A Dish Best Served Cold: An Italian Kitchen Mystery (Italian Kitchen Mystery, An)

by Rosie Genova

  “So ‘Jackson Manchester’ is still around,” she said.

  “Apparently. I locked up tight before I left and blocked all the first-floor windows with furniture.”

  “I don’t think you should go back there, Vic. Why don’t you come here tonight? Danny’s on duty—we can have a girls’ night.”

  “It’s tempting, but I’ve got my bike with me and it’s too far to go. The second I’m done here tonight, I’ll head over to the boardwalk for the last zeppole of the season and then home. If anything looks off, I’ll call you to come get me. But you’ll be waiting parked out on the street; I don’t want you anywhere near the boardwalk if there’s trouble.”

  “You sound just like your brother.”

  Who is on duty tonight and out of reach if I need him. “Well, we both love you.” I took a breath. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. If I’m really desperate, I’ll bike over to my parents’ house.”

  Sofia snorted. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Stay in touch and text me when you get in.”

  “Will do. Get some rest, okay?”

  I shoved my phone into my apron pocket. It was after eight, and already twilight. I was scheduled for another hour and a half, which meant a ride home in the dark. I would stay to the boardwalk side—it would be crowded, well lit, and relatively safe. From there I could go to my parents or wait it out until Danny was off duty.

  That seemed like a reasonable plan until I pedaled out of the parking lot in full darkness more than ninety minutes later. My bike light shone a weak beam on the pavement, and I kept looking over my shoulder for a red car. This is your hometown, Vic. You know every inch of it. Get to the boardwalk and you’ll be fine. I crossed at the next intersection and locked my bike to a lamppost near the corner of Ocean and Tuckerton. I hurried up the nearest ramp, overlooked by the Chowder House, relieved to be among the crowds and the bright lights of the boardwalk. The zeppole stand was about two blocks down. I walked on the right side, staying within the lights of the souvenir stores and arcades.

  When a call came through from Sofia, I crossed the boardwalk and took a seat on one of the benches along the railing. “Hey, you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she answered. “I just remembered something from our interview with Gerry Domenica, and I’m pretty sure it’s the thing that’s been bugging you. Remember he said that he didn’t know Alphonse’s last name?”

  “Right.”

  “But later on in the conversation, he used it when he was looking at the picture of your uncle. He told you that you were too pretty to be a Petrocelli.”

  “Oh my God, you’re right. It seems so obvious now. So we’ve caught Domenica in at least one lie. But we’re done with this, Sofe. We shouldn’t even be thinking about it.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m sitting here and it’s all I can think about.”

  “Listen,” I said, “I better go. My battery’s low.”

  I ended the call and turned to face the ocean. It was an inky gray under the bright moon, and I sat for a moment, listening to the soft crash of the waves in the distance. Tired and achy from a long day at the restaurant, I leaned my head back. Just as my eyes started to flutter closed, I saw a tall woman standing in front of the arcade across from where I sat. She was on a cell phone, and when she turned her head, I recognized her: Iris Harrington.

  She looked from one end of the boardwalk to another, gesturing and talking excitedly. My God, I thought. She’s looking for somebody. And I think it might be me. I slipped off the bench and turned my face away from her. But which way to go? The crowd was thin here and I couldn’t risk her seeing me. Slowly, I shifted to face the metal railing, and I knew I had no choice. Without thinking, I gripped the rail, slid down to a squat, and slipped down, feet first, onto the sand. Forget about the zeppole; I had no appetite for them now anyway. I would make my way back along the beach until I reached Tuckerton Avenue, and then grab my bike and pedal my butt off to my parents’ house.

  But the sand was deep under the boardwalk, and it made for slow walking. I could smell the damp on the wooden planks, and above me, footfalls echoed weirdly. The refrain from the old song kept playing over and over in my brain as I trudged through the sand. Under the boardwalk, down by the sea. When we were kids, hanging out under here was cool, but now it seemed creepy as I made my slow way in the dark. My sneakers, full of sand, were slowing me down, but I didn’t want to stop to take them off. When the roof of the Chowder House came into view, I nearly cried with relief.

