Hummus and Homicide

by Tina Kashian

  A tall pyramid of Paul’s latest release, Killer Status, was set up at a table by the front door. Paul sat at a table, greeting a long line of fans waiting to get signed copies. A tall, gaunt assistant with a brooding expression opened each book to the title page, inserted one of Paul’s bookmarks, and handed it to the author to personalize. Candace fluttered around, chatting with customers in line, an eager expression on her face at the good turnout.

  Katie and Lucy paced in the back of the shop, browsing in the cooking section and picking out a few books while they kept an eye on the line. The last time they’d seen Paul he was the grieving boyfriend. But how would he act at a crowded book signing so soon after Heather’s death?

  “He doesn’t look like he’s grieving at all,” Katie said, peeking out from behind a Betty Crocker cookbook. Her sun hat and oversized sunglasses made her look like an old-fashioned Hollywood star.

  “You’re right. He looks like he’s enjoying himself.” Lucy tugged on the rim of her Philadelphia Eagles baseball cap and lowered a slow cooker recipe book to glance at Paul. A young blonde with big breasts and a tight T-shirt that read I’M AN EVANS ÜBERFAN, hugged the author and had her picture taken with him.

  “Where’s the broken-up boyfriend we visited the other day?” Katie scoffed.

  Paul smiled at the blonde and signed the back of her T-shirt by her shoulder.

  Lucy smirked. “I guess fans like that busty blonde help with the grief.”

  An hour later the line finally seemed to slow down. When Lucy was certain she’d be the last customer in line, she selected a cookbook on comfort foods written by Cooking Kurt that came with a pair of checked oven mitts. No doubt her mother would be thrilled at the large, glossy picture of the celebrity chef on the cover. Lucy then picked up a copy of Paul’s new thriller, handed Katie her sunglasses and baseball cap, and headed straight for him.

  Paul’s assistant barely looked at her before he took the book from her, opened it to the desired page, and stuck a bookmark inside.

  Paul looked at the page, pen poised in hand, not bothering to glance at Lucy. “To whom should I inscribe the book?”

  “That depends.”

  Paul’s brow furrowed and he glanced up. Surprise registered on his face. “Lucy! I apologize. I didn’t recognize you. After signing books for two straight hours, I’m quite tired.”

  Lucy pointed to her copy of Killer Status. “I hope you’re not too tired to sign one for me?”

  “Of course not.”

  As Paul scrawled his signature, his cell phone buzzed once and lit up with a calendar alert. Lucy read the text reminder that flashed across the screen before Paul swiftly turned over his phone. Meet Mr. C at 10 pm tonight.

  She feigned interest as he pasted a SIGNED BY AUTHOR sticker on the front cover and handed it to her. Thoughts flitted through Lucy’s mind. Who was Mr. C?

  The only two people she could think of with that initial were Calvin Clemmons or Anthony Citteroni. If Paul was meeting someone tonight, she needed to find out who it was.

  “I hope you enjoy the book. I’m always grateful for online reviews by readers,” Paul said.

  The book cover featured a young brunette woman, glancing behind her as she ran, and a dark shape of a man looming behind her. Lucy wanted to read the book, but made a mental note to only do so when Katie or Bill was at home.

  “Congratulations on the new release. I’ll be sure to post a review,” Lucy said.

  Paul smiled politely. “Thank you. I wasn’t certain I wanted to do this book signing so soon after I lost Heather, but my editor insisted. She didn’t want me to let down the fans.”

  “I’m not here to judge you.”

  At least not about promoting your book, Lucy thought. She glanced at his hovering assistant and lowered her voice. “About Heather . . . something came up. Is there a place we can speak privately?”

  Apprehension crossed Paul’s features before he nodded. He stood and spoke quietly to his assistant, then motioned for Lucy to follow him to the back of the store by the restrooms. The spines of the books said they were in the self-help aisle.

  “It’s the closest we can get to private back here,” Paul said.

  Lucy decided to get right to the point. “You never told me that Heather had a gambling problem.”

