Murder at Veronica's Diner

by J. D. Griffo

  Joyce looked in the direction Alberta nodded and was stunned to see the man from the Tranqclockery standing on the other side of the diner. His back was to them, but he was on an angle so they could see the long, jagged scar on the left side of his face. The man he was talking to was over sixty and very Italian looking, so there was a very good chance he was a Rizzoli. Whoever he was, he gave Scarface a manila envelope, which Scarface took and then walked through the swinging kitchen doors and disappeared.

  “La familiarità genera disprezzo,” Helen muttered.

  “Familiarity sure does breed contempt,” Alberta translated. “First Owen’s store, now here. I don’t want to get used to seeing that face, but I suspect if we want to crack this case, we’re going to have to.”

  And Alberta was right.

  They sat in Helen’s car for a few minutes before pulling away so they could collect their thoughts and resume normal breathing, which had gotten uncontrollable when they were frightened by seeing Scarface. It was more of a shock for Alberta and Joyce, since it was the second time in one week that they had seen the man, but Jinx and Helen were unnerved as well. They were all about to be unnerved one more time.

  “Holy Sophia Petrillo!” Alberta cried. “There he is again.”

  There was no need for Alberta or anyone to point across the street, because Scarface was the only one walking away from the diner, to parts unknown. He was moving quickly, but limping every time he stepped on his right foot. It must have been a slight disability, possibly one from birth, because it didn’t slow him down and his movement, while not normal, seemed fluid. In contrast, the Buick was moving at a snail’s pace, trying to stay several feet behind Scarface to find out where he was going.

  He made a left at the corner and thirty seconds later so did Helen. They didn’t have to wait much longer for him to reach his final destination, but when he did they were shocked.

  “He’s going to church!” Alberta exclaimed.

  Scarface grabbed the banister and started walking up the concrete steps that led to the wooden doors of St. Ann’s Church. Holding on with his left hand, he stepped up with his left foot and then lifted his right foot, which was unbent and pointing to the right, to reach the next step. He shuffled up the steps again at a quick speed until he reached the top and disappeared inside.

  “That’s it!” Helen shrieked. “That’s why this area is familiar to me. I’ve been here before.”

  “What are you talking about, Helen?” Alberta asked. “We’ve never been here before in our lives.”

  “Speak for yourself, sister,” Helen replied. “Before Father Sal got the plum assignment to join the parish at Tranquility, he worked at St. Ann’s, and I remember some of the sisters and I worked here briefly with him until the new pastor arrived. Afterwards we would all go to Rizzoli’s Diner.”

  Surprised by the connection to Brooklyn, Jinx replied, “You and Father Sal go way back, don’t you?”

  “We have what is commonly referred to as a history,” Helen said.

  “We need to dive into that history,” Jinx ordered. “Because I’m not sure what’s going on around here, but it is definitely linked to Veronica’s Diner and Teri Jo’s murder.”

  CHAPTER 11

  C’è un fantasma nel cortile sul retro.

  Sitting around her kitchen table with her family by her side, Alberta couldn’t believe how relieved she felt to be home. It had been a long time since she’d returned to that part of New Jersey where she was born and spent the early years of her adult life, and she was unprepared for how unsettled it would make her feel.

  She’d changed considerably since moving to Tranquility, so the impromptu trip brought some dormant emotions to the forefront. Alberta, however, wasn’t one to indulge in a pity party or any kind of meltdown. She was and had always been a practical woman. When she felt such strong emotions of fear, regret, and anger rise up within her, she smiled, because those were all remnants of the past. She had no need for those feelings in her current life. All she needed was her family, a pitcher of Red Herrings, and two boxes of Entenmann’s cakes. Looking around her kitchen, she had all three.

  “Sorry, lovey, what did you say?” Alberta asked. “La mia testa è tra le nuvole.”

  “Your head’s been in the clouds the entire drive home,” Helen remarked. “Nice of you to finally join us.”

