It Cannoli Be Murder (Bread and Batter Cozy Mysteries Book 3)

by Karoline Barrett

  I fed Beau and Noelle in the kitchen, made a salad and finished up my zucchini and black bean and rice skillet. I looked in on Sean and saw he was fast asleep. I threw the afghan over him and ate solo, my mind on the two most recent murders. After eating, I packed up Sean’s portion and labeled it. I left him a note on the dining room table telling him to take it out of the refrigerator, along with a chocolate cupcake, in case he was up before I was.

  CHAPTER 10

  * * *

  Once I’d cleaned up the kitchen and walked the dogs for a few blocks, hoping we didn’t meet up with a killer, I got ready for bed. Sean was still fast asleep. I had a feeling he was in for some long days, and maybe nights, too. The dogs followed me into my bedroom. Grabbing my laptop, I hopped up on my bed. After a few minutes, I felt two pairs of eyes on me. “So, what do you two think of Destiny’s most recent killings?”

  They both wagged their tails, looked at each other, then looked at me with their bright brown eyes, but offered no opinions. I booted up my laptop, and after a few minutes, both dogs began circling and woofing softly. These two could lift my spirits no matter what the circumstances. I peered down at them. “I get it. You want up, right?”

  They yipped at me with unbridled excitement. I chuckled softly at their antics. “Shush, you’ll wake up Sean.” Of course, I had to climb out of my cocoon to heave them both up on my bed. Basset hounds aren’t known for their jumping ability.

  As soon as the three of us got situated, which in Beau and Noelle’s case involved immediately falling into deep sleep from which I knew they wouldn’t budge until breakfast time tomorrow morning, I did an Internet search for Rachael Rydell. There were already tons of articles about her murder, including pictures of Castle Shore Hotel, Sean and Alex, and information about Destiny. My eyes scanned all the stories.

  I skipped the ones that detailed her career and the various causes she was involved in. I found links to her Facebook page and a Twitter account. It didn’t look like she and Melanie had been Facebook friends, but that didn’t mean anything; it seemed most of her posts were business related. And nothing on her Facebook page, or her Twitter account, pointed to murder. Then again, did I expect to find the killer confessing on social media?

  I leaned over to reach my cell phone, trying not to disturb Noelle. I sent a text to Alex. Hi! Anything new with the investigations? Sean says you’re handling it because he’s tied up with other things.

  While I waited for a response, I perused a few more articles. The Internet was amazing. In five minutes, I’d dug deep enough to learn that Rachael and her husband had purchased a retirement home in south Florida, despite them not being even forty yet. I learned how much they’d paid for it, and the private day school her three young children (two boys and a girl), attended.

  I found it interesting that most of the pictures showed Rachael and her children, but featured little of her husband, Lucas Jardine. Even the pictures I found of her at various political and charitable events were of her alone. Maybe Mr. Jardine just preferred to stay in the background.

  There were a few articles about an angry constituent named Robert Meara who had stalked her at her family’s posh Park Avenue residence a year or so ago. He’d also sent threatening emails and letters to her at her office. He’d accused Rachael of stealing the election from the man who was running against her, and he vowed retaliation. What kind of retaliation? Death? He also berated her for holding on to her maiden name, and rebuked her husband as well for allowing her to do just that. What a kook! He’d been arrested, but I was sad to see he was now free. He seemed like a viable suspect.

  I read part of a long missive he’d written to her in an email about wanting to kill her to make her an example for other women who stupidly thought they could take what legitimately belonged to men. This man was a lunatic twice over. But in order to kill her, he would’ve had to know about the reunion, which was entirely possible, I theorized. He could’ve taken his chances that she would be at the reunion. He needed to be on the police’s radar.

  Then I came across a very interesting on-line article in one of the major New York City papers about a woman name Charlotte Swain. She was the senator’s ex-nanny, and was writing a juicy, tell-all book about the real Rachael Rydell, and it wasn’t flattering. She described how Rachael conveniently forgot to pay her, how she expected her to be on call 24/7, not only for her children, but for Rachael herself. She’d written about how Rachael’s husband, Lucas Jardine, had tried to seduce her.

  Instead of confronting Lucas, Rachael had demanded that Charlotte stop wearing makeup and perfume, and dress in nothing but baggy, unflattering black clothing. Even in the summer. As if it were Charlotte’s fault that Rachael’s husband was a monumental jerk. She talked about how Rachael would fly into a rage and throw things at her if Charlotte didn’t have her children looking perfect at all times. She’d even blamed her if their grades weren’t stellar.

  Charlotte was asked in a TV interview on one of the big national morning shows why she stayed if Senator Rydell was so bad. Smiling, she’d simply replied, ‘I needed material for my book.’ Apparently, making Rachael out to be a monster was worth a six-figure advance from a famous big-name publisher. I was feeling very glad for my quiet little life in Destiny. Murder and cybergangs notwithstanding, naturally.

  I laid my head back against my pillow and thought about all of it. I had a difficult time imagining Charlotte killing her. It seemed ridiculous to kill the woman when she wasn’t even employed there anymore. Plus, it wasn’t like she was being held against her will. She could’ve quit and found another nanny job. All that didn’t mean she absolutely didn’t kill Rachael, I realized. I wasn’t qualified to make that call.

  But even on some outside chance that it was this Robert Meara or Charlotte Swain, why kill Melanie too? Unless there were two killers, which made it even more complicated. Had anyone ever claimed that murder solving was a walk in the park? I couldn’t think of anyone. My own head was certainly spinning.

  I put aside my reading and eased out of bed. I checked on Sean. He was still in a deep sleep. That man could sleep anywhere. I went into the kitchen and got myself some cannoli ice-cream from Destiny’s popular Upstate Creamery. The genius who thought up this flavor needed to have sainthood bestowed on them.

