Pastrami Murder: Book One in The Darling Deli Series

by Patti Benning

  “Just… look around. Find out who actually killed Mr. Devou. As long as people think I did it, they aren’t going to come to my deli. If this goes on for long enough, I’ll be put out of business.” She paused. “So, will you take the case?”

  “I will. And I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best to prove your innocence as soon as I can, Ms. Darling,” he said.

  “Please, call me Moira,” she told him.

  He watched, bemused, as Moira Darling left the coffee shop and drove away. He didn’t know how a nice lady like her had gotten mixed up in a murder, but he did know that he wanted to help her out of it. While he doubted that she was in any real danger of being arrested for a crime that she didn’t commit, he could appreciate the effect that it was having on her business. He knew firsthand how gossipy and cliquey these small towns could be.

  This case had come at the perfect time for him. Business was slow; lately it seemed that all he had been getting in was cases about cheating spouses and small-time thievery. It had been too long since he’d had a case to really sink his teeth into. He had been thinking of relocating, moving to a bigger city, where there would hopefully be more cases for him to work on.

  But for now, he would start out by doing some reconnaissance at the dead guy’s restaurant, the Soup Shoppe. After that, well, he would see where things took him.

  CHAPTER 11

  “I met with that private investigator yesterday,” Moira told Danielle as she grated cheese for her Five Cheese, Five Star soup. She found herself grinning as she remembered the handsome man who looked just like she imagined a private investigator should look, with a long trench coat and distinguished salt-and pepper hair. With shockingly blue eyes, the detective was definitely handsome. Danielle glanced over at her, her gloved hands pausing on the turkey breast that she was slicing.

  “What did he say?” she asked.

  “He agreed to take the case. He said that he’d call me once he turned something up.” She paused to dump the pile of grated cheese into the pot on the stove, where it would slowly melt as she stirred it. The trick was not to let the mixture boil, otherwise the cheese would curdle and she would have to start over. “Hopefully today is busier than the last few days have been; Candice is getting tired of eating leftover soup.”

  “Yeah, hopefully,” her employee said. “But the detective… did he tell you what he was going to do? Like, what all does he look at when he’s investigating something? What sort of track record does he have?”

  “Well, Candice and I looked at his website before I met with him. It had an area where previous customers could leave comments, and they all seemed to only have good things to say about him. I’m not sure exactly how he investigates things, but he definitely seems smart.” And handsome but she kept that part to herself. “Don’t worry, I’m sure that between him and the police, they’ll find out who poisoned Henry Devou.”

  Moira’s hopes that today would be busier than the past couple of days had been didn’t last for long. The deli remained silent and empty long after she had flipped the sign on the door from Closed to Open. She passed the time by reading a novel and snacking on small bowls of the decadently rich cheese soup that she had made. Five different types of cheese, hearty chunks of cauliflower, and cubed ham made for a tasty, if fattening, meal. She was debating making herself a Sandwich of the Day to go along with the soup—ham and turkey on flat bread, with melted cheddar and baby spinach leaves—when the door to the deli opened and in walked David Morris.

  “Did you find something already?” she asked eagerly.

  “Nothing major, I’m sorry to say,” he told her. “I just came from the Soup Shoppe—I thought I could ask around there and see if any of the people who worked for him knew who would want to kill him.”

  “Did you find anything out? Oh, and can I offer you anything? The daily special is on the board, and we’ve got drinks in the fridge.” Moira looked around at the empty store. “We sure could use the business.”

  “No thanks.” Much to her surprise, the private investigator actually looked embarrassed. “I ate at the Soup Shoppe.”

  “Oh.” She felt deflated. Even the detective that she had hired didn’t want to eat at her restaurant.

  “And as far as what I found out, well, it seems like no one really liked the guy. None of his employees had anything good to say about him. They all agree that he was rude, demanding, and unfair. There definitely isn’t a shortage of people with motive to kill him. Any one of his employees or other competitors might have wanted to see him dead,” he told her.

  “Okay, but why would any of them want to frame me?” she asked. “As far as I know, I don’t have any enemies.”

  “It might not be personal.” David shrugged. “Whoever did it might have just thought that you would be an easy target to frame for murder, since you have a plausible motive. There’s also the possibility that this is all a very bad coincidence.”

  “How could it be a coincidence, Mr. Morris? Someone obviously planted the bowl of soup from my deli at his house and mixed in the same poison that they used to kill him.”

  “Just because you and your employees don’t remember serving Mr. Devou the weekend of his death doesn’t mean that the soup was planted. His sister was staying with him, if I remember correctly. It’s possible that she could have stopped at your deli to pick up something to eat.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “There’s also the possibility that one of your employees could be lying about seeing him.”

  “Why would they lie about that? No, I trust each of my employees completely.” She shook her head. “I’m telling you, none of us sold anything to Henry Devou. I’m not sure about his sister—I’ve never met the lady, and couldn’t tell you if I had seen her or not.”

  “If I get a picture of her, would you be willing to show it to your employees and your daughter and ask them if they recognize her?” he asked.

  “Yes, I don’t see why not,” she said.

