One Feta in the Grave

by Tina Kashian

“Forget the cook,” Billy Jean, another stylist said, as she teased the hair of a middle-aged brunette with a comb and sprayed each section with a good amount of Aqua Net. “I saw you with that bad boy motorcycle man. You were riding on the back of his Harley-Davidson.”

  Beatrice popped a bubble. “I’ll be damned. What have you been up to, Lucy?”

  “Michael and I are just friends,” Lucy was quick to add. How had the topic of conversation veered from Kebab Kitchen and baklava to men?

  “First, she hires the chef, then she rides with the biker? She must be a man-killer!” cried the radio signal lady in the chair.

  Lucy didn’t want to be called a killer of anything, let alone men. “Now, that’s not true at all and—”

  “Maybe it’s the hair.” Hands on her hips, Billy Jean studied Lucy with a critical stylist’s eye.

  Beatrice set down a sheet of tinfoil and eyed Lucy with renewed interest. “You may be right, and we’re going at it all wrong. Instead of a keratin straightening treatment, we should be providing perms for our customers.”

  “I want hair like hers,” the lady in the chair chimed in.

  “You may have started a new trend,” Beatrice said.

  Lucy wasn’t sure about that, but just as she opened her mouth to answer, she spotted Rita Sides walk in from the back room.

  Rita sauntered more than walked in four-inch-high heels. Her blond hair was styled in loose waves to her shoulders and her makeup was heavily applied. A black tank top and skintight jeans combined with stilettos made her look six feet tall. Rita headed straight for her customer, a lady who worked at Pages Bookstore.

  “Now why are you here, Lucy? A haircut?” Beatrice asked.

  “No.” Lucy’s gaze darted to where Rita Sides stood in the corner of the salon. Rita studied her customer, then dabbed what looked like wax across the woman’s eyebrows with a thin Popsicle stick. With a quick jerk of her wrist, Rita ripped it off.

  Eeow! Lucy inwardly cringed.

  Maybe a manicure wouldn’t be so bad after all. Lucy needed information, and if suffering through another cuticle cutting and nail filing session was the only way to get it, then she’d gladly sit through it.

  When Rita applied wax to her customer’s other eyebrow, Lucy thought fast. “I’d like Rita to do my nails,” she blurted out.

  “Rita doesn’t do manicures, honey.” Beatrice popped a bubble. “Lin will be happy to do your nails. Didn’t she do them a while back?” Beatrice eyed Lucy’s short, unpolished nails and her brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t wait that long between manicures. Your nails are a mess.”

  If Rita didn’t do nails, then she must cut hair. Lucy was resigned to some kind of salon treatment. Maybe she could get away with a two-inch trim. Rita quickly finished with her customer, and the woman’s pencil-thin brows looked like they had been drawn on.

  “Can Rita give me a haircut, then?” Lucy asked.

  “No. Rita specializes in waxing. Eyebrows, upper lips, underarms, legs, bikinis. She even offers Brazilians if you want.”

  No way! Lucy was the first to admit that she didn’t have a high tolerance for pain.

  “She can shape your eyebrows to look just like Ms. Smith’s over there,” Beatrice said.

  A hair straightening treatment was sounding better and better. Lucy glanced to where the thin eyebrow lady sat. Rita had disappeared.

  “Where’d Rita go?” Lucy asked.

  “Out back for a smoke break. She wasn’t as successful as I was when it came to kicking the habit.” Beatrice popped another bubble. “If it wasn’t for constant gum chewing, I’d be out there smoking with her.”

  “Can I take a seat and wait for Rita to come back?” Lucy asked.

  “Sure thing.” Beatrice went back to work on her customer.

  Lucy made a show of walking to the rear of the salon, but instead of sitting in one of the black vinyl chairs, she ducked behind a curtain that separated the front of the salon from the back room. Bottles of shampoo, conditioners, hair dye, and others lined the walls. Manicure equipment was stacked neatly on a counter. A sink was full of dirty mixing bowls.

  The smell of strong dyes and hair products mingled with the odor of cigarette smoke. Rita hadn’t made it outside. The rear door leading to the alley outside was cracked open, and Rita was leaning on the doorjamb and puffing on a cigarette. It was hot and humid out and she probably didn’t want to melt her makeup or sweat in her tight jeans in order to smoke.

