He grinned. “All you gotta do is follow the smell.”
“True enough. And if you inhale deeply right now, you should be picking up the fine scents of peppers, onion, and pork spiced with fennel, as we have reached our destination: Louie’s Famous Subs.”
We ordered at the counter and brought our food to a table that faced the ocean. I dunked a piece of calamari in Louie’s fresh marinara and popped it in my mouth, savoring the competing textures of tender and crispy. “Ummm—oh, that was worth coming home for.”
Cal took a bite of his sausage sandwich and nodded vigorously. “And that was worth comin’ north for.”
“Told you. Hey, what are you doing? Don’t you like onions?”
I watched Cal carefully remove all the onions from his sandwich and push them to the side of his plate. “I like them fine, Victoria.” He smiled, and I admired the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “But not when I’m on a date with a lady.”
“Ahh, I see. You don’t want to offend, should we find ourselves in close quarters. Is that it? I think that’s a bit presumptuous. Don’t you?” I took a hearty, onion-laced bite of my own sandwich for emphasis.
“Girl, I admire your spirit.” Cal held up his beer bottle in a toast and then forked the onions back into his roll.
As we finished our sandwiches and the rest of the calamari, Cal asked me questions about my writing. They were thoughtful and respectful, and he didn’t ask me to name a character after him—a request I got frequently from friends and acquaintances.
“So tell me about the new book,” he said.
“Oh, yes, the new book. Well, it’s a departure for me. I mean, I’ve branded myself as a mystery writer, and the series has been good to me—”
“But?”
I laughed. “You knew there was a ‘but,’ right?”
“There usually is.” He took a long swig of his beer.
“It’s just that I realized I wanted to write a different kind of book.” I looked out over the ocean. “It’s what writers call ‘the book of your heart.’ It’s the one you’re aching to write, even if nobody will publish it.”
“It’s a tough business, ain’t it?”
“My God, yes. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for my success. Me and Bernardo—that’s my detective—we’re a pretty formidable team.”
He grinned. “But.” He held out his beer to me, and I took a sip. “It sounds to me you got what your boy Bruce calls a ‘hungry heart.’”
“Yes, exactly!” I held my hand out for his beer again and drank more deeply this time. “But don’t we all?”
He nodded. “Most of my work’s in restoration, but I make furniture of my own. One-of-a-kind pieces. That’s where the real love is for me.” He shook his head. “I appreciate a fine antique, and I love bringing a piece back to life. But for me it’s the creation of something new.”
“I’d like to see some of that work. Do you have any of it up here with you?” It occurred to me that I had no idea where Cal lived. Was he renting a place in town? There was so much about this guy I didn’t know. Beyond that, he’d charmed me into talking a whole lot about myself (not difficult) and revealed little about himself. Somehow I had to work the conversation back to the afternoon of the murder.
“No,” he said. “It’s all in storage.”
“Do you sell them?”
“I sold one piece a couple of weeks ago. A garden bench. But for the hours I put into ’em, I normally have to charge too much to make a profit.” He shrugged. “In the end, it’s not worth it.”
“Hmm. You need to take your stuff to Manhattan.” I put the last piece of calamari in my mouth. “You would be amazed at what the market can bear in the city.”
“Maybe.” He grinned and pointed out toward the pier. “So, we gonna take a turn on that Ferris wheel, or what?”
I looked over at the giant ride and my stomach fluttered. “I don’t know. As Tim made clear earlier in the evening, I’m not a fan of rides.”
He caught my hand and lifted me to my feet. “Tell you what. You get up there and feel afraid, I’ll jump down and stop the ride myself.”
“Oh, right.”
“C’mon, cher. It goes nice and slow. We’ll get a great view of the water and plenty of time to talk. I promise I’ll distract you.”
Time to talk. Maybe time to talk about the murder and to find out if Cal had seen anything I’d missed.
To my chagrin, there wasn’t much of a line for the Ferris wheel, and before I knew it, I was stepping shakily into an open seat. Cal slid in next to me, and the operator locked the bar into place. I gripped it with both hands.
