One Feta in the Grave

by Tina Kashian

  “Lucy!”

  She whirled to see Sally in the kitchen. She’d been so engrossed in her task, she hadn’t heard her approach. “What is it?”

  “There’s someone here to see you. Mrs. Marsha Walsh.”

  Lucy frowned. “The prosecutor?”

  “I believe so.”

  Before Lucy could formulate a response, the swinging kitchen doors opened and Prosecutor Walsh stepped inside. A slender woman with short cropped hair in a stylish bob, she was dressed in a crisp white linen suit. Her respectable heels clicked across the terra cotta tiles of the kitchen floor as she approached.

  “Hello, Lucy.”

  “Hi, Prosecutor Wash. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  That was the understatement of the year. This wasn’t the first time the prosecutor had visited Kebab Kitchen. In the past, she’d questioned Lucy about a murder, then ordered food from the restaurant. What was her intent today?

  Walsh also had impeccable timing. In the past, Lucy had returned from a run on the beach, and she’d been sweaty and underdressed when Marsha Walsh had barreled into her life like a steamroller. At least today Lucy was dressed in her work uniform—a white-collared button-down shirt and black slacks. As for whether she was prepared for Walsh’s visit?

  Never.

  Sally must have sensed her distress. “Are you all right, Lucy?”

  “I’m good,” Lucy said.

  Sally nodded and headed back into the dining room.

  Prosecutor Walsh arched a well-plucked brow as she watched Sally leave. “She’s quite protective of you.”

  Lucy wiped her hands on a towel. “She’s a good employee and friend. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve never seen the inside of a professional kitchen,” Walsh said as she scanned the kitchen.

  Did she want a tour?

  “What’s that?” Walsh pointed to a large piece of restaurant equipment in the corner by one of the sinks.

  “It’s a commercial floor mixer. It can hold sixty pounds of dough.” The mixer was used to make homemade pita bread and choreg, a delicious Armenian sweet bread. The mixer was big, almost as tall as her five-foot-tall mother.

  Walsh lifted her nose and sniffed. “What’s that wonderful smell?”

  “Lentil soup is simmering, and marinated lamb chops are on the menu for tonight’s dinner service. Are you here to eat?” Lucy asked.

  “No. I’m here to talk. I read Detective Clemmons’s report, and I have additional questions.”

  Lucy would have preferred that Walsh send notice in advance so that she could mentally prepare. But showing up at the restaurant seemed to be a tactic of the wily prosecutor to catch her off guard. Lucy tried not to shrink beneath the cold gray of the woman’s watchful gaze.

  “You found Archie’s body under the boardwalk.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes. I called the police.”

  “Did you touch the body?”

  “Only to check if he had a pulse. I told all this to the police and gave a detailed statement.”

  “I know.”

  “Then what else is there to ask?”

  “You have a knack for finding bodies, Lucy.”

  “That’s not fair,” Lucy protested.

  “You’ve been in town how long?”

  “Since April.”

  “Hmmm. Five months and three bodies. That has to be a record.”

  Lucy decided to ignore the reference to the prior murders and focus on the current one. “I had nothing to do with Archie’s death.”

  “Hmm.” Walsh glanced at the prep table and the mound of fragrant parsley. “What are you doing?”

  “Preparing parsley for one of tonight’s specials, herb stuffed bass.”

  “I thought you said you’re serving marinated lamb chops.”

  “We are. The bass is the seafood option. We always offer one.”

  “What were you doing under the boardwalk the day Archie was killed?” Walsh asked.

  Lucy’s mind whirled at the change of topic. She was catching on to the prosecutor’s interrogation tactic—keep the subject constantly off guard.

  Lucy cleared her throat. “I’m on the beach festival committee, and I was in charge of the food and wine tasting. It was a hot and busy day. After hours of running around, I needed a break, so I took a walk on the beach. That’s when I found Archie,” Lucy said.

  “What’s the food and wine tasting?”

  “It’s part of the weeklong beach festival that takes place at the end of the summer season. All the local restaurants, bakeries, ice cream parlors, and bars offer samples of food and drink on the boardwalk. I was in charge of organizing the restaurants and making sure they had what they needed.”