  “Hi, Rita.”

  Rita started, then turned at the intrusion. “Lucy? You’re not supposed to be back here.”

  “Sorry. I was looking for the ladies’ room.”

  “You passed it on the way back here.” Rita watched her warily. “Hey, promise you won’t tell Beatrice that I’m smoking inside.”

  “I promise. Now that we happen to be alone, I want to express my sympathies. I heard you were dating Archie. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Rita’s eyes sharpened. “Where’d you hear that?”

  She was clearly taken aback that Lucy knew. Why? There had been more than twenty people at the festival committee meeting when Harold had blurted out the news that Archie and Rita had been an item.

  “Harold Harper mentioned it,” Lucy admitted.

  Annoyance flashed across Rita’s face. “Harold’s a jerk. Archie wanted to keep it quiet.”

  Is that why Rita was working only days after her boyfriend’s death? “Well, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks.” Rita puffed her cigarette and a flicker of sadness crossed her face, but then she exhaled and the melancholy expression vanished.

  Lucy coughed and waved the cloud of smoke away with her hand. “The truth is, I’m surprised you’re at work. Beatrice should give you some time off.”

  “She didn’t know. Besides, it’s better if I’m with people rather than alone at home.” She lowered her cigarette. “Why do you care anyway? It’s not like we’re friends.”

  Lucy needed to find out what Rita knew, and she wasn’t leaving until she learned something. “I still feel bad for you. Plus, I’m on the festival committee and have to look into a few things. Do you know who could have wanted to harm Archie?”

  “It’s no secret Archie didn’t get along with Harold.”

  That wasn’t anything new.

  “I know what people say about Archie. That he was a mean businessman who didn’t get along with his neighbors, but it wasn’t the real Archie. We were going to get engaged, and we even went ring shopping at Marion’s Jewelers,” Rita said.

  Lucy looked at her in surprise. The couple had been serious enough to shop for an engagement ring? “I’m really sorry for—”

  “The man I knew was kind and giving. He took in his nephew, Neil, and gave him a job in his store. As far as I’m concerned, Neil didn’t deserve it,” Rita said.

  They were getting somewhere now. Lucy just had to push a little. “What do you mean? I met Neil once. He seems like a nice young man.” A far stretch to describe the wannabe surfer, but would it work on Rita?

  Rita snorted. “He’s a lazy bum.”

  Rita sounded like Lucy’s mother when she’d first described Neil. “Do you think Neil hurt his uncle?”

  “I’m not saying that.”

  “Where were you during the food and wine tasting?”

  Rita ground out her cigarette in the sink. “Wait a minute. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  “I told you. I’m on the festival committee and—”

  “Bull. You’re not a cop. That slimy investigator already asked me a boatload of questions.”

  In hindsight, Lucy shouldn’t be surprised. Detective Clemmons had been at the festival committee meeting when Harold had blurted out that Rita had been dating Archie. Any detective worth his salt would have followed up on the lead. A part of her was relieved Clemmons had done his job.

  “For your information, I was on the boardwalk at the tasting that day and never left the boards. Others saw me. Ask a
round and you’ll see. But I would never harm Archie. We were getting engaged.” Rita’s lips thinned, and she placed her hands on her hips. “Festival committee, my butt. What’s it all to you?”

  “I’m just trying to help, is all.” Lucy knew when it was time to make a hasty exit. “Thanks for the chat, Rita. If I need a wax, I’ll be sure to ask for you. Meanwhile, I won’t say a word to Beatrice about your smoking inside.”

  Rita’s scowl eased. “Thanks.”

  Lucy hurried back through the curtain and returned to the main part of the salon.

  “No wax today?” Beatrice called out as Lucy hurried past.

  “I just remembered I have to pick up some items from Holloway’s for the restaurant. Our supplier was short. I’ll be sure to return with a tray of baklava,” Lucy said as she waved on her way out of the salon.

  Once Lucy was in her car, she looked back at the salon to see Rita staring out the bay window at her.

