Stabbed in the Baklava

by Tina Kashian

  Clemmons motioned for her to sit in a faux leather chair across from his desk, and Lucy took a seat. The office was just as she remembered. It was spacious, twice as big as her tiny office in the corner of the restaurant’s cramped storage room. A picture of Clemmons on a fishing boat holding up a large fish hung on the wall behind his desk. She recalled from her last visit that he liked to mount stuffed fish on his office walls, and she counted four taxidermied fish, one more than last time. An openedmouthed flounder had joined the bluefish, salmon, and trout.

  Folding her hands in her lap, she kept her voice level. “You’re wasting your time. Azad’s innocent.”

  “A couple months back in town and you’re an expert investigator,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

  “I’ve known Azad for years. So have my parents. We can testify to his character.”

  “He’s also the person who threatened my murder victim with bodily harm in a kitchen full of impartial witnesses.”

  Lucy ignored the emphasis on the word “impartial.”

  “I also looked into the loan Azad Zakarian attempted to obtain through the victim’s bank, Ocean Crest Savings and Loan. The initial application was approved, only to have the final loan denied. He paid a nice chunk of change to his attorney in wasted fees. It would make me spitting mad, too,” Clemmons said.

  “I get all that, Detective. I just want to make sure you’re not overlooking other people with motive to kill Henry Simms.”

  “What other people?” He leaned forward in his chair, his nostrils slightly flaring. “Are you sticking your nose in an active investigation again?”

  “Prosecutor Walsh paid me a visit. She told me to come forward immediately with anything I remember or heard about the murder.” That much was true, and she met his glare with one of her own.

  Clemmons took a bite of his doughnut and powdered sugar fell on his blue tie. He swiped at it, but only managed to smear it on the dark blue fabric. “All right. Shoot.”

  “A tabloid printed pictures of the reception.” Lucy fished the tabloid paper that she’d purchased at Holloway’s Grocery out of her purse. She set the paper on the desk and opened it to the relevant page. Several shots of Scarlet in her wedding gown were displayed on the glossy pages.

  Clemmons flipped the page. “So?”

  “Take a closer look. The pictures are of inside Castle of the Sea. Phones and cameras were prohibited at the reception. Someone smuggled a phone inside and took these pictures and sold them to the tabloid. The wedding planner, Victoria Redding, was fighting about this very thing with Henry and took his phone.”

  “You believe Simms took these pictures?”

  “I do.”

  “How? You just said Ms. Redding took his phone.”

  “Henry could have texted or e-mailed the pictures to the paper from the reception in exchange for payment before Victoria took his phone.”

  “How is this useful to me? I already summoned Ms. Redding for questioning,” he said. “She admitted to fighting with the victim, but denies killing him.”

  That was what Victoria had told her. The trouble was Lucy didn’t think Victoria was lying. The temperamental wedding planner may have been mad, but were a few pictures enough motive to kill someone?

  “I looked into the newspaper claim. I didn’t find any evidence that Henry sold pictures of the wedding. A paper won’t reveal its source, even a tabloid.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I’m busy today, so is there anything else you’d like to share, Ms. Berberian?”

  How much to tell and how? If she told him they’d questioned Victoria on their own and learned that Henry was cheating on his wife, then he’d know they’d been snooping around. Plus, Katie had discovered the million-dollar life insurance policy for the victim, and that could also be a big motive. Still, she had to push him in that direction.

  “What about the victim’s wife?” she asked.

  “What about her?”

  Was he being purposely obtuse or was he testing her? How would Katie phrase it? “The television crime shows I watch always suspect the spouse. Adultery and money were two motives on a recent episode.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Good to know. I wouldn’t want to alter your perception of TV.”

  “Detective—”

  He raised a hand. “I appreciate you taking Prosecutor Walsh’s advice seriously and coming here even if your amateurish suggestions are obvious and not helpful. Leave the investigating to the pros. Anything else?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is. When will we get our catering van back?”

