “How is she doing, anyway? Is she enjoying Cedar Point?”
Glad that David was acting more normal, she began to relate to him some of Candice’s stories about the rides she had gone on so far at the amusement park, and some of her plans for the rest of the week. He smiled and laughed in all the right places, and she tried to assure herself that the only reason he had been in such a dark mood before was the recent murder. He sure isn’t acting mad at me, she decided. I think he just needed a reason to smile again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Every Wednesday morning, she and two of her closest friends—Denise Donovan and Martha Washburn—made an effort to get together. All three women were busy, so usually they only had time for a quick cup of coffee somewhere in town. Occasionally their schedules aligned perfectly, however, and this Wednesday was one of those days.
“I can hardly believe none of us has to run off to work,” Martha said when the three of them met at the deli for breakfast. “I’ve been looking forward to today since last week.”
“Me too,” Denise said. “I’ve been so busy at the Grill recently that I hardly remember what it’s like to have free time.”
“Let’s take advantage of this rare occurrence,” the deli owner said. “We all deserve a day off—let’s make it a good one.”
They started off with Dante’s freshly made breakfast quiches and juice from the juicer behind the counter. Healthy and delicious, Moira thought as Meg took everyone’s orders while Dante started bringing food out of the kitchen. The quiches had just come out of the oven and were steaming hot, and the scents of feta cheese and bacon were making her mouth water. As always, the snacks looked amazing. With light golden brown crusts, bits of bacon crumbled on top, and spinach and feta baked into the egg filling, the spinach and feta quiches were some of her favorites, and that was saying something.
“Amazing as always, Moira,” said Martha as she sipped a glass of strawberry-mango juice. “It’s no surprise that breakfast at the deli is a huge success. You should have expanded your hours years ago.”
“Maybe, but that would have meant less time to spend with Candice back when she was living at home. Oh, speaking of success,” Moira said, reminded of the man’s offer the other day, “I need to show you two something.”
Checking to make sure her employees were both in the kitchen, she pulled the white envelope out of her purse and pulled out the piece of paper with Mr. Yukan’s offer on it. She hadn’t told anyone yet: not her employees, not David, not even Candice. A part of her felt like a traitor for even thinking of selling the deli, but it was a lot of money. She was eager to see what her friends thought.
“Whew,” breathed Denise when she saw the figure. “Are you sure that isn’t a typo?”
The deli owner nodded. “It’s a lot of money, but he seemed serious.”
“When do you sign?” Martha asked, her eyes wide as she handed the paper back to Moira.
“That’s the thing,” she replied, carefully folding it up and returning both paper and envelope to her purse. “I don’t know if I’m going to.”
Both women stared at her as if she were crazy.
“Moira, you have to,” said Martha. “You’d be rich. If someone offered me that sort of money, I’d sign over practically anything.”
“I know I’m probably crazy for even thinking of turning it down,” she replied. “When I imagine checking my bank account and seeing all of those zeros…”
She trailed off, letting her grin speak for itself. It really was tempting. She had never been offered this sort of money before, and had surprised herself by not jumping on it. What exactly was holding her back?
“It’s just that… well, I like having the deli. Even if I had all of the money in the world, I’d still want to cook and make people happy—and where better to do that than here?” She sighed. “Then I think of how much I would be able to do for Candice, and the dogs… and you gals, of course, if I had this much money. I don’t know, it’s a hard decision to make. I definitely won’t be making it lightly, whatever I choose to do. Besides, who knows if that guy would want to keep the same employees? I wouldn’t want Dante, Meg, Allison, and Darrin to be let go. They’re all hard workers and deserve their jobs.”
“Well, what does David think that you should do?” Denise asked.
“I haven’t told him yet,” the deli owner admitted.
“Why?” Martha asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m surprised; you usually tell him everything.”
“He has a lot on his plate,” Moira replied. “I’ll tell him soon.”
She wondered what the private investigator’s advice would be. She thought he would want her to keep the deli. Neither of them were in their jobs because they wanted to become rich; they both worked because they loved what they did. Money would be nice, but she made enough with the deli to keep her head above water and even put some in her savings account each month. Did she really need more money badly enough to sell the business that had been her passion for the last few years?
The three women finished up their breakfast and then headed out. They piled into Martha’s new convertible and, with the roof down, drove through town. Despite her lasting worry about David and her dilemma of whether to sell the deli, Moira thoroughly enjoyed herself. What could be better than spending a few hours with some of her best friends in the world?
