“Hey, I told you Tim is—”
She held up her hand. “Let me finish. And I’m not ruling out Mr. Down on the Bayou, either.”
“We don’t know if he even knew Parisi.”
“So we’ll find out.” She looked at me, her expression serious. “And you’re positive we can rule out Lori? I know she’s your friend, but—”
“Absolutely. I was with her the whole time. She went over to Parisi’s table exactly once, and that was to clear up his stuff. When I went back to give him the check, he was already sick and sweating.” I shook my head. “The timing just isn’t right. And anyway, what possible reason would Lori have to kill Parisi? It’s ludicrous.”
My sister-in-law’s glossy lips were set in a stubborn line. “We can’t ignore the fact that she was there.”
“So was I, for that matter.”
Sofie dismissed me with a flutter of her slender hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. The only way you can kill people is in print.”
“Thanks. I think.”
She went on. “Listen. Our list aside, I’m beginning to think we need to look at other people who weren’t on the scene. Rosen, Mikey G and his father, and anybody else who might have had a grudge against him.”
“But depending on what the tox results are, that person needed access to Parisi within a specific window of time. We have to find out how he spent his day up to the minute he walked into the restaurant at three thirty.” I shook my head. “I don’t know. I think his ‘special water’ had a little something extra in it.”
“Could be. When I made the rounds of the food stands on the boardwalk, no one remembered Parisi eating anything. I think one of us should ask Danny if the police found the water bottle on the body.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “‘One of us’?”
“Okay, you. I don’t want to push it.”
As she talked, I had a sudden image of a different sort of bottle. “Holy crap. I can’t believe I forgot the water.”
“That’s what we’re talking about, right? His water bottle.”
“No, he ordered a bottle of San Pellegrino with his lunch. He finished it, and I threw the bottle into the recycling bin. I’m not even sure I remembered to tell the police that when they questioned me.”
“Did you open it for him?”
I shook my head. “No. I brought it out to him sealed. I know that for sure. He opened it and poured the water into his glass.”
“Which means that anybody in the dining room could have slipped something into either the bottle or his glass.”
“Or into his tea or his salad, or even the salad dressing.”
Sofie tapped away on her keyboard. “I need to get all this down.” She stopped and looked up at me. “Did the police take the recycled containers?”
I shut my eyes, thinking back to that night. “Yes. I remember a uniformed officer carrying the bin.” I breathed a small sigh. “They’re probably testing everything in it, but—”
“But what?”
“I’m betting that San Pellegrino bottle is clean. It’s much easier to drop something into a water glass than into a narrow bottle. And anyway, that glass was sterilized in a dishwasher, along with his plate, teacup, silverware, and the gravy boat that held the dressing.” I rubbed my temples. “This is making my brain hurt.”
“What about his hot water?” Sofia asked.
“You mean for the tea? I boiled it and poured it into his cup myself. Then I brought the carafe back to the kitchen.”
“Too many liquids,” Sofia grumbled. “Okay, let’s walk through this. If his salad, tea, dressing, or water was poisoned, the murderer is most likely somebody who was in the restaurant.”
“Or,” I said, finishing the thought, “if the poison was in his own water bottle, it’s anybody who might have had access to it.” I groaned. “Without those autopsy results, there’s so much we don’t know.”
“Okay, Vic. Maybe we don’t know how or what, but something killed that guy. Those broken blood vessels in his eyes prove it.”
“And if you dare tell Danny I told you that, you are dead, sister.”
Sofia rolled her eyes. “As if I couldn’t take you with one hand.” She pushed her chair back from her desk. “Okay, let’s regroup and get our assignments lined up. You’re talking to Biaggio.”
“Reluctantly, but, yes, I’ll talk to him. Hey, I forgot to ask you if you got in to see Anne McCrae.”
“No.” Sofia shook her head. “I thought I could catch her after her regular exercise class, but she skipped out on me.”
“Okay, I’ll also talk to Her Honor the mayor; she’s been trying to get me to come to her book group, so I’ll have an excuse. And at least she tolerates me.” I pulled out my pad to make some notes while Sofia scribbled a few of her own.
“Meanwhile, I’m gonna do some research,” she said. “Starting with Cal, Mikey G, and his possibly connected father.”
“Oh, speaking of connections, my agent has a contact who might be able to tell us about Harvey Rosen—what kind of terms he and Parisi were on and how close Rosen and Angie really were.” I pointed with my pen. “And let’s not forget that Tim said Angie claims Parisi was cheating on her. I’d sure like to know who that mystery woman is, because that’s another name to add to our list.”
Sofia sighed. “Now my brain hurts. How many people wanted this guy dead?”
“Only one, SIL. It’s just a matter of finding out who.”
Chapter Thirteen
On Monday morning I headed over to the mayor’s office. Our little town hall shared space with the police department, and I had a vague sense of guilt as I entered the building. My brother might be willing to turn a blind eye to my detecting, but what about his superiors? I slipped down the corridor toward her office, relieved not to see anyone in a blue uniform.
