Italian Iced

by Kylie Logan

“That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

  We careened into the parking lot that served a variety of electronics and home goods stores, and the squad car screeched to a stop. Gus had called for backup and behind us, three more police cars pulled up, lights pulsing. Another two cars from whatever jurisdiction we were now in were already there, and the officers jumped out, waiting for further instructions.

  “This is it?” I slid out of the car, stepped onto the sidewalk, and stared wide-eyed at the gigantic red letters over the door and the picture above them of a cartoon mouse.

  “What kind of kidnapper goes to Chuck E. Cheese’s?”

  We were about to find out.

  The cops led the way into the restaurant and a second later, I saw Spencer over in the corner munching a pizza. The person who’d spirited him away from his hotel room was there, too, standing next to the table, and the moment she saw us, she burst into tears.

  But then, Corrine Kellogg had never been good at much, and I shouldn’t have expected her to be much of a kidnapper.

  One look at her standing there, glancing at us over her shoulder and everything—Spencer’s abduction, the divorce papers, that old photo, and maybe even Meghan’s murder—became clear to me.

  * * *

  • • •

  “I’M STILL NOT convinced.” Gus’s protest might have been a little more effective if he didn’t have a blotch of maple syrup on his tie. He sopped up the last of the syrup on his plate with a bite of French toast and chewed appreciatively. I can’t say I blame him. George makes a mean French toast. “We don’t usually just let someone out of jail and bring them to a meeting like this.”

  “But you have to admit, it’s the only way we’re going to get all the answers we need.”

  He slanted me a look at the same time he picked up the coffee cup Inez had just refilled for him. “Thought you had all the answers.”

  “I think I have the answers. See, it’s all about the divorce papers.”

  Gus managed to wrinkle his nose at the same time he took a slurp of coffee. “Who cares about a divorce that happened so many years ago?”

  “Someone cared enough to kill Meghan.” I shouldn’t have had to remind him. “You’ve got to give this a try, Gus. If only—”

  He held up a hand to stop me. “Gotta admit, when you first suggested this whole thing last night, I thought it was a little loopy. But I spent some time thinking about it. My officers are bringing Corrine Kellogg over here to the Terminal in . . .” He checked his watch. “She ought to be here in just a few minutes.”

  “And everyone else?” I asked him.

  “They’ve been . . . invited.” The way he said that last word made me think it was the kind of offer that cannot be refused. “And if I’m not mistaken . . .” He looked toward the front of the restaurant. “Looks like they’re just starting to show up.”

  From the other side of the front window, Ben Gallo gave us a brusque wave.

  I unlocked the door and before he was even inside, he was all over me. Figuratively speaking, of course.

  “What is this craziness?” Ben demanded. “I am a busy man. I am an important man. I raced yesterday.” He inched back his shoulders. “I won.”

  “Go on in.” I waved him through our waiting area. “Inez will take your breakfast order. As soon as everyone else gets here, we’ll get started.”

  As usual, Ben was dressed casually and elegantly in dark pants and a dusky blue shirt that was open at the neck. The sleeves were rolled above his elbows. “Everyone else?”

  He made it sound like some sort of accusation, which is exactly why I acted like it was no big deal.

  “Well, we’ve got some important things to talk about.” Because he didn’t move an inch, I wound an arm through his and escorted him into the restaurant. “Why don’t you sit right there next to Detective Oberlin?”

  Instead, Ben took the seat across from Gus at the big round table we’d set up near the back windows.

  A minute later, Dulcie Thoroughgood arrived, and she was as jumpy as a june bug. She was followed by the countess Adalina Crocetti, who looked as splendid that morning as all the fashion magazines insisted she was, in a pink sleeveless shift and stilettos high enough that I was tempted to ask her to dust off the overhead fans while she was up there.

  She was no more pleased to be there than her husband was.