  “I’ll see if I can find a picture of her online and print it off. One more thing,” he said. “Is it all right if I take a look around the deli after you close for the evening? If you’re right and someone is trying to frame you for the murder, they may very well have planted evidence here as well.”

  “Of course, that’s fine. I have nothing to hide.” She gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks again for taking this case.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” He nodded at her and then turned to leave. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours with a picture of the sister,” he added. “And if you can keep the fact that I’m going to look around the deli quiet, that would be great. I know you trust your employees, but at this point we can’t fully trust anyone.”

  CHAPTER 12

  David pulled up in front of Darling’s DELIcious Delights a few hours later with a freshly printed picture of Mathilda Devou, the victim’s spinster sister. The more he thought about it, the more plausible the idea of the sister being the killer seemed to be. She was older than her brother, but nowhere near as successful. From what he had seen, jealousy could be a pretty good motivator for a crime.

  Besides that, as far as he could tell, she was the Henry Devou’s only living relative. Since Devou wasn’t married and didn’t have any kids, chances were the sister would be inheriting everything. In fact, Mathilda Devou was such a perfect suspect that he wondered why the police were focusing on Moira instead of her. He was starting to understand why the attractive, independent owner of the deli had seemed so worried when she had first spoken to him about the case. Something definitely didn’t seem right here.

  David got out of the car, locked it, and then headed into the store. It was just a few minutes before closing time, and he was sorry to see that the store was just as empty now as it had been when he had come in earlier. Moira looked up from a sheaf of papers as the door shut behind him and offered him a quick smile.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it in before we closed,” she said.
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  “Well, I’m glad I made it in time. I have a recent picture of Mathilda Devou, if you’re ready to take a look at it.” He slid the picture across the glass counter towards her. She only had to glance at it before she shuddered and turned her face away, pushing the picture back towards him.

  “I recognize her,” she said. “She came in yesterday and yelled at my daughter and me. She said horrible things. But that was days after Henry died. I’d never seen her before that.”

  “You can keep it. Show it to your employees and see if one of them recognizes her.”

  “I will. Actually one of my employees, Danielle, is here right now. Hold on, I’ll go get her.” The deli owner rose from her chair and slipped through the door that led to the kitchen. A moment later she reappeared with a young woman who had curly brown hair and a nervous expression.

  “This is Danielle,” Moira said. “She used to work for Henry Devou at the Soup Shoppe. She’s been with me for almost six months.” Turning to her employee, she said, “Mr. Morris just wants to ask you if you recognize someone. It will only take a second, then you can head home.”

  “Do you remember seeing this woman come in at all during the week before Devou’s death?” David turned the picture of Mathilda Devou so it was facing Danielle.

  “I… I think she does look familiar,” she said after looking at the photo for quite a few seconds. “Yeah, in fact I’m almost positive it was her that I sold our last bowl of soup to on Saturday.” David and Moira traded a glance over Danielle’s head. The was looking more promising by the second.

  “How sure are you that it was her? Do you remember anything else about her?”

  “No, I’m sorry. It was late, and it had been a busy day. I’m pretty sure it was the same lady as in the photo, but I can’t, you know, swear to it.” The young woman gave a nervous laugh, and then looked at her boss. “Sorry, Ms. D. I wish I could be of more help.”

  “That’s all right, Danielle. I know this has been hard for you. You can head home now. I’ll see you in a couple of days,” said Moira.

  After the young employee had gathered her stuff and left the store, David turned to Moira. She was looking at him expectantly, her bright green eyes hopeful.

  “What do you think?” she asked. “Can we tell the police what we found out?”

  “Not yet. I know you trust your employees, but we don’t actually have any proof that Devou’s sister was here. Danielle wasn’t exactly certain that she recognized her.” he told her. “You don’t happen to have security cameras, do you?”

  “No.” She sighed. “Darrin keeps telling me I should install them, but I haven’t done it yet.”

  “It’s a good idea.” He looked glanced out the window, making a mental note to check with the surrounding shops and see if they had any outdoor cameras that looked into the deli’s parking lot.

  “I’d still like to take a look around, if that’s okay with you,” he said.

  “Of course. Do you want me to stay or go?” she asked.

  “I’d prefer to look around on my own, but if you want to stay here for security reasons, I understand,” he said.

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll run to the store and get a few last minute things for dinner, and then come back and lock up.” She looked around at the neat front room of her deli. “But please try to keep things neat.”

  “I won’t leave a mess. I promise.”

  An hour later, he met Moira at the door. He didn’t know whether it was good or bad that he hadn’t found anything of note in the deli during his search. On one hand, if the police somehow managed to get a warrant to search the premises, at least he and Moira could be sure that they wouldn’t find any incriminating evidence planted by whoever was trying to set her up. On the other hand, if someone had planted something in her store and he had found it, it might have given them a clue as to who the murderer was.

  While David still thought that the sister was a likely candidate, he knew that there wasn’t any real evidence tying her to Henry Devou’s death. If only the deli owner had installed security cameras, then they might have something to go on. At least he had gotten pictures of her employees’ schedule and recent receipts. Someone had to have gotten the bowl of soup from Moira’s deli, his job was to find out who.

