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

by Rosie Genova

  “I don’t understand.”

  She narrowed her eyes and rubbed her hands together, looking nothing like the mild-mannered librarian I thought I knew. “Let’s just say I think I’ve found a way to convince her to come around to my way of thinking.”

  “Gale,” I said, “you wouldn’t . . . threaten her in any way?”

  “Ah,” she said, smiling. “You’re wondering if I smeared olive oil on that step stool, aren’t you?”

  No poker player, my eyes widened and my mouth gaped. “No, I . . . no! Of course not. Wait, how did you know?”

  “After she fell, I noticed how shiny it was. Somebody was trying very hard to embarrass her, and it worked. But it wasn’t me.” She gave me a little jab in the ribs. “But I had you going there, didn’t I?”

  “Of course not. Well, maybe for a minute.” I lowered my voice and leaned closer to her. “It’s just that—what happened tonight wasn’t the first prank. And she’s really spooked. She thinks someone’s out to get her.”

  “Well, if I had to pick somebody, it might be Kuchinski. He’s a rough-and-tumble type. And he’s got a short fuse.”

  “Where’s he sitting?”

  “Over there.” She pointed. “Table three.”

  “Young guy with the mustache?”

  “He’s not so young, but yes, that’s him.”

  I sighed. “I guess I’ll tackle him next.”

  Gale looked at me closely. “She’s putting pressure on you, isn’t she? To find out who’s doing this to her?”

  “She sure is. I solve this for her or she sues the restaurant for her fall.”

  She shook her head. “She really is despicable. I almost wish I had oiled that stool.”

  “She’s desperate and scared, Gale. I actually feel sorry for her.”

  “Well, that makes one of us.” She patted my shoulder. “Good luck. I’m looking forward to the next course.”

  But I wasn’t, because that meant we were halfway through dinner. Anne wasn’t the only one who was desperate. We still had to interview two more suspects. Time was getting tight. And I couldn’t shake that nagging feeling that there was something I was overlooking.

  “I’ve been watching you, Victoria.” I jumped at the sound of the sharp voice behind me. There was Nina, arms crossed and her narrow gaze trained on me like a laser. “You had a chat with Lonegan and another one with Gale Spaulding.”

  “So? It’s part of my job. They’re our guests.”

  She leaned close enough for me to smell her perfume. “They’re also two of a number of people here tonight who hate Anne McCrae. I wonder who else you’ll be socializing with? I think I might start taking names.”

  And once she did, it wouldn’t take her long to see what they all had in common. And she’d be convinced there was a story there—a much better one than the mayor taking a fall at a Christmas party. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nina.”

  “Oh, I think you do.” She gave me the two-fingered I’ve got my eye on you as she backed away. Great, I thought. Now I’ve got Nina’s beady little eyes on me for the rest of the night.

  I looked up to see Sofia waving me down from across the dining room. “Hey. Gale’s in the clear,” she said when I reached her.

  “I know. I talked to her. She’s not capable of this anyway.”

  “Will you never learn?” she asked, exasperated. “Anyone is capable of anything under the right circumstances. But I did some digging and found out she was at a conference the week Anne’s car was messed with. So we can officially take her off the list.”

  “That’s a relief,” I said, deleting her name.

  “What did Nina want? Besides having every guy in the place falling all over her?”

  “She noticed me talking to Lonegan and Gale. She’s starting to put it together.”

  “Not good,” she said, shaking her head. “She can’t find out we’re looking at her, too.”

  “I know. Listen, I want to look at the guest list again to see if there’s something we missed. It’s over on the podium.”

  I opened our guest book and took a quick picture of the page for future reference. It was then I remembered my Christmas gift from Tim—and figured I should probably move it somewhere safe. I reached into the podium and my fingers closed around . . . nothing. Using the light on my phone, I ducked my head to look inside. There were two pencils, a pen, and some dust. And that was all. I lifted my head in slow motion.

  “What’s the matter?” Sofia asked.

  “My Christmas gift from Tim. It’s missing.”

  “You think it was stolen?”

