by Jessa Archer
I held his stare, basically daring him to say the word or make some other equally snide remark. For a moment, I thought he would. The Travis Lamm I knew in high school wouldn’t have been able to resist. But he’d had several decades to learn that discretion is generally the better part of valor.
“Unless you find the leash, of course,” he said with a tiny grin. “You have full dispensation to touch that.”
I rolled my eyes in response, then headed into the kitchen. It would be a lot easier to look if I could turn on the light, but that would require touching something, so I made do with the pale splash of moonlight filtering in from the window above the sink. The door to the garage was at the far side of the kitchen, beyond the fridge. Next to the door, I spotted an entryway shelf mounted on the wall. The leash dangled from one of the key hooks at the bottom of the shelf.
“Found it!” I called out to Travis as I grabbed the leash. “I’ll see you over at my place.”
I headed back toward the patio but stopped at the edge of the kitchen. I’d forgotten to cancel the order with OBXpress. A very familiar takeout bag was on the counter next to the sink. And unlike the plain white paper bags that Bill Gonzalez had carried into my house with the salsa and other items for the taco bar, the La Costera logo was visible, even in the dim light.
Next to the bag was an unwrapped half-eaten burrito.
Chapter Eight
I hurried back to the house and punched in the key code for the garage rather than risk going in through the front and running into Atilla. My mind was buzzing as I entered the numbers. That burrito on the counter couldn’t possibly be connected to Rebecca Whitley’s death. First and foremost, I didn’t think that anyone at La Costera was a killer. True, Bill Gonzalez had said that Silvia was ready to march out and whack Whitley and her friends with their picket signs, but that wasn’t the same thing as the cold-blooded calculation required for murder. Second, the logo was right there on the front of the bag. If Whitley actually believed the Gonzalezes had been responsible for poisoning Leo, why on earth would she have eaten food from their restaurant?
It seemed far more likely that this Rick guy had eaten it before he left. Whitley had probably combined pills with the wine she was drinking. Or had a heart attack. The partially eaten burrito was just a coincidence.
Still, I’d need to tell Travis about it. They would definitely take note of the bag, given that Grady had spent part of his morning listening to Whitley complain that Gonzalez had threatened her, and I didn’t want anyone thinking that they’d decided to send that order all on their own. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t even have known where it was being delivered, given that I’d ordered and paid through the OBXpress app on my phone.
I misentered the garage door code the first time and had to try again. From the backyard, one of the guys was saying, “You missed it by a mile, Nathan. Give me the bat.” My brain was so jumbled that the words didn’t make sense for a moment. Then I remembered the pinata.
The code worked on the second try, and once I was inside the garage with the door safely closed behind me, I put Leo down on the concrete floor. “Stay. I’ll bring you some water and a blanket to lie on.”
He trotted next to me toward the steps that led to the kitchen.
“No,” I said firmly, picking him up and placing him back on the floor. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
I moved more quickly this time and managed to get through the door before Leo made it up the stairs. He was quick for an old dog, probably as a result of all those mad dashes through the neighborhood when he escaped.
The crowd seemed to have thinned out a bit. Paige was sitting on the edge of the deck with Delaney, scrolling through the songs on the iPad that she had connected to the Bluetooth speakers, as one of the girls stepped forward to take a swing at the star-shaped pinata hanging from the oak tree.
“I’m so sorry,” I told Paige. “I had to give Deputy Grady my statement after the ambulance left and then…”
“It’s okay,” she said. “Nothing you could do about it.” Fall Out Boy’s “Uma Thurman” came over the speakers, and she put the iPad aside.
“I heard you yelling at someone a few minutes ago,” I said. “What happened?”
“Emily,” she said. “Just Emily being her rotten self. She asked if the food was from La Costera while I was fixing my taco. I told her yes, because they make the best tacos, and then I took a big bite, hoping it would shut her up. But of course not. Right in front of Marisol, she says that she heard the health department is closing the place down—a lie—and then puts on this fake sympathetic look and asks if Marisol’s mom will get deported if they go out of business. Which is totally ridiculous—her mom has been a citizen for years—not to mention just plain mean. So I handed Emily a box of the crappy pizza and told her to go eat it somewhere else. That I wanted her out of my house.”