  Throwing her hands up in the air, Alberta replied, “I was enjoying the scenery, since our driver was such a slowpoke.”

  “I drive the speed limit, Berta!” Helen exclaimed. “I don’t know what math everybody took in school, but fifty-five doesn’t mean seventy.”

  “Ignore them, Jinx,” Joyce interrupted. “Tell us again about the diner connection so we can start organizing all the clues.”

  Jinx pulled her long black hair back from both sides of her face, and with dexterous fingers used an elastic band to gather it into a ponytail. It’s what she called a business trick. She loved her long, wavy hair, but noticed that some people—and not just men—didn’t take her as seriously when her hair was flowing freely. After some not-so-scientific experiments, she’d discovered that she was observed in a more professional light when her hair was either straightened or pulled back off her face. She didn’t have time to blow out her hair, so a ponytail would have to do. It was time to get serious.

  “Vinny told us that before Veronica’s Diner was Veronica’s Diner, it was Godfather’s Diner,” Jinx conveyed. “If the owners of Rizzoli’s Diner once owned a diner named Godfather’s Diner, it’s more than possible that they owned the Godfather’s Diner in Tranquility.”

  “Which means that Teri Jo wasn’t here randomly. She didn’t just move to Tranquility because it’s a beautiful town,” Alberta suggested. “She moved here for the same reason I did, because she had family ties.”

  “Also too, if the Rizzolis from Brooklyn owned Godfather’s Diner, they might be connected to Third Wheel, Inc., the parent company that owns the diner,” Joyce added. “That could be the real link that ties all the diners together.”

  Raising a bloody-red glass, Helen declared, “Veronica’s Diner, Rizzoli’s Diner, Godfather’s Diner, that’s a whole lotta diners if you ask me. I don’t think the Galloping Gourmet could keep up with all of them.”

  “Who’s the Galloping Gourmet?” Jinx asked.

  “He’s kind of like the Gordon Ramsay of the late sixties and early seventies,” Joyce explained. “If Gordon always prepared a meal with a wineglass surgically attached to his hand.”

  “I loved the Galloping Gourmet!” Alberta cried. “How do you think I learned to make meatloaf? Not from Mama, that’s for sure.”

  “I’ll be sure to YouTube him, but let’s remain focused, ladies,” Jinx admonished. “If Third Wheel, Inc., connects all the diners, maybe that’s why Teri Jo was killed.”

  “Because she knew something about the parent company?” Joyce asked.

  “Possibly,” Jinx replied. “Or she somehow got mixed up with shady corporate dealings. I’m not sure if there really is a connection, but I think we need to find out more about this Third Wheel, Inc., before ruling it out.”

  “We also need to find out more about Veronica,” Helen declared.

  The mention of the woman’s name no longer evoked sighs or cries of adoration for her delicious edible creations like it did before the murder. No more unapologetic confessions about how much they loved her blueberry pie, her pot roast, eggs Benedict, or even the freshness and smooth taste of her coffee. One fateful morning changed all of that. Now when the V word was spoken, it filled the women with a mixture of dread, curiosity, and distrust.

  “Helen’s right,” Alberta said. “If Veronica’s Diner is somehow linked to Teri Jo’s past, then maybe Veronica herself is linked to her past as well.”

  “The woman’s already lied about being married and that Teri Jo had no siblings,” Helen recounted. “Who knows what else she’s lying about and what other secrets she’s hiding?”

  The cons
ensus around the table was that Helen, unfortunately, was right. Veronica was their prime suspect, if not in the murder itself then in uncovering the truth behind the reason for the murder. But if Veronica had already lied to them and presumably to the police, and if she had built up a wall between her present and her past to keep both worlds completely separate, she was crafty and unscrupulous, which meant she was always on her guard. If they wanted to pull information out of her, they needed to figure out a way to do it without making her suspicious.

  “That’s going to be tough,” Alberta announced, taking a bite out of an Entenmann’s cherry pie. “She already knows we’re amateur detectives.”