  Paul’s brows drew downward and he glanced down the aisle to the door. “I didn’t think it was relevant. We didn’t fight over it or anything.”

  “That’s not what Mac McCabe told me.”

  “Who?”

  “The owner of Mac’s Irish Pub. He said he overheard the two of you at the bar arguing over her gambling debts. Something about Heather spending your royalty earnings,” Lucy said.

  Paul shifted from foot to foot. “Wait a minute. Now you think I killed Heather over her gambling habit?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying, but the police will find out.”

  “The police already know. Detective Clemmons showed up again to question me, and I told him everything.”

  Lucy knew for a fact that the police had no idea about Heather’s gambling addiction until she had mentioned it to Bill in passing. So the police had used her tip and questioned Paul. “Why didn’t you tell the police from the beginning?”

  “For the same reason I didn’t tell you. It’s not relevant,” Paul insisted.

  Bull. Lucy thought he must be hiding something. Only when his hand was forced, did he tell the police and Clemmons.

  “I disagree. It’s important for the police to know everything,” she insisted.

  Paul pressed his lips together. “Don’t be hypocritical. I learned something about you as well. After talking with Detective Clemmons, he thinks Heather’s death had something to do with the food she ate at your family’s restaurant.”

  A shiver ran down Lucy’s spine. Not only that, but the detective thought she had administered the deadly dose. How soon was Clemmons going to pin the murder on her, then head to Cutie’s Cupcake Bakery and celebrate with a fresh doughnut?

  But that wasn’t something she’d admit to Paul.

  “Clemmons’ theory is wrong. I want to find the real killer.” Lucy tilted her head to the side and regarded him. “What about the day she was killed? She was fighting with someone over the phone. It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Paul shook his head. “No. I told you it wasn’t me and who I thought had motive—Guido Morelli, the owner of that pizzeria.”

  “I already spoke with Mr. Morelli. He admitted to disliking Heather for citing his pizzeria for health violations, but he swears he didn’t kill her. You knew Heather best. Who else do you think wanted to harm her?”

  Paul hesitated for a long while and Lucy thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Heather borrowed money from numerous people, but only one loan shark. Someone who truly worried me. He didn’t strike me as the kind to overlook a late payment. Ever.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Citteroni.”

  Lucy felt her gut clench tight. Anthony Citteroni’s name kept coming up. Was that who Paul was meeting tonight? The more she thought of it, the more convinced she became.

  An unbidden image came to mind of Mr. Citteroni’s son, Michael, and his Harley-Davidson. Handsome as sin—and if she ignored her hormones and listened to her brain—he was dangerous in a different way. He’d also said he’d speak with his father about his interest in buying Kebab Kitchen.

  Anthony Citteroni gave her pause. She knew he owned the bicycle rental shop next to Kebab Kitchen, as well as a major linen supply company and private trash trucks throughout Ocean Crest. If the rumors were true, he had his fingers in everything.

  “You make Mr. Citteroni sound ominous,” Lucy said.

  Paul glanced at the front entrance again as if the mobster was expected to stroll through the door. “Have you ever seen the guy?”

  “No.” The bike shop may be next to the restaurant, but Mr. Citteroni always had managers run the shop during
the season. This year it was his son, Michael.

  “I’ve written plenty of villains in my thrillers, and he would be a perfect one. You have to meet him for yourself,” Paul said.

  Lucy couldn’t agree more. She rummaged through her purse for her business card and a pen. She scribbled out her former law firm’s phone number and wrote her cell phone number above it. “If you think of anything else, will you please call me?”

  “Sure. But there’s nothing else to tell.” Paul said.

  Lucy wasn’t convinced. “Just in case. By the way, good luck with the book.”

  * * *

  “What do you think? Do you believe Paul?” Katie asked.

