The Seven-Course Christmas Killer: A Holiday Novella from the Italian Kitchen (An Italian Kitchen Mystery)

by Rosie Genova

  I leaned over and ran a finger over the top step; the substance glistened. I took a sniff and held my finger to Sofia’s nose. “Olive oil,” she said. “Maybe a bottle fell?”

  “I don’t see any broken glass. Or a puddle on the floor.” I shook my head. “I think if someone really wanted to cause Anne’s accident, they tampered with this thing when it was out near the Christmas tree.”

  “There are dipping bowls full of oil on every table,” Sofia said. “So anyone had the means to do this. But who was near the tree?”

  “Only everybody,” I groaned. “They all dropped off presents—so where do we start?”

  “Didn’t you say Massi served the first course? Maybe he saw something?”

  “He also hates Anne. And the feeling seems to be mutual.” I met Sofia’s startled gaze. “You don’t think . . . ?”

  “No, but what do I always say? Everybody’s a suspect. Massi had means and motive. You have to find out what he knows.”

  “Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll talk to him. You go use the bathroom. Then we’ll meet back here in the hallway.”

  “Got it,” Sofia said, giving me a high five that made me wobble in my heels.

  In the kitchen, Tim and Nando were too busy plating the scungilli salad to notice me. Chef Massimo hovered behind them; I tapped lightly on his arm.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Chef, but I need to speak with you about something.”

  “Can it not wait, Victoria?” he said, frowning. “We are quite busy, as you can see.”

  “It can’t wait.”

  “Two minutes,” he said, holding up his fingers. “Now, what is so urgent?”

  “Were you out in the dining room when Anne had her accident?”

  His eyes slid away as he shook his head. “I was back in the kitchen. Though of course I heard about it. She’s not hurt?”

  “Not badly, but I’m not sure what happened was an accident. There was olive oil smeared all over the step stool.”

  He lifted his chin. “That did not happen in my kitchen.”

  “Well, if it didn’t happen in the kitchen, then someone used olive oil from one of the tables to rig that stool so that it was dangerous, knowing Anne would step on it. When you were serving, did you notice anyone near the Christmas tree?”

  He frowned. “The reporter, I think. Perhaps other people leaving gifts. But I was serving, Victoria. My focus was on my food, and my food only.”

  “What about you?” I asked quietly. “Were you near the tree?”

  “How long have you known me? I know what you are implying. Yes, I revile her, but I would not hurt her. You must believe me, cara,” he said, shaking my arm, his eyes fearful.

  “Massi, you seem awfully upset—why is that?”

  He swiped his hand across his forehead and glanced back at Tim and Nando. “I . . . well, Anne and I were involved. For a short time only. It was a mistake, believe me, the worst of my life in fact, and so it might appear—”

  “That you’d want to hurt her.” Chef Massimo and Anne McCrae had to be the oddest couple along the Jersey shore, but I had no time to ponder how and why they’d come together. “Do you know where she lives? Have you been to her house?”

  He swallowed audibly, and his flushed face was not just a reaction to the heat in the kitchen. “Yes, I have been to her home.”

  So he could have rigged the plant to fall and left her car in neutral. I tapped my phone and squinted at the document on my screen. But he’d been nowhere near that town council meeting, which was scheduled on a Thursday, our busiest weeknight and one that our executive chef never missed. “Thanks, Massi. I appreciate your honesty.”

  Out in the hallway, I shared the gist of the conversation with Sofia, who wrinkled her perfect little nose. “Holy cannoli, Massi and Anne McCrae gettin’ busy—now there’s an image I won’t be able to shake any time soon.”

  “True, but at least we can rule him out.” I pulled out my phone and deleted Massi’s name while Sofia peered over my shoulder.

  “And then there were five,” she said.

  Chapter Three

  Scungilli Salad

  “Right,” I said. “Five here tonight. But which of them would have had access to her house and car, too? Because it makes sense to assume that the person who’s after her did all three things.”

  “Well, every one of them lives in town and would likely know her address,” Sofia said. “Hmm. I get how someone could sneak into her yard and mess with the plant hook. But a locked car?”