  “This, it is ridiculous.” The criticism oozed out of her the moment she set foot in the door. “I am not to be toyed with in such a manner. Police officers at the door of my hotel room! It is an insult. An outrage.”

  “It won’t take long at all,” I assured her. “Besides, there’s someone here I’m sure you’ll want to see.”

  I escorted her into the restaurant, not so much to be polite but because I wanted to see Ben’s reaction when he realized the wife he thought was back in sunny Italy was really in Hubbard, Ohio.

  The moment he set eyes on Adalina, he rose to his feet. Okay, so he got points for being a gentleman.

  Those sort of got canceled out by the way his jaw flapped and his eyes goggled. “What are you . . . ? Why are you . . . ?”

  She tossed her head. Now that she’d gotten rid of the blond wig she wore when she was pretending to be a reporter, her real hair—sleek and dark—gleamed in the early-morning sunlight that washed through the windows. She gave Ben a quick kiss on the cheek. “I am here to see you, of course, my darling. I did not want to distract you before your race yesterday. Today, today, I was going to surprise you. Instead, these people . . .” With one disdainful glance, she took in both me and Gus as well as Inez, who was standing by with the coffee carafe; Sophie, who was seated at a nearby table because she didn’t want to miss a moment of what was going on; Dulcie, who was now as starstruck as she was nervous; and Declan, who’d come out of the kitchen just moments before with the poached eggs Sophie had requested.

  “They say I must be here.” The countess flounced to the chair next to Ben’s and sat down. “This, I do not understand. I do not understand it at all.”

  Since I wasn’t prepared to explain quite yet, it was just as well that Wilma and Spencer arrived. To his credit, Spencer didn’t look any worse for wear after being kidnapped. But then, according to what the kid told Gus after we’d scooped him up out of Chuck E. Cheese’s, he’d pretty much spent the time riding around with Corrine while she mumbled a chorus of “What to do? What to do?” to herself and then finally settled on pizza while she thought about her next move.

  “Rabbit?” Spencer asked me when he slipped by.

  Was everything okay? I could only smile in a way that told him I hoped so.

  Spencer greeted his dad, who nodded in reply, and Wilma and Spencer took seats at the far side of the table.

  That left only one person we needed before we began, and Corrine showed up just a minute later, escorted by two police officers and wearing handcuffs. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her nose was red and raw. Her face was red and . . . well, red. One night in the slammer and she was a mess. She should have thought of that before she turned to a life of crime. On Gus’s signal, they took off her handcuffs and she sat down, and a uniformed cop would have stood right behind her if I didn’t pull up a chair for him.

  “So, we’re all here.” Since Gus and I had discussed what was going to happen, I knew he wouldn’t mind that I took the lead. I was less threatening than he was, and I hoped to use that to my advantage. “I know you’re all anxious to get out of here—”

  “I’ll say,” Ben grumbled.

  “But there are some important things we need to discuss before you all go your separate ways.”

  “You mean Tina’s murder.” The coffee cup Dulcie had clutched in both hands shimmied. “You brought us here to talk about Tina.”

  The countess wrinkled her patrician nose. “Who is this Tina person?”

 
“Ben?” When he ignored me, I looked to where the cops had seated Corrine. “Corrine? Since you knew her a long time, maybe you’re the best one to tell us about Tina.”

  Corrine gulped and sobbed.

  “I’ll tell you about her.” Dulcie, it seemed, was no shrinking violet. She set down her coffee and propped her elbows on the table. “Tina is Meghan Cohan.”

  “What?” the countess and Wilma responded in unison.

  Dulcie didn’t spare them a look. “That was her name,” she told them. “Before she changed it. What she didn’t change was her personality. She was a grasping, mean, greedy, selfish—”

  “We’re not here to put Meghan on trial,” I butted in. “What matters, of course, is that Dulcie’s right. Before she changed her name, Meghan was Tina Moretti, an aspiring actress. Spencer, you wouldn’t have known about that, of course, because that was before you were born. Unless your mom told you the story?”

