Garden Vegetable Murder: Book 12 of The Darling Deli Series

by Patti Benning

  “Maverick is the shepherd,” she said. “And the wolfhound is Keeva. Yes, I’ve still got them both.”

  “Good. Dogs are a great deterrent against all sorts of crime. They’re one of the best alarm systems out there, as far as I’m concerned. Keep them close, all right?”

  She nodded. “I always do.”

  “Did you get fingerprints?” David asked the detective. Jefferson shook his head.

  “No, it’s not usually very successful for something like this. There’s no clear point where the suspect would have had to touch the car, and we can’t exactly dust the whole thing, not with the equipment we have at the station. Besides, a car that’s been sitting in a public parking lot all day might have been touched by countless people. It would just be too much to go through, and there’s no way we would be able to get enough information for a warrant unless we happened to get a set of prints that matched a similar crime in the area… which there haven’t been any, lately.”

  David’s lips tightened, but he nodded, accepting the detective’s answer.

  “I’ve got to get going. I’ll call you,” he said shortly to Moira before turning abruptly and walking back to his car. The deli owner blinked at his retreating form, surprised at his sudden exit. Had something upset him? He’d been acting oddly ever since the dinner with his family, but had never brushed her off so abruptly before, especially not when she was the victim of a crime.

  “So, um… what should I do now?” she asked, trying to recover her train of thought. She turned her gaze back to the detective.

  “I suggest taking the car to a body shop and having them look over it,” he suggested. “If they find anything suspicious, they can contact us. I’ll also make a copy of the police report available to your insurance. If you’ve got any questions, or if anyone approaches you in a suspicious manner or you remember anything about who might have done this, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

  “I won’t,” she promised. She chuckled ruefully, “I’ve got the station’s number on speed dial. If anything suspicious happens, you’ll be the first to hear from me.”

  The detective asked all of the same questions as David had, and she gave him the same answers. The one notable exception was a question the Detective Jefferson seemed hesitant to ask, and when he did, he did so only after making sure Officer Catto was out of earshot.

  “Do you know anything about the case I’m working on with David?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t. Wait, you mean the case about his murdered client?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, he hasn’t told me much about it,” she said. “I’d met his client once or twice before, always on his way in or out of David’s office. He seemed nice enough. From what David said, Fred never had any really serious cases; he just seemed to enjoy the process of hiring a private investigator—I guess he was a fan of mysteries.”

  The detective was nodding. “That sounds about right. Thanks, Ms. Darling. I promise I’ll let you know if we do find anything out about who may have done this. In the meantime, keep yourself safe, all right?”

  She gave her word that she would.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When the police finally left Moira checked her phone again. She was still waiting for David to call her as he had promised. She had been shocked by his sudden departure, and couldn’t help but wonder if he was upset with her for some reason. Was he disappointed that his mother hadn’t liked her more? Granted, their first meeting hadn’t gone exceptionally well. Had the older woman been voicing concerns about her to him? That could explain his distracted behavior. Maybe he was having second thoughts about their relationship, after all.

  She hushed her pessimistic inner voice, telling it, maybe he’s just busy. He hardly ever sees his mom, after all. I’m sure he wants to spend as much time with her as he can. He can see me any old time.

  “Hey, Ms. D,” Meg said when she went inside. “Do you want to take the rest of the day off? I just checked with Dante, and he said he’s happy to come in and take this shift if you wanted to go get your car fixed or something.”

  “That’s great, Meg, thanks,” Moira said, giving her employee a smile. “I think I will actually head over to EZ Wheels and see what Edna has to say. I should at least see how much it will cost to replace the tires and get the rest of the vehicle checked over.”

  “Do you need a ride?”

  “No, I think I’ll just walk over. It will give me a chance to digest everything that’s happened, and try to figure out the next step. Don’t worry about me this evening, either—I can always take the refrigerated truck home with me if the car isn’t ready for a few days.”

  “All right, Ms. D. If you change your mind, just let one of us know.”

  EZ Wheels was about a ten-minute walk away from the deli, and the exercise gave Moira a chance to clear her head. She knew that the chances of them catching the person responsible were low, and that the case would probably be put on the back burner unless the vandal struck again. She didn’t blame the police for that, not really—after all, what were a few slashed tires compared to some of the darker crimes that were on their plate?

  Strolling down the sidewalk, she mused about why Detective Jefferson asked her if she knew anything about David’s client that got murdered. She also started to feel the warmth of the day; although fall was slowly approaching and nights were beginning to get colder, the clear, sunny days were still almost uncomfortably hot, and she was beginning to perspire despite the faint breeze that was blowing in from the direction of Lake Michigan. She knew from experience that soon there would be a period of weeks where the temperature was perfect—pleasantly cool, but not yet chilly, with the expansive forests surrounding the town turning shades of yellow and red—then after that, the weather would begin turning frigid. Somehow winter always seemed like the longest season, though she knew in reality it was the same length as the others.

  EZ Wheels was thankfully not busy when she got there. The shop’s door was propped open, and a box fan was blowing just inside. Despite those efforts to cool it off, the temperature of the interior of the store wasn’t much below that of the outdoors.

