by Tina Kashian
“Stan Slade filled in the gaps. A picture is worth a thousand words. Everyone will assume it was from the food at Kebab Kitchen.” The slimy reporter had told her that he’d wait before printing anything in exchange for an exclusive interview. Apparently, the prosecutor’s announcement had voided their agreement. “This is nothing but Slade’s attempt to sell papers. I’m not a murderer, but he may turn me into one.”
Katie’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”
Lucy reached for her car keys. “Have words with him.”
“In person?”
“I can’t think of a better way.” Lucy headed to the door. “At least I want to know what else he has planned.”
Lucy got in her car and drove to her destination. Her anger grew with each passing block. Ten minutes later, she walked into the office of the Town News. “I want to see Stan Slade.”
A young Asian woman sat behind the receptionist desk. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes,” Lucy lied. “My name is Lucy Berberian, and he wants an exclusive interview with me.”
The woman pointed down the hallway. “Stan’s office is third from the left.”
Lucy thanked the lady and marched down the hall until she spotted the plaque with Stan’s name outside one of the offices. She didn’t bother to knock.
The door hit the wall with a loud bang. Stan looked up from his desk where he was holding a cigarette in one hand and typing on a computer keyboard with the other. His eyes widened behind his black-rimmed glasses.
“You call this reporting?” She waved the paper madly in the air.
Stan placed his cigarette in an ashtray and stood. He seemed even more stocky and muscular than the first time she’d seen him. “Lucy, what a pleasant surprise.”
She stalked forward and felt a glimmer of satisfaction when he tensed. She tossed the crumpled newspaper on his desk. “This is nothing but cheesy tabloid reporting.”
“Untrue. I printed only the facts.”
“The facts! You know damned well this article is only ten percent truthful at best.”
He snorted. “Seventy-five at least.”
She quoted the damaging lines out loud. “‘Bad food? Bad service? Or both. It was all a killer to Ms. Banks.’” Lucy glared at him. “That plus an enormous picture of Kebab Kitchen on the front page is downright dirty reporting if you ask me. You know everyone will link the prosecutor calling it a suspicious death to the food Heather Banks ate at Kebab Kitchen. It’s slanderous and I’m going to sue—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He smirked. “You’d never win. It’s freedom of the press.”
She wanted to wrap her hands around his thick neck and squeeze. “You’re completely untrustworthy. You told me you’d wait a few days in exchange for an exclusive interview.”
“That was before the prosecutor went on record and called Banks’ death suspicious.”
“You went farther than the prosecutor. You insinuated she died from something she ate at the restaurant.”
He reached for his cigarette. “So? She did, didn’t she?”
“No! You need to wait for the toxicology results before you can put that in black and white.” Business was already slow. She didn’t want to guess how much worse this article would make it. She prayed her parents didn’t read the paper.
The cigarette dangled from one side of his mouth, the smoke curling across his face. “How about that exclusive now? You can point out all the reasons why Heather didn’t die from the food.”
“You’ve got nerve!”
“My article didn’t mention you by name as serving Ms. Banks’ last meal. Maybe my next one will.”
“And you were a former New York City investigative reporter? Did you leave of your own free will or were you fired?”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re overlooking the obvious,” Lucy snapped.
“It can’t get more obvious to me. Heather ate at Kebab Kitchen. You served her. Heather died.”
“You never bothered to look at other suspects, did you?”
His arrogance slipped for a second, but it was enough to give Lucy hope. “There are other people who will gain from Heather’s death. Did you know she had a gambling problem and that she blew a large chunk of her boyfriend’s last royalty paycheck?”
“The writer, Paul Evans?” Stan asked.
Lucy took a step forward. “Have you looked into him?”
Stan picked up a pen and pad of paper on his desk. “I’m listening. Who else?”
Prosecutor Walsh’s warning not to get involved in the murder investigation pierced Lucy’s haze of anger. Watch your mouth, Lucy!
Stan Slade couldn’t be trusted.
She could cause more harm than good with loose lips around him. “That’s enough, isn’t it? I would hope any reporter worth his salt would follow up on every lead.”
Stan tossed down his pencil and the smugness returned to his beady eyes. “Well, if that’s the only lead you can offer and you’re not prepared to give me an exclusive interview, I must get back to work.”
Lucy stormed out of his office and headed straight for her car when her cell phone rang. She dug into her purse and glanced at the screen to see Emma’s name. “Hello?”
“Lucy! Thank God you answered.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Dad. He’s having chest pains and we called the ambulance. Come quick. He’s at the hospital.”
* * *
The emergency room of the Ocean Crest Medical Center smelled of antiseptic and bleach. Rows of examination rooms were divided by curtains and the constant sounds of machines beeping and humming accompanied the voices of doctors and nurses as they rushed from patient to patient. Lucy hurried down the hospital corridor to see Emma, Max, Butch, and even Sally huddled in the hallway outside a curtained partition.
“What happened?” Lucy asked.
“We’re not sure yet. They won’t let us all in the room at one time. We’re taking turns. Angela’s with him right now,” Max said.
“They’ll let two in at one time. You go in with Mom, Lucy,” Emma said.