  “Did Kebab Kitchen participate?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you serve?” Walsh asked.

  How was this pertinent to Archie’s death? “Gyros, lamb shish kebab, grilled vegetable skewers, meat bulgur sausage, falafel, and date cookies,” Lucy rattled off.

  “Sounds delicious.”

  “It was.”

  “What about your friend, Katie Watson?” the prosecutor asked.

  Alarm bells went off in Lucy’s head. “What about her?”

  “You’re smart enough to know she is on the suspect list.”

  A cold knot formed in Lucy’s stomach. “She shouldn’t be.”

  Walsh arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Because Katie is not a murderer. Clemmons should know this and he should have moved on to other suspects by now,” Lucy said.

  “You mean because her husband is an Ocean Crest police officer? Or because she is your lifelong friend and you are living with her?”

  Lucy tried to keep her heart cold and still. “Neither. Because she didn’t kill Archie Kincaid.” As a lawyer herself, she knew this wasn’t a solid defense. It wasn’t a defense at all. Just character testimony.

  “I know she’s innocent,” Lucy added, as if rephrasing herself would make a difference.

  “Well, then, I’ll take your insight into consideration,” Walsh drawled in a tone that said she didn’t believe a word Lucy had said. “But what I won’t accept is you meddling with a murder investigation.”

  “Pardon?”

  Walsh couldn’t know anything, could she?

  She couldn’t know that she’d met with Mr. Citteroni who’d tipped them off to soon-to-be mayor Ben. She couldn’t know that Archie had blackmailed Ben with dirty lap dancing pictures with Vanessa, a stripper from the Pussy Cat. And the prosecutor certainly couldn’t know that Lucy and Katie planned to use a stolen spare key to break into Archie’s shop tonight.

  “We spoke with Kristin Kincaid,” Prosecutor Walsh said. “She told us you asked her pointed questions at her husband’s funeral.”

  Oh, no.

  Lucy thought fast. “She must have been mistaken. We were just expressing our condolences and reminiscing about Archie.”

  “We? Do you mean you and Katie?”

  Way to put your foot in your mouth, Lucy. “Yes.”

  “How convenient. It seems you are both sticking your noses where they don’t belong.”

  The stakes were rising, and her fears were stronger than ever. If Katie was still on the suspect list, then Lucy couldn’t rest easy.

  How could she not try to help her best friend?

  Lucy was afraid of Walsh, and her stomach churned with anxiety every time the prosecutor showed up at Kebab Kitchen, but she was even more afraid of Detective Clemmons arresting the wrong person.

  Walsh gave her a pointed look. “I expect you not to harass Mrs. Kincaid in the future. Meanwhile, rest assured that we are investigating all leads.”

  Lucy wanted to shout out, “What leads?” but held her tongue. They couldn’t know about Ben and Vanessa. She needed solid proof before approaching Clemmons or Walsh.

  Proof they would hopefully find tonight.

  Walsh eyed her. “Stay out of it, Ms. Berberian. You may h
ave gotten lucky in the past, but this time Detective Clemmons and I are watching you. Do you understand?”

  Lucy didn’t hesitate. “I understand.”

  “Good. Now I’d like to sit in the dining room and order a bowl of lentil soup.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Late that night, Katie parked her Jeep on Ocean Avenue, four blocks from Seaside Gifts. Dressed entirely in black, including black beanie hats, they each carried cross-body messenger bags containing flashlights.

  “I feel silly, like one of the criminals from a Columbo episode,” Katie whispered.

  “Except we’re the good guys,” Lucy said.

  At least the weather was cooperating. A crescent moon was hidden behind a thick blanket of fog, and the streetlights did little to illuminate the back alleys. They ducked behind parked cars, buildings, and an ice cream parlor that had closed for the night as they crept toward the boardwalk.

  Katie joined Lucy in squatting behind a minivan as a car drove by. “I thought you’d back out after Walsh’s surprise visit today.”