  I gulped. “Yes. I’m sure it was.”

  “Listen, Vic, I know you’re upset, but you can worry about your missing gift later. We don’t have time for this. We have to get cracking.”

  “You don’t understand, Sofe. My present—it was a knife,” I said, my voice shaking. “A very big, very sharp kitchen knife. And now it’s gone.”

  Chapter Five

  Clams Casino

  “Oh, my God,” Sofia whispered.

  “Exactly. Bad enough I’ve got Anne on my back and Nina sniffing around. But much worse is the idea that the same sicko who’s terrorizing Anne might now have a knife.”

  “What’s this about a knife?” The familiar baritone sent my heart racing—and not in a good way.

  “Holy crap, Danny!” I said, slapping my hand to my chest. “Do not sneak up on a person.”

  “I wouldn’t have to if ‘the person’ wasn’t so sneaky herself.” My brother planted his feet in his favorite cop stance. “You two wanna tell me what’s going on?”

  “Sweetie, isn’t your dad about to serve the clams?” Sofia linked her arm through his and smiled up at him in her most winning fashion. But he wasn’t having it.

  “The clams can wait, babe. I’ve been watching the two of you get up and down from that table like jack-in-the-boxes for the last half hour. Vic, why don’t you start by explaining your reference to ‘a very big, very sharp knife,’” he said, making air quotes to emphasize he’d heard me clearly.

  “Oh, that.” I glanced nervously at Sofia. “Well, Tim gave me a really expensive chef knife for Christmas and . . . I can’t remember where I put it. And I don’t want him to know, okay, Dan?”

  He frowned. “How can you not remember where you put it? Maybe it got mixed up with the gifts under the tree?”

  My brother had a point. If someone had taken it—the same someone who was after Anne—putting it under the tree would be the best way to hide it. Until they needed it. The thought made me shudder. “Oh, you’re probably right,” I told him. “Good idea. I’ll look there.” I started to walk away but Danny pulled me back.

  “Not so fast, sis. What else is going on?”

  I looked from him to Sofia, who gave me a slight smile. Then she patted Danny’s arm. “Hon,” she said, “we didn’t want to worry you or your parents, but Anne McCrae is making noises about a lawsuit. So Vic’s been kind of interviewing some of the guests who saw her fall. While everybody’s memory is fresh.”

  Good job, Sofia. Stick as close to the truth as possible. “I made some notes in my phone,” I said. “Just in case we have to hire a lawyer. God forbid,” I added hurriedly, crossing myself for good measure.

  “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. But don’t tell Ma and Pop,” he said, shaking his finger at me.

  “I can safely promise you that I will tell nobody what I’m doing.”

  Sofia tugged on Danny’s arm. “Let’s go sit, hon. We don’t want to miss the clams, do we?”

  As they walked away, Sofia looked back over her shoulder. Text me, she mouthed, and I nodded.

  I marched over to the Christmas tree, willing the long velvet box to be somewhere underneath it. No one seemed to be paying attention to me rummaging around under there, so I took my time. There were boxes piled high, most wrapped in paper appropriate for kids’ gifts. It has to be here, I thought. It has to be. But as I shoved
the stacks aside, it became increasingly clear that it wasn’t. I’d gone through every gift, but my knife wasn’t among them. I was still on my knees in front of the tree, butt in the air, when I heard an amused male voice behind me.

  “Need any help down there?”

  Startled, I lifted my head, knocking two ornaments from the bottom branches. “Uh, I’m good,” I said. I replaced the ornaments and backed out from under the tree. Before I realized it, Jeff Kuchinski had my hand and was pulling me to my feet.

  “Thanks,” I said, brushing tree needles from my dress.

  “What were you doing down there?” he asked, smiling in a too-familiar manner.

  “Just looking for something. But it wasn’t there.” Jeff Kuchinski was a big guy, as tall as Tim, but broader and barrel-chested. And he was attractive in a 1970s sort of way. He wore his dark blond hair to his shoulders and sported a droopy mustache. His hands were work-worn, his face tan, even in December. As a developer and former construction worker, he’d likely have ways to get into a locked car. He was at the last town council meeting. And he’d been here when she fell. But as he lifted me to my feet, I noticed something else—he was wearing a knee brace. “I’m Victoria Rienzi, by the way,” I said. “I think you know my dad.”