  CHAPTER 9

  “What do you think?” Lucy asked, as she held up a pink blouse and a black skirt on hangers. Katie was in Lucy’s bedroom helping her pick out an outfit for her date night with Azad. Lucy was nervous about their night out, but at the same time, excitement thrummed through her veins.

  Katie folded her arms across her chest and eyed the clothing. “I like it. Not too dressy, but nice enough for an upscale French restaurant like Le Gabriel. Let me see your shoes.”

  Lucy held up a pair of black ballet flats.

  “You’re kidding, right? Azad is a little over six feet tall. You’re only—”

  “Petite. Not short.” At Katie’s What’s the difference? expression, Lucy relented. “Fine. I’ll wear heels. Not everyone can be nice and tall like you. Now how should I style my hair?”

  “Leave it down and I’ll style it back. I’m envious of your curls. My hair won’t hold a curl with a screaming hot curling iron and an entire can of Aqua Net.”

  “Stop. You sound like Beatrice today.”

  “Tell me what happened at the salon,” Katie said.

  Lucy summarized her conversation with Rita as she stowed the ballet flats in a shoe box and returned them to her closet. “Clemmons questioned Rita. I only hope she doesn’t mention my visit to him today.”

  “She won’t. If she did tell him, he’d ask her more questions, and I don’t think Rita wants that to happen.”

  “I hope you’re right. Clemmons would love an excuse to charge me with interfering with an ongoing murder investigation. He may even call Marsha Walsh. It’s not like I’ve had a rosy relationship with either of them.”

  Prosecutor Walsh had visited Lucy at the restaurant and questioned her in the past. Lucy didn’t want her to come around again unless it was to bring the prosecutor’s family to eat.

  “Rita only named Harold. We already have him as a possible suspect. She doesn’t like Neil, but she didn’t go so far as to accuse him of murder,” Lucy said.

  “Did she tell you why Archie wanted to keep their relationship off the grid?” Katie asked.

  “No, but I’m not surprised. The Ocean Crest gossip mill is always in high gear.” Lucy left out how Beatrice Tretola asked about her “hot chef” and the other salon ladies had seen her riding with Michael on his Harley.

  “You better watch out that Stan Slade doesn’t follow you tonight and sneak a picture of you and Azad at Le Gabriel,” Katie said.

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t put it past him, except a murder in town is big news. Stan has bigger fish to fry.”

  Katie opened a nightstand drawer and pulled out a notepad and pencil and started writing. “We need to confirm Rita’s alibi at the food tasting. Someone must have seen her.”

  Lucy removed the blouse and skirt from the hangers and spread them on the bed. “It doesn’t matter if a dozen people saw her that day. She could have slipped away, lured Archie under the boardwalk, and shot him. Rita had opportunity and is still a suspect.”

  Kate slipped the pencil behind her ear. “Opportunity, yes. But what’s her motive?”

  Lucy clutched the black skirt in her fist. “Wait a minute. We never asked the most obvious question. Why was Archie under the boardwalk in the first place?”

  Katie blinked. “Good question.”

  “Maybe he took a walk, just like we did, and was robbed,” Lucy said.

  Katie shook her head. “The police never mentioned a robbery. Bill said that Archie still had his wallet with all his cash and credit cards. If Rita hadn’t lured him under the boardwalk, then why was he there?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question.”

  * * *

  Le Gabriel was located twenty minutes outside of Ocean Crest. Azad had arrived at exactly seven to pick up Lucy. He looked amazing in a navy sports jacket, which highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, a white button-down shirt with a striped tie, and gray slacks. His dark hair was tapered neatly to his collar.

  “You look beautiful, Lucy.” His dark eyes were warm and she felt her insides jitter.

  Lucy gazed out the window as they drove in his pickup truck. It was a pleasant evening and the sun was a low glowing ball in the ocean, the sky an amazing mix of pinks and blues. The sand dunes that protected the beach danced beneath a breeze, and seagulls circled above. The beach was empty, except for a lone couple walking hand in hand in the distance.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this evening,” Azad said.

  She stole a glimpse at the clear-cut lines of his profile. His long, tapered fingers gripped the leather-covered steering wheel, and she knew they could wield a chef’s knife with efficient skill and could be tender when they touched her cheek. “Me, too.”

  It was true. She had looked forward to their date. She was reminded of her girlhood crush—only it had changed, along with the both of them.

