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

by Rosie Genova

  “You wanted to warn me?” I looked at Iris and Barone. “So you two weren’t looking for me to protect me. You wanted to make sure you found me before Lorenzo did. What were you going to do, Richard? Offer me money, too?”

  Barone shrugged. “Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do, Richie,” Domenica said. “It was you who told me about Pete. When you came down to the club to play golf. Remember?”

  So Barone made sure that Domenica knew Pete was a threat; in a sense, he had signed his death warrant.

  “And once that happened,” Lorenzo said softly, “it was all over. I tried to warn Pete the night of the party.”

  “So that’s why you were hanging around Alyssa,” I said.

  He smiled slightly. “Not my best hour. But I had to get to Pete, and I’d seen him around the restaurant. But he was so drunk that night I don’t think he understood he was in any danger. So I couldn’t save him.” He stared at his grandfather. “And I don’t want anybody else getting hurt.”

  “I ain’t gonna hurt nobody,” Domenica said, but tightened his grip on the gun.

  Lorenzo looked at his grandfather, his eyes filling with tears. “I know you did it, Nonno. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t.” He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “You took my keys to this place and you got him to meet you here the night of the storm. You killed that old man.”

  “No, he fell, Renzo. I swear! He was drunk and he passed out; he just fell forward on the floor. The water was already coming in.”

  “And you left him there, right?” Lorenzo asked softly. “You left him there to drown.” He paused, his expression weary. “Or maybe you helped him along. One good shove would’ve been enough.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way, exactly,” Domenica said, gesturing with the gun.

  “Will you please drop that thing?” Lorenzo said through his teeth.

  Domenica’s voice hardened and she shook his head. “No can do, son. I got a room full of witnesses here.”

  I looked from one stubborn face to the other; we were at an impasse. I was just desperate enough—and exhausted enough—to try to break it.

  “Mr. Domenica,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking, “my brother is a police detective and he’s on his way with backup. Believe me, it will be much better for you if you don’t have a weapon in your hand.”

  He turned to face me and I instantly regretted calling attention to myself. He tilted his head, studying my face. “You know, miss, I see the resemblance. I always felt bad about Robbie. But what was I gonna do? I was a kid. Had my whole life in front of me.”

  I seized on his words. “That’s true. You were only a kid. And if you’re saying that Pete’s death was an accident—”

  “I’ll get you the best lawyer there is,” Barone interrupted.

  Before Domenica could answer, there was a creak and a metallic groan. Then the first slow notes of organ music and the flare of lights as the carousel slowly came to life. As the platform turned, a lone figure jumped from it, and I caught the flash of white against the black collar. Domenica turned in surprise, and never saw the roundhouse punch that caught him in the side and dropped him like a rock. The gun clattered across the cement floor and Lorenzo stopped it with his foot. Doubled over in pain, Domenica looked up in shock at the priest, who was now kneeling next to him.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” Father Tom said softly, “but this had to end. You know that, don’t you?”

  Domenica nodded and spoke with effort. “I . . . I know, Father.”

  Father Tom rested his hand on Domenica’s arm. “The police are on their way. It will go better for you if you tell the truth.”

  Lorenzo set the gun down carefully outside the door of the carousel house and then crossed quickly to his grandfather. “He’s right, Nonno.”

  Father Tom turned to me. “Are you all right, Victoria?”

  I nodded. “Thanks to you. That was quite a shot you gave him.”

  He flexed his fist and grinned at me. “Some things you never forget.” He raised his eyes heavenward. “God willing.”

  In the distance I could hear the sirens, and my knees sagged with relief. For a moment, I met Iris’s eye. But she glanced away quickly, turning all her attention on Richard. Good luck, girlfriend, I thought. You’re gonna need it.

