Hummus and Homicide

by Tina Kashian

  He tilted his head to the side and studied her with those dark eyes. “I’m not here to see your parents. I heard you’re back for good.”

  Her heart thumped uncomfortably. “No. Not for good. I took a sabbatical.” The lie came easier this time.

  He looked at her as if there was no difference between the two. “Either way, I’m glad you’re back, Lucy. We should talk.”

  Alarm bells went off in her head. No way. That was so not going to happen. She had no desire to be alone with Azad. She was past this. Way past this. “I don’t see why.”

  At his confused look, a sudden thought crossed Lucy’s mind, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. “Wait a second. I’ve heard you want to buy the restaurant. Is that why you want to talk?”

  He studied her with a curious intensity. “Not entirely. I was thinking we could get together and talk . . . you know . . . about us.”

  Lucy held up a hand. “No. I—”

  “We were young.” He raked his fingers through his hair, drawing the dark strands away from his forehead, before shoving both hands into the pocket of his jeans. “Right out of college and just twenty-one.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss.” This was not a topic she wanted to delve into. “It no longer matters.”

  “I wasn’t ready to commit. I panicked and handled us badly.”

  Lucy wanted to cover her ears, but that would be childish and stupid and would show she still cared—which she didn’t. What was it about this place that made her feel like she’d been stuffed into a time machine and spit out ten years in the past? She was glad her parents were squirreled away in the office with sheets of payroll. They’d be all too happy to learn that Azad had come to see her. She could just imagine her mother’s enthusiasm.

  “How about we get together for coffee? Don’t you want to talk?” he asked.

  “No. We are not going there. End of discussion. Period,” she added for extra emphasis. “If we’re to talk about anything it should be about business. Like why do you want to buy this place?”

  He met her gaze and appeared to stand an inch taller. “I’ve been to culinary school.”

  “I’ve heard. But why this?” Lucy said, sweeping her hand across the dining room.

  He shrugged broad shoulders. “It’s a good investment. I practically grew up here. Your father gave me my first job, and I know this place inside and out. I have what it takes to make it more successful.”

  “Maybe, but—”

  “It was your father’s plan years ago,” he said as a slow grin formed on his lips. “Remember what he said?”

  A heavy feeling settled in Lucy’s stomach. She remembered, all right. She’d been dating Azad their senior year in college when they were both home for spring break. As soon as her father had sat them down at the kitchen table, she’d known it was serious. The kitchen of her family home was where all important matters were discussed.

  “You two have been together for a year now,” Raffi had started. “I can’t take the restaurant with me when I die. Emma may be older than you, Lucy, but she doesn’t have a head for business. You and Azad are perfect.”

  She should have been outraged at her father’s plotting. But the truth was she had fallen for Azad. Hard.

  Apparently he hadn’t felt the same. If only he’d had the guts to tell her . . .

  Azad took a step toward her, and a traitorous tingling began in the pit of Lucy’s stomach. “I was young and stupid. If only I could go back and—”

  Lucy whirled at the sound of shattering glass and loud voices coming from the kitchen.

  Azad frowned. “What the hell was that?”

  “Wait here.” She rushed to the kitchen to find a large jar of grape leaves scattered across the floor and Butch laughing with a strange man. The man was short and stocky, with legs that looked like mini tree trunks and, as he turned, she saw a familiar face.

  “Big Al!” she cried out.

  “Look who’s returned to the nest.” The man enveloped Lucy in a big hug.

  Lucy’s arms didn’t reach halfway around his large girth. Ali Basher, otherwise known as Big Al, was one of her father’s food suppliers who specialized in ethnic food items and made small weekly deliveries. He looked just as she remembered—a head of curly salt and pepper hair and warm brown eyes in a large fleshy face. He waddled when he walked, and, when she was young, Lucy had thought he looked like a penguin.

  She eyed the dark grape leaves, liquid brine, and shattered glass on the floor. Her mother would have used the jar’s contents to prepare savory wrapped grape leaves with meat and rice. “What happened?”

