The Wedding Soup Murder: An Italian Kitchen Mystery

by Rosie Genova

  Was it possible that Sutton’s team had not dug into Elizabeth’s past? If Sutton knew about Toscano’s masquerade as young Tommy, she might not be so quick to arrest Dr. Chickie for murder. I decided to take a big gamble. I sat up tall in my chair and looked straight into the Tiger Lady’s eyes. “I sought out Louise Romano as part of my research for a book about my family. My grandmother had knowledge of Elizabeth Merriman’s past, and I thought it would make a good subplot. Louise is the sister of Tommy Romano, a young man who died in the Korean War.”

  “So that visit was research for a book, eh? Would that be like the research you were doing back in May, Ms. Rienzi?”

  The doing research for a book excuse was growing increasingly flimsy. I shook my head. “No. The story of Elisabetta Caprio and Tommy Romano was a tragic one, and it is worthy of a book.” That, at least, was true. “But after I heard it, I realized it might have bearing on her murder.” I paused deliberately, praying I could carry this off.

  Regina Sutton’s head snapped up, setting her dangling earrings shaking. “If you have information critical to this case, I insist you share it with me now.”

  “I fully intend to cooperate with your investigation, Ms. Sutton, but I, uh, have a concern.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And what might that be?”

  Now or never, Vic. “My concern is that you might perceive my research as a hindrance. Particularly as I have been speaking with people who are involved in this case. And I know that hindering a criminal investigation carries certain . . . consequences. But I would hope that the information I provide might be perceived as a gesture of good faith that could, uh, mitigate my actions.”

  Sutton sat back in her chair, crossed her arms, and tilted her head, a smile playing about her mouth. “Are you trying to cut a deal with me, Ms. Rienzi?”

  “Yes,” I said, letting out a large breath. “Look, I know it looks bad for Dr. Natale right now, but I don’t believe he’s a murderer. And I stumbled across some background information on Elizabeth Merriman that I think might build a case against Jack Toscano. I know I’d be compelled to give you that information anyway, but, frankly, I’m terrified of getting in trouble or causing problems for my family. And I don’t know who scares me more: you or my grandmother.” The words sped recklessly from my mouth; I was talking the way Sofia drove, and praying I wouldn’t crash and burn.

  Still leaning back in her chair, Sutton shook her head. “Now, if this were a police show on television, this is where you and I would bond, right? We’d shake hands, exchange some clever banter, and team up to put a murderer behind bars. Is that how you see this little scene playing out?”

  “N-not exactly.”

  She flattened her palms on the desk, revealing ten glittery nails worthy of my mother. I stared at them while she spoke. “Well, this is not a television show,” she said. “This is not one of your books. And I don’t make deals with people who make my job harder.”

  I hung my head, feeling like a third-grader who’d just gotten caught stealing the milk money. Only third-graders didn’t end up in jail. “I understand,” I mumbled.

  “However,” she said with a sigh, “I don’t believe your intentions were malicious. And I might even believe that part of what compelled you was research. And since Toscano isn’t talking, I’ll take any information we can get.” She opened a drawer and set a small voice recorder on her desk. “So, tell me your story, Ms. Rienzi. But understand, I make no promises.”

  It was too soon to give in to relief, but I did breathe a bit easier. I started with my grandmother’s story of the young lovers and the baby put up for adoption, and ended with my visit to Louise Romano and what Toscano had said at my house the night before.

  Sutton paused the recorder. “So, Toscano might well have had knowledge of Merriman’s biological son? Enough to pass himself off as Thomas Romano Jr.?” I nodded and she pressed the record button.

  “They served together in Afghanistan until Thomas was killed,” I said. “Louise, his aunt, indicated the two were close. So it’s quite possible that Thomas confided in Toscano. Then when Thomas died in action, Toscano saw an opportunity. He got the blue contact lenses and presented himself as Elizabeth’s long-lost son.”

  Sutton nodded. “Go on.”

  “He knew the blue contacts wouldn’t fool anybody but Elizabeth, who’s partially blind herself. So he came up with ‘eye trouble’ of his own and wore dark glasses as much as possible. Toscano also told me he passed a DNA test; if that’s true, he must have taken something from the body.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Try to limit your theorizing, Ms. Rienzi. What else did Toscano tell you?”

