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

by Rosie Genova

  “That’s what I thought. Until I looked at the original document again. When I copied over the list of attendees, I neglected to include the person taking the minutes—Brad Schultz. He was there, Sofe. And he’s here tonight.”

  “But you told me he tried to catch her when she fell.”

  “He did. And his concern seemed genuine. But think about this: He’s her right-hand man. He would know where she lives. He was at the meeting when she found the glass in her salad. Who better to go in and out of her conference room and office without suspicion?”

  Sofia grabbed my arm. “And—he could’ve had access to her car keys. Or known where she kept a spare.”

  “And he would know her movements and her routine. When she would and wouldn’t be home, so he could tamper with that plant and the car,” I said excitedly.

  “But there’s one thing missing, Vic—”

  “Motive,” I said. “At least that we know of.”

  “Even if he’s got one, there are things that don’t make sense.” Sofia shook her head. “Why would he save her?”

  I shrugged. “To get in good with her? Throw off suspicion? In any case, these are the acts of a sick person. An unpredictable person. And I’m terrified he—or she—might really hurt somebody before this night is over.”

  “Anne?”

  “Or someone else. Somebody who gets in his way.”

  “Did you ever think, Vic, that if it is Brad, maybe he doesn’t intend to actually hurt her? It’s possible he’s just trying to scare her or make her think she’s crazy.”

  “Again—why?” I took a quick glance around and lowered my voice. “And what about my missing knife?”

  “Maybe someone moved it?”

  “It’s possible but—” I shook my head. Again there was that sensation—a tiny signal that there was some detail tucked away in my brain that just wouldn’t come to the surface. “You know what,” I said. “I’d rather not call attention to it. For now, we have to keep this between us.”

  “And we don’t even have Danny for backup.”

  “So you were getting cold feet, too?”

  She nodded. “That missing knife made it all real.”

  “It sure did. And I’ll tell you something else—if things get dicey, you and my niece-nephew are out of here.”

  “Promise,” she said, holding up her hand. “But not before the pasta course. I’m going to try to chat up Brad Schultz. Maybe get a sense of where he was in November.”

  Back at the table, I ate sparingly while my sister-in-law cleared her plate. Each time I looked up, Anne was giving me the fish eye. So to speak. When I excused myself to use the ladies’ room, she was right behind me.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” I said.

  “How can you joke? Do you have any idea what this is like for me?” she asked, her face dark and angry.

  “I’m sorry,” I sighed. “But I’m tense enough without you tracking me all over the restaurant. By the way, Jeff Kuchinski could not have walked up your driveway back in November. He was recovering from knee surgery. He’s still wearing the brace.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Have you checked out everyone who was at that meeting?”

  “Not quite yet.” Some instinct told me not to mention Brad. She might repeat something and put him on his guard. “I’m talking to Jeannette Powers next. And possibly Nina LaGuardia.”

  “The reporter? What does she have to do with this?”

  “I’m not sure she does. But she’s holding a grudge about losing her job at Channel Ten. She could have easily found out where you live, and she’s here tonight. Sitting near the Christmas tree, in fact. But I’m not sure I can place her at the town council meeting.”

  She dropped her head in her hands, and for a moment, I felt sorry for her. When she lifted her head, her face was haggard. “Unfortunately, I can. She was covering it for the Chronicle.”

  “Okay, then. She’s a definite.” And then I remembered: Nina was the first one to arrive at the restaurant. Could she have seen me putting my knife inside the podium? And did she now have it in her possession? I shook my head. “Anne, I’m not sure I should be pursuing this at all. I think it’s time to call the police.”

  Her eyes widened. “No police. Absolutely not. Do you think I want a scandal?”

  “Isn’t a scandal better than another accident—or something worse?” I opened my mouth to tell her about my missing knife, but she interrupted.

  “You don’t seem to understand, Victoria. We’re doing this my way. And if not, well,” she said with a shrug, “you Rienzis better start looking for a good lawyer.”