  A toothy grin spread across his face. “Just a small accident. Don’t worry. I brought an extra jar, and I’ll help Butch clean it up.”

  “What else have you brought today?” Lucy peeked inside a box on the counter to see fresh apricots, phyllo dough that would be used to make baklava—her favorite flaky pastry dessert with walnuts and cinnamon—crushed mint to prepare tabbouleh salad, and jars of aromatic spices like sumac and paprika.

  “A little of this and that,” Big Al said.

  Lucy smiled at his description. “My parents are in the office working on payroll.”

  “Don’t disturb them. I don’t need them for this delivery. By the way, is that Azad’s truck I saw outside?”

  She kept forgetting how everyone knew everyone in the restaurant business, especially in the small town. “He’s in the dining room.”

  Big Al began unpacking his box and placing items on a wooden prep table. The sight of the fresh apricots caught Lucy’s eye, the fruits’ pale skins shining beneath the kitchen’s florescent lights. How long had it been since she’d eaten one?

  “As soon as I’m done here, I’ll say hello to him,” Big Al said as she worked.

  “I don’t know if he’s still here,” Lucy said on her way out of the kitchen. If she were lucky, Azad would be long gone.

  No such luck. As soon as she walked into the dining room, she spotted Azad sitting at one of the tables checking his e-mail on his cell phone. Thankfully, the last of the customers were waiting to pay, and Lucy could avoid him and busy herself making change at the register until the place was empty.

  She eyed the back of his dark head and broad shoulders. Straightening her shoulders, she headed for where he sat, fully intending to have an impersonal, business-like conversation with him. She opened her mouth to call his name when the front door opened.

  Lucy turned with a smile to greet a customer only to see Heather Banks walk inside. Dressed in another tight business suit—a lime green one this time—and holding the dreaded clipboard, she halted by the hostess stand. Lucy couldn’t help but wonder how many restaurants she’d failed today.

  Putting Azad out of her mind, she took three deep breaths, slowly exhaled, then walked over. “You gave us seven days. It’s only been one.”

  Heather arched a perfectly drawn-on brow. Her gaze raked Lucy’s length, taking in her simple white collared shirt, black slacks, red apron, and sneakers. Heather’s red-glossed lips twisted with distaste. “I know. I can read a calendar. I’m here to eat.”

  Lucy’s jaw dropped as she gawked at her. “Eat?”

  “Yes. Eat. That’s what people do here, isn’t it?”

  Lucy stiffened. She wouldn’t have been more surprised if Heather had said there was a pack of wild dogs running through the restaurant. “Of course. You can sit anywhere.”

  Heather chose the best table in the restaurant, one with a nice view of the ocean and cloudless sky.

  “I’ll get you a menu.” Lucy headed for the hostess stand where the menus were stored.

  “I don’t need one,” Heather called out.

  “Pardon?” Lucy halted mid-step.

  Heather plopped her lime green Gucci purse—a perfect match to her outfit—on the table. “I know what I want. Are you just going to stand there or are you going to take my order?”

  Lucy was determined not to lose her temper. Pasting a smile on
her face, she pulled out a pad and pen from her apron pocket. “What can I get you?”

  “Pita bread. Wheat only.”

  This was just getting weirder and weirder. Lucy looked at her questioningly. “That’s it?”

  “A glass of fresh-brewed, unsweetened iced tea.”

  “Got it.” Lucy made a pretense of scribbling on her pad. It was preferable to looking at her infuriating customer.

  Heather drummed red nails on the table. “I also want the all you can eat hummus bar.”

  After citing the restaurant for the hummus bar? Lucy felt a simmering anger. She clenched and unclenched the pen. “I’ll bring the pita and you can help yourself to the hummus.”

  Heading to the kitchen, she ripped off the slip from her pad and tucked it in the ticket spindle and gave it a good spin. Butch appeared in the kitchen, glanced at the order, and blinked. “Pita only? That’s it?’

  “Guess who?” Lucy said.

  Butch arched a bushy brow.

  “The lovely Ms. Banks.”