  “I told you before, it’s a crime scene.”

  “I understand. But haven’t the crime scene investigators completed their inspection?” she asked.

  “Why do you want it back so badly? Is there something incriminating in the van that you’re not telling me about?”

  What a jerk. Lucy’s heartbeat throbbed in her ears. “No. We need it for future catering jobs.”

  His mustache twitched. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

  Well, that didn’t go well. She doubted she’d get the van back until Henry’s killer was brought to justice.

  Katie was right. If they wanted to help clear Azad’s name and solve the murder and get the van back, then they’d have to do it all on their own. She was stuffing the tabloid back in her purse as a knock on the door made her jump.

  “If you’ll excuse me, this is my appointment.” He stood, and Lucy pushed back her chair.

  Clemmons opened the door, and Lucy stepped outside the office.

  And ran smack into Azad.

  “Lucy! What are you doing here?” Azad stared, clearly surprised.

  “I . . . I was just following up with Detective Clemmons.” An older gentleman stood behind Azad, and Lucy shifted to get a better look.

  Azad noticed her interest. “I took your advice. This is Mr. Winters.”

  Clyde Winters was in his early seventies with a swath of wrinkles and brown spots on his neck and hands. The man’s face broke into a smile as he looked at her. “Hello there, Lucy. Last time I saw you was at your parents’ restaurant years ago. You were thinking about going to law school.”

  “I did, but I’m back now.”

  “Good for you. I’d like to hear more about your adventures, but at another time. We have a meeting with the detective.”

  Lucy had almost forgotten about Clemmons standing behind her. She turned and glanced up at him. Clemmons looked like he’d just sucked on a sour lemon as he stared at Mr. Winters. A thrill of satisfaction coursed through her.

  Perfect.

  Azad was in good hands. Clyde may be old, but it was clear that he still had an edge.

  “Thank you for showing up on such short notice, Mr. Winters,” she said. “Please stop by the restaurant for dinner whenever you’re free. It’s on the house.”

  Clyde winked and tipped his hat. “Now that’s a type of payment I look forward to.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Lucy poured a bowl of cat food and carried it out the back door of the restaurant. Dinner service had been busy and exhausting, and she was relieved when the last customer departed and she could close the place for the night. Her visit to Detective Clemmons’s office had taken a toll. Even though she’d been relieved when Azad had shown up with an attorney in tow, she was more convinced than before that she needed to solve the murder of Henry Simms, and fast.

  Gadoo meowed, sashayed close to sniff the bowl, then looked up as if to say, “That’s it? No liver treats?”

  “Spoiled kitty,” she said, then reached into her apron pocket to pull out a few cat treats shaped like tunas and offer them in her outstretched hand. Gadoo approached and quickly ate the treats, then turned his attention to the bowl of cat food. She looked forward to feeding him, and not for the first time, she understood her mother’s affection for the outdoor orange and black cat.

  She let out a long breath as she watched Gadoo. She didn’t feel she was any closer to solving the
murder, but at least Azad’s interrogation at the police station had gone well. He’d returned to work with a smile and had thanked her for recommending Mr. Winters. Clemmons had been forced to follow all the rules.

  Gadoo’s bright yellow eyes twinkled at her. Just as she reached down to scratch him beneath his chin, a loud rumble pierced the quiet night air. The cat abandoned his bowl in a flash and flew across the parking lot to hide behind the Dumpster.

  Lucy had an entirely different reaction. Her heart thumped in anticipation.

  Smoothing her hair, she walked the length of the white fence separating the restaurant from the business next door. Anthony’s Bike Shop rented bicycles, trikes, and surreys to tourists to ride on Ocean Crest’s boardwalk and streets. The shop would be long closed by now, but the owner’s son was just warming up.