  He shook his head.

  “And, Countess”—I turned her way—“there’s no way you could have known it unless your husband told you.”

  “He did not.” She lifted her chin. “We did not discuss Miss Meghan Cohan. She was a not-so-good memory for my Ben.”

  “And Wilma?” I asked.

  “I had no idea! I can’t believe the media never found out.”

  “It was a well-guarded secret. I don’t know why,” I added. “You’d think Meghan would have liked the press. You know, kid from nowhere makes good. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that when she and Ben Gallo were married, she was Tina Moretti.”

  “Yes, that is true.” Ben sat back and gave me a level look. “We were both just starting our careers. She did not change her name until—”

  “Until after your divorce was final.”

  Ben nodded.

  “And your divorce was finalized in the state where the marriage had taken place.”

  “Yes.” Ben took a sip of coffee. “Texas.”

  “And that divorce . . .” I looked at Declan, who’d been holding on to it, and he presented me the divorce papers we’d found tucked in the cookbook.

  “That divorce,” I said, “is what this whole thing is all about.”

  “You mean Ms. Cohan’s murder?” Wilma asked.

  “I mean . . . well, let me set this up for you and if any of you . . .” Slowly and carefully I looked around the table from person to person. “If any of you know I’ve got this wrong, just let me know. See, Meghan . . . or Tina, as she was then . . . Tina was plenty ambitious. As a matter of fact, she even went so far as to lie to Dulcie here about a screen test.”

  “You got that straight!” Dulcie crossed her arms over her chest and plumped back in her chair. “That no-good, lousy woman—”

  “Took Dulcie’s place at the screen test that was supposed to be Dulcie’s,” I finished for her because really, there was only so much Spencer needed to hear about his mother. “That was the screen test that resulted in her role in None Are Waiting.”

  “Shoulda been my role,” Dulcie grumbled. “Shoulda been mine.”

  “So you see, when I learned that, I naturally thought Dulcie might have killed Meghan.”

  She sat up like a shot and, one hand in the air, I signaled her to cool her jets.

  “But Dulcie has an alibi for the night of the murder. And besides, Meghan’s been paying Dulcie off for years to keep the secret of her background. Why would Dulcie want to ruin that?”

  “You got that right,” Dulcie mumbled.

  “So then I wondered about Wilma.”

  This time, it was Spencer who was about to protest. I mouthed the word Rabbit, and the kid settled down.

  “You see, Wilma lost a whole lot of money when she invested in a movie Meghan never made. And Wilma, Wilma’s got a big heart. She wasn’t a fan of Meghan’s parenting skills.”

  “True,” Wilma conceded. “Which does not mean that I killed her.”

  “It doesn’t,” I agreed.

  “And then there’s the countess.”

  “What!” Her Italian ire stirred, she sat up and aimed a look in my direction that was every bit as hot as any fra diavolo sauce. “Why would I—”

  “You know what? I don’t know. But I thought it was plenty fishy that you just happened to show up here in what I’m sure you consider the middle of nowhere, and in disguise, too.”

  “Disguise?” Ben could hardly believe his ears. He turned in his seat, the better to see his wife. “Why would you do something crazy like that?”

  Her bottom lip protruded. “I had to know. I heard the news on the television and they said you were here in this silly little town and that this is where Meghan, she was found dead. And I had to know, Ben, I had to know if you still loved her.”

  “That’s why you were asking questions about him?” I could be excused for sounding a little incredulous. “Seems to me if you want to know how someone feels about you, maybe it’s just easier to ask them.”

  “Amen,” Declan said from the corner.

  I pretended I hadn’t heard and instead, went right on.

  “And then, of course,” I said, “there’s our neighborhood kidnapper, Corrine.”

  We all turned to look her way.

  Just in time, too, because she jumped to her feet. “You’re right,” she said. “I did it! I killed Meghan!”

  Chapter 21

  That was the whole point of my calling that little meeting, right?