Lucy didn’t waste a second. She pulled back the curtain to find her mother sitting by a hospital bed. “Oh my gosh. How is he?” Lucy went to the bedside and clutched her father’s hand, careful of the IV line in his vein.
“I’m fine now. I keep telling them I want to go home.” Her father didn’t look sick. He looked mad.
Angela’s lips pursed. “Stubborn as ever! Your father grabbed his chest and had difficulty breathing. He didn’t want us to call the ambulance, but of course we did anyway. We’re waiting for the doctors.”
To her mother’s exasperation, Raffi Berberian hadn’t been to the doctor in over ten years. Stubborn was too nice a word to describe her father when it came to doctors. He had an Old World view and had often said the hospital was a place to die, not to get better. Lucy could just picture the struggle when Emma and her mother had called the ambulance.
The curtain parted and a doctor in blue scrubs with gray hair and a slight limp entered the room.
Angela jumped to her feet.
“What can you tell us?” Lucy asked.
“After numerous tests and blood work results, we believe it wasn’t Mr. Berberian’s heart, but rather that he suffered a panic attack.”
“A panic attack? But he was having chest pains,” Angela said.
“Heart attacks and panic attacks can feel frighteningly similar,” the doctor said. “Both can exhibit symptoms of chest pain, heart palpitations, shortness of breath, dizziness, sweating, fainting, and numbness of hands and feet.”
Angela let out a held-in breath and sat back in her chair. “Thank the Lord that’s all it was.”
Lucy stared in surprise. “But why would he have a panic attack? What would cause it?”
Her mother sniffled. “It started after he saw this morning’s newspaper.”
Raffi s
truggled to sit. “That imbecile. He prints lies. All lies. Business is already bad, and now it will be worse.”
Anxiety coursed through Lucy. She’d just left Stan Slade’s office, but she wanted to go back and scream at him anew.
The doctor placed a hand on her father’s shoulder. “Lie down, Mr. Berberian. No sense getting upset. You’ll set off the monitors.”
“I feel fine now,” Raffi insisted. “How soon before I can go home?”
“A nurse will arrive to go over your discharge instructions. You can go home soon after. But if anything else happens, chest pains or shortness of breath, you have to come back in, all right?” the doctor said.
“Fine.”
The doctor turned to Lucy and her mother. “His cholesterol is high, and we’re prescribing a medication to lower it.” He tore off a sheet from his prescription pad and held it out. “See that he takes this twice a day with meals.”
Lucy took the prescription from the doctor before her mother had a chance to reach for it. “I’ll fill this at the pharmacy and deliver it to you. You have enough to worry about.”
As soon as the doctor left, everyone else filed into the examination room. Relief was evident on all their faces when they learned he’d be going home.
As Lucy watched everyone huddled around her father, an emotion tightened in her chest. For years, she’d purposely lived away. She’d helped her clients with their legal issues when her own family needed her help. She couldn’t change the past and deep down she knew she didn’t want to. Her experiences away made her the person she was today, and that wisdom was not something she’d have had if she’d married Azad straight out of college, skipped law school, and stayed at the restaurant. But now that she was back home her goals had somehow changed. She no longer felt a burning desire to find another law firm job quickly and leave Ocean Crest and the restaurant. She’d found another purpose, to help those most important to her—her family and her friends.
Maybe . . . just maybe Kebab Kitchen wasn’t something to flee from, but something to fight to hold on to.
* * *
“Lucy!”
Lucy halted in the hospital parking garage and turned to see Sally waving from the end of the aisle. Sally’s long legs quickly closed the distance between them.
“Is everything all right?” Lucy asked. She’d just left her parents after receiving discharge instructions from the nurse. Her mother insisted on driving her father home.
Sally adjusted the strap of her handbag on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to see how you’re holding up.”
“I’m okay. Just worried about my dad. He’s mulishly stubborn.”
Sally cracked a grin. “That’s true. But I think stubborn can be a good thing.”
“You do?” Lucy wasn’t so sure. If her father had gone for yearly physicals to the family doctor, he would have had blood work and would have known of his high cholesterol. It may not have prevented his panic attack, but it would have helped with his overall care.
“He’ll recover faster. Mr. Berberian hates being here, and he certainly doesn’t want your mom fussing over him. Those two bicker enough already.”
Lucy smiled for the first time that day. “You’re right.” Her parents frequently quarreled at home and at work. They never had outright screaming matches, but they had mastered the art of bickering. Raffi would call something black and Angela would protest it was white. Gray was never a possibility. Growing up, it was clear they loved each other, and Lucy and Emma had come to realize that the squabbling was just how they communicated. If there was a day their parents didn’t exchange a few words, Lucy would worry.
“Thanks for coming to the hospital, Sally.”
Sally cocked a head and looked at her. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t be anywhere else. You’re family.”
Lucy experienced a warm glow, similar to how she’d felt when everyone had gathered around her father’s bedside.
Sally wagged a finger. “Now, don’t feel guilty about your dad.”
Was it that obvious? “How can I not? Dad asked me to help with the case, but I haven’t been very successful.”
