Hummus and Homicide

by Tina Kashian

  “My intentions haven’t changed. I’ve wanted my own place for a long time. I know the business. I’d like to make a few changes, of course, starting with a computer system that will bring the place into the twentieth century.”

  Lucy grinned. She couldn’t blame him. Emma had battled her technology-deficient parents over the same issue for years.

  “How will you pay for it?” It was unlikely the local bank or any bank would give Azad a loan without collateral.

  “I talked to your dad. He agreed to give me a mortgage. I’d pay him monthly with interest until the place is paid in full. We’d have to use a real estate specialist like Max to establish fair market value first, then a real estate lawyer to draw up the papers.”

  Lucy was surprised her father hadn’t mentioned anything about this to her. He kept referring to her as a lawyer for everything else—most recently investigating a crime. So why not ask her about giving Azad a mortgage? It was risky. The proceeds of the sale were the only retirement her parents had other than social security.

  Lucy leaned back in her chair, mulling over this information. The arrangement made her realize one thing—the fair market value of Kebab Kitchen would plummet if they had no business. And business would surely suffer if everyone thought the health inspector died after eating at the restaurant. Azad could buy the business for a dime on the dollar and would luck out at her parents’ expense.

  It sounds like great motive, she thought.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

  Lucy felt her face heat. “You do?”

  “There was never anyone else after we broke up, Lucy.”

  Whoa. That wasn’t what she’d been thinking about at all. The conversation just took a turn she wasn’t sure she wanted to follow.

  “I know you thought I ended things between us because I was dating someone else.”

  She did. He’d led her to believe it after college. “You insinuated it.”

  “I lied. Freaked out. Your parents were pushing for us to marry right out of college. We were twenty-one. Remember when your dad sat us down at the kitchen table in your house? If he had the authority, he would have married us then.”

  Lucy squirmed in her seat. It was true. Her father had never been tactful. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

  “Would you have understood back then?”

  If she were honest with herself she didn’t know. She’d been hurt and it was possible she would have pushed him away. “So you just weren’t ready?”

  “That’s right, but now I am.” He reached across the table to squeeze her hand.

  She was the one panicking now. She pulled her hand from his grasp and set it on her lap. “Azad . . . um . . . I’m flattered, but it’s s not a good time for me.”

  “You’re still angry. You have a right to be.”

  “No. It’s not that.” Not entirely. She had her hands full with Heather’s murder, panicked parents, and a nosy reporter. “There’s a lot going on right now.”

  “Do me a favor. Promise you’ll think about us, okay?”

  She stood and pushed back her chair. “All right. But no other promises.”

  He rose and grinned. “I’ll take it.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Lucy locked the back door of the restaurant and headed to her car. She averted her gaze from where Heather had been found dead on the asphalt parking lot. The image was imprinted in her brain. She took a deep breath and focused instead on the chirping of locusts and the distant sound of ocean waves echoing in the alley. A meow sounded and Gadoo came from around the corner to rub against her legs.

  “Hello, Gadoo. Out prowling tonight?”

  He looked up, his yellow eyes glowing in the twilight.

  She checked that the cat had fresh water. Her mother must have fed him extra cat food and it remained uneaten in his bowl by the back door. She reached in her purse and pulled out a bag of cat treats she’d purchased from Holloway’s grocery. She tossed a few chicken-flavored treats shaped like little chicken legs to the cat. Gadoo ate them quickly.

  His second meow was cut short and rudely drowned out by the roar of a motorcycle. Lucy jumped and nearly dropped her keys. Gadoo took off down the alley like a shot.

  The ear-piercing noise was close. Curious, she walked to the edge of the fence separating the restaurant’s property from the business next door—Citteroni’s Bike Shop. The shop should be closed at this late hour, but the garage door was open and brightly lit. Bicycles, tricycles, and surreys were parked in neat rows inside the space.

  A helmeted man dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans was parking a motorcycle. A tall, lean, muscled biker dismounted from the bike. Reaching up, he removed his helmet and hung it on the handlebars.