  At that moment, Sofia rushed in, nearly knocking down Iris and Barone as she barreled toward me. “You okay, Vic?” she said breathlessly. “Father Tom made me wait outside, and it was killing me.” She pointed to the still-spinning ride. “But it was my idea to start the carousel to distract everybody. Smart, huh?” As I looked at her broad grin and shining eyes, it occurred to me that even pregnancy didn’t cause the glow that surrounded my sister-in-law at this moment. Maybe she had a future in law enforcement after all.

  “Not just smart, Sofe, brilliant. Well played.” I looked over at Domenica, still on the floor of the arcade, with Lorenzo hovering over him. Barone and Iris were huddled together, talking quietly. Someone had brought the ride to a stop, and I had a sudden yearning for fresh sea air. “Hey, can we blow this joint, sis?”

  “Yup,” Sofia said. “Danny’s on his way. And he gave me strict orders to get you the heck out of here. He said you can answer questions later or tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  We headed out onto the deserted boardwalk in silence. We had reached the street ramp when Sofia turned to me. “By the way, did you call me sis? What happened to SIL?”

  “Ah, you were always more of a sister than a SIL to me. Might as well call it what it is, right?”

  “Okay, then,” she said, “sis it is.”

  I linked my arm through hers as we walked down the ramp together. “And sis it will always be.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  In the restaurant the next day, I sat at the family table, one parent on either side of me, each with a death grip on my hands.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, honey?” my mother asked.

  I disengaged my hands as gently as possible. “Except for some very sore legs, I’m fine.”

  “You were so brave, sweetheart,” my father said. “Facing down that old wiseguy.”

  “No, I wasn’t, Dad, not really. I was cornered and didn’t have a choice. Even Danny knows I didn’t want to get involved with this one.” I shook my head. “In a way, it was Father Tom who provided the key. Pete had confessed his blackmailing activities, possibly even named Domenica as someone he was afraid of. Father Tom knew Pete was in danger. And me, too,” I added. “That’s why he came looking for me last night.”

  “I’ll bet you were so relieved to see him,” my mom said.

  “Uh, relieved doesn’t begin to describe it, Mom.” I thought it better not to share that I’d considered our kindly—and heroic—priest a murder suspect. Some confessions were better kept secret.

  My dad grinned. “Sure woulda liked to see Father Tom throw that punch. Once a Golden Glove, always a Golden Glove, I guess. So, what do you think, baby?” he continued. “Did Barone hire Domenica to knock off Pete?”

  “That’s still unclear. But he bears some responsibility, ethically, if not legally.” I sighed. “I’m just glad it’s over.” I looked out onto the quiet street bathed in sunshine. “Gosh, the storm, the party, the power outage, Pete’s murder—it feels like a million years ago.”

  My mom patted my cheek. “And we got through it all. Oh, that reminds me, hon. Florence called with a message for you.” She pursed her lips, clearly trying not to smile. “She says Thanks for nothing.”

  I let out a huff. “Okay, so maybe I harassed her and her sneaky son, but it was for a good reason. He was the one who messed up our computers, by the way.”

  “I wondered about that,” my mom said. “But according to his mother, he’s off to MIT, s
o God bless him.” She shook her head. “I still feel responsible for what happened to you, Victoria. I asked you to look into Pete’s death.”

  “But it was my own curiosity that set things in motion. Then I got cold feet.”

  “And I hope you have learned your lesson.” My grandmother stood over me, her arms crossed.

  “I have, Nonna,” I said obediently.

  “You better have,” boomed my brother’s voice from the doorway. At least he was smiling. And Sofia was with him, so I’d have my backup.

  My mom jumped up to greet them, ushering them quickly to the table to sit down. “How nice to see you both,” she said. “Will you have something to eat?”

  Sofia and Danny exchanged a look. “Ah, that’s good of you, Ma, but Sofia’s mother is with us and she’s cooking right now.”

  “Oh, Lucia’s here,” my mother said, her smile tight and forced. “How nice.”

  I glanced at my brother, who merely raised an eyebrow. Now that Sofia’s formidable mother, Lucia Delmonico, was in town, there wasn’t a room big enough to hold the two prospective grandmothers—not to mention Nonna.

