“Sometimes you have near-death experiences even when you’re indoors,” he pointed out.
“You’re not helping,” she said with a laugh.
“Your life might be slightly crazy at times,” he admitted more seriously after chuckling with her for a moment. “But you’re worth it. I don’t want you to ever think otherwise.”
She felt her face heat as he took her hand and kissed her fingers. It looked like romance wasn’t dead, not even for someone of her age.
When David dropped her off at home later that evening she was still giddy with happiness. Everything about her life seemed perfect right then. She was dating an amazing man, her business was doing well, her daughter was happy and successful, and even her dogs were healthy and well-behaved. Things couldn’t be better.
Smiling to herself, she went upstairs to her bedroom to take off her dress and change into something more comfortable for the evening. Reaching for the door to her jewelry cabinet to stash her earrings, she paused. Sitting in plain sight on top of the vanity was the ring she had been looking for earlier. How on earth did I miss that? she wondered, annoyed. She had spent so long looking for it, and it had been right in front of her the whole time. I must be going crazy, she thought. Either that or those mice in the attic have been raiding my jewelry while I was gone. That brought back thoughts of the probable rodent infestation that she would have to deal with, and she sighed. Tomorrow she would stop at the hardware store and get some live traps so she could relocate the little freeloaders. Tonight she was determined to relax, spend time with the dogs, and enjoy the peace and quiet for as long as she could.
CHAPTER THREE
The peace and quiet only lasted until she sank into sleep a few hours later. Her dreams were filled with giant mice, an endless ocean made of soup, and something nameless and terrifying chasing her through the maze-like halls of an old ship. She woke up gasping, certain for a moment that she was still on the cruise ship, and only gradually realizing that she was actually at home in her own bedroom, with her two dogs sleeping loyally on the floor next to her bed.
“Keeva, Maverick, come on up, you guys,” she said, patting the bed and sitting up to turn on the reading light on her nightstand. She didn’t normally let the dogs sleep with her—they were so big that their panting shook the whole bed—but after a bad dream nothing helped more than some cuddle time with the pups.
The two dogs jumped eagerly on the bed, Maverick throwing himself down by her feet and the wolfhound laying down more delicately on the bed beside her. Moira tugged the blankets up and rested back against the pillow, still shaken by the dream and glad that she had the dogs to keep her company. She didn’t know if she would be able to live out here so far from town all alone without them. If you count the dogs, I haven’t lived alone for over twenty years, she thought as she reached over to turn off the light. The house would feel so empty if I was the only one here.
She settled back down in the darkness and closed her eyes, trying to fall back to sleep with the comforting warmth of the dogs pressed against her. She was just beginning to drift off when her phone went off, making her jump. Wincing at the loud noise, she sat up and grabbed the phone, her eyes resting on the glowing digits of the alarm clock just long enough to register the time. Three o’clock in the morning. Who could be calling her this early? Whoever it was, she was prepared to bet that they weren’t calling with good news.
“Hello?” she said, wide awake now.
“Moira?” a familiar voice asked. It took her a moment to place it.
“Reggie?”
“I’m so glad you answered.” The old man was speaking in a low voice—almost a whisper—and she had to turn the volume up on her phone to hear him. “You need to get over here right away.”
“Why, Reggie? What happened? Why aren’t you calling Eli?” She hoped that the young man was all right. Candice had started dating him a few months back, and they were inseparable now.
“Eli wouldn’t know what to do,” the grandfather whispered. “You will. I need your help. Someone’s been murdered.”
All of the air seemed to rush out of Moira.
“Murdered?” she managed. “At Misty Pines?”
The assisted-living home seemed like a peaceful place for the most part, and the staff seemed to truly care about the residents. She knew that if someone really had been killed, instead of passing quietly in their sleep as most residents did eventually, it would be the talk of the home for months.
“I heard it all happen in the room next to mine,” he said. “I woke up and heard Beatrice shouting for help, then something muffled her yells… then she got quiet. Too quiet. A little bit later the paramedics showed up.”
“You need to call the police, Reggie,” she said. “They’ll know how to handle this.”
“The police were here,” he said, his voice growing louder with his frustration. “I went out to tell them what I heard, but they didn’t take me seriously. Alberta sent me back to my room with some more sleeping pills. I didn’t take them.” He said the last part smugly, as if he had pulled one over on the director of the assisted-living home. Moira smiled—she loved the old man’s spirit.
“Did you take sleeping pills earlier in the evening, too?” she asked, her brain making a connection.
“I take sleeping pills every night. You try falling asleep without help at my age. There are far too many memories stuffed inside this old head to make sleep easy without the help of medication.”
The deli owner frowned, thinking about everything the elderly man had told her. He had woken from a drug-induced sleep to hear another elderly resident making noises in her room, and she had later passed away. Though she wanted to give the man the benefit of the doubt, it didn’t exactly sound like a clear-cut murder case to her. She liked Reggie a lot, but he did get confused sometimes. It would have been easy for him, still half-asleep with his brain muddled from the sleeping pills, to confuse his dreams with reality.