Delaney grinned. “Except that’s the G-rated version.”
Paige colored slightly. “I might have added a few other words. For emphasis. Anyway, Cade took them home. They left just before you yelled for me to call 911.” She squeezed her eyes tightly. “I’m not going to lie. I really, really couldn’t stand Mrs. Whitley. But seeing her like that was awful. Has anyone called Andrew?”
“I don’t have his number. But I’m going to see if I can get in touch with the professor who’s traveling with…” Marisol was next in line for the pinata, which reminded me of what Ben had said earlier about Dia and Andrew. “Actually, I think there might be a better way. I’m going to go make a call and then I’ll put the candles on your cake. Oh, and be careful if you go into the garage. Leo is in there. He was acting sick, and it didn’t seem safe to leave him alone.”
Paige’s eyebrows shot up. “Attila is going to flip out. Dee was just saying that she thinks we’ve been lying about him being a terror.”
“True,” Delaney said. “All I’ve seen is him being a perfectly well-behaved purr baby. And…it’s my turn at the pinata again. I’m beginning to wonder whether that thing is actually hollow.”
“Just arrange the blindfold so you can peek and aim for the center,” Paige whispered. “And whack it really hard. This is taking way too long.”
My phone was plugged in on top of the kitchen counter. I grabbed it to call Ben. As it rang, I realized that it was nearly nine thirty, and I still hadn’t conferred with Melinda Barry on the callbacks for the Playhouse auditions.
When Ben answered, I asked if he could go on the Playhouse website and post a message saying I’d had an emergency and would have callbacks up as soon as possible.
“Sure,” he said. “Is everything okay?”
“Not exactly. Listen, is Dia with you?”
“Yeah. She’s right here. You need to talk to her?”
“Yes, please.”
Was it a social faux pas to call a guy and ask his girlfriend if she still had her ex-boyfriend’s number on her phone? I thought it probably was, but…
When Dia came on the line, I said, “I really hate to ask this, especially since you’re with Ben right now, but…do you happen to still have Andrew Whitley’s number?”
There was a pause and then she said, “I do. And it’s okay. Ben knows we’re still friends. Why do you need it?”
“Because someone needs to let him know that his mother died.”
“Oh my God. What happened?”
After I explained, I asked if she could text me the number. Breaking this news definitely wasn’t a task I wanted, having recently been on the receiving end of the same call from Dean Prendergast. But someone needed to let him know.
Dia said, “It’s okay, Professor Alden. I’ll call Andrew. Like I said, we’re still friends. I know you’re in the middle of your daughter’s party. And it might be easier on him if the call comes from a friend. Is it okay if I give him your number, though? In case he has questions.”
I told her that would be fine, and we ended the call so that she could contact Andrew.
Travis
’s knock—four quick raps—sounded at the front while I was putting the candles on Paige’s cake. When I opened the door, he glanced around to make sure we weren’t being watched and then pulled me into the stairwell for a quick kiss.
“Missed you,” he said.
Before I could respond, a baleful meow came from the top of the stairs. Attila stared down at me for several seconds, and then apparently deciding he’d made his point, he twitched his tail and stalked back into Paige’s room.
“What was that about?” Travis asked. “I thought he liked me.”
“He likes you just fine. It’s me he’s mad at. I smell like dog.”
“You most definitely do not smell like dog.” He pulled me close and breathed me in. “Not one little bit.”
“I do to Attila,” I said. “You saw the bag on Whitley’s counter, right?”
He nodded. “I was just going to ask whether you knew anything about that.”
“Yes. I ordered it. It was sort of a bribe—here’s some yummy food in exchange for putting up with party noise. La Costera caters, but they don’t do delivery. I could probably have gotten them to make an exception, since I was placing a big order and they were heading out here anyway, but I just went through OBXpress instead. When Ben told me what was going on between Whitley and the Gonzalezes, I was going to call and cancel. But with the party prep, end of the semester insanity, and auditions for the Coastal Playhouse, it slipped my mind. I didn’t even think about it until I saw the bag on the counter.”