  “She sends her best, by the way,” Sofia said quickly.

  “And give our best back to her,” Nonna said. But Nonna’s best could mean a number things. Time for a change of subject, subito.

  I turned to my brother. “So, Danny, what can you tell us? Has Domenica talked?”

  “Nope,” Danny said. “He’s lawyered up but good. But that accident story he told won’t hold up.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, Prosecutor Sutton suggested we look at the clothes Pete was wearing that night.”

  My mom’s expression was puzzled. “His clothes? Why?”

  “She had a hunch.” He glanced at me and frowned. “From looking at some other things of Pete’s that had, uh, come into her possession. I don’t know if you guys remember, but Pete was wearing a white T-shirt that night.”

  I wrinkled my nose instinctively. “Yeah, and it was pretty gross.”

  “It was dirty,” Danny agreed. “But not so dirty that you couldn’t see a shoe mark on the back of it. A mark that matches Domenica’s size shoe.” He held up his hand. “And before you ask, Vic, Barone’s feet are bigger.”

  I shuddered. “But that means—”

  “That means Domenica either kicked Pete over or used his foot to hold him down in the water,” Sofia piped up.

  My grandmother pressed her palms together. “Oh Dio,” she said, and crossed herself.

  “How awful,” my mother whispered.

  “It sure is,” my dad said, shaking his head. “And I still wonder whether Barone put him up to it.”

  “Dan, we all heard Domenica say that Barone had visited him at the country club,” I said.

  My brother shrugged. “Don’t prove a thing, sis. The guy claims he was down there to play golf. He also said that he gave Pete money from time to time because he felt sorry for him. Claimed he had absolutely nothing to hide about his great-grandfather’s organization. Unless Domenica gives him up, I don’t think we can touch Barone.”

  “You know what?” I said. “I think Barone is far too smart to explicitly ask Domenica to kill Pete. Just letting him know that Pete was talking about the past would have been enough.”

  “I don’t understand,” my mom said. “What do you mean by talking about the past?”

  “Actually, I have something to show you guys that I think will explain it.” I opened the folder and spread out the documents about Zio Roberto. While my parents exclaimed over each one, my grandmother read them in silence.

  “Victoria,” she asked, “may I see that Atlantic City book again, please?”

  “The page is marked,” I said, pushing it across the table.

  She opened it, stared, and shook her head. “That could be you, Frank,” she said, pointing to Robert Riese.

  “Or even you, Dan,” Sofia said. “In a certain light.”

  “It’s crazy, eh?” my dad said, shaking his head. “And a little creepy, too, when you think about what happened to the guy.”

  My mom squeezed his hand. “There but for the grace of God, right, honey? But that resemblance is remarkable,” she said. “Imagine him living only miles away from your father. Maybe it’s better he never knew that his brother survived all those years.”

  Nonna nodded. “I agree, Nicolina. It’s better this way.” At that, my father and I exchanged an amused look. It was a rare day when Nonna agreed with my mother about anything. She closed the book and passed it back to me. “The question now is: How do we go about giving him a decent burial and putting up a stone with his real name on it?”

  “You wanna do that, Ma?” my father asked, a note of surprise in his voice.

  Nonna pressed her palms together and rocked them up and down—Italian for how could you even ask me such a thing? “Certo, Frank. It’s our responsibility. He’s family. Is he supposed to stay in that place where he doesn’t know anybody?”

  I didn’t feel the need to remind my grandmother that Zio Roberto was dead, and wasn’t exactly in the market for friends. But I understood what she meant. She wanted him buried near his brother and parents for a reunion in the afterlife, an existence in which she believed fervently.

  “Well,” I said, “after spending so many years in a place he didn’t belong—for a crime he didn’t commit—it seems only right to let him spend eternity with some company.”