  Her pulse did a double take. He was sinfully handsome, with the kind of dark hair and classic features that could be found on the cover of a men’s magazine. His faded jeans were molded to long, muscular legs, and he took off the leather jacket to reveal a tight, black T-shirt. He bent to check something on the motorcycle, and the cotton stretched across broad shoulders.

  Sweet Lord.

  She must have made a noise because he turned his head and looked directly at her. “Hi, there. You plan on standing behind that fence and watching all night?”

  Busted. Caught peeking like a girl looking through a hole in the boy’s locker room. Lucy’s heart hammered and her cheeks grew hot. She stepped out from where she stood half hidden behind the fence. No sense running back inside the restaurant. She’d been caught.

  She crossed the short expanse of sidewalk separating the two businesses and stepped into the garage. “Sorry. I wasn’t sneaking. I heard your motorcycle. I work next door.”

  He grinned a slow sexy smile that made her all too aware of her plain work clothes—an unflattering white collared shirt and simple black slacks. “Ah, the fancy place next door.”

  The garage light fully illuminated his face. His eyes were a striking ocean blue and he was even better looking up close.

  She swallowed. “I suppose you can call it fancy although we aim for just above casual.” She eyed his motorcycle. “I thought you just rented bicycles?”

  “I have a weakness for fast rides.”

  Goodness—what a cheesy line!

  He extended a hand. “I’m Michael Citteroni.”

  She blinked in surprise. “You’re Anthony Citteroni’s son?”

  “I’m helping my dad out with the bike shop this summer.”

  Mr. Citteroni was notorious in Ocean Crest. If rumors were to be believed, he had mob connections several beach towns north of Ocean Crest in Atlantic City, and his many businesses—bike shops, Laundromats, and trash trucks throughout town—were how he laundered money.

  According to her parents, Anthony Citteroni was also interested in buying Kebab Kitchen and opening an Italian restaurant.

  She realized she was staring, and quickly shook his extended hand. His fingers were long and tapered, his palm a bit calloused, and her skin tingled at the touch. “I’m Lucy Berberian. I’m helping my parents with the restaurant this summer.”

  “Well, Lucy. We have something in common then, don’t we? Family obligations.”

  Something in his tone told her he wasn’t that pleased to have taken over responsibility of the bike shop. She could commiserate.

  “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?” he asked.

  She eyed the black machine. It was a sleek Harley-Davidson, polished to a shine with large handlebars and a leather saddlebag on the side. “No. I never had a chance to ride one of those.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to either.

  “I’d like to take you. You haven’t lived until you’ve ridden one of these babies.” He rested a hand on a seat that was big enough for two. “I have an extra helmet in the garage.”

  “Maybe another day.”

  He chuckled. “Nervous?”

  “A little.”

  “Okay, but you’re not off the hook. I’l
l ask again in the future.” She didn’t miss his obvious examination and approval.

  She regarded him curiously. “Is your dad here?”

  “Why? Don’t tell me you stopped by to see him?” Michael asked in mock disappointment.

  “No. I came because I heard your bike, remember? But I would like to talk with him in the future. He expressed an interest in buying my parents’ place.”

  “That so? I’m not surprised.”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “Dad’s always looking to expand. He doesn’t spend much time at the bike shop, though. Tell you what, I’ll ask him when I see him. How about I take you on that ride after I hear and we can talk shop?”

  After a long dry spell like the Sahara, she’d come home only to have two very attractive men express interest in her on the very same day.

  CHAPTER 10

  “It’s true. I checked the township records this morning and Heather Banks issued citations to Guido’s Hot Cheese Pizzeria, not twice, but three times over the past six months for health violations,” Katie said.

  Lucy looked up from where she was slicing eggplant on a prep table. Katie had burst into the restaurant and tracked Lucy down in the kitchen. Cutting vegetables wasn’t part of Lucy’s waitressing duties, but the mundane activity gave her something to do to keep her mind from the fact that the restaurant had had only a handful of customers for lunch. Besides, she needed to feel helpful and knew Butch planned to make a vegetarian eggplant bake for dinner service.