  Until I heard a swishing sound behind me. I wasn’t alone under here, and ankle-deep in damp sand, I was in no position to run. The sound came closer and somebody grabbed my arm. In a panic, I tried to shake it off but was pulled around to face my assailant. Expecting to see Iris, I felt fury rising in me as I looked into the dark, scowling face of Jason Conners.

  “Let go of me, Jason,” I said breathlessly, “or I will shriek this whole boardwalk down.”

  “I need to talk to you,” he said nervously, but didn’t loosen his grip.

  “Get off me!” I yelled, jerking my arm hard just as he let go. I caught him hard in the ribs with my elbow, sending him tumbling backward into the sand.

  “Ow! Will you take it easy?” He stood up, brushing the sand from his hands and arms. “I just wanna talk.”

  “No way.” In a burst of energy born of fear, I kept walking.

  “What are you doing skulking around under here, anyway?” he asked, hurrying to keep up with me.

  “Skulking. That’s a big word for you,” I called over my shoulder.

  “Cut it out, okay? I told you I had to talk to you. I’m supposed to be at school. I’m only sticking around this crappy town because you can’t stay out of my business. Damn it, will you just stop?” he yelled from behind me.

  My choices were limited—stay alone on this dark beach with Jason or climb back up to the boardwalk and risk being seen by Iris. I stopped and waited for him to catch up. “There’s a beach entrance up ahead. You go first.”

  He shook his head but complied. I waited until he was on the boards before I followed. I gestured to a bench in full view of several concession stands. “We talk here or not at all. Five minutes. And you touch me again and I call my brother and have you arrested for assault and breaking and entering.”

  “I didn’t assault you,” he said, sneering. “And you can’t prove I was anywhere near your house or that restaurant.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” I pointed to the seat. “You better put at least a couple of feet between us.”

  He sat at the end of the bench, shaking his head. “Oh, for Chrissakes, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m here to tell you the truth. My mom’s freaking out and it’s all your fault.”

  I slapped my hand against my chest. “My fault? Your mother’s crazy. She pushed me off her front steps and probably gave Pete that wine.”

  He leaned toward me, lowering his voice. “I gave it to him, okay? Not her. I wanted him to go away, okay?” he said again, his voice shaking. “I admit I used the napkin so my prints wouldn’t be on it. I couldn’t risk anybody connecting him to me, but I didn’t kill him. That’s the truth.”

  Though I was inclined to believe him, I wasn’t quite ready to cross Jason and his mother off the list. “You just said you couldn’t be connected with him. Because he knew about the hacking, right?”

  He sighed. “Will you just let me finish? Actually, I need to start from the beginning.”

  I crossed my arms. “You have four minutes.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, and I had a moment of pity for Florence having to deal with a surly teenager twenty-four/seven.

  He sat forward, his hands dangling over his knees, looking like any number of kids on this boardwalk. I had to remind myself that I shouldn’t get too comfortable; I could be sitting on this bench with a murderer.

  “Look,” he began.
“My mother hasn’t had it so easy. My father left us when I was little; he lives somewhere out in Ohio and sometimes sends us money when he thinks of it. But she raised me, pretty much on her own. I’ve always been smart, especially with math and science. Computers are my thing. But you know that.” He couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of his voice.

  “Wipe that smirk off your face, Jason. So yeah, I know firsthand you’re a computer whiz. Keep going.”

  “Okay, so I did really good in high school.”

  Really well, I wanted to scream. Not really good. Instead I nodded. “Good enough to get into MIT,” I said.