  Before even hearing why she was there, Edna, who was working behind the counter, sorting through a bin of car parts that Moira wouldn’t have been able to name, asked her if she wanted a glass of lemonade, which the deli owner gladly accepted. The drink, poured from a pitcher that the other woman took out of the fridge, was ice cold and beyond refreshing.

  “That’s just what I needed,” she said after taking a gulp. “I was starting to regret my decision to walk over here. I’ve got no idea what people did before air conditioning.”

  “They sweated,” Edna said with a laugh. “Just like I am. Darned air conditioning in this building has been broken for a year, and no one seems to be able to fix it. Anyway, what can I do for you? I might be reaching, but my guess is car troubles.”

  “You’re on the money,” Moira said with a smile. “I’m going to need to get it towed here, but I can give you an idea of what happened…”

  She gave Edna a quick synopsis of the last hour, skimming over the part with David, as well as the mysterious message written on the window in soap. She would wash that off before having the car towed. The other woman was shocked.

  “Why would someone want to slit your tires?” Edna asked. “I can’t imagine you doing anything to make anyone so angry. Did you put laxatives in someone’s soup?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure I’ve managed to avoid that. It’s a puzzle, for sure. Right now, my main concern is that my car gets fixed. I can figure out everything else later.”

  The owner of the auto shop gave her an estimate of how much it would cost to get all four tires replaced and give the vehicle a quick once-over to make sure nothing else had been damaged. The amount was lower than Moira had expected.

  “I’m giving you the local business owner’s discount,” Edna explained when the deli owner asked about it. “We hard-working wom
en have to stick together.”

  The tow truck driver, a serious looking man with a mustache whose name tag read simply Dunn, gave her a lift back to the deli, for which she was grateful. She called ahead and asked Meg to wash off the window, unwilling to give Edna more cause for concern.

  Back at the deli, she gave him her key and watched as he hooked the little car up to the truck. She was glad that it was only a short trip back to EZ Wheels—it couldn’t be good for her poor car to be towed on flat tires for long.

  Once the tow truck and her car were out of sight, she went inside and greeted Dante, who was as shocked as everyone else by what had happened. After relating the story once again and reassuring him that no, she really didn’t know why someone would want to slash her tires, she slipped into the kitchen and started washing up in the sink, only to be interrupted by Dante a moment later as he came to tell her that someone was looking for her out front.

  “He says his name is Kent,” he said.

  Moira sighed. It was the man who wanted to buy the deli. She definitely wasn’t up to talking to him right then. Besides the fact that she was exhausted from dealing with her car, she found his personality grating and knew that all he wanted was an answer to a question that she hadn’t figured out yet. The deadline was a few days away, and she had a lot to consider before making her decision.

  “Just tell him I’m busy,” she said, drying her hands on a hand towel. “I’ll get back to him later.”

  Dante nodded and slipped out of the kitchen to deliver the news to the man who was waiting, and Moira breathed a sigh of relief. One thing at a time, she thought. Finding her car with slashed tires and a stalkery note scrawled on the window was too much for anyone to deal with in one day.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “It was so nice of you to invite me to come with you,” Moira said to Karissa and Trish Thursday evening at the Redwood Grill. Their invitation to dinner the night before had been a welcome distraction from thinking about the state of her car. At least it wouldn’t be long until it was shipshape again—driving the refrigerated truck around was already beginning to get old.

  “I thought it would be nice to get to know each other better, since I’m going to be living here now,” said Karissa. “Plus, I know Mom wanted a chance to talk to you some more before she goes back home.”

  “I know how happy you make David,” said the older woman. “I need to make sure I’m leaving my son in good hands. He’s never had much luck with women, you know.”

  Moira didn’t know. She hardly knew anything about David’s history. He had mentioned one or two of his ex-girlfriends to her in passing, but never in detail. That was fine with her; she wasn’t the type that wanted to know every detail of his past relationships, anyway. She had wondered how such a wonderful man had remained unmarried, but had figured that David would tell her anything important when he was ready. Had she been wrong not to ask more about his past?

  “Right this way—oh, Ms. Darling, I didn’t see you at first. Would you like your usual table?” The hostess’s words pulled Moira out of her thoughts, and it took her a moment to focus and answer. She recognized the young woman; she had seated her and David quite a few times over the past few months.

  “Sure, if it’s available,” she said, giving the young woman a smile. “It will just be the three of us today.”

  “Ms. Donovan is in the back. Shall I tell her you’ve arrived?” asked the hostess as she led them to the quiet back corner where Moira’s usual booth was waiting.

  “Only if she’s not busy,” the deli owner said.

  The hostess seated them and took their drink orders—Moira decided to splurge a bit with a Piña Colada, virgin since she would have to drive herself home in a little bit—and then left them to mull over the menus.

  “What do you recommend?” Karissa asked. “I know you come here a lot—you must have tried pretty much everything by now.”