  As the door closed behind her, my pity for Anne McCrae instantly dissolved—along with my chance to ask her about the bad blood between her and the school superintendent. At that moment, Nina LaGuardia pushed through the door and shot me a suspicious look.

  She reapplied her plum-colored lipstick, shifting her thick-lashed eyes to mine. “Since when are you and the mayor so cozy?”

  “She’s the guest of honor, Nina. I have to be nice to her.”

  “Maybe. But what are all these whispered conversations and meetings in the ladies’ room?” She pointed a lacquered fingernail in my direction. “You better not be holding out on me, Nancy Drew. If there’s a story here—”

  “There’s no story,” I said hastily.

  “Right. So why would you be playing footsie back there with Jeff Kuchinski, when everybody knows you and the hot chef are an item?”

  “I’m just being polite to our guests,” I said through my teeth.

  “Sure you are.” She shook her head. “Something smells here, Victoria—and it’s not just the scungilli. And you better believe I’m going to find out what it is.”

  Hopefully not before I do, I thought as she flounced out the door.

  • • •

  Jeannette Powers, the superintendent of Oceanside Park public schools, was younger than I expected. This was someone who had risen to the top of her profession before she was forty, but according to Sofia, she wasn’t particularly liked in town. She wasn’t one to cave in to parental demands, yet was tough on her staff. And she wasn’t afraid to go up against her school board if she cared about an issue. But it was her relationship with Anne I was most interested in.

  I spotted her near the bar, wearing a navy sleeveless sheath that revealed a pair of well-defined arms and equally muscled calves. She was built like a runner, or maybe a dancer. A quick hike up a steep driveway would be a breeze for her, as would bending open a metal plant hook.

  “Ms. Powers?” I asked, holding out my hand.

  “Dr. Powers,” she said, emphasizing the title. “You’re one of the owners, aren’t you?”

  The only thing I owned in the Casa Lido was a small corner of the vegetable station, but why burst her bubble? “Yes,” I said. “I’m Victoria Rienzi.”

  “Oh, you’re the daughter who’s the writer.”

  “Yes, I write mysteries under my pen name, Vick Reed. But for now I’m learning the restaurant business.”

  “Well, you and your family have done a lovely job. The food has been superb.”

  “Thank you for saying so. And for supporting two good causes tonight.”

  “Actually, I think a number of our high school students are involved in the toy drive. Service is an important component of education; it’s actually written into our mission statement.” Her voice was impassioned, her face serious. She cares about what she does, I thought. Enough to threaten the mayor? And if so, why?

  “I’ve seen it on the district website,” I said, crossing my fingers and making a mental confession to Nonna. “Very impressive document.”

  “I appreciate that. Coming from a writer, especially.” She tilted her head as though she were sizing me up. “In fact, I don’t suppose you’d be interested in visiting any of the schools—perhaps conduct a few writing workshops?”

  Even though I’d rather face a pile of dirty squid than a room full
of fifth-graders, I smiled and made some vague noises of assent. Time for a quick change of subject. “Your job must be such a difficult one,” I said. “How do you manage it all?”

  “You’re right. It’s not easy. For one thing, you have standards and stick to them.” She took another sip of her drink. “Look, I know what they call me—‘Dr. Hardass.’ And I don’t care. My job is to do what’s best for the kids. Period. Which means I hire only the best applicants, not some board member’s niece or one of Anne’s buddies from town. I fight for the funding we need, even if it means going nose to nose with the mayor at every budget presentation.” She downed the rest of her drink, wobbling a bit on her heels. The wine was making her talkative.

  “So I take it you and Anne McCrae are not on the best of terms?” I asked casually.

  “You could say that. She’s got the ears of two of my board members, and they haven’t been making my job particularly easy of late.” She stared past me to where Anne was sitting and shook her head, her lip curling in disgust. “Look at her, presiding over that table like she’s a queen instead of a public servant. You’d think making a spectacle of herself here tonight would have humbled her a little.”

  I recognized something in Jeannette Powers’s voice: disappointment. Was it over a plan gone awry? “Anne can be difficult,” I added.