  He nodded. “But there was that, uh, trouble last year. And the old guy, Pete, he must have overheard . . . another dude and me talking about it.” He pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes and wiped his forehead. “And then he found my mother at the restaurant one day and told her he knew. He asked her for money. And that’s when it started. She’d never know when he’d show up, and she’d give him all her tips. That’s when she had the idea I should get a job there.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “We hired you a little later. Why didn’t she just go to the police? Or to one of us? We could have talked to my brother.”

  “Right.” He shook his head, clearly wondering at my stupidity. “Sure, let’s go tell the police I hacked the school computer system. Real smart.”

  “So instead you gave him enough wine to kill himself. I guess that was real smart, too.”

  “He didn’t die of alcohol poisoning,” he hissed. “He drowned.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, swiped a finger across the screen, and held it out to me. “I guessed you missed this one, Sherlock.”

  It was a small item in the Asbury Park Press, indicating that’s Pete’s death was due to accidental drowning. So it was public knowledge now. Which meant Pete’s murderer would be feeling pretty safe, unless he or she knew I was pushing to reopen the investigation.

  “Big deal.” I shrugged. “So maybe you and your mother are looking at a manslaughter charge instead.”

  “Will you cut the crap, already?” he said through his teeth. “We weren’t anywhere near that carousel house the night of the storm. We went straight home from the restaurant. But the thing is, we can’t prove it. We only have each other’s word on it.”

  He leaned toward me and I drew back. He let out a loud huff. “I’m not gonna hurt you! How many times do I have to say it? I’m asking you to believe me.” He dropped his voice. “My mother worked her whole life for me to have this chance. She didn’t hurt that old man and neither did I.” He stood up and stuck his hands in his pockets, his hair falling over his scarred face. My heart twisted a little for this genius kid and his waitress mother, who only wanted a better life for themselves. But that didn’t necessarily mean I took him at his word.

  “Listen, Jason, I’m not a police officer. I’m not even a detective.” He let out a snort, which I chose to ignore. “But you’d better be prepared: If this case gets reopened, you might be questioned.”

  He shrugged, but his eyes were those of a scared kid. “If they get me on the hacking, so be it. But I didn’t kill anybody.” He pointed. “And I think you know that.” He turned to go, and I watched him make his way down the boardwalk to the street ramp.

  Was Jason telling me the truth? Was he just a kid who’d made a mistake he was desperate to cover up? Or a very, very shrewd killer?

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  I sat on the bottom step at the beach entrance to catch my breath and empty my sneakers of sand. I was only a couple of blocks from my bike, and I planned to take the first street ramp down to the sidewalk. But the minute I stood up, I caught the scent of patchouli on the breeze. I slipped back under the boardwalk and peeked through a crack in the planks. My vision was limited, but I could hear a female voice getting closer. The boards creaked over my head and I froze.

  “I saw her; I know I did,” the woman said, her voice muffled by the wooden planking.

  A man’s voice answered, and there was no mistaking it: Richard Barone. “Where did she go, Iris?”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you!” She sounded exasperated, impatient.

  “Well, how did you lose her?” Barone’s tone was calm and measured; I found that more frightening than Iris’s near hysteria.

  “I don’t know!” she answered. “It’s not like following people is in my line of work.”

  “We have to find her before they do,” he said, and a shiver, swift as an electric current, traveled down my spine. Who were they? How many people were after me? Much as I wanted to run, I needed to know. I was sure they could hear me breathing right under their feet.

  “I know we have to find her, damn it!” Iris said in a harsh whisper. “I warned her to stay out of it, but she can’t help herself. Now she’s in deeper than she knows.” They dropped their voices then, and I strained to hear. Suddenly Iris’s voice came through clearly. “I saw that old bike of hers parked over at Tuckerton. Maybe we just wait there.”

  “That’s our only option, then. We’ll wait for her on the street.” The voices died away, and I sank down into the sand, my heart pounding and their words echoing in my ears: We have to find her before they do. She’s in deeper than she knows.

