Hummus and Homicide

by Tina Kashian

  Lucy already knew Azad had motive, but for some reason she’d never truly thought of opportunity. She thought back to that fateful day when Heather came to eat at the hummus bar. Azad had been in the dining room. He claimed he went into the kitchen to say hello to Butch, but found Big Al making a delivery. Lucy had been preoccupied waiting on Heather. Azad could have easily gone back to the dining room to slip something into the hummus bar.

  The result—Heather would die, business would plummet, and the value of the restaurant would dramatically decline.

  Azad would luck out.

  CHAPTER 12

  Later that afternoon, after helping her mother in the kitchen, Lucy decided to go for a run. There was nothing better than a jog on the boardwalk. Lucy’s running shoes seemed to fly across the wooden boards as she breathed in the salty ocean air. Running in Center City Philadelphia had never been as pleasurable. Skyscrapers, stores, and city traffic offered plenty for a jogger to take in, but it couldn’t compare with the breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean and the steady, rhythmic pounding of the waves on the shore. The cry of seagulls circling above added to the sea sounds.

  The Ocean Crest boardwalk was an eclectic mix of shops, restaurants, and entertainment. She passed a fudge and salt water taffy shop; a clothing store that offered novelty T-shirts, bikinis, beach cover-ups, and boogie boards; a burger joint; a pizzeria; and an old-fashioned ice cream parlor. She jogged past the sole amusement pier, which boasted the thrilling wooden roller coaster and Ferris wheel. She kept running, passing an arcade, a tattoo parlor, a fortuneteller.

  No matter how much fun the boardwalk was, it was all dwarfed by the stretch of beach and the endless ocean. Reaching the end of the boardwalk, she jogged down the steps onto the beach and kept going. It was harder to run on the sand and sweat quickly beaded on her brow. The sand was still slightly damp from high tide and her running shoes left imprints behind. As she grew tired, childhood memories of building sandcastles on the beach and body surfing in the sea arose in her mind.

  Eventually, Lucy left the beach and came to the street leading back to Katie’s house. Two blocks later, she could hear loud music blaring from Mac’s Irish Pub. A cover band was warming up to play for happy hour.

  Making a snap decision, she jogged to the pub’s front door.

  Once again, Sue was behind the bar. “Good to see you’re still in town, Lucy. Draft beers are only three dollars during happy hour.”

  “No thanks. Can you tell me if Mac McCabe is here?”

  “Sure is. I’ll get him for you.”

  Five minutes later, McCabe greeted Lucy at the bar. He was tall, in his early fifties, with a substantial beer belly and brown hair tied back in a ponytail. His handshake had a strong grip. “What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Lucy. I was a friend of Heather Banks. I know she used to come here with her boyfriend. Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “I heard about her death. I’m sorry for your loss, but I don’t know what I can help with,” Mac said.

  “Did you know her?”

  “Not on a personal level. She was the town’s health inspector, and occasionally came here with her boyfriend, some famous author.”

  “Paul Evans,” she offered.

  McCabe nodded. “That’s the guy.”

  “I heard that Heather delivered an inspection report to your pub the day she died.”

  Mac blinked, then focused his gaze.“I came in just as she was leaving.”

  Lucy took a deep breath, then decided to just go for it. “I also heard that Heather abused her position as a health inspector and accepted bribes to overlook restaurant violations.”

  Something flickered across McCabe’s face—suspicion? fear?—but it was quickly replaced with a flash of anger in his blue eyes. “You’ve been talking to that Italian buffoon, haven’t you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Guido Morelli. He’s always been jealous of my success. He’ll say anything to hurt my business, especially since his daughter has been following my son around like a lovesick puppy.”

  Well, McCabe was turning out to be an interesting source of information.

  “Are you saying Guido’s daughter has romantic feelings for your son?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m not saying. I know. They’re kids in high school. His daughter, Maria, asked my son, Connor, to the senior prom. It threw Guido into a fit. I have nothing against his daughter, but I admit I enjoyed how he went crazy. We’re in competition. Always have been.”