  Lucy pulled her car into Katie’s driveway and put it in PARK. She’d already told Katie about the calendar reminder she’d seen on Paul’s cell phone. “No. He’s lied to us before and the only reason he told the police about Heather’s gambling debt was because we leaked that tidbit to Bill. Also, Paul didn’t mention the twenty grand of his money she spent. I think he’s holding back information.”

  “From the police, too, it seems.”

  “Paul was acting funny. He kept glancing at the front door as if he expected Heather’s ghost to walk inside.”

  “Hmm. That would make for some entertaining news in Ocean Crest. Stan Slade of the Town News would be in his element.”

  “The more I think about it, Paul could easily have poisoned Heather. He admitted to seeing her during her shift the day she died. Maybe he slipped cyanide into one of her iced teas or offered her a poisoned beverage?”

  “It’s a solid theory,” Katie said.

  “His meeting tonight at ten offers a good opportunity. I’m going to follow him.”

  “A stakeout?” Katie asked.

  “I guess you can call it that. I want to know who he’s meeting. He’s our primary suspect so far.”

  “I’m in. Sounds exciting,” Katie said.

  They got out of the car, and Katie was opening her mailbox just as the unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle sounded down the street.

  A shiny Harley-Davidson and a black leather-clad figure came into view. Lucy’s pulse leaped as he turned into Katie’s driveway.

  Michael Citteroni removed his helmet and hung it on the handlebars. He was a bad boy personified with his leather jacket, black jeans, and motorcycle. His blue eyes were vivid in the afternoon sunlight. He grinned at Lucy.

  “Well, well,” Katie drawled. “Aren’t you full of surprises, Lucy? I’ll leave you alone with the biker hunk.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes as Katie went into the house.

  Michael walked forward and stopped before her. “Hey, Lucy. I’ve come as promised.”

  “You spoke with your father about the restaurant?”

  “Sure did. Are you free tomorrow? There’s no better time to go for a ride than a pleasant Jersey shore evening.”

  She eyed the motorcycle warily. “You’re not going to tell me anything unless I agree to get on that black beast of yours, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  Lucy laughed. She should be annoyed, but she couldn’t muster any anger. She couldn’t figure out why he was so damned persistent that she ride on his motorcycle with him when he was good-looking enough to have girls fight for the chance.

  “All right,” she agreed.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.”

  He turned to leave, then stopped to look back at her. “Oh, and wear jeans. You’re gonna love it.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “I’ve always wanted to go on a stakeout,” Katie said.

  They were parked in Lucy’s car at the bottom of Paul Evans’ driveway. The lights from the fountain on the lawn cast the nude mermaids in an eerie white glow. Smaller lights illuminated the Roman statues of gods and goddesses scattered across the grass. The front room was lit and Paul’s shadow crossed the large bay window.

  “It looks like after hours at a gaudy museum,” Lucy said.

  Katie chuckled. “Maybe we should knock on the front door. We know he’s home.”

  “What do we say? We know you’re a liar and we’re watching you to see who you’re meeting and what you’re up to?”

  “You’re right. That imbecile Clemmons should be conducting a surveillance of Paul tonight, not us. We should get paid for doing his job,” Katie said.

  Lucy’s brow furrowed as she glanced at Katie. “Don’t forget we’re not to engage, okay? Even if it turns out to be a woman visiting Paul and we see them strip and get sweaty, we’re not to confront him.”

  “We should be so lucky. If he did have a secret lover, it might explain why he’d want Heather out of the way. She was clingy when we saw them together at Mac’s Pub, and she struck me as the jealous type.”

  It was close to nine o’clock and the text message she’d read had said Paul was meeting someone at ten. Lucy wanted to be early just in case Paul’s meeting wasn’t at his house and he planned to leave. It could easily be a long night.

  She yawned. Her day had started early at the restaurant preparing baklava with her mother. Thankfully, Emma, and Sally had taken over the dinner shift tonight. “I brought sustenance.” She handed Katie a Styrofoam cup of coffee from Lola’s Coffee Shop. “It’s black, just the way you like it.”

  Katie cradled the cup in both hands. “You’re a good friend.”