  “Then maybe we use that to our advantage,” Jinx suggested.

  “What do you mean?” Alberta asked. “Highlight the fact that we’re detectives when we ask her questions?”

  “No! That we’re amateurs,” Jinx clarified. “Let her think we’re four nosy women who like to stick our noses into other people’s business.”

  “Isn’t that what we are, Jinxie?” Helen asked.

  “Shut up, Helen,” Alberta chided. “We’re much more than that, and you know it. And I promise you right here and now that whatever tactic we use, we will find out who killed your friend.”

  Helen looked at her sister, her expression immobile, and nodded her head almost imperceptibly. She acknowledged the comment, but she wasn’t yet able to acknowledge the emotions that were wrestling within her. Helen, like her sister, was also on an emotional journey, traveling from childhood to her years spent in the convent to the present day, living the life of a former nun surrounded by friends and family that was filled with purpose and order, but not a recognition of what had led her to this point. That day would come, but it hadn’t arrived just yet.

  “I know you will,” Helen said. “It’s the least you could do for me for chauffeuring you people all over the place.”

  The laughter that erupted around the table almost drowned out the noise outside. It might have gone unnoticed if not for two reasons. It was the second time they’d heard a noise in the backyard in almost as many days, and Lola raced into the kitchen, leapt onto the counter, and tapped a paw against the kitchen window. The women might not be aware, but Lola knew that something or someone was outside.

  “Do you think someone is trying to break in again?” Joyce whispered.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Alberta replied.

  Grabbing a frying pan from the drainer next to the sink, Alberta peered out the kitchen window, but didn’t see anyone in the darkness. She opened the cabinet door underneath the sink, pulled out a bottle of Mr. Clean, and handed it to Helen.

  “You want me to scour down the table in case we’re having company?” Helen asked.

  “Non essere stupido,” Alberta yelled. “Spray it in his eyes.”

  “Whose eyes?” Helen cried.

  “Whoever’s out there trying to get in,” Alberta replied. “Jinx, hold Lola, and Joyce, take that broom and use it if you have to. I will not be a victim in my own home.”

  Armed with gumption as well as household products, Alberta led the group to the back door. She hesitated only a moment as she said a quick prayer and touched the gold crucifix around her neck. It was always good to make a spiritual connection before going into battle.

  Alberta counted out loud to three, and then yanked opened the door. A cool breeze hit them in their faces and swept inside the kitchen, but nothing more. Once again the backyard was empty.

  “Maybe it was one of the cops from the front doing a walk-by in the back?” Jinx suggested.

  “I forgot they were doing that,” Alberta said. “That could be all it is, but I’d feel better if we checked it out ourselves.”

  “But isn’t that why the police are stationed out front?” Joyce asked.

  “God helps those who help themselves, Joyce,” Alberta replied, and then added in a much louder voice, “and God help anyone who’s in my backyard!”

  The four women moved as a group outside, each looking around to see if they could find an intruder, whether that be animal or human. The full moon cast a bright glow over the area, and the reflection off Memory Lake created a shimmering effect that was ethereal, but also allowed for better visibility.

  Garnering more courage, each woman spread out in a different direction in their search. Joyce walked past the hydrangea bushes. Jinx went around the right side by the central air unit and a decorative bench that as far as she knew had never been sat on. Alberta walked to the left, getting close to the lake’s edge and looking inside the shrubbery and foliage that populated that area; while Helen walked to the right, past the stone memorial to Aunt Carmela and her friend Nettie that led to the more open space around the lake. Before she could even react to the sound of a twig breaking, she came face-to-face with a ghost, who disappeared before Helen fainted and fell to the ground.

  “What was that?” Alberta asked.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Jinx said.

  “Me either,” Joyce added.

  “Helen?” Alberta yelled.

  When her sister didn’t respond immediately, she screamed her name again. When there was still no response, the women ran to where she had been searching and found her lying in the grass.