Travis made a pained face. “Unfortunately, given everything that has happened this week, I’m going to have to treat her death as possible foul play. Grady is taking the food in for analysis, to compare with anything that Whitley may have had in her system. If she’s talked to Peggy Winstead about all of this, and I strongly suspect she has, that means I’ll be called into the mayor’s office bright and early on Monday to discuss the investigation.” He gave a rueful chuckle. “If not before. Starting to think I should have stayed in Raleigh. Were you able to get up with anyone at SCU?”
“No, but Dia Gonzalez is friends with Andrew Whitley. She was with Ben when I called, and said she’d contact him.” I nodded toward the kitchen. “I’m about to take the birthday cake out to the deck. If you can stay a couple of minutes, I’ll pack you up a couple of slices to take back to the station.”
He pressed a kiss to my temple. “I think I can manage that.”
We sang, and Paige blew out sixteen candles. I got a little misty-eyed, wishing Justin could have been here. Or my dad. Or my mom, for that matter. I’d kind of thought she might make an appearance for this. I’d seen her in the backyard on one other occasion, so I knew she wasn’t confined to the house.
But there were more than a dozen people hanging around. Maybe she didn’t want to risk it. Or maybe she was watching from the upstairs window.
The cake was every bit as good as Delaney had promised, but no one had much of an appetite. Several of the guests opted out of cake entirely, and they all seemed eager to go home. Or, at least, eager to leave the party. Not all that surprising, I guess, given that the highlight had been seeing a dead woman pulled from a swimming pool.
Chapter Nine
As Paige’s guests were heading out, I grabbed my phone and went upstairs to the office. I was a bit worried it might be a bit late to call Melinda. She’s only in her late forties, but her husband is around seventy and I thought they might keep early hours. So I sent her a text, saying to call me if she was still awake and wanted to discuss the casting, and then I started going through the information that she’d emailed to me earlier in the evening.
My phone rang almost instantly, and for a moment, my hand hovered above it, frozen. I was certain that it wouldn’t be Melinda. The person on the other end would be Andrew Whitley, wanting to know more about his mother’s death.
I’d eventually have to talk to him. But right now, the news would be fresh and his emotions raw. That would bring back my own memories of barely six months ago when my phone rang with the same message, and then the worst thing of all, having to tell Paige that her nana was gone. They’d spent summers together here in Caratoke for so many years and she was devastated. And that’s why I’d really hoped my conversation with Andrew would be face to face. In most cases, it might not seem easier to have that sort of talk in person, but at least it would be less likely to give me grief flashbacks.
Fortunately, it wasn’t Andrew on the phone. When I saw Melinda’s name above the number, I let out the breath I was holding.
“Tig?” Melinda said. “Is everything okay there? I was beginning to worry when I didn’t hear from you, especially after I saw the message on the website just now. Are you and Paige all right?”
“Yes. Well, as all right as we can be. Her birthday party didn’t exactly go as planned. I was taking our neighbor’s dog home. The woman has—or rather, had—a bad habit of letting him wander. No one answered, so I carried him around back and…I found her body floating in the pool. I had to get Paige to call 911 and some of her friends to pull the body out of the pool. We were too late, though.”
“Oh, no! Were you close?”
“No. We were kind of the opposite of close. But it was still awful.”
“Wait…was this the woman in the big house on the right? Who owns the dog with the death wish? The one who looks like a Beanie Baby lion, with the mane, and the little poofy thing on its tail?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. The dog’s name is Leo. He’s in my garage right now until someone shows up to claim him. Why did you think he had a death wish? Did he jump out in front of your car or something?”
“No. But he nearly tripped me when I came out of your house that day after dropping off your flowers. and he was chewing on your bushes. Some of those plants aren’t dog-friendly. I was scared he was going to get sick, so I picked him up and was going to ring your bell again to see if you knew who he belonged to. But then your neighbor came out and gave me a piece of her mind for daring to touch her little precious. So I just handed the dog to her and left. That was her, then? The woman who died?”