  “How? He owns a pizzeria and you own an Irish pub. I can’t imagine you compete for the same clientele.”

  But as soon as she said the words, she knew better. The busy summer season didn’t discriminate. All the restaurants in the small beach town competed for business during the summer. And if you counted the other close-by Jersey shore towns, then the number of restaurants fighting for business increased to hundreds. The three main vacation months—from June to August—comprised a lion’s share of profits for everyone that had to last throughout the year.

  “Did that lying Italian tell you I paid off Heather Banks in order to pass inspection? No one can prove it. Ever,” McCabe said sharply.

  He had a point. How could anyone prove that McCabe had paid bribes to Heather in order pass inspection or that McCabe got tired of Heather’s blackmail scheme?

  “The Hot Cheese Pizzeria failed health inspections over and over because his place is a cesspool and he deserved to fail. He’s just bitter that I didn’t.”

  Lucy decided to change tactics. “Do you know of anyone who wanted her dead?”

  “Other than Guido Morelli?”

  “Yes. Other than Mr. Morelli.”

  Mac pursed his lips. “Heather Banks had a gambling problem. That author boyfriend of hers knew about it and he didn’t like it.”

  “How do you know that?” Did everyone in town know that Heather was a gambler? Lucy had already wondered why Paul hadn’t mentioned Heather’s addiction. She could only assume he wanted it kept secret. But that didn’t make sense if others in town knew about it, including Guido Morelli and Mac McCabe.

  “Because I saw them fight over money. They came in here one night and drank too much. I happened to be behind the bar and heard their fight. She was a seasoned veteran of the Atlantic City casinos. He complained that she’d blown his entire royalty check of twenty thousand dollars and he wasn’t happy about it.”

  Twenty thousand dollars! Lucy gaped. Paul had definitely lied to them when he said he rarely fought with Heather. Not only had he been aware of her gambling problem, but she’d spent his money and they’d argued.

  What else wasn’t Paul telling them?

  Lucy eyed Mac McCabe. “One more question. Did Heather happen to eat or drink anything when she came in to deliver the inspection report that day?”

  He scowled as he thought back. “Yeah, so? You don’t think I harmed her do you?”

  “Of course, not. She didn’t die in your restaurant.” Mac didn’t know Lucy’s family owned Kebab Kitchen, and she saw no reason to enlighten him.

  McCabe relaxed. “She didn’t eat anything. She just had iced tea. Unsweetened.”

  Lucy’s blood ran cold. It took every ounce of control not to let her emotions show. Heather had drunk unsweetened iced tea at each establishment she’d inspected the day she died. What if someone poisoned her favorite beverage?

  Despite Mac’s adamant denial, she wasn’t sure she believed the wily bar owner any more than she believed the hot-tempered pizzeria owner. If Heather had demanded more and more money from Mac to pass inspection, there was motive for murder. Combined with the iced tea, there was opportunity.

  Just like Guido.

  Lucy forced a smile. “Thanks for your time.”

  As she jogged back to Katie’s home a single unpleasant thought kept turning over and over in her mind. If someone had poisoned one of Heather’s drinks that day, why did she have to die outside of Kebab Kitchen?

  * * *
>
  Lucy walked into Katie’s kitchen and found her cutting a tray of freshly baked brownies. “What took you so long?” Katie asked.

  “I took a detour and ended up at Mac’s Pub talking to Mac McCabe.”

  Katie’s eyes widened. “You questioned him?”

  “I told him I was a friend of Heather’s.”

  Katie put a brownie on a plate and handed it to Lucy. “And?”

  Lucy eyed the brownie. Chocolate was one of her weaknesses. She justified the calories by reminding herself that she’d just jogged. She took a small bite and nearly groaned out loud as the chocolate melted on her tongue.

  Katie was patiently waiting. Lucy set down the plate and quickly summarized what Mac had revealed.