  It was dark out, but the shop’s garage door was open and brightly lit. Bicycles were parked in neat rows, spare tires hung from hooks on the walls, and the shelves were full of new and used bicycle parts and tire pumps. A chrome and black Harley-Davidson motorcycle was in the driveway, its engine purring like a large contented beast. A tall, good-looking, dark-haired man wearing faded jeans and a leather jacket walked out of the garage and halted by the Harley. Lucy couldn’t see his eyes from this distance, but she knew they were as bright blue as the sky on a sultry, summer day at the beach.

  She made her way to the sidewalk, then walked up the shop’s driveway.

  The man grinned, motorcycle helmet in hand. “Hey, Lucy. What took you so long?”

  Her pulse skipped a beat. “I have a business to run, remember?” she teased.

  His grin widened. “How can I forget? We’re both in charge now.”

  Michael Citteroni ran his father’s bicycle rental shop. They’d become fast friends when she’d returned home. His father was a bit shady, and she’d grown up thinking Mr. Citteroni was a mobster who used his many businesses—bike rentals, laundering services, and trash trucks—to launder money from his illegal activities in the neighboring town of Atlantic City. But Michael was different. He hadn’t always gotten along with his father in the past. His sister, on the other hand, was eager to follow in their father’s footsteps. As a result, Michael had been roped into managing the bicycle rental shop, and Lucy had commiserated with him in the past about the guilt of family responsibility.

  She’d been surprised at how much she’d enjoyed his company. Michael had a great sense of humor, was hot, and had introduced her to the thrill of motorcycle riding.

  He handed her a helmet. “Do you want a ride home?”

  “I’d love one.”

  His leather jacket creaked as he leaned forward to help her fasten the strap of a spare helmet beneath her chin. His fingers brushed hers, and the faint scent of his cologne wafted to her. Her heart skipped a beat, and she mentally shook herself.

  Life had been complicated enough since returning home, and an attraction to two dark-haired men made it downright dangerous. Still, a part of her couldn’t believe it. Her love life during her law firm days had been as dry as the Sahara, and now she had two handsome men express interest in her.

  She was no closer to picking one, but who said she had to? Katie believed it was time for Lucy to enjoy herself and see how things naturally progressed. Her mother, on the other hand, kept telling her that her biological clock was ticking away like a time bomb waiting to detonate, and that she better get married and pop out a grandchild soon.

  Lucy tended to favor Katie’s advice.

  “Let’s take the long way home,” she told Michael.

  His perfect lips curled in a smile. “Your wish is my command.”

  Oh, my. She was asking for trouble.

  Lucy climbed on the bike behind him and held on to his leather-clad sides. The bike roared to life, and he turned down Ocean Avenue. The night air caressed her face and blew the tendrils of curls at her nape. The faint smell of the ocean tickled her senses, and the shops on the main strip were a colorful blur of light as they sped by. Soon, they were zooming past cars and trucks making late night deliveries. She closed her eyes and let all her stress and inner turmoil blow away along with the night breeze.

  Michael slowed down for tourists dashing across the street to a crowded custard stand. The bike rumbled beneath her again as they rode by the boardwalk. Lucy could make out the cries from the old-fashioned wooden roller coaster and the bright lights of the Ferris wheel. The ride was thrilling and exciting and she couldn’t fathom how she’d initially feared riding on the back of the Harley just months ago.

  He turned down a side street. “Do you want to stop on the boards?”

  “You bet.”

  He parked the bike and helped her unclasp her helmet. Offering his arm, they made their way up the ramp to the end of the boardwalk. It was less crowded here, and Michael always seemed to know where to go to escape the throng of tourists. They sat on a wood bench and watched the night sky and listened to the sound of the ocean in the distance. It was high tide, but the waves hadn’t yet reached beneath the boardwalk.

  “So, what’s troubling you?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  The moonlight illuminated his chiseled profile, and her heart kicked up a notch. “Am I that readable?”

  “Maybe not to everyone. But we’re kindred spirits, remember?”

  How could she forget? Michael had an overbearing and controlling Italian father. Raffi Berberian could be overbearing and overprotective, too. Their ethnicities may be different, but they did have a lot in common.