  “Maybe one of them stole her car key and had one made,” I offered.

  “They’d need time to do that. And she’d miss it, right?” She shook her head. “I’m betting someone broke into it. I’ve seen her car. It’s an older model, so it wouldn’t be that hard to do.”

  “However they did it doesn’t matter at this point. We’re losing time.” I squinted at my screen. “Hey, you have a business in town. Do you know anything about Robert Lonegan?”

  “I know of him—he’s a real estate broker,” Sofia said. “Big Irish guy, lots of white hair. I don’t think he and Anne have agreed on one issue in all the years she’s been in office.” She frowned. “I vaguely remember questions raised about conflict of interest. Something to do with a real estate deal and his position on town council.”

  “Good to know. But we’ve got to get back to the table. In a little while, we’ll excuse ourselves. You find a quiet corner to do a search on your phone and I’ll try to interview him. And then we’ll meet back and see where we are. I’ll text you.”

  When we returned to the table, Sofia planted a big kiss on Danny’s cheek, rendering him temporarily starry-eyed. But it wouldn’t be long before the spell wore off and my perceptive brother would wonder what we were up to. We had to tread carefully.

  When Tim came out to serve the seafood salad, I will admit to a small thrill of pride. As he made the rounds of the tables, I admired his tall, rangy form and engaging grin. As did, apparently, Nina LaGuardia, who seemed to hold his attention just a bit too long. Boy, was I looking forward to her interview. When Tim reached our table, he served Anne first, who ate a few bites before putting down her fork. Brad tapped Tim on the arm.

  “Would you mind telling me what kind of fish that is?” he asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

  “Scungilli,” Tim said. “In English, that would be sea snail.”

  Brad put both hands over his plate. “No, thank you.”

  “I’ll pass, too, Tim,” I said.

  He let out a sigh. “You’re breaking my heart.”

  “Not the first time,” I said with a grin. “Oh, and by the way—if Nina wants seconds, tell her no.”

  “I already did,” he whispered, and took the empty tray back into the kitchen.

  Still smiling, I looked up to see a scowling Nonna. “Be a professional, Victoria,” she hissed. “He is our employee.” She looked over at Anne, her expression suddenly soft and her voice sweet. “Is the scungilli to your liking, Mayor McCrae? The kitchen can make you something else.”

  “It’s fine, Mrs. Rienzi. I seem to have less of an appetite than usual,” she said, shooting me a meaningful look.

  I folded my napkin, slipped my phone into my dress pocket and got to my feet. “I think I’ll go circulate.”

  “Me, too,” Sofia said hastily. “They have soft drinks at the bar, right?”

  “I’ll get you one, hon,” Danny said. “You shouldn’t be on your feet so much.”

  “Better to keep moving,” she said over her shoulder. “Gotta keep those ankles from swelling!”

  “Your ankles are perfect,” I said into her ear.

  “Of course they are.” She pulled out her phone. “Where’s the best place to get reception?”

  “My mom’s office, across from the restrooms. Hey, can you point out Lonegan to me?”

  “He happens to be at the bar, so you should be able to corner him.”

  I spotted his shock of white hair as he waited in
line for a drink. “So he is. Wish me luck.”

  “Luck,” she said. “Meet me in the bathroom in five.”

  I fought the urge to make a beeline for Lonegan—too obvious—so I made the rounds at a few tables, chatting with patrons, until I found myself within a few feet of him.

  “Can I get you something, sweetheart?” he asked in a hearty tone.

  Despite my gritted teeth, I managed a tight smile. “Just a sparkling water, thanks. You’re Mr. Lonegan, aren’t you?” I reached out my hand. “Victoria Rienzi.”

  “Ah, you’re Frank’s daughter—the lady author.” He grabbed my hand in a death grip.

  Sweetheart. Lady author. This guy sure had a way with women. “Guilty on both counts. I just wanted to say hello and thank you for coming.”

  “It’s our pleasure. Me and the missus believe in supporting local charities. And these things are a great way to network. Here’s your water, by the way.”