Cal flashed me a sideways grin. “You okay there?”
I tightened my hands on the bar. “Uh, I’m good. Thanks.” I looked over at him with a frozen smile. “It’s not—”
I’d been about to say as bad as I thought it would be, but then it was. We were lifted up and backward, and I had that familiar dropping sensation that I got on airplanes. The one that made me feel that I’d left my stomach somewhere on the ground and that I was flying away without it. My eyes darted for an escape, but Cal put an arm around my shoulders.
“It’s okay. They’re just raisin’ the car to bring the next one up on the platform.” He assumed the slow, gentle tone one might use with a skittish horse, and I frowned at him.
“I said I’m fine, okay? So if you’re worried about your p-pants—” The car jerked upward, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh my God, what the hell are they doing?”
“Victoria, open your eyes. They’re just filling up the cars, is all. Once they do that, we’ll make a couple of nice, slow circles and be back down on the ground before you know it.”
I opened one eye and glared at him with it. “This ride is interminable.” My grip on the bar was so tight, I was losing feeling in my hands. I shifted in the seat, which set the car rocking and me wondering whether sausage and peppers had been such a good idea. At that moment we began our slow ascent, and my whole body stiffened. Cal tightened his arm around me, but I was too terrified to tell whether or not I enjoyed the feeling. “Uhh, you said you’d distract me. So let’s t-talk.”
“You got it. But would you mind opening your other eye?” I could hear the amusement in his voice.
“Right. Both eyes open.” Ha, that could be the theme of my investigation. But was I keeping both eyes open? I glanced at Cal’s hand on my upper arm. “You don’t have to keep holding on to me, you know.”
He lifted his arm away from my shoulder and then patted my hands. “I can see you’re doing fine. So what do you want to talk about?”
“Well . . . whoa, we’re getting a little high here.” I swallowed, wishing I had Cal’s cold beer in my hand. For all the good it would do me; to drink it, I’d have to let go of the bar. “So, uh, I told you about me, but you didn’t tell me much about you. When did my parents hire you?” Now, there’s a friendly opening, Vic. That’s sure to disarm him.
He frowned slightly and rubbed his chin. “Last month.”
“And before that where were you working?”
“The country club over to Belmont. They gave your daddy a reference.” He slid his eyes toward me. “And there’s no outstandin’ warrants for my arrest, in case you’re wondering.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was grilling you. It’s just that—”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Right. I mean, we only met about a week ago.” I looked down at my still-clenched hands; I’d have to pry them from this bar finger by finger. “And then we have this death at the restaurant.” And you were there the day it happened.
“Victoria, just what is it you are trying to ask me?” Cal crossed his arms over his chest. A defensive gesture? Or an angry one? We were about to crest the top of the ride, and I hazarded a look down. The sun was setting in swaths of orange and deep blue; the lights of the boardwalk twinkled below. It was so beautiful that for a few seconds, I wasn’t afraid.
Until the ride stopped with us at the very top of the wheel.
“Oh God,” I whispered, as afterimages of the boardwalk lights danced behind my eyelids.
Cal tapped my forehead. “Will you please open your eyes?”
“Uh, okay.” I looked at Cal’s stern expression and fought the urge to close them again.
He leaned closer to me, his face inches from mine. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I sighed. “It’s just that business has been falling off since Parisi’s death, and Nonna’s been bugging me to try to find out what happened before the season starts. Then my sister-in-law, Sofia, got involved, and well—”
“Oh, so you and Miss Firecracker been playin’ detective. Is that it? Then let’s get a couple of things straight right now. One: I’d never seen that Parisi guy before he came into the restaurant, and didn’t know him from Adam. Two: I didn’t notice a dang thing. You waited on him and your old boyfriend made his plate. He’s the one you oughta be talking to.”
“C’mon, I didn’t accuse you of anything!”