  Katie whistled through her teeth. “Heather delivered reports to the Hot Cheese Pizzeria and Mac’s Pub right before arriving at Kebab Kitchen. She also ordered iced tea to go at each place. We know cyanide works quickly depending on the dose, but if Heather only spent a few minutes at each place, it’s possible someone at either of them could have slipped cyanide into her drink before she went to your restaurant and ate at the hummus bar.”

  “I’m thinking the same thing. They have motive. Guido hated Heather because she continually cited his pizzeria for violations. Mac denied paying Heather bribes to overlook violations, but my gut tells me that both are hiding something.”

  Katie bit into her own brownie. “Guido blames Mac, and Mac blames Guido. The only thing they agreed upon was that Heather Banks had a bad gambling problem.”

  “And Paul Evans knew about it.” Lucy rubbed her chin in thought. “It’s possible we’re overlooking something else.”

  Katie blinked. “What?”

  “Paul is a thriller and suspense writer. Maybe all that research about killing people came in handy.”

  * * *

  “Please hand me the chopped walnuts,” Angela said.

  “Coming right up.” Lucy pressed the pulse button on the food processor and watched as the sharp blade chopped the walnuts into small pieces. She poured them into a large bowl and handed it to her mother. Lucy had arrived at five-thirty sharp Wednesday morning to help only to find that five trays of baklava were already in the oven.

  She stood behind a long work table in the kitchen with her mother, helping her finish the trays of baklava to fill the catering order for the upcoming wedding. The corner-mounted TV was turned on and Cooking Kurt was looking exceptionally manly holding a pair of long tongs and flipping a steak on a large grill.

  “I heard he has a book signing at Pages Bookstore this summer,” Angela said.

  Lucy’s lips twitched with amusement. “Really? Will you go with Dad?”

  “Posh! He has no interest. I’ll take Emma or you.”

  Lucy didn’t think she’d be around by the summer, but stayed quiet. “What’s next with the baklava?”

  “Unroll the phyllo dough and spread the first sheet in the tray,” Angela instructed.

  Lucy gave an anxious little cough. She’d never had luck working with the thin pastry dough in the past. Each sheet had the thickness of a piece of newspaper and was easy to tear. If one didn’t butter it quickly enough or left it exposed to the air too long, it would dry out and crumble.

  The trays of baklava were almost finished baking in the oven. The delicious smell of buttered pastry filled the kitchen and made her mouth water. She couldn’t wait to taste the flaky pastry with the walnut and cinnamon filling as soon as it was finished baking and topped with her mother’s special recipe of simple sugar syrup with cloves.

  “You should have been here by my side years ago,” Angela said.

  “I wasn’t lounging around. I was practicing law, remember?”

  “I was always proud of you, Lucy, even though you hardly ever visited. When you did, it was only for short bits of time and you avoided the restaurant. I always thought you would get your worldly experience at that firm and then come back home.”

  Lucy stayed silent. She wouldn’t have come back home for this long if she’d made partner instead of Stanley Upton. She’d carefully mapped out her entire life. Work at the Philadelphia firm for eight years, make partner, and move up the law firm ladder until she was promoted to managing partner.

  It hadn’t been that long ago since she’d quit the firm, yet it seemed much longer than the nine days she’d been home.

  Family had always been overwhelming to her—big, bold, loud, opinionated, and overbearing—were just a few adjectives she’d used in the past to describe her ethnic family. She hadn’t been wrong. They had turned out to be even more overwhelming upon her return, but in a different way. She’d never imagined finding a dead body in the back of her parents’ restaurant.

  Despite everything, if she was truthful to herself, she was glad to be home.

  A sudden thought clicked in her mind.

  She didn’t miss the law firm, she realized, or her Philadelphia apartment. She was relieved to be home. True, there’d been a murder, but there was a lot more going on since coming back to Ocean Crest. She’d spent time reconnecting with Katie, Emma, Sally, her parents . . . even Azad.

  She’d miss all that if she’d made partner. She glanced at the pastry brush in her hand, then at her mother’s profile as she worked beside her. She’d miss this.

  She chuckled to herself. Maybe she should send Stanley Upton a thank-you card.

  A loud buzzing sound made Lucy jump. The oven timer announced that the next batch of baklava was ready.