After hitting all of the best shops in Maple Creek and saying their hellos to their acquaintances—in such a small town, most small business owners knew each other pretty well—they headed to Lake Marion where even more shops awaited them. The first place they stopped was Candice’s Candies, where Logan was busy cleaning the wide front windows.
“Hi, Ms. D,” he said, putting his cleaning cloth down to greet them. “And Aunt Denise. It’s weird to see you here.”
“I thought it would be nice to see where you work,” the redhead said. “It was wonderful of Moira to get you this job, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks again, Ms. D.”
“Oh, I just put a good word in with my daughter for you,” Moira told him with a smile. “She wouldn’t have hir
ed you if she didn’t think you would do well.”
“You’re doing a good job, Logan,” Denise squeezed his shoulder, her eyes shining. “My sister would be proud of you.”
The teenager nodded seriously, and Moira felt a tug on her heartstrings. His mother had passed away a few months ago, and with his father in the military and posted overseas, Denise had agreed to take him in for as long as was necessary.
“Hey, isn’t that David’s car?” Martha asked, peering out the window.
Moira and Logan, who seemed glad for the distraction, both followed her gaze. Sure enough, the private investigator’s familiar black car was pulling into the lot at his office. No other cars were there.
“He’s alone,” Denise said. “Let’s go say hi.”
The three of them said their goodbyes to Logan and walked over towards David’s office, leaving the car in Candice’s parking lot since they planned on walking around town for a while anyway. Lake Marion, while similar to Maple Creek, bordered a large lake—the town’s namesake—and had a variety of beautiful shops down by the docks. Moira loved the little town, and had even considered moving there after her house burned down. She was happy with her gorgeous stone house, though. Located right between the two towns that she frequented the most, it was just perfect for her.
The door to David’s office was unlocked, so Moira pulled it open and held it for her friends. Inside it was cool and dim, and the air smelled like lemon cleaner.
“This is a surprise,” David said from his desk. His laptop computer was propped up on a pile of papers, and he had an open notebook in front of him, which the deli owner could see was filled with scribbled writing. He closed it suddenly and rose to his feet.
“We aren’t interrupting anything, are we?” she asked.
“No, of course not.” He smiled at her. Was she imagining it, or did the expression look strained? “I just thought I’d get here a bit early and work on a case before I see my next client. She’s missing some money—well, a lot of money—from a bank account, and thinks her estranged husband did it, but my money’s on the son.”
“You have the most interesting job,” said Martha wistfully.
Moira smiled to herself. She knew her friend wasn’t currently too happy in her current line of work—the high demands and frequent weekends away were starting to wear thin. Hopefully the other woman would take the plunge into another career soon. Who knows, she could even become a private investigator herself if she wanted to, she thought.
Surprisingly, David didn’t agree with her as he normally did when someone commented on how cool his job was.
“It has its downside,” he muttered. Clearing his throat, he added, “Was there something you ladies wanted help with? I do have a lot of work to get done—”
Somewhat hurt by his sudden dismissal, Moira turned to her friends and suggested that they check out the small art gallery that featured local artists. It was only a short walk from David’s office to the gallery, and Denise and Martha agreed happily. She exchanged a quick goodbye with David, who promised to call her later, then left.
She spent the entire visit to the little art gallery mulling over their short visit with the private investigator. He had acted strangely the entire time, hiding his notebook so quickly, then muttering negative things about his job, and finally asking them to leave. He’s probably still upset about Fred’s murder, she thought. I really wish he would tell me more about what happened, but I don’t want to upset him by pushing the matter. Still, the hurt feeling stayed with her.
“See you later,” Martha said with a wave as she pulled away from the deli’s parking lot where she had dropped Moira off after their outing.
The deli owner waved to her friend, then said goodbye to Denise, who was hurriedly getting into her own car.
“I had a nice time,” the red-haired woman said. “I’ve got to run, though. One of our orders at the Grill didn’t come in on time, and the chef needs my help.”
“Good luck, I hope you get everything figured out,” the deli owner said. “I’ll try to stop by for dinner sometime this weekend.”
She watched as her friend drove away, then hefted her shopping bags—had she really bought that much?—and turned to go inside. She paused mid-step, one of the bags slipping through her fingers as her mouth fell open in shock.
Her car, which she had left parked safely in front of the deli, had been vandalized. All four tires were flat, with gaping slash marks in them. Something was written on the driver’s window in what looked like soap. She had to move closer to read it, and when she was finally able to make out the words, she felt a tickle of fear. Though the writing was messy, there was no mistaking what the message said.