  “Everybody knows your dad. He throws a nice party. The food’s been great.”

  “I’m glad you like it, Mr. Kuchinski.”

  “Jeff, please,” he said, still holding my hand. “Hey, why don’t you stop back at my table after this course?” He winked. “I’m all by my lonesome tonight.”

  “Uh, will do,” I said, slipping my hand from his. Literally. When I opened my palm, there was a telltale sheen of oil. I grabbed a napkin from the bar to wipe it off, telling myself he could just be a sloppy eater. Or he could be a dangerous man who was in possession of my missing Christmas gift.

  I stood in the middle of our dining room and took in all the cozy details. The red-checked tablecloths. The fresh greens and cranberry garlands. My mother’s lovely tree. But there was a long, knife-shaped shadow looming over this holiday glow. I shivered, already regretting I hadn’t told my brother the truth. He was the professional. He should be handling this. With the knife missing, it wasn’t a game anymore, and whether Anne liked it or not, I was going to get Danny’s help. I turned abruptly and strode back to our table, determined to tell him everything. But when I got there, his seat was empty. “Where’s Danny?” I asked, my heart sinking.

  “He got called out—can you believe it?” my mom asked.

  “A fire,” Sofia explained. “Someone’s Christmas tree. Nobody was hurt, though.” She met my eyes and I could tell that she was worried, too. But not about Danny. About us.

  “Thank God,” Nonna said. “But it’s too bad Daniel has to miss the last few courses.”

  Yes, I thought. It was too bad. Because now we were on our own.

  • • •

  Once the clams were served, I found yet another excuse to leave the table. It wasn’t long before I felt a hard tap on my shoulder.

  “I saw you talking to Gale Spaulding,” Anne said. “Did you learn anything? Is she behind these attacks on me?”

  I tried to keep the exasperation from my voice. “No, of course not.”

  “Well, somebody is,” she hissed.

  “I’m doing my best,” I hissed back. “Can you just let me get on with it?”

  She pointed a warning finger in my face. “I can ruin this restaurant with a lawsuit. Remember that, Victoria.”

  Not likely to forget it, Anne, I thought as she walked away. Brad had come to find her and I watched the two of them, deep in conversation. Had she confided in her assistant? Brad was attentive, his expression concerned as he led her back to their table. If I get a minute, I thought, I should talk to him and see what he knows. But right now my attention was focused elsewhere—on the grinning, mustachioed contractor who was beckoning me to his table.

  Before I could sit down, he handed me a glass of wine. “Here you go. And take a load off,” he said, patting the chair next to him.

  I sat, feeling awkward and unaccountably nervous. “Thank you.”

  “Cheers.” He clinked my glass with his and took a healthy slug of whiskey. “So you’re Frank’s daughter,” he said, leaning close. “I see the resemblance. So where’s he been hiding you?”

  “Actually, I grew up here, but I’ve spent most of the last decade in Manhattan. I’m back to do some research for a book.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Oh, right—you’re the author. Geez, you probably got some material here tonight, don’t you? You could tell quite a story.” He lifted his glass in Nina’s direction, who merely glowered at him. “Unless the hot reporter beats you to it.”

  “You mean Anne’s accident?”

  “What else?” He shook his head. “She’s a piece of work, that one. She thinks she can control every political move in this town.” He continued complaining about Anne, launching into the story of his aborted project, a boardwalk arcade. Apparently at Anne’s urging, the town had denied him a permit. As he went on and on about her snobbery, her heavy-handedness, her hatred of men (little did he know), I found myself staring at his shirt. Specifically at a grease stain that appeared to be about chest-high. As though he’d leaned against something oily—perhaps a step stool covered in imported olio d’oliva.