  She pulled on oven mitts, removed the hot trays from the oven, and set them on cooling racks, then licked her lips. “It smells delicious. What about the sugar syrup?”

  “I won’t add it until after I deliver the baklava. The pastry has to cool so it doesn’t get soggy,” Angela said.

  Lucy swallowed her disappointment. She wasn’t going to get a chance to taste the finished pastry after all.

  Her mom patted her hand. “You don’t think I’d keep it all from you, do you?” She cut a large piece from one of the trays and put it on a plate. “I always have extra sugar syrup.” Reaching for a glass jar on a shelf, she poured the simple sugar syrup over the baklava and handed it to Lucy. “Eat.”

  Lucy didn’t need further encouragement. Her eyes slid shut as she bit into the hot pastry. The crunch of the thin layers of buttered pastry, the sugar, cinnamon, and walnuts, blended together in a sweet ballet. She devoured the piece and licked her fingers. “Oh my gosh. That was so good.”

  Angela started to cut another piece. “You want another?”

  Lucy was sorely tempted, but was stopped from answering when Butch walked into the kitchen. “Butch! You’re back.” She was happy to see him after his few days off.

  “Hi, Lucy Lou.” Butch halted and pointed to her face. “You have something on your chin.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Lucy wiped a flake of pastry from her chin.

  “Big Al is here with a delivery,” Butch announced.

  Angela set down the knife and wiped her hands on her apron. “Send him back.”

  Lucy frowned as Butch disappeared around the bend into the storage room. “Why is Big Al here? The restaurant’s slow. Do we still need our regular delivery?”

  Angela sighed. “Your father can be stubborn, and he sees no need to limit our deliveries. He’s convinced you are going to figure out what happened to that Banks woman.”

  Lucy stiffened. “I hope the police figure it out before me.”

  “Bah! The police know nothing. They think it was from something she ate, don’t they?”

  They also suspect that I had something to do with it. But Lucy would never voice those concerns to her mother. She’d fly into a rage and march into the police station if she thought Detective Clemmons suspected her daughter.

  Lucy was saved from answering the question when Big Al, carrying two boxes stacked upon each other, entered the kitchen. “Hello, ladies!”

  Angela kissed the air on both sides of his cheeks. “What do you have f
or me today?”

  Big Al began unpacking one of the boxes. “The tahini, red lentils, chick peas, and some other items you wanted.”

  “Wonderful. Just in time for my next catering order.”

  Lucy picked up a box containing a ten pound bag of bulgur. “Where do you want this?”

  Angela pointed to the storage room beyond the kitchen. “You’ll find all the bulgur on the second shelf.”

  Lucy nodded as she headed into the storage room and tried to find space on the second shelf. It was full of grains, canned goods, and spices. She put the bulgur next to a sack of rice and set the empty box aside.

  On her way back to the kitchen, Lucy heard Big Al say, “I noticed the bike shop is open next door. Mr. Citteroni must be getting ready for the season.”

  Her mother’s voice was strained. “Yes, it’s coming fast, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry about what happened here with the inspector lady. Could this bring business down by a lot?” Big Al asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve survived recessions and multiple hurricanes pummeling the Jersey shore over the years. This is no different,” Angela said.

  Lucy’s head swirled with doubts. She hoped her mother was right.

  CHAPTER 13

  Big Al kissed Lucy and her mother good-bye and headed back outside. Lucy picked up her pastry brush just as a thought occurred to her. “I left the empty box in the storage room.”

  Angela looked up for her tray. “Al likes to take the empty boxes with him. If you hurry, you can catch him.”

  Lucy fetched the box and hurried outside. Big Al was about to close the doors of his delivery truck.

  “Al!” Lucy called out as she hurried to the truck. “Do you want this empty box or should I recycle it?”

  “Thanks, Lucy.” He took the box from her. “I reuse them. I like to think it helps keep the earth green.” He loaded the box into the back of his truck.

  Lucy waited until he closed the double doors and locked them. “Can I ask you a question?”