  “Helen! Dio mio!” Alberta cried, kneeling next to her sister and shaking her shoulders. “Helen, wake up!”

  “She must have tripped on something,” Jinx said, her voice nervous and tight.

  “Or she fainted,” Joyce said.

  Bending down on the soft ground next to the lake, Joyce scooped up some water in both her hands and threw it on Helen’s face. Immediately, Helen woke up, her eyes wide, sputtering and gasping for breath.

  “C’è un fantasma nel cortile sul retro,” she declared.

  “A ghost?” Alberta said. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I saw a ghost in the backyard,” Helen said, holding on to Alberta’s forearm to hoist herself up into a sitting position and pointing straight ahead. “Right there.”

  Automatically, the women looked in front of them and didn’t see anyone, and then looked at each other and saw the same quizzical expressions. They didn’t believe there was a ghost lurking around the bushes or going for a late-night swim, but they also knew that Helen was not prone to lying.

  “Was it anyone’s ghost in particular that you saw?” Alberta asked, trying hard to keep a sarcastic tone out of her voice.

  “Yes,” Helen said. “Teri Jo’s.”

  Helen did have a habit of using words and phrases to their maximum benefit, but they were slightly alarmed that she would take such a serious subject as Teri Jo’s murder and use it as a punch line. Unless she truly believed what she said. But even if Helen was convinced she saw the ghost of her dearly departed friend, the others would never completely believe her without some proof.

  When they got Helen back into the safety of a kitchen chair, there was another noise at the back door that made them jump.

  “Ah Madon! Not again!” Alberta cried.

  Luckily, this time it was the police, armed with the proof they were all hoping they would find.

  “Is everything alright in here?” Tambra asked, entering the kitchen. “I heard some commotion out back and wanted to check in on you.”

  “Tambra Mitchell,” Joyce said. “You are an officer and a gentlewoman. Thank you so much for checking in on us, but it was a false alarm.”

  “It was not!” Helen cried, wiping her face dry with a towel. “I saw a ghost and I fainted. It was alarming, but hardly false.”

  “Basta parlare del fantasma,” Alberta said. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Tambra announced.

  “Right after Aunt Joyce gave you such a lovely compliment, you turn on us,” Jinx said, shaking her head and Lola along with it.

  Tambra had been in the company of the Ferraras long enough now that she was unfazed by their barbs and tangential co
mmentary. In her line of duty as a member of the police force, she had to have compassion, empathy, and understanding. First and foremost, however, she had to have facts. Which she did.

  She held up a comic book, and it was the first time they realized she was wearing latex gloves. “I found this out back,” Tambra said. “Is it yours, Alberta?”

  “I haven’t read a comic book in . . . dear Lord, I don’t know how long,” Alberta said. “And when I did, I preferred Tarzan over Archie.”

  “Can anyone else claim ownership of it?” Tambra asked.

  Jinx, Joyce, and Helen all shook their heads in response to Tambra’s query.

  “Then that means only one thing,” the detective said.

  “I did see a ghost,” Helen declared.

  “Close,” Tambra replied. “There was someone snooping around on your property again.”

  Slowly, fear infiltrated the room and started to wrap itself around each of the women. Its tight, unrelenting grip was felt and couldn’t be ignored. Ghosts were fanciful and dramatic, but almost certainly unreal, and they didn’t pose a threat to the women’s safety. An intruder was the exact opposite. And an intruder who paid several visits and displayed a violent tendency was worse. It meant that their lives could be in danger.

  It was true that they had been in dangerous situations before, but that was when they were out in the world investigating a case, not when they were within the safety of their own homes. Had they gone too far? Had they misjudged how perilous it could be to investigate crimes? Had they unknowingly done something that had put all their lives at risk?

  They had gone into this crime-solving adventure with their eyes wide open, but perhaps they had been too naïve and too foolish to think that at some point they wouldn’t bring their work home with them. They didn’t have the answers to all the questions they were confronting, but Alberta was certain of one thing.