  He scratched his red bandana. “The new health inspector? The one that gave us a hard time?”

  Lucy held up her hands. “Go figure. But she’s here as a customer, not on official business.”

  Butch handed her a basket of warm pita bread. “You better be quick for her highness.”

  Lucy hurried into the kitchen to fetch the iced tea when she spotted Azad and Big Al talking at the entrance to the storage room. Azad must have left the dining room and wandered into the kitchen when she was busy taking Heather’s order.

  “What are you two doing back here?” she asked.

  Big Al shot her a smile. “Just catching up. Azad’s agreed to help me unload the rest of the boxes from my truck.”

  “Happy to help.” Azad grinned as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against a tall shelf.

  Lucy quickly averted her gaze from his tautly stretched shirt. Damn. She mentally shook herself. He’d be gone soon. She just had to get through waiting on Heather and Azad unloading Big Al’s truck, then she’d finish her shift and sprint out of the place.

  “Only one lone customer out there?” Azad asked.

  Lucy nodded, anxious to get away. “Excuse me while I see what else she needs.” She left the two men in the kitchen and delivered the basket of pita bread.

  Heather’s blindingly white teeth flashed as she tore into the bread. They must have been recently bleached. Lowering the half-eaten piece of bread, she glowered at Lucy and snapped, “Where’s my iced tea?”

  Lucy had forgotten all about the tea. The sight of Azad talking with Big Al had unsettled her more than it should have. Mind whirling, she came up with a quick excuse. “You said fresh. It’s brewing and will be right up.”

  Lucy went back to the kitchen to see Big Al packing up empty boxes. There was no sign of Azad.

  “Azad had to leave,” Big Al said, anticipating her question.

  A heaviness centered in her chest. He hadn’t even said good-bye. She couldn’t possibly be disappointed, could she?

  “Please give this to your father.” Big Al handed her a slip of paper—an itemized bill for the goods he’d delivered.

  Seeing Azad had been trying and Lucy longed to go back to Katie’s place, change, and take a boardwalk jog.

  Unfortunately, before she could do that she had to check on Heather.

  Lucy passed the hummus bar on her way to Heather’s table. For someone who had recently written a report about its noncompliance, Heather had a healthy appetite. There wasn’t a single type of hummus she hadn’t tried and it looked like her mother’s traditional hummus was her favorite. Large scoops had been carved out from the containers.

  “Do you need anything else?” Lucy hoped the answer would be no.

  “More pita.”

  Heather’s complexion was flushed and she fanned herself with papers she’d removed from her clipboard. She was breathing rapidly. It was hot outside, but the restaurant was air-conditioned. Maybe she had hot flashes? They were the same age—early thirties—but Lucy liked to think she was still years off from that change of life.

  Heather’s plate was covered with clumps of hummus. Each variety had its own space around the perimeter of her plate, reminding Lucy of an artist’s palette. How strange.

  Lucy hurried to fetch another basket of pita. She wanted Heather gone and hoped she ate quickly.

  At last, Heather waved a hand and called out loudly, “Check.”

  Lucy was tallying the bill by the register when Heather’s cell phone trilled. “I said don’t call me on this number,” Heather hissed into the phone.

  Lucy’s ears perked up at Heather’s harsh tone, and she strained to hear. Even from where she stood, Lucy could see the sheen of perspiration glistening on Heather’s brow as she shifted restlessly in her seat and resumed vigorously fanning herself with her papers.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Heather said through gritted teeth. “No exceptions. Have I ever let you down before?”

  Whoever she was talking to must have been determined, because Heather’s caustic tone softened a bit. “I see. Yeah. I’ll have it by the end of the week.”

  Heather pressed the END CALL button on her cell, then spotted Lucy by the cash register. She extended her hand and snapped her fingers.

  Lucy jumped, fearful that she’d been caught eavesdropping, until she realized that Heather just wanted her check. Really? Snapping fingers was beyond rude.

  She delivered the check, then breathed a sigh of relief when Heather finally paid and left.