“Didn’t you?” He reached out a finger and turned my face toward his. “Now, if I were a murderer, it’d be mighty stupid of you to be up here on this ride with me, wouldn’t it?” His eyes were hard to read, as clouded as a piece of dark green sea glass. Oh God, have I stepped out of my life right into the middle of a Hitchcock film?
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I sputtered. “Don’t be silly. I’m just wondering if there’s something I missed.”
Before he could answer, the wheel creaked into motion and the car began to descend. My body stiffened as we dropped, and I gulped in a big breath of sea air. “Listen, Cal,” I said. “Are you absolutely sure that nobody else came into the restaurant while Tim and I were in the kitchen?”
“You mean the widduh, don’t you?” He pointed. “You’d just love it if I said, ‘Oh, silly me. I just remembered that Anjelica came in and sprinkled poison all over her husband’s salad.’”
“Cut it out.”
“I’m right, lady, and you know it.”
“Okay.” I admitted. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind seeing Angie arrested for murder.”
“Because of her and the Iron Chef, right?”
My eyes widened. “How do you know about that?”
“The Casa Lido’s a small place, cher. Things get around.”
“And by ‘get around,’ you mean Lori told you.”
Just then we came to a stop, our chair swinging slightly over the platform. I let out a long breath, my heart still pounding, whether from the ride or my little interrogation, I didn’t know. I released my hands from the bar and flexed my fingers, then wiped my damp palms on the sides of my skirt. Cal unfastened the bar and reached for my hand, saw me hesitate and frowned.
“You don’t wanna take my hand?”
“It’s not that.” I held up my hands. “Sweaty palms.”
He laughed and caught my hand. “A little sweat don’t bother me. Long as you don’t think you’re holding hands with a murderer.”
“Hilarious.” I stepped down from the ride with rubbery legs, glad to be on terra firma. I looked back up at the huge wheel and shivered. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into that.”
“And thus far my pants are still clean and upon my person.” He shot me a wicked grin, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
“And likely to remain that way.” I tugged his hand. “C’mon, you’re not leaving here without a classic frozen custard.”
As we walked and ate our ice creams, I thought about our conversation up on the Ferris wheel. Had Cal really not seen anything at all on the day of the murder? He struck me as someone who missed very little. Maybe he would remember something later, even a small detail that might be important.
“By the way,” I said as we headed back to the restaurant, “my sister-in-law will be interested to hear that you call her ‘Miss Firecracker.’ It’s kind of fitting, though. Coincidentally, she has a nickname for you: ‘Mr. Down on the Bayou.’”
“Hell, girl, what does she think? That I’m out there mixin’ moonshine and wrasslin’ gat-uhs?”
“Keep layin’ on the accent like sugar syrup and I’ll think the same thing.”
“Whatsamatta?” Cal’s voice shifted quickly from the bayou to the Meadowlands. “Don’t I tawk like what yuh used to?”
“Wow,” I said, turning to look at him. “It’s like all the South just dropped out of your voice there for a minute.” Impressive, but for some reason, also disconcerting.
“Well, Victoria, I got you here safe and sound.” We stood in front of the Casa Lido, Cal still holding my hand. “Thank you for a lovely evening. Hope we can do it again sometime.” After the briefest brush of his lips against my cheek, he said good night. As I watched his slim-hipped figure recede into the darkness, I was left with a faint sense of unease. He’d been in Jersey for almost eight years, yet acted as though this was his first trip to the boardwalk. He also was a guy with the ability to sound like somebody else. Finally, he had specifically mentioned Parisi’s salad in the course of our conversation on the Ferris wheel.
Was it merely a joke? A coincidence? Or an unconscious slip of the tongue?
Chapter Eighteen
Isabella gripped the side of the deck, taking in lungfuls [lungs full?] of the salt air, trying to focus her eyes on the distant horizon. The illness can’t last long, she thought as she—
I jumped at the buzzing sound coming from the vicinity of my elbow. “Why didn’t I leave this thing off?” Still bleary-eyed the morning after my date with Cal, I turned my phone to read the name I knew I would see there: Sofia.