  Lucy had filled Katie in as soon as Marsha Walsh and eaten her soup and left Kebab Kitchen. The prosecutor was a mystery. She’d arrive unannounced, interrogate and frighten Lucy, then enjoy the food and hospitality of her family’s restaurant.

  It was maddening.

  “I haven’t changed my mind. In fact, I’m more convinced than ever that we need to find evidence. You’re still on the suspect list. We need proof, and this is our chance to get it.”

  “All right. Let’s do this,” Katie said.

  Each shop on the boardwalk had back stairs that led to storage rooms. This way, owners could receive deliveries and come and go without having to enter their businesses from the crowded boardwalk.

  They reached Seaside Gifts, and Lucy glanced up at a two-story flight of stairs. The first flight led to the back door of the shop, and the second flight led to the apartment where Neil was currently living. They clung to the railing as they climbed up the first flight. The wooden stairs creaked beneath Lucy’s feet, and her heart pounded.

  “Could these steps be any louder?” Katie whispered.

  “Try to tread lightly,” Lucy said.

  At last, they reached the landing. Lucy unzipped the pocket of her thin running jacket and pulled out the spare key. She inserted it in the lock and pushed open the door.

  Lucy held her breath and, after she was certain there was no alarm, they stepped inside and closed the door.

  It was pitch black.

  They both turned on their flashlights, and two beams of light illuminated the room. It looked exactly as Lucy had described it to Katie—boxes scattered across the floor, a battered metal desk covered with papers, and a file cabinet pushed against a wall. An ashtray full of cigarette butts rested on of a stack of boxes by the door.

  Katie sucked in a breath. “It’s a mess. Where do we even start?”

  “I already looked through the desk, but I was rushed and could have missed something.”

  “I’ll take the desk. You search the file cabinet,” Katie said.

  “Good idea.” Careful not to bump into anything, Lucy wound around boxes until she reached the file cabinet. The rusty top drawer squeaked as she opened it.

  “Shh,” Katie said.

  “I know.”

  From the look of the old filing cabinet, there was a good chance that the other drawers would be just as noisy. Lucy held the flashlight in her left hand and flipped through files with her free hand. Almost all the file folders were labeled.

  Lucas novelties. Gilroy’s boogie boards. Hoover’s clothing.

  Each file was filled with invoices and bills from the merchants Archie had ordered from.

  She shut the drawer as slowly as possible to prevent the noisy squeak, then opened the second drawer. Same thing here. She moved onto the third drawer. The files weren’t labeled here, and the drawer was only half-full.

  She pushed the hanging file folders to the back of the drawer so that she could quickly flip through each one. That’s when she noticed a large manila envelope lying flat on the bottom of the drawer beneath the hanging folders. Reaching inside, she pulled it out.

  Lucy opened the metal clasp on the envelope and pictures fell out—glossy color pictures of Ben with Vanessa.

  “Oh, my,” Lucy said.

  Katie spun around. “What is it?”

  “Look and see.”

  Katie’s eyes widened in surprise. “You found them!”

  Together they flipped through the pictures. There were a dozen in all. Naughty pictures of Vanessa sitting on Ben’s lap in a room decorated with red velvet sofas, fringe curtains, and an end table with a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs resting on it. Vanessa was wearing short biker shorts, stilettos, and a bikini top. His hands were on her hips, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

  “It must be the inside of the Pussy Cat. Vanessa is giving Ben a lap dance.”

  “Gross!” Lucy said.

  Lucy kept flipping. The next set of pictures showed Vanessa and Ben kissing in his car. Others showed them walking into a house together. Lucy read the address above the door: 245 Mollusk Street. “That must be Ben’s house in Ocean Crest.”

  The people of Ocean Crest wouldn’t stand for a mayor who frequented a strip club and paid for lap dances. Even if Ben and Vanessa had since developed a romantic relationship, the pictures were damning. The town had a family-friendly reputation to uphold. Livelihoods depended on it.

  “Archie must have followed Ben into the Pussy Cat, taken these pictures, and then followed them home.”