  Nonna shot me a suspicious look, clearly wondering if I was being “smart” with her. I merely smiled and asked Danny how we would go about getting a body moved.

  “That’s settled, then,” Nonna said, “and we will organize a memorial service.” Her eyes bored into my own, as if she was daring me to dispute her. But I understood the need for closure, both for Pete and for Zio Roberto. It was time they both rested in peace.

  * * *

  I was in the kitchen, happy to be doing the mundane tasks of lunch prep, when Cal pushed through the back door and dropped his toolbox with a thud. He crossed the kitchen in two quick strides and grabbed my hands.

  “You okay, Victoria?”

  I nodded. “I’m fine, really.” I couldn’t help grinning at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move so fast.”

  “I felt terrible when I heard what happened. I listened to that message, and it made me feel plain helpless.” He bent his head, touching his forehead to mine. “I couldn’ta lived with myself if somethin’ had happened to you.”

  “Well, here I am, in one piece. And glad to be so.” I looked into those warm green eyes, so full of concern and tenderness. This guy cares for you. And you have some feelings for him. But it’s time for the truth. “Hey, Cal,” I asked, “that toy I found—it belongs to a child, doesn’t it? Your child, by any chance?”

  He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, his eyes now sad. “Yes, cher. The toy was my daughter’s. But I haven’t seen her in years.” He shook his head. “Her mother took off with her right after Katrina. I’ve spent years travelin’ up and down the East Coast looking for them. And everywhere I go, I get a room ready for her.” He shook his head. “I know she ain’t a baby anymore, but I hold on to that toy. It’s all I got.”

  “When you take off on those errands of yours—you’re looking for her, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “They’re somewhere in the Northeast. I know that much anyway.”

  I took his hand. “I’m so sorry, Cal. It must be awful to know she’s out there.”

  “That’s why I need to leave town, and for a good long while. ’Cause I plan to find her this time, hell or high water.” He put his arms around me and, for a moment, held me close to him. “I know I should have told you, Victoria. It was selfish not to. I couldn’t ask you to throw in with a guy like me. And I’m sorry for it.”

  I
was sorry. Sorry for so many things. For the loss of his friendship. For a relationship that never quite materialized, and never could, not while Tim was still so much a part of my history. Face it, Vic. Tim took up occupancy in your heart half a lifetime ago, leaving little room for anybody else. Even somebody as attractive and decent as Cal Lockhart.

  “I know,” I said. “Me, too.” I cupped Cal’s face with my hands. “You’re such a good guy. That ex-wife of yours must be crazy.” I kissed him once, lightly. “And I care about you; I really do. But you and I both know the timing isn’t right. And you have a claim on you that goes much deeper than a relationship of a couple of months. But you’ve been a true friend to me, and I’ll miss you.” I blinked as the tears rose in my eyes. “I hope you find her, Cal. It’s been wonderful knowing you.”

  “Same here, cher.” He tightened his arms around me and I rested my head against his chest, a little sad and a little sorry, my heart bruised, but not broken.

  Just then the kitchen doors banged open. Tim halted in the doorway, his face reddened in anger and his mouth curled with disgust. “Why don’t you two get a room?”

  “Don’t talk to me that way, Tim!” But the words were barely out before Cal cut across me and faced him. He lifted his chin, clearly not intimidated by the three inches Tim had on him.

  “You know, I’ve just about had it with you. You owe her an apology,” Cal said through his teeth.

  “Is that so, big man?” Tim said. “You gonna make me?”

  They stood chest-to-chest, Cal with his hands already curled into fists. Tim tore off his chef coat, ripping off two buttons in the process.

  I looked from one to the other, my mouth gaping wide. “Are you out of your minds? You’re acting like idiots. Cut it out!”

  “Stay out of this, Vic,” Tim growled.

  “This is between him and me, cher,” Cal said.

  “Fine,” I said. “The testosterone levels are reaching toxicity anyway. You can kill each other for all I care.” But those were perhaps the wrong words to use at that moment.