  “Honestly, it’s all good,” she told the other woman. “I guess it just depends on what sort of dish you’re in the mood for. David usually gets something with steak in it. I tend to go for seafood or chicken, myself.”

  “Hmm… I think I’ll try some of their pasta. The chicken pesto ravioli looks good. What are you getting, Mom? I know you like seafood. You should ask Moira for her suggestion—I don’t know if I told you, but she’s friends with the owner.”

  Trish looked up from the menu, raising her eyebrows at her daughter’s words. Moira felt once again that the older woman was keenly examining her, but what she hadn’t the slightest clue what she might be looking for.

  “Really? How do you know her?” David’s mother asked.

  “She introduced herself to me when she first opened the Grill. We didn’t quite hit it off at first, but we have a lot in common, and quickly became friends.”

  “Isn’t that a bit unusual?” the older woman asked.

  “Pardon me?” She had no idea what Trish was talking about. Didn’t most people have a lot in common with their friends?

  “You being friends with another restaurant owner. She is a competitor, after all.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess. But our restaurants are different enough that we don’t really steal customers from each other. The Grill is more of a dinner place, though they do serve earlier meals as well. The deli focuses mostly on lunch, and on morning commuters. A lot of my customers stop in when they need something quick to eat on the go, or want to have a casual meal with a friend while out in town. The Grill is definitely much more of a sit-down place compared to the deli. Besides, I do catering, and Denise doesn’t.” Moira chuckled. “She considered doing it for a bit, but I let her ride along with me to an event and she decided that she didn’t want to deal with it.”

  Trish just nodded and resumed perusing the menu. The deli owner hid a frown. Why was the older woman so hard to win over? Did she think she had some sort of ulterior motive for dating David? Or was she just unfriendly in general? Moira shot a glance at Karissa, wishing that she could ask her, but she didn’t think the two of them were close enough, not yet, anyway. It did seem that David’s sister was making an effort to connect, and she was grateful for that.

  A young waiter appeared at their table a few minutes later with their drinks. He took their food orders cheerfully and congratulated them on their choices.

  “Those are all excellent dishes,” he said. “I’ll get your order in with the chef right away. Would you like any appetizers to tide you over?”

  The other two women looked to her for suggestions, so Moira glanced at the menu quickly. Which one was best? It was hard to decide, because they were all so good.

  “Let’s try the smoked whitefish dip,” she said. “If that’s all right with you two, of course.”

  Both Trish and Karissa nodded their approval, and the waiter went away with their menus in hand. The three women made stilted conversation until the appetizer arrived. The delicious food served to break the ice.

  “This is some of the best dip I’ve ever had,” Trish said admiringly. “Do you know if it’s an original recipe?”

  “I believe so,” Moira told her. “Denise and her chefs work hard to develop house recipes. They change the menu frequently, rotating old favorites out with new dishes. If a dish is successful, then it joins the rotation. On the rare occasion that it isn’t successful, Denise makes a note of it and takes it off the menu. She’s constantly coming up with new stuff, too.”

  “She sounds like quite the woman,” David’s mother said. “Are your other friends all so successful?”

  “Hmm… I suppose so. Martha’s really the only other close friend I have, other than David of course. She’s successful financially, but she doesn’t really have the same passion for what she does that the rest of us do.”

  “What about you? Do you consider yourself successful financially?”

  “Mother!” exclaimed Karissa. “That’s rude. It’s none of our business what Moira makes.”

  “I’m just trying to pr
otect David,” Trish said testily. “You know he hasn’t had the best of luck before. Some women have no class, and all they see when it comes to men are dollar signs.”

  “I’m so sorry, Moira. Ever since Dad died, Mom’s kind of forgotten about social niceties,” Karissa said, her face red with embarrassment.

  “It’s okay,” the deli owner said, trying her best to diffuse the situation. “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, I’ve had people say way worse things to me than asking about my income.” Like death threats, she thought. She could understand the older woman’s concern, though of course she was way off the mark when it came to her and David.

  “She’s just a bit over protective,” David’s sister continued. “She worries about us, you know?”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m not here,” snapped Trish. “I’m not an invalid. Why should I beat around the bush when it comes to my son? Moira’s been dating him for almost a year. I think she can indulge his old mother a few questions. From what David says, she’s quite the troublemaker. Bodies popping up left and right wherever she goes, house fires, kidnappings—”

  Moira opened her mouth indignantly, but was saved from making a reply by the appearance of a familiar tall, red-headed woman.

  “Denise,” she said, relieved. “I’m so glad that you stopped by to say hi.”

  Her friend must have caught something of the tail end of their conversation, because she had one eyebrow raised and was gazing at the older woman skeptically. Her expression shifted seamlessly into a welcoming smile a moment later as she introduced herself. Moira was beyond grateful when Denise agreed to Karissa’s offer for her to join them and tell them about what it was like to run the Redwood Grill.

  One more awkward dinner with David’s mom out of the way, she thought as the waiter brought them their food and rushed back to the kitchen to have the chef prepare a dish for Denise as well. I wonder how many more I’ll have to get through before she leaves?