“For goodness sakes, even the police haven’t been able to find the culprit yet. You can’t blame yourself for what that glory hungry reporter prints in the paper”
Lucy let out a held-in breath. “I know. You’re right.”
“Then don’t let guilt weigh you down. I’ve been with your family long enough to see the kind of pressure they put on you. You’re a good daughter, Lucy.”
Lucy hugged her “Thanks, Sally. You’re the best.”
CHAPTER 18
With her father’s prescription in hand, Lucy entered Magic’s Family Apothecary, a small pharmacy nestled between Holloway’s Grocery and Cutie’s Cupcake Bakery.
Shelves of over-the-counter medicines, cosmetics, and quick snack bags of chips and candy bars were situated in the store’s front. The cashier greeted Lucy as she headed to the back of the store where the pharmacy was located.
Theodore Magic, a short, thin man in his early seventies, was filling a customer’s prescription behind the counter. His plethora of wrinkles, brown spots on his face and arms, and shock of white hair made him look like a mad scientist. He’d been the town pharmacist since Lucy was in pigtails. He was also a big believer in natural remedies and acupuncture—a strange combination for a pharmacist who dispensed pharmaceutical pills for a living. An array of homeopathic remedies was stacked on a shelf beside the checkout counter.
“Hello, Mr. Magic,” Lucy said as she slid the prescription across the counter.
Theodore looked up to give her a toothy grin. “Well, hello there, Lucy.”
Lucy noticed a copy of the Town News beside the cash register. The picture of Kebab Kitchen on the front page jumped out at her. Her fingers itched to reach across the counter and rip the article to shreds.
Theodore glanced at the prescription slip. “Ah, so your father finally saw the family doctor for a checkup and blood work?”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Not by choice.”
Theodore chuckled. “Did your mother finally force him?”
“Unfortunately, no. He experienced chest pains and was taken to the hospital, but thank goodness it turned out to be only a panic attack.”
“A panic attack? I suppose he’s been under a lot of stress after what happened. ’Tis a shame.”
Lucy glanced at the newspaper again. Just what did the whole town think after reading the damaging article?
Noticing her obvious distress, Theodore took off his reading glasses and looked at her kindly. “Don’t fret, Lucy. I don’t believe a word of that printed nonsense. I’ve been eating at your parents’ establishment for years, and I consider them good friends.”
Gratitude welled in her chest. “Thank you.”
He waved a pen at her. “Now look on the bright side. Your father’s a lucky man not to have heart disease. I’ll be sure to stop by your parents’ house on my way home and say hello.”
“They’d like that very much.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll fill this prescription while you wait. But just so you know, there are other holistic remedies that I can recommend to lower cholesterol.”
A thought occurred to Lucy. From what her mother had always said, Theodore Magic was highly intelligent and a wonderful source of information. But how was she going to ask what she wanted to know without being too obvious?
Lucy rested her hands on the counter. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course. I answer them all day.”
“Well this question may be a little from left field. I have a girlfriend, a fellow lawyer in Philadelphia, who has rambunctious toddlers. She worries about the best way to baby-proof her home.”
His lips pursed thoughtfully. “Always a good idea.”
The fabricated story came more easily. “Her husband is an exterminator. He has chemicals in the garage, and she’s concerned about her young, mischie
vous sons getting into things.”
He nodded. “Any mother would be.”
Lucy took a deep breath. “Her husband uses cyanide in his work.”
Theodore’s brows arched into triangles. “Cyanide? To kill bugs?”
She needed to improvise and fast. “He has to exterminate all types of vermin. You know”—she waved a hand—“rats and rabid raccoons and squirrels.”
“I should have considered that. Cyanide can be an ingredient of rat poison.”
“I thought you would know,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “So she has a reason to be especially cautious. Anything else I should tell her about it?”
“Yes . . . well . . . cyanide is highly toxic and very little is needed for a fatal dose. It’s also a very interesting poison from a pharmacist’s perspective.”
“How so?”
“Cyanide has a long history. Did you know it is so old that even Egyptian hieroglyphics mention using it to murder someone?”
“Really? We were never taught that in public school,” she said, looking at him with avid interest. “Anything else?”
Thankfully, Theodore was easily distracted by her rapt attention, and she got the impression that not many people wanted to listen to his encyclopedic lessons.
“Oh, yes. It’s quite fascinating, really. Some forms of cyanide have industrial uses, such as to make paper, textiles, and plastics. Photographers use cyanide in their chemicals to develop pictures. Other forms of cyanide have medicinal uses. For example, Laetrile is an anticancer drug.”
“I never knew it had positive uses.” But let’s go back to how could it be used to kill someone.
“My friend told me there are government restrictions on cyanide, so how could someone obtain that much?”
“She’s right, but if one wanted to obtain it there are always ways. For instance, did you know that cyanide occurs naturally and that it’s even in some of the foods we eat?”
Lucy tilted her head to the side. Now they were getting somewhere. “What types of food?”
“Cyanide is prevalent in certain seeds and pits of popular fruits, such as peach, apple, cherry, apricots, and plums. That’s why you are never to grind those seeds and consume them in fruit smoothies. In large doses, it causes internal asphyxia.”