  To get our perpetrator to confess?

  Then explain to me why I stood there, as speechless and as flabbergasted as everyone else.

  One minute melted into two, and two had almost become three when Corrine collapsed like a poorly made soufflé and plunked back down in her seat.

  “What! You’re not going to tell them it’s a lie? You’re not going to defend me? You’re not going to say you’re the one who did it? After all I’ve done for you?”

  She was looking right at Ben.

  Ah, now my theory of the case was finally making sense.

  I looked at Gus for permission to go on.

  He nodded.

  “Aren’t you going to help Corrine out?” I asked Ben. “After all, you’re the one she’s been trying to protect this whole time. She’s in love with you.”

  “That’s right.” Spencer gave his father a narrow-eyed stare. “I heard her talking on the phone yesterday when she was in the lobby of the hotel and she didn’t know I was there. I heard her talking to you, Dad. She told you she loved you. She told you she’d done stuff for you and it was time for you to show your appreciation. She saw me. She figured I heard her. That’s why she kidnapped me.”

  “No, no, no.” Ben stood, took one look at the cop behind Corrine and the other two who had stationed themselves just inside the doorway of the restaurant, and sat back down. “This is crazy. Corrine loves me? She cannot. And I certainly, I certainly have never loved her.”

  “It’s what you said. It’s what you told me. It’s why I called you the night Meghan left California and told you where she would be. It’s why I followed her here to the restaurant and told you that, too. You said it was so you could get the divorce papers back, the ones you’d fought about the last time you were in California. She . . .” Corrine’s voice bumped over the tears that suddenly clogged her voice and she looked my way.

  “Meghan wanted to put the papers some place safe. She didn’t want Ben to find them, and remember, Laurel, he was in town that weekend. He’d been at the house that afternoon.”

  “Yes.” I remembered now. “And they fought.”

  “Meghan put the divorce papers in the cookbook and she figured she could retrieve them the next morning but the next morning, you were gone. That’s why she had a PI following you. She didn’t care where you were, Laurel. Meghan didn’t give a damn about you. But she had to get those p
apers back.”

  “Because she didn’t want Ben to find them.” To me, this was the important message in Corrine’s statement and I repeated it, slowly but carefully, then pinned her with a look. “Why?”

  Corrine gulped.

  Ben swore under his breath.

  The countess said something in Italian and I was glad I had no idea what it was.

  I guessed it was my turn again.

  “It seems weird, don’t you think, that Ben would be so desperate to get his hands on the papers from a divorce that everyone in the world already knows about? Yet he was. That’s why he led Corrine on and that’s why she was so angry the night the will was read. Did he finally tell you the truth that night, Corrine? Did he tell you he’d been playing you?”

  If looks really could kill, Ben would have been as dead as Meghan, thanks to Corrine’s glare.

  “We met before we came here for the reading of the will,” she growled, “and he told me that I never meant anything to him. He told me he just used me to find out where Meghan was. I was so mad, I could have . . .” She jiggled her shoulders. “That’s when I called the countess and that’s when she told me she was in town, too, and we agreed to meet. You see, I knew if I could find those papers and get them to her . . .” Her voice hardened. “Well, then, Ben, you’d lose both of us. Just like that.”

  “That’s why you tipped those boxes over on me. You had to get me out of the way to search for the divorce papers. And the terrible thing you told Wilma you did?”

  “Getting suckered by him, for one thing.” Corrine shot Ben a look. “Everything I did, Ben, it was for you. Always for you.”

  “Which is also why you lied to Wilma about meeting her at Denny’s the night of the murder, right? You wanted Wilma to look guilty.”

  Corrine hung her head so I went right on.

  “And Meghan was so intent on first hiding the divorce papers, then getting them back, she followed me all the way here to Ohio. That’s when Corrine told Ben where Meghan was going, where she’d be, how he could find the papers. Am I right so far, Corrine?”