  Lucy whistled through her teeth. “Three times? That’s enough to make anyone furious. When was Heather’s last visit to the pizzeria?”

  Katie flipped through a stack of papers in her hand. “She visited Guido’s the day she died. According to Heather’s reports that I found at the township office, she was to deliver reports to two restaurants, the Hot Cheese Pizzeria and Mac’s Irish Pub, before she came to Kebab Kitchen.”

  Lucy’s heart pounded as she set down the knife on the cutting board. “That would fit the time frame of poisoning. Maybe Paul Evans was right and Guido Morelli hated Heather enough to kill her.”

  Katie shifted from foot to foot. “When is your shift over?”

  “Didn’t you notice the empty dining room on your way to the kitchen? The last customer left a half hour ago. I can leave any time. Are you thinking of paying Guido a visit?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How? It’s Monday. Don’t you have to go back to work?” Lucy asked.

  “Nope. I took the rest of the day off. I don’t feel well.” Katie shot her a sly wink.

  “Katie Watson! What if someone sees you running around town and word gets back to your supervisor?”

  Katie covered her mouth and starting hacking. “Don’t I sound believable?”

  “Well . . .”

  Katie’s eyes flashed. “Forget work! I can’t let you have all the fun.”

  Lucy held up a hand. “Okay. The truth is I’m glad you’re coming with me. Wait here a minute, and I’ll be ready to go.”

  Lucy took off her apron and went in search of her father. She found him in his office at his desk, pencil in hand. He rubbed his chin as he pored over an accounting ledger. Paperwork, order sheets, and invoices littered the surface of the oak desk. A tall metal shelf held spare parts for the dishwasher as well as payroll sheets and the samples of canned and boxed food suppliers often gave him.

  “Dad?”

  He swiveled in his chair to see her in the doorway. “Is everything all right out there?”

  “Everything’s fine.” Lucy felt a tug in her chest. He was a hard worker, a man who’d arrived as an immigrant with little and had become a successful businessman and a proud American. He’d never had the opportunity to go to college. During her youth she may not have always agreed with his old-world attitude or his plans for her future, but she’d always admired him.

  “Katie’s here and we have to go somewhere.” Lucy couldn’t bring herself to explain her plans. She didn’t want to give him false hope.

  She also didn’t want him to ask questions.

  But he was intelligent and caught on. “Ah, you’re investigating. Good girl. Go and do right by the family.”

  Her chest tightened. What if she didn’t find anything and the restaurant’s reputation was never cleared? She swallowed. “Thanks, Dad. I’m working tomorrow’s lunch and dinner shift.”

  She shut the door and met Katie outside by her jeep. Lucy frowned as she opened the passenger door. Of all the luck. She’d walked to work this morning. The restaurant wasn’t far from Katie’s house and Lucy had enjoyed the fresh ocean air. Now she wished she’d driven. She buckled her seatbelt and pulled it tight.

  Katie chuckled. “You’re a nervous Nellie.”

  “Anyone would be. Try to take it slow today, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Fifteen minutes later, which included three handle-clutching and wheel-squealing turns, they arrived at their destination. The Hot Cheese Pizzeria was in a shopping center tucked between a surf shop and a used bookstore. Katie parked in a metered spot and they got out of the jeep.

  Lucy started fishing through her purse for quarters.

  Katie stopped her. “Meters are still free. It’s not officially the season yet.”

  Lucy zipped her purse closed. “Don’t remind me.” The tourist season starting on Memorial Day was like a ticking time bomb hovering over her head.

  Together, they stepped inside the pizzeria. A few customers eating pizza sat at tables with checked red and white plastic tablecloths. A teenage couple, heads bent together, sat in the corner whispering to each other. A family with twin girls in booster chairs was seated by a window. The place smelled of tomato sauce, melted mozzarella cheese, and garlic. Nobody was minding the hostess station.

  Lucy waved down a young, skinny waiter with several tattoos on his bony arms carrying an empty pizza tray. “We’re looking for the owner, Guido Morelli. Is he here?”