  “You serve on the town council, don’t you? My dad and grandmother attend the meetings faithfully.”

  “I know that. They love to push back on Anne’s crazy notions. Does my heart good,” he said with a wink. “She needs to be taken down a peg or two.”

  So he didn’t like uppity women. I found myself in Anne’s corner on this one. “You know,” I said, “I’d always thought the town meetings were boring, but apparently not. So . . . anything interesting happen at the last one?” Like ground glass in the mayor’s salad?

  “Nope. Same old same old. You didn’t miss much.” He leaned closer. “But apparently I did.”

  “At the meeting?”

  “No, at this dinner,” he said, dropping his voice. “I missed the big moment when our lady mayor ‘kicked off’ the evening. Heard she kicked herself right off a ladder putting the star on your tree.”

  “So you weren’t here when she fell?”

  He shook his head, barely able to hide his disappointment. “I got here late. Guess I’ll have to see the pictures in the paper tomorrow.” He raised his glass. “Nice meeting you, Victoria.” I watched as he settled back in his seat at table six, nearest the Christmas tree.

  Was he lying to cover himself? I closed my eyes, straining to remember. He hadn’t been in the crowd when Anne had first come in; that much was true. The mayor had gotten there around 6:20, and we’d had the first course. So she probably fell at around 6:45 or so. But when had Lonegan come in? My eyes strayed to Nina LaGuardia and the camera she had slung over her shoulder.

  “Hey, Nina,” I said as I walked over. “Did you get some good shots tonight?”

  She raised a penciled brow. “You bet I did. I captured the entire debacle. Even got one of her airborne.”

  “If you can contain your glee for a moment, I wondered if you had any other pictures. You know, candid shots of the guests at the tables, that sort of thing?”

  “You didn’t hire me, Victoria, the paper did. If you want pictures, take your own.”

  “Can I just see what you’ve got?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my tone.

  She rolled her eyes and handed me the camera. “Your hands better be clean. Hit the button with the arrow on it.”

  I scanned through the pictures, noting the time stamps. Lonegan was in two, both of which were taken after seven p.m. Which tended to support his story, but still didn’t rule him out.

  “So I have a question,” I said as I handed Nina her camera. “You’ve been pretty much near the tree most of the evening.” With a clear view of table six. “Did you notice when the big guy with the white hair came in?”

  She let out a bored sigh. “If you mean the real estate mogul and town councilman who calls strange women sweetheart, yes, I do. It wasn’t long after Anne fell, because I heard him say he ‘missed all the fun.’” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to, Victoria?”

  “Not a thing,” I said as I scurried away. “Just keeping track of our guests.”

  Lame, Vic. Not to mention stupid. Knowing Nina, she’d be on high alert the rest of night, particularly if she thought there was a bigger story behind Anne’s fall.

  Back in the ladies’ room, Sofia and I debriefed. “There’s not much there,” she said. “He looks clean, and I can’t seem to find anything that points to a definite motive. Aside from their personal hostility, anyway.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He wasn’t even here when she fell. I confirmed it with Nina.”

  “So I guess he’s out. Hey, you didn’t tip her off, did you?”

  “I hope not.” I looked at my watch. “We’ve got an hour and a half left to find out who’s after Anne McCrae, or the Casa Lido is looking at a lawsuit.”

  “Who’s left?”

  I ticked off my fingers. “Gale Spaulding. Jeff Kuchinski. Jeannette Powers. And Nina.”

  Sofia frowned. “Hang on, Vic. You said Nina blames Anne for losing her job at the TV station, so she’s got a motive. And she could have gone to her house. And she had plenty of time to oil that step stool when she was stationed by the Christmas tree.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But she’s not on the list for the town council meeting.”

  “I know that. But I feel like we can’t rule her out. You should have heard the way she talked about Anne. Seen the look of hatred on her face. She could easily have gone to town hall and put the glass in her salad.”

  “The trick is proving it,” Sofia said. “Well, at least we’ve got two down.”

  “And counting Nina, four to go,” I answered. But something was nagging at me. Something I missed.