  Lucy was yawning again forty-five minutes later when one of the three garage doors opened. “Katie.” She nudged Katie just as a white BMW backed out of the driveway. She caught a glimpse of Paul in the driver’s seat.

  “What now?” Katie asked.

  “We follow.”

  Lucy stayed three car lengths behind as the BMW drove down Ocean Avenue.

  “Don’t let him see us,” Katie whispered as if Paul could hear.

  Lucy wrinkled her nose. “I know.”

  It wasn’t as easy at it looked in the movies. Paul turned down no fewer than four different streets, and Lucy’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as her eyes were glued to the BMW.

  “Don’t lose him.”

  “I’m trying not to, but I don’t want to be obvious about it either.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the BMW pulled into a parking lot of a strip mall. Only one shop was open and the sign was lit.

  “Ultimate Massage Parlor?” Katie read out loud.

  They watched as Paul hurried into the building and the door closed behind him.

  “Who would get a massage this late at night?” Lucy asked.

  “No one. These places aren’t legit. They’re known for a different type of massage for their male clients,” Katie said.

  It took a second before the meaning of Katie’s words registered. “Ugh. So Paul was cheating on Heather with a hooker posing as a masseuse?”

  “Maybe she found out and threatened to spill. It could tarnish Paul’s career as a respected New York Times novelist. His fans wouldn’t like it,” Katie said.

  “If Heather’s addiction was gambling, maybe Paul’s was paying for sex in dirty massage parlors,” Lucy said.

  “I wonder what an ultimate massage includes.”

  “Ewww. Please stop.”

  “Do we wait until he’s finished and keep following him?” Katie asked.

  Lucy was contemplating the same thing when Paul stepped out of the massage parlor. “That was fast.”

  “Too fast for a massage,” Katie said.

  Stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, Paul lowered his head as he walked around the storefront, turned the corner, and then disappeared into the alley between buildings.

  Katie leaned forward in her seat. “Where’s he going?”

  “I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.” Lucy opened the car door.

  Katie grasped her arm. “Wait! You’re going to try to get close enough to eavesdrop?”

  “Yes.”

  Alarm crossed Katie’s features. “It could be dangerous. We don’t know who Paul’s meeting in a dark alley this late at ni
ght.”

  It was the first time Lucy had seen Katie express any type of hesitation or anxiety about their investigative efforts so far.

  “You’re right,” Lucy said. “You stay here. I’ll go.”

  Katie swallowed, then shook her head. “No. I’ll come, too.”

  “You sure?”

  “Not really. But you may need backup.”

  Lucy wasn’t sure how much backup Katie could provide, but she stayed silent. Together they crossed the street and crept along the side of the building toward the alley.

  They made it to the entrance of the alley without being seen. The streetlights were bright enough to illuminate a third of the way down the alley, and Lucy could see Paul pacing.

  The side door opened into the alley, casting a beam of light on the blacktop. A man in dark clothing stepped out. For a brief moment before the door closed, she made out that he had a goatee and was in his early-thirties. A swath of tawny hair fell casually on his forehead. His expression was grim.

  “What’s going on?” Katie whispered.

  The man’s fair hair gleamed in the fluorescent light a moment before the door closed and he was cast in shadows. Gathering her courage, Lucy peeked down the alley. She couldn’t hear a thing. She needed to get closer.

  She scanned the alley. The Dumpster offered a place to hide in the shadows if they could make it that far without alerting the men to their presence. Lucy motioned with her hand, and Katie’s eyes widened in fear, but she nodded to let Lucy know she’d understood.

  Heart pounding, Lucy sprinted into the alley. Katie was right behind her.

  Lucy resisted gagging as they were forced to plaster their backs to the Dumpster, their breathing ragged. The stench of rotten eggs and garbage filled the air around them.

  Crouching low, Lucy shifted forward and peered from around the Dumpster. Katie glimpsed over her shoulder. Lucy recognized Paul Evans, but the second man remained cast in eerie shadows. A shiver prickled up her spine.