  “Sure. Let me call him from the back.”

  The waiter disappeared behind swinging doors. A split second later they heard him loudly shout out, “Guido! Two ladies want you out front.”

  “Goodness,” Lucy said. “Is Guido hard of hearing?”

  Katie scanned the restaurant. “The place doesn’t look dirty. I wonder why Heather failed it?”

  “The front may be clean, but you never know what goes on in the back of a restaurant. The kitchen or storeroom could be a mess,” Lucy pointed out.

  Katie wrinkled her nose. “Please don’t tell me. Bill and I like to eat out.”

  “Sorry. It’s not Kebab Kitchen. My mom and dad are clean freaks. I’m just telling you what I heard about other places when I was growing up.”

  They waited another five minutes before a heavy-set man with slicked-back dark hair and a walrus-shaped mustache hurried toward them. “I’m Guido Morelli. How can I help you?” he asked in an Italian accent.

  “I’m Lucy Berberian and this is Katie Watson. We’d like to talk to you about Heather Banks.”

  “What about her?” Guido asked, instantly on guard.

  “We understand she inspected your pizzeria,” Lucy said.

  “So?” Guido said.

  “And that she cited you for health inspection violations, not once but three times,” Katie said.

  Guido’s eyes narrowed. Lucy wanted to haul Katie outside. She meant well, but her straight-to-the-jugular tactics didn’t put Guido at ease. They weren’t the police. They didn’t have a warrant, and they needed him to voluntarily offer information.

  “Heather Banks was an evil woman,” Guido said tersely. “She said my kitchen was dirty. Dirty!” He pointed to his chest. “I’ve been in business for over fifteen years and no one has ever said my kitchen was dirty.”

  “You said she was evil. You know she’s dead?” Lucy asked.

  He looked at her as if she was a simpleton. “Of course. Everyone knows. It’s a small town.”

  Guido then started
to wag his finger at Lucy. “She should never have taken over her father’s position. Mr. Banks was fair and honest. His daughter was corrupt.”

  “Corrupt? That’s a harsh accusation,” Lucy said.

  “It’s true. She accepted bribes from other restaurants to overlook their dirty kitchens. Everyone in the business knows this. Why do you think she never fined Mac McCabe’s Irish Pub?” Guido said sharply.

  Lucy was startled by the name. Mac’s Irish Pub was the bar she had gone to on her first day back to Ocean Crest. It was also the pub where she’d first seen Heather and Paul. And Katie had said Heather had delivered health notices to both Guido and Mac the day she died.

  “You think Mr. McCabe paid Ms. Banks to overlook health code violations?” Lucy asked.

  “I don’t think so, I know so.”

  “Why would she risk her job and do that?” Katie asked.

  “Because she had a nasty gambling habit,” Guido said. “She needed money to keep going back to the Atlantic City casinos. She kept demanding more and more cash from McCabe in order to keep his pub in business. Maybe McCabe had enough of her blackmail and he wanted her dead.”

  Lucy was startled. No one had ever mentioned that Heather was a gambler.

  But who would know? One name kept coming to mind—Paul Evans. Heather’s boyfriend hadn’t said anything about her gambling addiction. Why would he keep it a secret?

  “You think Mac McCabe had something to do with Ms. Bank’s death?” Katie asked.

  Guido nodded and pointed to himself once again. “It wasn’t me. And a man can only pay so much. I wouldn’t blame McCabe. He did all of us a favor.”

  * * *

  Outside, Lucy turned to Katie. “Guido gave us a lead. Heather was a gambler? Who knew?”

  “Paul Evans had to know and he never said a word.”

  Lucy halted at Katie’s Jeep. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Maybe they were arguing over the phone because she was gambling away all their money,” Katie said.

  Lucy thought back to Heather’s cell phone conversation the day she died. She’d been arguing heatedly with someone. If it wasn’t with her boyfriend, could it have been with a moneylender? “If Heather wasn’t fighting with Paul, maybe she owed money to a scary bookie. But I think we’re forgetting something else here.”