“Victoria. It’s lovely to see you again.” Mayor Anne McCrae stretched out a hand devoid of rings and nail polish and gripped mine firmly. Her browned callused hands represented days spent in the sun, whether on the beach or in her award-winning garden. A shore person born and bred, Anne was in her midforties and single, but with her salt-and-pepper hair and pale gray eyes, she seemed a decade older. She cared for little beyond her town, its beaches, and her regular tennis game. She would have found a husband an encumbrance, and there were times that I (and probably much of the town) wondered whether she even liked men.
“You too, Anne,” I said. “How have you been?”
“Oh, you know what it’s like a week before the season begins. I’ve been as busy as those bees in my Buddleia bushes. Sit down, please.” She leaned forward on her desk and clasped her hands together. “So, have I finally talked you into speaking with my book group?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind waiting until the fall.” And may September never come. “I’m back to do some research about our family business, and I’ve been helping out at the restaurant. You know how busy we are during the season.”
“I do, yes,” she said slowly, and then paused. “However, I hear the Casa Lido has not been very busy these days.”
Way to turn the tables, Anne. I cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s true. Things have been quiet at the restaurant lately.”
“It’s a shame what happened.”
I pondered what she meant. Was it a shame that the restaurant was losing business or a shame that Parisi died there? “Yes . . . yes, it was.”
“Such a vital man.” She sighed. “With such vision and so full of ideas.”
He was full of ideas, all right, and none of them good. Yet here was our brisk, no-nonsense town leader sighing over a guy who might have brought ruin to our little beach community. I glanced at her wistful face, and a thought struck me: Was Anne McCrae Parisi’s mystery mistress? It might explain why she was so willing to hand us over to RealTV. Admittedly, it was hard to imagine this weather-beaten woman a match for the polished producer. Without realizing it, I shook my head.
“Don’t you agree?” Anne as
ked.
“Oh. Well, no, Anne, I don’t. I’m sorry he’s dead, of course, but I wouldn’t have wanted The Jersey Side to film here.”
She pressed her palms against the top of her desk and leaned forward in her chair. “I know your family was against it, too. They made that clear enough with that silly protest.”
I would never learn anything if this meeting became adversarial, so I pasted a smile on my face. “Yes, it’s true. My family was against the show filming in Oceanside, as were a number of other merchants.” I crossed my fingers in my lap as I was about to engage in another round of lies. “But if it turns out the show ends up filming here, we’ll make the best of it.”
“That’s not likely to happen now, is it? Something that would have been such a boon to our economy, too. Well, we’ll find some other way to survive. We always do, don’t we?” She cocked her head, and her eyes narrowed. “I do hope we can say the same for the Casa Lido, though.”
“Me too, Anne.” I couldn’t quite make out the mayor’s tone, but I would swear she was relishing the Casa Lido’s troubles. We were a small gold mine for the town, and it wouldn’t make sense for her to take delight in our downfall. Since she had steered me to the subject, I figured it was time to throw caution to the winds and come clean. I was sick of telling lies anyway. “In fact, that’s part of the reason I’m here. If it turns out that Gio Parisi died from more than a simple heart attack, it’s going to look very bad for the restaurant. It’s no secret that people are already staying away.”
“But how can I help you?” There was so much caution in her tone, there should have been an amber light blinking over her head. So much for sincerity.
“I’m hoping you can answer a few questions for me. You spent some time with him on the day he died. Did he seem ill in any way?”
She shook her head firmly. “Absolutely not. He was the picture of health. As I said, he was a vital man. And an attractive one. But what he saw in that wife of his, I’ll never know.”
Don’t stop now, Anne. “You know, she grew up near here,” I said.
“Hmmph,” she said with a little sniff. “All I know is that she must have called him three or four times during his appearance on the boardwalk.”
“Is that so?” I tried hard to keep my tone neutral. “Lots of husbands and wives call each other during the day to stay in touch.”
“Checking up on him is more like it. Where was he? What was he doing next? When would he be home?” She clucked her tongue like a disapproving hen.
It took all my control not to grab my notebook from my purse and start writing. Why would Angie be checking on Parisi’s every move? Was she afraid he was with his mistress? I glanced at Anne’s frowning and, frankly, rather plain face and had trouble believing she was the producer’s mystery girlfriend. But who was? In any case, it was time to turn the questions back to the heart of the matter.
“Did you notice whether he had anything to eat or drink up at the boardwalk?” I couldn’t take Fifi’s word for gospel on this one, and I knew Sofie couldn’t have gotten to every stand and restaurant.
But our mayor shook her head again. “No. He mentioned that he was trying to eat more healthily, and he was sipping a water bottle. But that was it.” She looked me full in the face. “Perhaps he was allergic to something he ate in the restaurant.”
“That’s possible, of course.”
“Or perhaps it was food poisoning.”
I felt my insides tighten with anger, but I couldn’t afford to unleash my inner Nonna. Not now, anyway. “There’s no possibility of that, Anne.” And no possibility of finding out, now that the trash was gone.
“Well, we’ll know after the autopsy results are in.” She gestured to the door of her office. “I should really step out and ask the chief if we have any more information about that.”
It was a clear signal, and I didn’t think I’d get much more from her today anyway. I stood up and reached out my hand. “Thank you for seeing me today, Anne.”