  She sighed. “Managing the restaurant is harder than I initially thought it would be. My attempts to change the shelving in the storage room haven’t gone exactly as I’d planned. I want to update to a computerized system, but my parents insist on staying in the Dark Ages. Plus, there’s the payroll, the labor, the ordering, and my not-so-successful attempts to learn how to cook from my mother.”

  He whistled through his teeth. “It’s a lot to take on. The restaurant business is tough.”

  “The catering end is not all peaches and cream either. The food at Scarlet Westwood’s wedding may have been good, but the entire affair turned out to be a disaster.”

  “I know. I was there.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “You were?”

  “My father was invited, but he had a last-minute business conflict and asked me to go in his place. I arrived late to the reception. I saw you, but you were busy running back and forth from the ballroom to the kitchen and I didn’t want to distract you from your work. I planned on slipping into the kitchen to say a quick hello at some point, but I noticed that head chef of yours and I decided to stay away.”

  Lucy wasn’t sure how to respond. It wasn’t a secret that Azad and Michael had disliked each other from the first moment she’d introduced them.

  Two big male egos could really clash.

  In a strange way, Lucy was flattered by the attention. What did that say about her?

  “You should have flagged me down in the ballroom,” she admonished.

  “Yeah, well, I encountered another obstacle. The best man’s wife was as clingy as a vine.”

  “You mean Holly?”

  “I couldn’t get away from her. I told her straight out that married women weren’t my thing, not to mention that if my mom was alive they’d be the same age, but even that didn’t deter her.”

  No woman wanted to be reminded of her age. What was Holly thinking? Her husband had been the best man at the wedding. But then again, his young lover, Cressida Connolly, had been the maid of honor. No wonder Holly had been hitting on Michael. Seeing Henry escort Cressida at the wedding and then later at the reception must have sent her overboard.

  “What did Holly say?” she asked.

  Michael shrugged. “She didn’t seem fazed by it at all. She told me that her husband was a jerk cheating with a woman my age and that he deserved everything he got. ‘Tit for tat,’ she said.”

  “Did Holly pursue you all night?”

>   “Almost. She left me alone for a bit at the reception. She said she had to freshen up her lipstick and went to the ladies’ room. Thankfully, she took her sweet time. It was the only chance I had to truly enjoy the food. The meal was excellent, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” Lucy said as her mind was churning to digest this information. “You said she was gone for a while. Do you remember when and for how long?”

  “About a half hour near the end of the reception.”

  A half hour at the end.

  It would have been possible for Holly to follow Henry outside, witness the argument between Henry and Victoria, and hide until Victoria returned to the wedding. Holly could have then stabbed Henry and returned to the reception. But how did she manage to get Henry in the van? It was a question that continued to plague Lucy.

  “Don’t worry. If anyone can figure out who killed that best man, it’s you,” Michael said.

  She looked at him in surprise. “I never said I was trying to solve the murder.”

  His smile hitched up a notch. “You didn’t have to. I’ve gotten to know you, Lucy Berberian. You want to help others. Plus, I’ve also heard rumors that your new head chef is a prime suspect.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Do I have to remind you that gossip travels as fast as wildfire in Ocean Crest?”

  No. He didn’t. News of the murder and Detective Calvin Clemmons’s prime suspect had probably spread within six hours after Henry’s body was found in the catering van.

  A sudden explosion made Lucy jerk. A flash of colorful light burst in the night sky above the Ferris wheel.

  “Fireworks!” she gasped.

  “Every weekend in the summer. Did you forget?”

  She had. The neighboring Jersey beach towns were larger than Ocean Crest and had a bigger budget—which included fireworks on the summer weekends. Another burst of red, blue, and white lights crackled above and illuminated the dark sky for shining, glimmering moments.

  “I remember the first time I saw the fireworks in the summer. I must have been five. My dad put me on his shoulders and I watched from the boardwalk. It was one of my earliest memories,” Lucy said.