  She swung her head around as though startled to find me standing next to her. Her face closed up and she set her glass down on the bar. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I got a bit carried away there. It was . . . unprofessional of me.” She nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my table.”

  I looked up to see Sofia beckoning me from the back hallway. I hurried past our table, noting my mother’s look of confusion and Anne’s glowering expression. “What did you find out, Sofe?”

  “Well, it doesn’t look like either Brad or Jeannette Powers could have messed with her car. He says he was visiting his parents in Florida that week.”

  “What about Powers?”

  “There was a school board meeting that Monday, and on Wednesday she was at the Thanksgiving pep rally during the day and the bonfire at night.”

  “But Anne said it happened on Tuesday, which means Powers is still in the running. And her hatred of Anne is visceral. Not a spot of olive oil on her clothes, though,” I sighed. “So where are we?”

  “We’re in the weeds is where we are,” Sofia said. “We still have three suspects, two courses to go—”

  “And one missing knife.”

  “It sounds like a countdown,” she said.

  “It is.” Over Sofia’s shoulder, I could see Nina LaGuardia darting across the room toward Jeannette’s table. “She’s up to something,” I muttered. “Listen, you go back and sit down. I’m going to keep my eye on Nina for a bit.”

  While Nina chatted with the school superintendent, I noticed that her oversized bag was still hanging on the back of her vacant chair. I’d seen her scribbling notes earlier—maybe I could get a peek at them. I sidled up to the empty chair, keeping my eyes on the back of the reporter’s blonde head. I glanced down to see her wallet, a makeup bag and an eyeglass case. Slipping my hand inside the bag, my fingers closed around a rectangular object. A fuzzy rectangular object. I glanced down quickly, my heart starting to race. There, tucked into a corner of Nina’s capacious purse, was a black velvet gift box. One that looked awfully familiar.

  Chapter Seven

  Shrimp Scampi

  My hand was still dangling inside the bag when I spotted Nina getting out of her chair. I tugged at the velvet box, slipping it behind my back as she bore down on me. “Looking for something, Victoria? Like maybe my story notes?”

  More like a possible murder weapon. Tightening my fingers around the box, I leaned against the wall. “Yes, okay,” I said. “I was worried that you might be working on a story about Anne’s fall. It could look bad for the restaurant.”

  “You’re right—it could.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “But I don’t think that’s the half of it.”

  You ain’t kidding, sister. I pressed closer against the wall and tried to assume a casual pose. A little hard to do with sweaty hands and a pounding heart. If I could inch my way to the Christmas tree, I could hide the box among the gifts and get it later. “Nina,” I said with a smile, “we’re about to serve the shrimp scampi. Why don’t you take your seat?”

  She pulled out her chair, but her eyes never left me. “It so happens I love shrimp scampi. It’s so . . . spicy,” she said, arching her brow. “Like that man of yours. I’d keep a close eye on him if I were you.”

  “Will do,” I said. “Uh, enjoy the next course.”

  She shook her head, but finally turned her attention to her dinner plate. I slipped the box under the skirt of the tree, reassured that for a while anyway Anne would be safe. I scurried back to the table, meeting Nonna’s eyes as I sat down. And there was something in them I’d rarely seen before: approval. She nodded. “Victoria, it is good to see you making an effort with our guests.”

  “Thank you,” I said, a little startled at her benevolent expression.

  And she kept smiling until the spicy man himself showed up at my elbow. “If you’ll excuse me, guys,” Tim said, “I just need to borrow my girl for a minute.” He pulled me into the hallway and then into his arms. “Hey, I made that scampi just for you,” he whispered. “I can’t wait ’til you try it.”

  After a brief romantic interlude, I pulled away and wrinkled my nose. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell a little . . . fishy.”

  “It’s a fishy night,” he said with a grin.

  If only you knew. But I couldn’t tell him. Tim, like my brother, that other protective man in my life, had little patience for my previous sleuthing escapades. I flashed him a dazzling smile and patted his cheek. “I’ll see you later. After you’ve had a shower.”