I’ve got my eye on you.
CHAPTER SIX
“Oh my goodness, Ms. D,” Meg gasped when she came out to see why her boss was standing like a statue in the parking lot and saw the damage to Moira’s car. “Who would do something like this?”
The deli owner said nothing, but looked grimly at her car. The slashed tires would be easy enough to replace, and the words on the driver’s side window should wash off with some water and a good scrubbing, but the sour feeling of fear in her gut would be harder to get rid of. This wasn’t just an act of random vandalism; this was obviously something personal. Who would want to scare me? she wondered. I haven’t stuck my nose anywhere it doesn’t belong, not recently anyway.
“What are you going to do?” her employee asked, wide eyed.
“I think I should call the police,” Moira said. “This isn’t just some teenager’s prank. Whoever did it could mean serious harm, and I’ve had too many close encounters this past year.”
As she dug her phone out of her purse and dialed the number for the Maple Creek police station, she tried to think of who would do such a thing to her poor car. One of the first questions that the police would ask when they got there would be if she knew anyone who had motive… and she was drawing a blank.
Once she had spoken to the police, explained the situation, and promised not to touch anything until they got there, she called David. He didn’t answer, and she hung up before leaving him a message. It was definitely better to tell him about something like this in person. Leaving a message would just concern him, especially if she couldn’t answer right away when he called back.
She sent Meg back inside to take care of the customers, then turned her attention back to her car. Hopefully whoever did this didn’t do anything else to it, she thought. Like cut the brake lines, or somehow make it dangerous to drive, she thought. Why does this sort of thing always seem to happen to me?
In no time at all, a police cruiser showed up. The officer parked behind her car and took a moment to record something—probably her license plate number along with the make and model of her car—before getting out. He introduced himself as Officer Catto, and looked to be not much older than Candice.
“I just got hired here,” he admitted to her. “I’m supposed to be shadowing Detective Jefferson, but he told me to go ahead and come here and get started; he’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said to him. “Do you need me to do anything? I’ve got the insurance and proof of registration in the glove compartment, but I was told not to touch the car until you look it over.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “I’m just going to start by taking some pictures. Once Detective Jefferson gets here, he’ll tell you if he needs anything else.”
She watched as the young man began snapping photos of her car from various angles. Something about his reaction—calm, and matter of fact compared with Meg’s shock—was reassuring. Perhaps her bad experiences in the past had made her paranoid—maybe this was simply just the work of some bored teenager trying to get a rise out of someone.
Detective Jefferson showed up a few minutes later. Surprisingly, David was right behind him. The two of them pulled their vehicles into the parking lot, parked, and approached her nearly simultaneous
ly. Jefferson paused to observe Officer Catto’s work, giving David a chance to greet her first.
“How did you hear about this?” she asked with a nod towards her car, surprised to see him.
“Detective Jefferson was with me when he got the call from the station,” he told her. “He told me, guessing that I’d want to tag along. Do you have any idea what happened?”
“Well, obviously someone decided to take a knife to my tires,” she said. “But as to who did it, I haven’t the slightest idea.”
He frowned at her car, as if it was somehow to blame.
“Have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around?” he asked her. “Has anyone been following you, or have any of your customers at the deli been asking strange questions?”
“No,” she told him. “If they had, don’t you think you’d be the first person I’d tell?”
“I hope so,” he said. “That note on the window—‘I’ve got my eye on you’—you don’t have any idea why someone would write that?”
She shook her head. He looked on the verge of saying something else when Detective Jefferson walked over. She saw him looking at the security camera above the deli’s door, and answered his question before he could even voice it.
“It doesn’t cover the parking lot,” she said. “Not much of it, anyway, and definitely not the spot where I’m parked.”
“Do you think I could still have the footage anyway?” he asked. “It may not help us much right now, but if the perp went into the deli, and if there are any other similar cases in the area, it could help us figure out who did this.”
“Sure thing,” she told him. “Whatever you need. Do you think that this was personal? Am I in any danger?”
He hesitated, looking between her and David.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I’d suggest keeping all your doors and windows locked, just in case, and be careful if you go anywhere alone. I don’t want to frighten you, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Do you still have that big dog of yours? What was his name? Moose? Goose? And the wolfhound?”
Garden Vegetable Murder: Book 12 of The Darling Deli Series Page 3