“Did you hear anyone in the room next door? Did they say anything?” she asked. “Anyone besides your friend Beatrice, that is?”
“No, not that I can remember, but I’m sure someone else was with her. The door to her room slammed shut a few minutes after she stopped shouting.” He fell silent for long enough that Moira wondered if he had fallen asleep. Just as she was about to speak, he cleared his throat and added, “I know what you think, that I’m just some crazy old man, but I know what I heard. Beatrice was killed, and whoever did it is going to get away scot-free unless we do something about it.”
She heaved a sigh, covering the phone with her hand so Reggie couldn’t hear her frustration. It was true: her gut instinct was to dismiss his concerns, but that wasn’t fair to him. How horrible must it be, she thought, to be so powerless when you’re so sure that something was wrong? Because whether someone really had been killed or not, the old man obviously believed that it had happened. It was real to him, and that was what mattered.
“How about I come out tomorrow? I can’t really do anything tonight anyway. Tomorrow I can take a look around, see if anyone is acting suspicious, and we can have lunch together. I’ll even bring David, if he’s free.”
“Okay,” Reggie said, sounding relieved. “I know that between the two of you you’ll be able to figure out who did this. You won’t let him get away with it. Thanks for believing me, Moira.”
With that, the call was over. The deli owner returned her phone to her nightstand and stared sadly at her clock. So much for a good night’s rest; she’d be lucky if she even managed another three hours before having to wake up. Her shift at the deli would only last a few hours, but it started early, and she had never been a morning person.
She managed to get back to sleep more quickly than she had thought she would. When she woke up, just before leaving her house, she sent a text to David, asking him if he could meet her at Misty Pines for lunch. She didn’t tell him about the murder that Reggie claimed to have heard in the room next to his. She kne
w what his response would be; if there was once thing that the private investigator was a stickler about, it was her safety. If he thought there was even the slightest chance that someone really had been killed, then he would do everything in his power to keep her away from the assisted-living home, short of actually forbidding her to go.
In the daylight, the thought of Reggie actually being right about the murder seemed even more far-fetched. It wasn’t that the old man was a liar… quite the opposite, in fact. But even if he had heard Beatrice shouting for help, that didn’t mean someone had killed her. The woman might have awoken in pain and called out for help from a nurse. And the slamming of the door after she had fallen silent? Well that could have been one of the nurses rushing in to try to save her, or even the door to a different room completely slamming shut behind one of the residents. He hadn’t heard any other voices, so if the paramedics and staff seemed unconcerned, then there probably wasn’t anything to worry about. Hopefully she would be able to put Reggie’s mind to rest, and that would be the end of it.
For the time being, she put thoughts of Reggie out of her mind. She had other things to focus on, namely, introducing a new item to the deli’s sparse breakfast menu. During her cruise trip, she had come up with a recipe for a breakfast cookie similar to one of her grandmother’s dishes. She had spent some of her extra time on the cruise scribbling ideas for tasty variations to the recipe on a pad of paper, and was eager to try them. With the deli’s website already updating, promising free samples of the breakfast cookies to anyone who came in before eleven, the pressure was on. If the cookies were a hit, they could offer their early-rising guests something besides quiche and fruit, which would lead to more business, more publicity, and even more loyal customers—something the deli could never have enough of.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Are we all out of the cinnamon blueberry breakfast cookies, Ms. D?” Allison asked. Her blond hair was beginning to come out of her ponytail, and she looked hurried and tired. The deli had been booming with business all morning. Enough people had been drawn in with the promise of free food that Moira was tempted to do this every time they came up with a new dish to offer. Though next time I have to make sure we have more people scheduled to work, she thought, feeling bad for her haggard employee.
“I’ve got a new batch just about to go into the oven,” she told the girl. “But this will be the last tray of them today. We should start reminding people that the free samples end at eleven.”
“I’ll be sure to tell people when they ring up their food.” After trying a free sample, most people were buying more of the cookies, in addition to their usual quiche and coffee or juice.
“What type of cookie seems to be doing the best?” the deli owner asked, putting the tray into the oven, then leaning against the counter to take a breather.
“The peanut butter, banana, and chocolate chip ones, definitely,” her employee said. They had made three varieties of cookie to begin with: the cinnamon blueberry; the peanut butter, banana, chocolate chip; and an especially gooey caramel apple cookie.
“That’s not surprising,” Moira said. “It’s hard to beat that flavor combination. I’m glad that people seem to be enjoying the cookies—I’m really excited to start serving them.” The peanut butter, banana, chocolate chip breakfast cookies were gooey and sweet, yet still managed to be at least somewhat healthy. Made with oats, they pulled apart easily and were best right out of the oven, though they were good even after they cooled. She had a feeling that they would soon be a favorite with any of her customers with a sweet tooth.
“Me too. I think they’re delicious, and it will be nice to have something other than quiches to eat for breakfast when I come in early. Not that I don’t love Dante’s quiches, of course, but variety is the spice of life.”