  “Ben’s wearing different shirts in the pictures,” Lucy pointed out.

  “Then Archie had been following them for a while.”

  Lucy tipped the envelope over and a camera memory card slid into her palm. “Ben must have been searching for this as well when he broke into the shop.”

  “You’re holding solid motive for murder. My bet is on Ben shooting Archie,” Katie said.

  “Mine, too,” Lucy said. “We have to turn this over to Detective Clemmons. I just don’t know how I’m going to manage it without telling him we broke in here and illegally searched the shop.”

  “We’ll think of something. First, let’s get out of here.”

  Lucy stuffed the pictures and the memory card back in the envelope and slipped the entire package in her messenger bag. Next, she returned the spare key to the slim desk drawer. If all went according to plan, Neil would never notice it missing.

  “Open the door and turn the doorknob lock. It should lock behind us and no one will be the wiser that we were here,” Lucy said.

  Katie headed for the door, but before she reached it, she bumped into one of the boxes. The ashtray full of cigarettes that had been perched onto the stack of boxes fell and shattered across the floor.

  The sound echoed ominously in Lucy’s ears.

  “Oh, no!” Katie turned, her eyes wide in the flashlight beam.

  “Quick! Open the door.”

  Katie opened the door, then halted to turn the lock in the doorknob.

  Lucy wanted to shout it didn’t matter now. Neil would discover the smashed ashtray and figure out that somebody had been back here, and—

  Voices sounded outside the storage room, and they quickly turned off their flashlights, then froze.

  “I heard something,” a gravelly female voice said.

  “I didn’t hear a thing,” a masculine voice said.

  Neil’s voice.

  Seconds later, the light went on in the front of the store.

  “That’s because you sleep like the dead.”

  “I still think it’s your imagination.”

  “Did you already forget about the robbery?” The woman’s voice rose an octave.

  “I haven’t forgotten. There’s no one here. See?” Neil said.

  “Let’s check the storage room.”

  Crap! Lucy motioned frantically to Katie, and Katie got the message and flew outside. Lucy heard he
r footsteps on the wooden stairs.

  Lucy didn’t waste another second. Hurrying to the door, she bumped her hip on the edge of a box and knocked it to the floor. She was halfway through the door when the storage room light flicked on.

  “Stop! Or I’ll shoot!”

  Lucy didn’t think. She sprinted out the door.

  The deafening crack of the gunshot resounded through the room and whizzed by her ear.

  Panic speared through her, and she flew down the stairs. She was panting by the time she rounded the corner.

  Had she been shot? She didn’t feel any pain, but she was also in a full-fledged flight response. As she sprinted along the path they’d come by, Katie shot out of the darkness to grab her arm.

  “This way!”

  Together they ran around the ice cream parlor and headed for the residential area. They passed houses, the lights off at this late hour. Beach towels hung on laundry lines, and beach carts and boogie boards leaned against the sides of houses.

  Halfway to Katie’s car, sirens sounded down Ocean Avenue. Panicked, they ducked behind a hedgerow of bushes as a cop car streaked past. The gunshot had been loud. Either Neil reported an intruder or his neighbors had.

  “We need to keep moving,” Lucy said, her heart pounding like a drum in her ears. Sweat beaded on her brow and trickled between her breasts.

  At last, they made it to Katie’s car, and ducked inside as two more cop cars whizzed by.

  “I can’t believe Neil has a gun!” Katie said, wild-eyed.

  “I think the bullet just missed me,” Lucy said, panting.

  Katie moved swiftly to unzip Lucy’s running jacket and scan her for injury. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  Katie sagged in her seat. “My God! That was a close one.”

  “Too close,” Lucy said.

  “Neil wasn’t alone. Who was the woman?” Katie said.

  “She could be Neil’s girlfriend. Jose mentioned that Neil was arguing with a woman when he was working at the shop. If she was sleeping over, it makes sense that she was his girlfriend,” Lucy said.

  “Who shot at you? Neil or his girlfriend?”

  Lucy shivered as she recalled the harrowing moment. “It was Neil who shouted for me to stop or he’d shoot.”