  “It’s a date. And then I’ll show you how to use your new knife.”

  Right. Let’s hope nobody else uses it first. When I returned to the table, my scampi was waiting. I breathed in its garlic-and-parsley perfume, and after one bite of the sweet, fresh shrimp, I almost forgot about the box under the Christmas tree. The oil on Jeff’s shirt. Jeannette’s look of hatred and Nina’s bitterness. Because tonight was supposed to be about good work, good cheer, and good food. Not threats and vendettas.

  While I ate, Anne watched me and Brad watched Anne. Sofia had my parents engaged in a long conversation about how she was decorating the nursery, while Nonna nodded and smiled. I sipped my wine, glancing uneasily at Danny’s empty chair, when a small square of white paper appeared next to my plate.

  What did Powers have to say???

  I closed my hand over it and looked up to see Anne’s eyes boring into mine. I gave a slight shake of my head, but she wasn’t giving up so easily. “Victoria,” she began, “I noticed you talking with our school superintendent earlier.”

  Sofia tensed, keeping the conversation going on her side of the table. But I knew she was listening to every word. “Yes,” I said, “we had a very nice chat. We talked about the district’s mission statement, the importance of service. The school budget—”

  “Anything else of significance?” she interrupted, her voice rasping in my ear.

  “No. Nothing . . . definite anyway.”

  “Is that so?” She leaned closer and dropped her voice. “You keep your eye on her. She’s the one you need to watch.”

  I met Sofia’s eye and she stood up slowly, one hand at the small of her back. She leaned close to my mother. “Nicolina, would you mind if I scooted back to your office for a few minutes, so I can put my feet up?”

  “Of course, honey,” my mom said. “Come with me and I’ll let you in.”

  Sofia glanced back at me once, smiling as innocently as a Renaissance Madonna. But I knew exactly what she was up to. She wanted a nice, long, uninterrupted Google session on my mother’s computer. Under the table, I texted furiously: Check on Nina, Kuchinski, a
nd Powers.

  I slipped the phone back into my pocket, but not before catching my grandmother’s hard glare. I held up my hands. “I put it away, Nonna. I know how you feel about phones at the table.”

  “I should hope so,” she muttered. “Now, why don’t you make yourself useful and check on the next course?”

  And thank you, dear grandmother, for giving me an excuse to leave the table. I popped into the kitchen, where Tim and Nando were tossing the grilled octopus with sliced celery and radicchio.

  “Looks good, guys,” I said. They were too involved in their work to answer me, so I turned to go. But my eyes strayed to the window, where I could make out the outline of two figures across the parking lot. Standing close together, heads bent, they appeared to be deep in conversation. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out the woman’s low ponytail and slender legs—Jeannette Powers. The man turned his head slightly, and I caught a glimpse of his droopy mustache—Jeff Kuchinski.

  I slipped out the back door and positioned myself against the side of the restaurant where I couldn’t be seen. What reason could these two have for an evening assignation in the Casa Lido parking lot? Kuchinski had said he was in a relationship—could he have meant Powers? But they were seated at different tables. An affair? I couldn’t remember if I’d seen a wedding ring on Jeannette’s hand. C’mon, Vic. What is it these two have in common? Their hatred of Anne McCrae.

  A shiver crawled up my spine, one that had nothing to do with the cold December night. What if Kuchinski and Powers were conspiring against Anne together? Either of them could have put the glass in her salad, since they were both at the meeting. Even if the contractor couldn’t have made it up that steep driveway to tamper with Anne’s car, Powers certainly could have. And she was in town the day it happened. And tonight, there was the oil on Jeff’s shirt. As individuals, they were likely ruled out, but as a team, they moved to the top of the suspect list. But then what was my knife doing in Nina’s purse? My mind whirled as I tried to make each piece fit. Still watching the two figures, I flattened myself against the cold bricks, wishing I were close enough to hear the conversation. Powers was shaking her head; Kuchinski appeared to be insistent about something.