  “He said that at the time of her death, Elizabeth had already settled sizable assets on him and that he proved that to the police. He indicated to me that he’d have no reason to kill her.” As I spoke, I had a sense of disquiet. What was it about Toscano and Elizabeth that was nagging at me?

  “And he told you this last evening?”

  I started at her sharp tone, and she paused the recorder again. “Did he or did he not tell you this last night?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “He came to see me at the restaurant a couple of days ago.”

  “You’ve spoken to him before?” She pointed a glittery finger at me. “And you’re still claiming you did not seek him out?”

  “Absolutely not. He struck me as dangerous, and I steered clear of him.” I didn’t add that that I was aware of the kidnapping charge or his association with William Fox; there was no way I could pass off knowledge of Fox as research. I had to pray she wouldn’t ask me about him.

  “At least you had that much sense,” she muttered, and hit the RECORD button again. “Getting back to last evening, Ms. Rienzi. Please recount for the record what transpired between you and Toscano.”

  I finished up with a description of my conversation with Toscano, up to the moment the light flashed in his face and I noted his brown eyes. “And that’s when my brother arrived,” I said.

  She turned off the recorder and folded her hands. “While I acknowledge that this information is helpful, Ms. Rienzi, as I said before, I make no promises.” She leaned across her desk, fixing me with her feline gaze. “And I had better not hear of any further involvement in this case. Do I make myself clear?”

  I jumped to my feet. “As an unmuddied stream, Ms. Sutton.”

  “Writers,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re dismissed, Ms. Rienzi. For now.”

  I left her office with shaky knees and very wet armpits. I was pretty sure I’d escaped being arrested. And maybe bought Dr. Chickie some extra time.

  But I had barely left the county office when a slow dawning of light rose in my brain. Toscano already had control of Elizabeth’s fortune. The only reason he would have for killing her was if she’d been onto him; he’d want her dead before she could change her will and expose him as a fraud. But I’d seen them the night of her death. I closed my eyes, straining to remember what I’d witnessed between the two of them. Elizabeth across the room, deep in conversation with Toscano. His head bent close to hers, and she smiling up at him. Smiling. Would she smile at a man who’d defrauded her of a fortune? The implication was clear—as late as a couple of hours before Elizabeth’s death, she still believed Toscano was her son. And if this assumption was correct, I’d just punched a great big hole in the case against him.

  I got into my car automatically, sat unmoving with my hands on the wheel. Should I go back inside and talk to Sutton? Didn’t this information change things—and not in a good way—for Dr. C.? Just then my phone vibrated, and Nina LaGuardia’s name appeared on its screen.

  “Damn,” I said, but answered it anyway. “Wow, Nina, it’s ten thirty. You’re late this morning.”

  “Ever the wit, aren’t you, Victoria?”

  That would be to make up for your lack of them, Nina. I sighed. “What is it you want? I’m cooperating with Regina Sutton’s investigation; you know I can’t talk to you�
�on the record or off.”

  “Yes, dear, I remember. I’m actually calling with some news for you.”

  I should have picked up on the sly tone in her voice, but I was too busy grabbing a pen and a pack of sticky notes from my purse. “I’m listening,” I said.

  Her trilling laugh drilled into my ear, and I winced. “Good,” she said. “Because one of my sources gave me a very interesting piece of information last night.” She paused for effect.

  “Just say it, Nina, would you?”

  “Now you write this down, darling, okay? I’ll speak nice and clear so you don’t miss a word. Here it is: A witness has come forward from the night of Elizabeth Merriman’s death. Apparently, he was out for a midnight stroll on the beach. And guess what he saw?”

  Now I really was listening, my pen poised and ready. “Go on.”

  “Well, this witness claims he saw Elizabeth and another person walking on the path between the club and the beach.”

  Cradling the phone, I scribbled some notes and waited. “Another person?”

  “Uh huh. Another person described as short, stocky, and bald. Wearing a dark suit. And leading Elizabeth by the arm.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” I said. Except doom for Dr. Chickie. “Did the witness see anything else?”