I winced as she gripped my hand. “You’re very welcome. And let’s plan to have you come speak to the group after Labor Day, all righty?”
“Absolutely. I’ll put it on my calendar.” I turned to go, and it was then that Mayor McCrae dropped her little bomb.
“And, Victoria, do keep me posted on how the restaurant is doing, won’t you?” She smiled in a practiced politician sort of way and paused. “Because if your grandmother and parents decide to sell, I have a very interested buyer. He’s hoping to turn the space into a Starbucks—and won’t that be a lucrative little business!”
I blinked, unable to utter a word. She swept around from behind her desk and held open her office door. “Now, do stay in touch, hon. And have a nice day!”
• • •
Still reeling from the fallout of my encounter with Mayor McCrae, I stopped at the laundry to pick up all the linens Tim and I had dirtied in the pantry, hoping to drop them back at the restaurant before my grandmother noticed. When I got back to the Casa Lido, there was a visitor waiting for me outside. From a distance, her small stature and short denim skirt gave her a youthful look, but once I got close, I could see that she was over fifty. Her blond hair was cut in a chin-length bob, her bangs reaching almost to her bright blue eyes. Her makeup was expertly but heavily applied. The whole effect was one of a woman trying too hard.
“May I help you?” I asked. “We’re closed for business on Mondays.”
“I’m looking for Victoria Rienzi,” she said.
“I’m Victoria.”
She held out her hand. “I’m Emily Haverford. A friend of Gio Parisi.”
I had barely taken in this information when my eyes were riveted by a flash of silver at her neck. If only Sofia were here. Knowing I couldn’t whip out my cell phone to take a picture, I made a point of memorizing the piece, but my gut told me it came from Tiffany. And I’d lay my father’s odds it was the same one purchased at the Red Bank store the day Parisi died. I was imagining Parisi with a younger girlfriend, not one his own age. I unlocked the door and held it open for her. “Please come in.”
“Thank you. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“Pretty much anywhere.” I dropped the laundry boxes in a corner and gestured to our family table at the back of the dining room. “Over there is fine. Would you like something to drink? Water or coffee?”
“No, thanks.” She sat down and shrugged off her sweater, and my eyes were again drawn to the silver chain around her neck.
“Beautiful necklace,” I said.
She smiled slightly. “Thank you. You must be wondering why I’m here.”
Not just that. Where’d you get that dang jewelry? “Yes. I mean, I’m not sure how I can help you.”
She leaned across the table, her voice urgent. “You found him, didn’t you? Do you think someone killed him?”
“Wow, you get straight to the point, don’t you?” But I refrained from answering her question.
She tapped the table nervously. “I have to know. It’s eating me up inside.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure if I can help you. It’s not like I knew him. I hadn’t ever met him until the day he . . . walked in here.”
“I have to know about his last hours. It had been a while since I’d seen him.” She twisted a ring on her right hand, but her left was bare. Not married, I thought. Maybe divorced? “You see, I’d known him before. He left me for . . . her.” She shook her head.
Angie strikes again. Join the club, lady. I looked at Emily Haverford with sympathy but resisted the urge to share what we had in common.
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Parisi was here asking me the same things, but there isn’t a lot I can tell you.” Certainly not what Danny had told me about the broken blood vessels in his eyes. I took a breath. “He came in and had a salad, water, and a cup of tea. By the end of the meal, he was sweaty and sick. He asked for the men’s room, and that was the last I saw of him until I found him outside.”
I met her
intense blue stare. “Would you mind describing what he looked like when you found him?” she asked.
“I’m not even sure I should.”
She gripped my arm. “Please. I cared for him deeply.”
I wondered if “cared for him deeply” was subtext for “we were still sleeping together.” I sighed. “It wasn’t pretty. He was facedown in his own vomit.”
She dropped her head in her hands, and I felt a rush of pity for her. “Look, Emily, until the results of his death are released, no one knows for sure how he died. Right now it looks like a heart attack.”
“But you’re a mystery writer. You’ve done research about these things. Do you think he was murdered or not?”
I uttered four words that were completely truthful. “I can’t really say.”
She hesitated, clearly struggling. “Listen, there’s something . . .” She stopped and shook her head. “No, it wouldn’t be fair, and much as I hate her—”
Her could be only one person. I put my hand on her arm. “If you have information that’s relevant to his death, you need to tell the police.” And me. Tell me.
Her startling eyes locked onto my own. “Gio told me that Anjelica had only married him for his money.”
Yeah, that’s a shocker. Then again, a man might say anything when he’s cheating on his wife. I had to keep an open mind, but my curiosity was threatening to burn a hole in the tablecloth. “Is that so?” I asked.
She nodded. “In fact, he had a stringent prenup drawn up. She wouldn’t have gotten much in a divorce.” A pained expression crossed her face. “Not that he would have left her.”
“So Anjelica stands to gain by his death?”
“Enormously. He has no other next of kin. He never had children, and both his parents are dead.”
Much as I wanted to believe Angie a murderer, I had to ask the next question. “What about you?”
Murder and Marinara: An Italian Kitchen Mystery (Italian Kitchen Mysteries) Page 13