“You rang, SIL? This is early even for you.” I stared at the computer screen, willing more words to magically appear in the paragraph.
“Geez, good morning to you, too.”
“I was writing. ‘Was’ being the operative word.”
But my snark had little effect on my sister-in-law. “Good,” she said. “That means you’re at your computer. Minimize your document, please.”
I waited a beat, but left my page up. “Okay, what?”
“I’m not saying another word till you close that document.”
Letting out a loud sigh, I clicked the minus sign across the top of the doc. “What are you, on video phone or something?”
“I just know my Victoria. Listen, get on the Entertainment Channel Web site. There’s a video on the home page you should probably see. Call me back when you’re finished.”
The Entertainment Channel Web site, with its black-and-gold EC! logo, was an amalgam of gossip and “infotainment.” Its Web page was a pastiche of lurid colors and sound effects, and the show’s theme song blared through my computer’s speakers as the page opened. Wincing, I turned the volume down; it was way too early for this. I scanned the tabs across the top and clicked on the featured video, a screen shot of Angelina Jolie. But once I hit the play button, I blinked and peered closer at the screen. The tall woman in the dark hair was not Angelina, but none other than her doppelgänger, Anjelica, aka Angie Martini. What the hell?
It looked like a news conference, with Angie at a podium flanked by two men. She was saying something into the mike I couldn’t quite catch, and I raised the volume.
“...and was the recipient of several threatening letters before his death.” Threatening letters? Angie continued, clearly reading from a statement. “More than a week has passed, yet I know nothing more today than I did one week ago.” She stopped to dab at her eyes, and I groaned aloud. “And the local police in Oceanside Park have provided me with absolutely no information.”
A muffled question came from the audience, and Angie shook her glossy hair. “They have not released any autopsy results. At this point, I know nothing about what caused my husband’s death.”
Another inaudible question and another shake of Angie’s head. “No, he had no food allergies.” She frowned, glanced at one of the men, who shook his head. “I’m sorry. We really can’t comm
ent further on that.”
At that, one of the men stepped in front of the mike. “Mrs. Parisi has made her statement. There will be no more questions, but I will make one more comment for the record: If Mrs. Parisi is not provided a satisfactory answer from local law enforcement regarding her husband’s death, we will be launching our own investigation and possible lawsuit. Thank you.”
And the screen went blacker than my thoughts.
• • •
Thus far I had tried to keep my brother out of my “investigation,” but now the situation was desperate. The Black Widow had gone public with some new information and just stopped short of naming the restaurant in a suit. Tomorrow my time was up on the deal with Nina; if I didn’t have something for her, the Channel Ten van might well end up outside the Casa Lido doors. We would never survive another media onslaught, let alone a wrongful-death suit. Danny was my only hope in getting some answers before the worst happened.
I found him in the one place I knew he’d be on his off-hours: on his boat in the marina.
“Hey, bro.” I stepped gingerly onto the boat’s deck; despite being born and bred near the water, I was not a fan of boating, mostly because I tended to seasickness and dark fantasies involving sharks. Danny reached out a hand and led me to a seat. “I figured this would be the best place for us to talk,” I said.
Danny glanced over to the slip at his left. “For now,” he said. “Nobody’s here yet.”
He looked at me over the top of his black wraparound sunglasses. “You wanna know about the autopsy, right?”
“Yes. And you’ve been out here, so you probably haven’t seen the latest news. The Widow Angie just announced publicly that her husband was receiving threatening letters in the weeks before he died. Her lawyer or some PI with her implied there’d be a lawsuit.” I shook my head. “It’s looking worse and worse for us, Danny.”
“We know about the letters,” he said, “but I can’t say any more about that.” He looked around once more and lowered his voice. “The cause of death was heart failure, but the medical examiner has sent all the fluids out for testing. Those results could take weeks.”
Murder and Marinara: An Italian Kitchen Mystery (Italian Kitchen Mysteries) Page 16