  She laughed again, and I held the phone farther from my ear. “You mean did he see the Embezzling Orthodontist shove Merriman over the seawall? Sadly, no. But he saw enough. Enough to put Dr. Charles Natale in an extremely sticky position, wouldn’t you say?”

  The answer was obvious. Had my parents heard this news? And then another thought occurred to me, one that had probably crossed Nina’s usually obtuse mind as well: Dr. Natale was a close friend of my dad’s, and Frank Rienzi was a well-known figure in Oceanside Park. If Dr. Chickie was arrested for murder, the Casa Lido would once again be dragged into a murder investigation, this time at the height of the summer season. I pressed my fingers to my eyes, trying to sort out what I should do next.

  “Victoria?” Nina said sharply.

  “I’m here.”

  “What’s the matter, dear? Did I catch you off guard with that little tidbit? Now, while I have you on the phone, I have a question or two for you. How close is your father to Charles Natale? And how does it feel to find yourself, once again, in the middle of a murder investigation?”

  “I have no comment, Nina,” I said through my teeth.

  “Oh, but you will, Victoria,” she sang out. “You will.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Sofia met me at the restaurant, where I filled her in on my adventures, starting with the encounter with Toscano and ending with my visit to Prosecutor Sutton. Dressed in her dance clothes, she sat with her chin in her hands, giving me more attention than I was used to. At least from her.

  “So, Danny and Tim came to your rescue last night? I’m jealous,” she said.

  “You’re kidding me, right? Tell me you’d want to be caught alone with a criminal.” I stopped short of calling him a murderer, however.

  “If it meant two hot guys roaring up on a motorcycle to save me? Hell, yes.” She took the red folder from a large messenger bag and set it on the table. “Guess we can mark this ‘case closed,’ huh?”

  “I’m not so sure, Sofe. Something struck me as I left Sutton’s office and—”

  We were interrupted by the sound of the front door and turned around to face my mother, who walked straight to our table. “Hello, honey,” she said to me. “Hello, Sofia,” she said quietly. Was there a softening in her tone?

  “Oh, hi, Nicolina,” Sofia said. “How are you?”

  “I’m well, hon, thank you.” My mom moved closer to her daughter-in-law and frowned. “But you look thin, Sofia. Are you feeling all right?”

  The air around us was suddenly charged. I watched Sofia’s eyes widen slightly, her throat move as she swallowed nervously. “I’m . . . fine.”

  Still frowning, my mother took a closer look at Sofia’s face. “There are little shadows under your eyes,” she said. “Are you getting enough sleep?” Her eyes flicked to Sofia’s V-neck leotard. My sister-in-law had always been curvy, but now her breasts swelled over the opening of her top. I guess there are some signs of pregnancy you can’t always hide. In the growing silence, I glanced at Sofia, who sat frozen in place. “It’s . . . it’s the heat,” she finally said.

  “Probably.” My mother’s face gave nothing away. “Well, I need to get started in the office, girls.” She looked at Sofia. “You take care of yourself, now,” she said.

  After her footsteps died away, my sister-in-law looked at me with panic in her eyes. “I’m so busted!” she hissed. “She knows, Vic. I can tell.”

  “You’re probably right. But is that such a bad thing? You’ve found the absolute surest way to get back into my mother’s good graces, and you’re upset?”

  She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “What if she tells Danny?”

  I shook my head. “She’d never do that, even if she suspects. But don’t you think it’s time to tell him?”

  She hung her head. “Yes. I can’t avoid it anymore.”

  I grabbed her two hands. “I’m so glad, SIL. I know you guys will work things out. And in the meantime, I’m about to run out and buy little Bernardo or Isabella a whole bunch of presents.”

  “Bernardo? Isabella? Do you really think I’ll name this baby after a character in your books?” She let out a laugh, sounding just like her old self. She packed the red folder and pushed in her chair. “My first class is in a few minutes, so I’d better hit it. And I’ll talk to Danny today. I promise.”

  “That’s great, Sofe. And let me know how it goes, okay?” She was out the door before I realized I hadn’t told her what I remembered about Toscano. Or about Nina’s phone call. And how that information changed everything about this case.