“Too true,” the deli owner said. “That’s one of the reasons I love this place. The possibilities for new food and new recipes are endless.”
By the time her shift ended and Darrin and Meg had shown up to relieve her and Allison, David had texted her back. She smiled when she read his reply; he was free, and would be meeting her for lunch at Misty Pines in forty minutes. She would have just enough time to go home, shower quickly and change, and let the dogs out before driving over to the assisted-living home. She was glad for that; it would be nice to get out of her work clothes and freshen up before seeing the private investigator. Even though he had seen her covered in soot, mud, and blood, she still hated the thought of showing up to lunch sweaty and smelling of the deli’s kitchen.
She ended up getting to Misty Pines a few minutes late, but David, who had waited outside for her, didn’t mention it. Instead, he greeted her with a kiss. As they walked toward the assisted-living home’s entranceway, he asked her how her day had gone.
“Good,” she told him. “Though it was way busier than I expected. I felt bad for Allison—she ended up having to run back and forth from the kitchen to the register. I haven’t written down a legible recipe for the others to follow yet, so I had to do all the cooking.”
“The breakfast cookies were a success, then?” he asked. “I know you were excited about them on the cruise.”
“Oh, yes. People loved them. I really wish that I had thought of them sooner, but it wasn’t until I had to throw something together under pressure that I remembered my grandmother making them. That was years ago, of course, and I still don’t think I have her recipe exactly right, but the cookies are good anyway.”
“Knowing you, they’re delicious.” He grinned at her. “I’ll try to stop in for breakfast sometime this week and try one. Sorry I couldn’t make it today—I had an early meeting with a client.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I was stuck back in the kitchen the whole time, anyway. I really need to work on making a new recipe book for the deli.” She sighed. “Just one more thing that I have to do.”
“Why not have one of the employees do it?” he asked.
“Well, I’d still have to write out all of the recipes for them, which is the hard part. After that, it doesn’t take too long to slip the pages into plastic sleeves and put them in a binder. Sorry… I shouldn’t be talking about work right now. I want to focus.”
David held the first set of doors open for her. She walked in and paused in front of the second set of doors, which automatically locked and required a code to open. That’s another reason I don’t think what Reggie heard was a murder, she thought. The only people who have the codes to the doors are the staff and some of the more frequent visitors. A stranger wouldn’t be able to get in in the middle of the night. Hopefully Reggie would listen when she told him that she thought he had been wrong about Beatrice’s death being a murder. The old man could be stubborn, and she had a worrisome feeling that this just might be one of those cases where he decided to stick to his guns.
A smiling aide punched in the code and unlocked the doors for them. When asked where Reggie was, she led them over to one of the small round tables in the dining room. Eli’s grandfather was sitting alone, poking at his food. Looking up, he gave the couple a relieved smile.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “I was worried that you had forgotten. Let’s hurry up and eat so you can start investigating.”
David looked over at her with raised eyebrows, correctly suspecting that something was up. The deli owner blushed. She hadn’t told him why she wanted to meet here for lunch, and he hadn’t asked. He was fond of the old man too, and had probably just assumed that this was nothing more than a social visit.
“Reggie, why don’t you tell David what you told me?” she said, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “I think it’s best that he hears it from you.”
The elderly man launched into his tale, eagerly telling David everything that he had told Moira the night before. He certainly seems to be pretty clear on what happened, she thought. I have no idea how I’m going to convince him that none of this is actually evidence of foul play. A woman died… but nothing points to someone
killing her.
“I think I even know who did it,” the old man finished. The deli owner blinked.
“What?” she said.
“Well, after breakfast I spent the morning trying to figure out who had motive to kill poor Beatrice. She was a sweetheart, everyone liked her. But there is one person who would benefit from killing her, and that’s her son.”
“Why do you say that?” David asked. He seemed to be taking Reggie seriously, or at least giving him the benefit of the doubt.
“Because she was well off, and he wasn’t,” the elderly man replied. “He didn’t even have money to buy a new car after his broke down—I heard him tell her that was why he takes the bus everywhere now.”
“And she had him in her will?” the private investigator guessed. Reggie nodded, and David frowned. He caught Moira’s eye and nodded toward the dining room door. “Reggie, will you excuse us? We’ll be right back; I just want to bounce my ideas off of Moira without chancing anyone else listening in.”
Reggie nodded, and Moira and David got up and left the dining room. The private investigator leaned against the wall outside the door, and the deli owner stood next to him.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“He seems pretty sure that there was some sort of foul play,” she said with a sigh. “Look, I’m sorry. I should have told you why I wanted to meet here, but you get so weird about me being involved with this sort of thing.”
“By ‘weird,’ I’m assuming you mean ‘concerned for your safety’,” he replied with a smile. “I admit that I can get a little overprotective sometimes, although to be fair, your track record for staying out of trouble isn’t all that stellar. But in this case… I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Reggie’s a great guy who’s concerned about the circumstances of his friend’s death, but there really isn’t any evidence that points to her being murdered.”
Creamy Casserole Murder: Book 15 in The Darling Deli Series Page 2