  Chapter Four

  Scallops a la Casa

  I was up next to serve the scallops. It was no great honor, as they were plated inside the kitchen and all I had to do was sling them. Gracefully, of course. And I would use the opportunity to observe the rest of our suspects. Once I was done, I would find a way to chat with Gale. I was backing out of the kitchen, wobbling with the weight of the heavy tray, when I heard my grandmother behind me.

  “Victoria, you are to start at table six and then make your way back here, serving the mayor first.”

  “I know, Nonna,” I said, attempting to steady the tray.

  “And do not drop a dish. Do you have any idea what scallops cost?”

  “I won’t.” I hope.

  “And the minute that tray is empty, you return to the kitchen for the next round. Is that understood?” She peered at me over the top of her glasses.

  “Yes. But they’re going to be cold if you don’t let me start.”

  She muttered a reply and I followed her back out to the dining room. As I served the delicious, perfectly seared scallops—I’d had mine in the kitchen—I scanned the tables, noting where our suspects were sitting. When I reached Gale’s table, she greeted me warmly, and I had a pang of guilt knowing I’d have to interrogate her.

  “I’ll stop back for a chat after I finish serving,” I told her.

  “Looking forward to it!” she called. Me, not so much.

  Back at our table, I followed Nonna’s instructions to the letter and started with the mayor. “Seared scallops, Anne?” I asked.

  “Yes, thank you.” I set down her plate and she gripped my arm. “By the way, Victoria, how is your latest project coming? I look forward to hearing all about it.”

  “Uh, fine, thanks.” So she expected a progress report. I avoided Sofia’s eye as I put plates down, but my brother was looking at me steadily. His eyes ranged to Anne, to Sofia, and back to me, one eyebrow raising in a question. I gave a tiny shrug and hurried back to the kitchen with the empty tray.

  Sofia was waiting for me outside the doors. “Who’s next?” she whispered.

  “Gale Spaulding. But it’s ridiculous to think she has anything to do with it.”

  “You never know, Vic. Just because she’s your friend, you can’t assume she’s not capable of this. So what do you want me to do?”

  “Go back and sit down. Danny’s already suspicious. But if you get a chance, watch ot
her people we know were at that town council meeting: Powers and Kuchinski. And see if you can place Nina at town hall the day of the meeting.”

  “I still think Nina’s a stretch. But I’ll try.”

  I was thinking about how to approach Gale when Anne hijacked me in the hallway. “What have you found out?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “I saw you talking to Lonegan. He hates me.”

  “Maybe so, but he wasn’t even here when you fell. And—” I had trouble meeting her eye for this one. I took a breath. “Chef Massimo was here in the restaurant the day of the meeting.”

  Her cheeks reddened, and she, too, looked away. “He has reason to be angry with me. But he would never hurt me. Not in . . . that way.”

  So Anne McCrae was human after all. For about thirty seconds, anyway. “Focus on the people at that meeting,” she hissed. “It’s one of them. It has to be.”

  I wasn’t in the dining room for more than a few minutes when Gale found me. “Here,” she said, handing me a glass of wine. “You look like you could use a break.”

  “Thanks.” I looked at her kind, open face and hesitated. Plunge in, Vic. You have an hour to avoid a lawsuit for the restaurant. “So, Gale—what’s happening with the plans for library?”

  “It’s so exciting. We’re adding shelf space to expand children’s services. A big airy gallery when you walk in. And a book lift—so we don’t have to lug books up two flights. Oh, and an elevator, a bigger circulation desk. And a workroom for the librarians.”

  “Wow, that all sounds great. So what’s the timeline?”

  She sighed. “We’ve just finished the expansion and renovation study—it’s up on the website if you’d like to read it—and we were hoping to break ground in a year. But the mayor is balking at the cost.” Her face tightened. “I mean, really. How can she not understand how important a library is to a small community like ours?”

  “I’m sure you’ve tried to tell her.” Hopefully not by leaving her car in neutral.

  “Honey, let me count the ways. Anne McCrae simply doesn’t get it.” She cocked her head and looked at me over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses. “But she will after tonight.”