  • • •

  But things got busy quickly once lunch preparation was under way, giving me a convenient excuse to avoid sharing what I now knew: that Toscano might not be Elizabeth’s murderer, and that Dr. C. was looking guiltier by the minute. Even cleaning lettuce at the salad station was better than facing that uncomfortable truth. And I would have to go back and tell Sutton what I’d remembered about Toscano and Elizabeth the night of the murder if I wanted to stay out of trouble myself. But at least I could try to talk to Sofia about it first. I glanced at the clock; if I hurried, I might be able to catch her between classes. Wiping my hands on my apron, I whirled around to come face-to-face with my mother.

  “Were you going somewhere, Victoria?” My mother’s normally cheerful expression was questioning, one might even say suspicious.

  “Uh . . .” If I told her I was off to call Sofia, that would open a line of conversation I was not about to pursue. I was sure she had her suspicions about her daughter-in-law’s pregnancy, but no way would I confirm them. “Actually, Mom,” I said, “I was coming to see you. Could we talk in the dining room?”

  My mind raced as we walked down the hallway from the kitchen. What did I want to see her about? It had to be pretty big to keep her away from the subject of whether or not Sofia was pregnant. Maybe I should tell her what Nina had shared—she would find out soon enough from Brenda, anyway, and the news did have ramifications for us and the restaurant. I led her to the family table, where we both sat down.

  “Listen, Mom,” I said. “You know I spoke with Regina Sutton this morning, right?”

  Her eyes narrowed, her radar turned up high. “Are you in trouble, Victoria?”

  “No.” Not yet anyway. I put my hand on her arm. “I just want you and Daddy to be prepared—”

  “I know,” she said nodding. “Chickie could be under suspicion for murder.”

  Could be? “It’s more serious than that, Mom. Nina LaGuardia—you know, that reporter who drives me crazy—called to tell me that there’s an eyewitness.”

  My mom’s hand flew to her mouth. “To the murder?”

  “Not to the ac
tual murder, no. But somebody saw a short, stocky bald man leading Elizabeth down that beach path.”

  “No,” she breathed. “It must be a mistake. Someone’s lying—Chickie would never hurt anyone! And what about poor Brenda—”

  “Mom,” I interrupted, “right now I’m concerned for you and Daddy.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re friends with Dr. Chickie. He and Daddy play cards together. There could be a . . . a taint on you guys or the restaurant. Don’t you see?”

  She dropped her voice and leaned closer. “You mean because of what happened before Memorial Day?”

  “Right. We could find ourselves associated with a murder yet again. At least in people’s minds.”

  My mom let out a breath. “That’s ridiculous. Your father and I weren’t even there!”

  “But I was, don’t forget. And I heard that exchange between Dr. Chickie and Elizabeth Merriman. She threatened him, Mom. If this goes to trial, you understand I’ll probably have to testify.”

  She shook her head, her auburn curls jiggling. “This just gets worse and worse.”

  I took her hands. “Whatever happens, we’ll weather it. I’ll do whatever I can, and so will Danny. We all know Dr. C. is innocent.” But as I spoke the words, I felt a flicker of doubt.

  She squeezed my hands briefly and stood up. “Thank you for letting me know, honey. But don’t worry about Daddy and me. I think it will all be okay in the end.” Her eyes took on a dreamy expression, and her lips curved in a slight smile. “I think there are good things ahead of us.”

  She means the baby, I thought, and I smiled back. “Me too,” I said.

  I waited until she closed the door to her office before I got moving. We were only a few minutes from opening for lunch, and I had to get through to Sofia. But when I took out my phone, there was a text from my brother that made my heart sink:

  Toscano alibi checks out

  So Toscano had been telling the truth about that, at least. He hadn’t threatened me because I was about to expose him as a murderer, but as a fraud. I slipped my phone back into my apron pocket and sneaked into the one place I knew I’d have privacy: the Casa Lido restroom. Lovingly decorated by my mom with prints of the Amalfi Coast and Italian landmarks, and scented with dried lavender from the garden, it was actually a pleasant place to hang out.