“Yeah. The whole thing is a mess, and I…” I sighed. “But I can’t think about that right now. I need to get the callbacks posted.”
For the next few minutes, we compared our assessments of the auditions. For the most part, our rankings were pretty similar.
“So, what are we going to do about Bethany?” I asked. “I mean, she’s good. She’s really good. But…”
“We cast her,” Melinda said. “Obviously. You’re not going to find a better person to play the vamp. Unless someone else ramps up their game in the callbacks, she’s the best of the bunch by far. She probably already knows any script you gave them—not just her part, but all of them. She’s an extraordinarily quick study.”
“But can you work with her? I was under the impression that there was an…altercation between the two of you last season. I wouldn’t want you to have to work with someone that unpleasant.”
That was true. What I didn’t add was that I really didn’t want to have to spend the summer working with someone that unpleasant, either. I’d been in enough theater troupes to know that one bad apple may not spoil the whole bunch, but it can definitely lead to everyone dreading going anywhere near the fruit bowl.
Melinda sighed. “If you’re talking about the time she hit me, that wasn’t actually about Jerry Amundsen. Or at least, it wasn’t entirely about Jerry. It was…well, I embarrassed her without meaning to. I don’t want you to think I’m gossiping, but you should probably know this. Bethany grew up here in New Jersey. Not too far from where I live, actually. There were some rather high-profile arrests of people connected to organized crime here in Trenton about eighteen months ago, and Bethany’s father was one of them.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I didn’t make the connection at first, until Jerry mentioned that Bethany had changed her name from Tartaglia. You’ll find quite a few students at
SCU have some rather unsavory family connections, in part due to the fact that one of the people who founded Southern Coastal back in the 1980s was Joey Denisco.”
The name caught me by surprise, and I sucked in a sharp breath.
“So you’ve heard of him?” Melinda asked.
“Yeah. He was arrested on racketeering charges a few years ago, wasn’t he?”
“Correct. You’re surprisingly well-informed about East Coast organized crime for a California girl.”
“My dad plays a mobster on TV, remember?” It was true. My father had portrayed Vincent Coletti on the daytime drama, The Sands of Time, for the past six years. Thanks to that role, he’d almost managed to earn his way out of the staggering debt that we’d stumbled into when the manager who handled our financial affairs absconded to parts unknown with pretty much everything she could get her larcenous little hands on.
His soap opera alter ego was, however, a fairly lame justification for me keeping up with the ins and outs of organized crime on the opposite side of the country. And it wasn’t the actual reason that Joey Denisco’s name had triggered a reaction. Denisco was part of the same crime family as the Carbones. I’d had a brief fling with Dominic Carbone a little less than seventeen years ago and had expended a great deal of effort to ensure that he never found out that the affair had resulted in a daughter. The fact that he was planning to move back to the West Coast was a large part of the reason that I’d decided to take the job at SCU. Hearing that the university was connected to the Carbone family, even indirectly, was a solid gut punch.
“Oh, that’s right,” Melinda said, even though her tone suggested, correctly, that she wasn’t at all sure why I’d be doing background research for my father’s character. “As I was saying, though, Bethany’s dad was arrested, and I’m thinking maybe he coughed up some names, because the Tartaglia family’s finances kind of tanked after the trial. Bethany went from a pampered princess who never wanted for anything to someone who needed a job in order to pay her sorority dues. The thing is, I didn’t have any idea it was a big secret that she was delivering pizzas, and I made the mistake of mentioning it in front of another cast member. A few hours later, Bethany sees me talking to Jerry, and she punches me. Maybe she thought Jerry was flirting with me. I think she’d latched on to him as her prospective knight in shining armor, someone who would take care of her now that her papa had let her down. Anyway, I’m not going to pretend that I like her, but she’s talented, and I think maybe she deserves another chance. I feel bad that I didn’t say something to Dean Prendergast about the situation with Jerry earlier. And…I don’t know about you, but I made some truly awful mistakes at eighteen. While I never fell for a guy quite as rotten as Jerald Amundsen, I came pretty close a few times.”