  Azad pulled into a parking lot, and Lucy’s attention was diverted. The French restaurant was a lovely building of white stucco that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean.

  Azad stepped out and came around to open the truck door for Lucy, then offered his hand. She placed her hand into his larger one and accepted his aid. There was no graceful way to get out of a truck in a tight skirt and high heels.

  He escorted her inside, gave the maître d’ his name, and once their reservations were confirmed, they were escorted to a table set with fine china, silver, and glass, overlooking the glistening ocean.

  “Wow. How did you get this table?” Lucy asked.

  “I made the reservation four months ago.”

  Four months!

  That was soon after she’d first arrived at Ocean Crest. She’d suspected he’d made reservations in advance, but she had no idea it had been that far in advance. She hadn’t even known she was going to stay in town or that she’d end up managing Kebab Kitchen. She’d been wary of Azad then and couldn’t be in the same room with him and not have a fight-or-flight response.

  He must have read her thoughts.

  “Wishful thinking on my part,” he said with a grin.

  How could she be mad when his lips curled in that sexy grin?

  A waiter approached, and Azad ordered a bottle of wine and appetizers. She wasn’t a wine connoisseur but she could read the price on the menu. Two hundred bucks! She looked up and caught his eye.

  “It’s a special occasion. I know we didn’t get off on the best foot when you came home, but I think working together has been successful. We should properly celebrate.”

  If you didn’t count the times her libido went into overdrive when they were alone in the kitchen, then yes, their working relationship had been a success. “Yes,” she agreed. “It has worked out well. I couldn’t manage Kebab Kitchen without such a great chef. Plus, I wouldn’t want to work with my mom on a daily basis.”

  His eyes took on a mischievous glint. “Angela can be a bit tough.”

  “A bit? It’s like working with a tyrant.” They laughed just as appetizers were delivered. Escargot served in their shells with a delicate butter sauce fla
vored with shallots, garlic, and parsley; lemon-infused poached baby artichokes; and French onion soup. The artichokes were tender, the soup divine, but it was the escargot that danced with flavor on her tongue.

  Lucy used small tongs to grip a shell and a long, thin snail fork to extract the escargot. She dipped one in extra butter sauce and popped it into her mouth. “Oh my gosh. The escargot is so good. Any chance you can incorporate snails into Mediterranean cuisine?” she asked.

  Azad raised his own fork. “I’ll definitely look into it.”

  A thought came to her and she rested her fork on her plate. Azad had worked on and off in town for years, and he knew a lot of people.

  “Azad, did you know Archie Kincaid?”

  “Sure. I stopped by his store a couple of times for beach clothes. He also ate at Kebab Kitchen a few times. Once, he gave Sally a hard time.”

  “My mom told me. Archie and Harold exchanged words.”

  “I was about to leave the kitchen and step into the dining room to help poor Sally out, but Butch went out instead. At the sight of him, those two cut it out.”

  Lucy chuckled. “Butch can look scary.” Butch had a chest the size of a small armoire and hands that looked like meat pounders. With his checked bandana and gold tooth, he was downright intimidating. The funny thing was that Butch was the kindest and most mild-mannered man she knew.

  “It’s a shame what happened to Archie,” Azad said.

  “You didn’t happen to see anything suspicious that day?”

  “No. I was swamped serving food.”

  Lucy recalled the eager tourists and locals alike in line for Azad’s mini shish kebab skewers, gyros, sausages, and falafel.

  “Your date cookies were a hit,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She knew her cookies weren’t the big draw, but Azad was being kind. He had changed. Gone was the college boy who thought about parties and beer as much as his girlfriend and his classes. He was a thirty-five-year-old man who was serious about his career as a chef and his future.

  A future with her.

  It was all so overwhelming. She liked Azad. A lot. But she was just figuring out what she wanted in life.

  The main course arrived. Veal ragout for Azad and duck breast for Lucy. She tasted hers, then his. Both were delicious. The veal was hearty and flavorful and the duck breast, which had a tendency to be dry after cooking, was succulent and moist. Dessert was next. Cream puffs with chocolate sauce, lemon-ricotta soufflé, and butterscotch crème brûlée.