  “Find anything?” She asked as she locked the front door of the deli behind him.

  “Sorry, no. I’ve got some things to look over tonight though, and I’ll question a couple of other people tomorrow.” He gave her his best reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll find something sooner or later.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “What has that private detective found so far?” Candice asked as she served herself the last helping of mashed potatoes. Moira and her daughter were finishing up a late dinner together, and both of them had been unusually silent so far. Moira looked up from the small pile of peas that she had been pushing around her plate and caught her daughter up on what had happened earlier that day.

  “So, we don’t really have much,” she finished. “Henry Devou’s sister might have stopped at the store Saturday evening, but Danielle isn’t certain. Devou was poisoned, and the police think that a bowl of my soup did it. According to David, it could take them days to weeks to figure out what poisoned him and to match it to the samples of the soup that they took at the scene. I don’t know what we’re going to do if business stays this bad for that long. No one wants to buy lunch from someone they think is a killer.” She sighed and propped up her head with one hand as she halfheartedly stabbed at a pea with her fork. “Maybe I should just close down the deli now. Someone used my soup to kill someone. Even though I didn’t do it, it’s partially my fault.”

  “That’s just silly, Mom. Don’t blame yourself for this. We all know you’re innocent, and the other employees and I all support you. We can have another staff meeting and make a list of everyone that we remember selling soup to on Saturday. It shouldn’t be that hard—not all of our customers even bought soup, and we only have to try to remember people who bought soup to go, which narrows the list down even further,” her daughter said.

  “I guess it’s worth a try.” Moira paused, struck by the feeling that there was something that she should be noticing. “Saturday…” she murmured. Candice gave her an inquisitive look.

  “Candice…” she began slowly. “The police told me that there was a half-eaten bowl of chicken noodle soup next to Henry, when he was found. We served Leeky Soup on Saturday, not chicken noodle. We served that on Friday. We’ve been going over the wrong day. Whoever bought the soup bought it on Friday.” She was amazed that she hadn’t realized this before. “And I have an alibi for Friday evening; I spent it with you, remember? That was the day we went to Arlo’s for burgers after work.”

  “Yeah, I remember. And Danny was working there—I went to school with him, he’ll remember us for sure.” She grinned at her mother. “I mean it’s not perfect; since Henry didn’t die until Saturday, you could have gotten the soup to him any time between Friday and Saturday evening, but it’s definitely something.”

  “I’ve got to tell David.” Moira glanced at her watch. It was just before nine o’clock. It would probably be okay to call him, if she did it now.

  Excusing herself from the table, she slipped into the kitchen and grabbed her cell phone.

  David answered on the second ring. Moira quickly told him what she had realized—that whoever had bought the soup used to poison Henry Devou had done it on Friday instead of Saturday.

  “I’ve been going over the wrong day,” he said with a groan. “I took pictures of your stack of receipts while I was looking around the deli. I’ve been making a list of everyone who bought a bowl of soup to go with a credit card, and searching for them online to see if they had any connection to Devou. It’s pretty incomplete, since you didn’t print out cash receipts, but I thought I might get lucky.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I should have made the connection earlier.”

  “It’s not yo
ur fault; this is my job. I have a picture of your employee schedule right here, which has the daily specials written on it. It was right here in front of my face the whole time and I didn’t notice it.” He gave a dry laugh. “Some investigator I am.”

  “You’ve been doing great,” Moira assured him. “You realized that his sister had motive to kill him, and she’s still our most likely suspect, isn’t she?”

  “Absolutely. While a lot of people might have had a reason to dislike Henry Devou, his older sis is definitely the one that would benefit the most from his death. Do you still have that picture of her?” he asked.

  “Yes, it’s in my purse,” she told him.

  “Great, can you show it to your other employees and see if they recognize her? I’ll start going over the receipts from Friday.” He sighed. “I doubt that she paid with a credit card, but you never know.”

  “I’ll let you know if Darrin or Candice recognize the picture of Mathilda,” she promised. “Good luck. Hopefully one of us will turn something up.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Neither Candice nor Darrin recognized Mathilda from the picture, so Moira was back at square one when she went into work the next morning. The fact that David hadn’t called her meant that he probably hadn’t found anything, either.

  She had one customer early in the morning, then saw no one else for almost an hour. She was reading a magazine when she heard the front door open.

  “It smells like heaven in here,” a familiar voice called out. Moira looked up to see the elderly diner owner, Arlo, standing at the entrance to the diner.

  “Come on in,” she said. “I was just about to take a break for lunch. Care to join me?” He paused, his expression unsure.

  “It’s on the house,” she added.

  “Then count me in.” He gave her a grateful smile and walked forward to lean against the counter. Moira knew that his business had been hit hard by the Soup Shoppe. Arlo’s Diner had been the most popular sit-down restaurant in town before Henry Devou had opened his business just a few blocks away from the diner. She suspected that the diner was now in trouble. Arlo had cut his hours multiple times over the last few months, and had let the majority of his employees go.