  There was only one way to ascertain what kind of oil had stained his clothing, and that was to sniff it. Unfortunately. Ever so slowly I inched my chair closer to his. He was still railing about Anne, and barely noticed that my nose was level with his third shirt button. It was olive oil, pure and simple, with no fish smell at all. I was pulling back when I met a pair of dark brown eyes.

  “You wanna tell me what’s going on down there?” he asked.

  “Oh, sorry. It’s just . . . your aftershave. It smells nice.”

  “Well, thanks, but I’m not wearing any.” He lifted a brow. “Must be my natural scent. Listen, Victoria, you’re a really attractive woman, but I’m in a relationship and—”

  “And you were indulging in a bit of flirting. So I shouldn’t get any ideas, is that it?” I asked, a smile spreading across my face. Let him think he had charmed me.

  “My fault entirely,” he said.

  “Understood.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I have a boyfriend, myself. He’s one of our chefs.”

  “Well, send him my compliments. On his taste in food, and in women,” he said with a grin.

  “Will do.” At the moment, I was kind of liking Jeff Kuchinski. But that didn’t stop me from grilling him further. “By the way, what happened to you?” I asked, pointing to black nylon brace.

  He stretched out his leg and winced. “Torn ACL. I play in a rugby league on weekends.”

  “That’s tough. So how long have you been wearing the brace?”

  “Since my surgery in November.”

  November. So there was no way he would have climbed Anne’s steep driveway to break into her car. Sure wish I’d known that before I practically buried my nose in his shirt. I gave Kuchinski a winning smile. “So how long were you out of commission?”

  “A month. But I have a great GC—general contractor—and he kept things running smooth. The guy’s loyal to a fault.”

  Interesting choice of words there, Jeff. Was he loyal enough to leave Anne’s car in neutral that day in November? But it didn’t seem likely. And there wasn’t much more I would learn from this particular suspect. I pushed in my chair and held out my hand. “It was nice talking to you, Jeff. Hope your knee is better soon.”

  On the way back to my table, I passed Brad Schultz, who was looking rather pale and sweaty. Please, God, I thought, no fish allergies. “Hi, Brad,” I said in a hearty tone. “Did you try the clams?”

  He blinked and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I did, thank you. They were very nice.”

  “Oh, good. Glad you liked them. Linguine with seafood is up next.”

  “Yes, I know.
I’ve already referred to the menu. I’m just going to . . . get Anne a drink.”

  “You do that. I’ll see you back at the table,” I called. But he didn’t go straight to the bar. He made a detour to the Christmas tree, where he seemed to be studying the ornaments. I felt a tug on my arm.

  “Hey,” Sofia said. “You’re a million miles away.”

  “Actually, I’m a lot closer than that. Checking on Brad Schultz’s movements.”

  “Never mind him. What about Kuchinski?”

  “I think he’s a dead end. But I’m not confident in ruling him out entirely.” I explained about his knee injury. “But he was at the meeting and he was here before Anne fell. And there was a stain on his shirt that I’m sure was olive oil.”

  “How could you tell?”

  “I had to, um, get close enough to take a whiff.”

  “Ha! Wish I could have seen that. How do we know he’s not just a sloppy eater?”

  “We don’t. But he talked about his very ‘loyal’ general contractor. Maybe he got him to tamper with Anne’s car.”

  “That’s pretty risky,” Sofia said. “No matter how loyal the guy might be.”

  “It does seem unlikely.” I looked at my watch and sighed. Three courses to go, and we weren’t any closer to an answer. I was about to ask Sofia to do some research on Jeannette Powers, when Brad walked past us again.

  He seemed to be everywhere tonight. At Anne’s side. Hovering near the Christmas tree, and most significantly, near the podium. I took my phone from my pocket and looked at my notes. Then I closed it. Stared again at the original document and counted the names. And then I zoomed in on the screen. “We were wrong, Sofe,” I said. “There aren’t six suspects.” I looked up from the phone. “There are seven.”

  Chapter Six

  Linguini ai Fruitti de Mare

  “One for every course,” Sofia said. “Who’d we miss?”

  “Brad Schultz.”

  She frowned. “But he’s not on the meeting list.”