  “Good riddance,” Butch said when Lucy went back into the kitchen. “Big Al left, and your parents will be in their office for a while. Let’s hope the rest of the evening is calm.”

  She couldn’t agree more. “Emma’s coming back soon for the dinner shift. I’ll clean up a bit before I leave.”

  Keeping herself busy, she wiped down booths, filled the small flower vases with additional water, cleaned the juice and soda machines, and swept the tiles behind the waitress station. An hour and a half later, after everything was to her satisfaction, she found Butch stirring a large pot of lentil soup for the dinner service. Lucy smiled wearily and pointed to a bag by the back door of the storage room. “How about I take this trash out to the Dumpster on my way?”

  He smiled, revealing his gold tooth. “Thanks, Lucy Lou.”

  Lucy removed her apron and hung it on a hook in the storage room. Grabbing her purse with one hand and the trash bag with the other, she exited through the back door. It was cool outside and early evenings at the Jersey shore were always her favorite time of day to jog. Nothing calmed the tension of a hard workday like a run on the boardwalk, the sound of the ocean waves, and the smell of salty air.

  She hefted the trash bag toward the Dumpster in the back of the parking lot, spotted Gadoo walking past a red Lexus with its distinctive BANKS1 license plate, and frowned. Did Heather have car trouble and have someone pick her up? Lucy adjusted the trash bag over her shoulder and continued her trek to the Dumpster, eyes still on the shiny, red Lexus. Halfway to her destination she tripped, dropped the trash bag and her purse, just catching herself from sprawling flat on her face. She looked down to see what she’d stumbled over.

  On the blacktop lay Heather Banks, faceup, mouth agape, eyes wide open and unfocused, a pool of vomit nearby.

  CHAPTER 4

  Lucy sucked in air and choked back a scream. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. Heather’s head was turned to the side, the skin of her neck unnaturally pale, and her dyed red hair was spread out on the blacktop. A few strands lay in the puddle of vomit.

  Years ago, Lucy had taken a CPR course and her training told her what to do, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Get a hold of yourself! Stay calm and help her. Lucy reached down for Heather’s wrist to take her pulse. Her flesh was cold. Lucy felt nothing.

  Oh my God.

  Heather was dead.

  Lucy sprinted back through the storage room and into the kitc
hen where Butch was still stirring the large pot of lentil soup over the stove. “Heather’s dead!”

  The spoon clattered against the side of the pot, and Butch looked at her like she’d grown two heads. “What are you talking about?”

  Thank goodness she had the presence of mind to pick up her purse from where she’d dropped it along with the trash bag. She had no intention of going back outside to retrieve anything or running to reach the nearest landline in the dining room. “I’m calling 911.”

  Lucy punched in the numbers on her cell with shaky fingers and explained to the dispatcher what she’d found. As soon as she hung up with the police, she called Katie.

  “Hello,” Katie answered, slightly out of breath. Loud music played in the background and Lucy remembered that Katie exercised to kickboxing DVDs after work.

  “Katie! You have to come to the restaurant. Heather Banks is dead!”

  “What?” There was a pause until the music stopped and Katie switched from speaker phone to the receiver.

  Lucy’s pulse battered erratically through her veins. “She came here to eat and then left . . . and I went out the back. I tripped over her body and she’s dead.” Lucy knew she was not being totally coherent.

  “Did you call the police?” Katie asked.

  “Yes. They’re on their way.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “No. Butch is here.” Lucy suddenly remembered her parents were in their office. “My mom and dad are here, too.”

  “Good. Stay together. It may not be safe.” Katie’s voice was low and troubled.

  Lucy immediately halted her pacing, and her fingers tightened on the phone. She hadn’t thought of that. Was it safe? Did someone attack Heather? She hadn’t seen any injuries or blood. But that didn’t necessarily mean . . .

  My God. Was there a killer outside?

  “Stay there with Butch and your parents. I’ll be right over.” Katie hung up.

  Stomach clenched tight, Lucy ran to the tiny office in the corner of the storage room and threw open the door. Her parents sat behind the desk and looked up from their work. Papers and time slips cluttered the surface of the desk.