  I sat in the damp sand, heart pounding. What should I do? Go down to the street and double back to the restaurant? But Barone and Iris were heading in the same direction. Should I climb back up to the boardwalk and head east to my cottage? It was a long walk, out past the rides pier. Even if I had the energy, the memory of that red Dodge doing a slow cruise past my house was enough to give me pause. I needed help. I pulled out my phone, tapping my contacts list with trembling fingers.

  “Please be around, Cal,” I whispered. “Please.” But the call went to voice mail. With my battery power at eleven percent, I tried Tim, who didn’t pick up. Why would he, given our earlier conversation? I even called our local cab company, but no driver would be available until eleven. “It’s a holiday weekend,” they reminded me. I was running out of options. I tried Sofia.

  “What’s up, Vic? Where are you?”

  “I’m, uh, under the boardwalk. And please don’t sing. It won’t stop playing in my head as it is.”

  “What are you doing under there?”

  “Hiding from Iris and Barone. And I just had a run-in with Jason Connors.” I filled her in quickly, mindful of my low battery. “So, listen, can you get here? Just park somewhere along the boards and text me. I’ll find you.”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I can’t. My mother showed up.”

  “Did you say your mother is there? What, she dropped in from Florida?”

  “Yes,” she hissed into the phone. Her voice grew louder. “It’s Victoria, Mom. She’s doing great. Yes. I’ll tell her,” she called out. “She sends her love.”

  “I’d rather she sent me a taxi—I need to get the hell out of here. Can you get through to Danny? I texted him, but he didn’t get back to me.”

  “I think he’s out of cell range, but I’ll keep trying. He’s off duty at eleven.”

  “I know. I’ll just have to hang in there till then.”

  “Listen, I’ll get to you somehow. I’ll tell her something. In the meantime, be careful, okay?” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want to call your dad?”

  “Not just yet, Sofe. I know it’s stupid, but I really don’t want to worry them. Or drag them into something that might be dangerous. Listen, I have to go; I’m just about out of battery.”

  I stood up, weak-kneed, and brushed the sand from my jeans. I gripped the rail on the beach entrance and walked slowly up the steps. I was exhausted, covered in sand, and carrying a phone with a dangerously low battery. Before I reached the top step, I heard the rumbling and felt the vibration under my feet, and I knew that rescue was at hand. Waving wildly, I flagged down the red beach trolley and stumbled u
p the steps, blinking under the bright lights in the car. I paid the driver and flopped into a seat across from the only other riders—a tired-looking couple with two little boys who were very much awake.

  “We’re goin’ on the merry-go-round,” the older one announced. His lips and teeth were blue from the snow cone that was dripping over his hand. His mother dabbed at him with a napkin while he twisted away from her.

  “Yeah,” the little one piped up. “And then the teacups.” He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, losing several kernels in the process, which his father picked up, one by one.

  “I used to love the merry-go-round,” I said. “But the teacups made me kind of sick.”

  “Good to know,” their father said. “Maybe we’ll skip the teacups this trip.”

  “Did you puke?” the older boy said, his eyes wide.

  “Leave the lady alone,” their mother said, and smiled at me a little wearily.

  Not for the first time, I wondered if Sofia and my brother knew what lay ahead of them once that baby came. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, fighting the urge to sleep. Oh, the hell with all this, I thought, I’m going home. The trolley route ended at the rides pier; from there it would be a relatively short walk to my cottage, and by then Danny would be off duty. The trolley ride would put some distance between me and Barone and Iris, but who else was looking for me? Or who else is after you? said a voice in my head.

  “We have to find her before they do,” Barone had said. So more than one person. But who were they? Could it be Florence and Jason? Had Jason told a tall tale just to keep me off guard? Or . . . I sat up, my eyes wide-open now. What if the others who were looking for me meant no harm? What if they were trying to warn me? But anybody attempting to help me—my parents, Danny, Cal, or Tim—would contact me, and my phone showed no messages and no missed calls.