  I padded back to bed, and settled back in with my laptop. I searched for Lucas Jardine. Lots of articles about him, too. I read in some obscure e-zine that he’d had an affair with Melanie way back when, but I didn’t find anything more on that and dismissed that as a reason for murder. I couldn’t even verify it was true.

  And with divorce so readily available, why kill your spouse if you wanted to be with someone else? On the other hand, I’ve watched enough true crime TV, and fictional crime TV to know that it happened more than you would think. On the other hand, why would he kill Rachael and Melanie? On the other hand, maybe he’d taken out a large insurance policy on Rachael, and killed Melanie so she wouldn’t run to the police. My head continued to spin, and I’d run out of hands.

  I went on to another story about Jardine. This one from a very large, popular, and prominent, newspaper out of Times Square in Manhattan, so I gave it credence. Mr. Jardine was town president of Solomon Estates, New York, a little blue-collar town a couple of hours outside of New York City. Two years ago, Jardine and seven others were charged with stealing $15 million in taxpayer money. Now this was a story with teeth, to borrow one of Bobby Crandall’s sayings. I adjusted the pillows behind me and dipped into my ice cream.

  They’d spent the stolen money on a horse farm. “The Solomon Estates candy store is no longer in business,” said Kathleen Kerry, the agent in charge of the New York City office of the FBI, and, coincidentally, a college friend of Rachael’s.

  Among those indicted in what federal prosecutors said was a mob-connected corruption scheme were Lucas Jardine, whose position was equivalent to mayor, and the former Police chief. The defendants were arrested on charges of racketeer
ing conspiracy, money laundering, fraud and tax offenses

  Hmmn, was that all? I went back to reading. Per the indictment, they stole the $15 million from the town's health insurance fund and used some of the money to buy the Shady Hill Horse Farm, near Greendale, New York that Jardine and others hoped to convert into a casino. The money was also used to buy a vacation home for the family of luxury car dealer owner Piero DiGiovanni, the rumored capo of the Bellafiori family.

  The article said the scheme was hatched by DiGiovanni, who had just narrowly escaped prosecution on a gambling conviction, and Lucas Jardine. Jardine spent a year in jail and was re-elected almost unanimously as town president. DiGiovanni managed to spend only six months in jail thanks to brilliant criminal attorney Aaron Kushner.

  My heart fell into my stomach when I read that Piero had ties to the Bellafiori family. Just like our very own Mr. Mastrostefano. What a coincidence. Or was it? Had Rocco come to kill Senator Rydell for Lucas and Piero? Maybe his buying Sweet Hill Winery was just a cover for his real reason for showing up: To kill Rachael. But why buy a winery to cover up a murder? I wasn’t sure what the state of their finances were, but that seemed excessive, and costly, even for the mafia.

  Would Rocco stoop to murder? The ice-cream had apparently given me brain freeze. He already was a killer, allegedly, I reminded myself. Seems as if I was going to have to keep reminding myself. I’m sure that was one of the stipulations of joining the mafia, or the mob, or whatever they were called nowadays. Wouldn’t you get kicked out, or worse, if you discovered you didn’t have the stomach for murder? Believe me, I realize all this is not a laughing matter, but I didn’t know how to deal with it in any other way.

  Rocco remained planted in my thoughts. What difference would another body mean to someone who already has bodies under his belt? Figuratively speaking, of course. But why would he want everyone in town to see him if he was the killer? Did he kill Melanie, too? She didn’t seem to have any connections to anything dangerous. The only things I was reaping from reading were more questions and a ginormous headache, but I kept on anyway.

  According to a neighbor, who was a good friend of Senator Rydell’s, and had agreed to speak to one of the newspaper’s reporters on the condition of anonymity, Rachael Rydell was royally piqued with her husband’s criminal involvement, and threatened to divorce him if he didn’t come clean and straighten up his act. He was becoming a huge liability, she’d told him. No wonder Rachael used her maiden name!

  This anonymous neighbor said it was rumored that Senator Rydell herself had turned her own husband, and DiGiovanni, into the FBI. DiGiovanni had publicly threatened to kill the senator. I dismissed Robert and Charlotte as the killers. They were small potatoes compared to Rocco and company. I now settled on Rocco, or Piero, as the killer. Or quite possibly, Lucas. Or maybe all three were in cahoots. That made much more sense to me than Charlotte Swain, or Robert Meara.

  I searched again and found another interesting story. Lucas Jardine grew up in Queens, New York. His family had been poor, and he’d been in and out of a juvenile detention center several times. Rachael gave him something his life had always lacked; money, and respectability. So why kill her? It seemed that without her, he’d be nothing except another crook. I was back to thinking about a life insurance policy. Heavens to Betsy, as my mother occasionally said, my thoughts were becoming a jumbled, knotty, mess.

  I’d read enough about Lucas. I typed in Melanie Stewart. A lot about her murder, too. I wondered if at some point murder solving could be done without leaving one’s bed with the internet being so chock full of information and all.

  Beau and Noelle snuffled quietly in their sleep, their warm little bodies comforting to me. Sean beside me would have made the scene perfect, but it was probably best to let him sleep. I didn’t want him unplugging my laptop.

  Lots of juicy personal tid-bits about the soap opera star. She had a bitter soon-to-be ex-husband who was tired of her cheating on him. He claimed she ruined his life, and was demanding an exorbitant divorce settlement from her. There was an angry Sunnyvale Cove co-star who she’d purportedly just ended an affair with, and then had him axed from the show. He hadn’t found work and had to move out of his Southampton mansion. Last, but not least, we had a second ex-lover (also quite bitter) who was writing a very revealing book about their relationship.

  Everyone was writing books. I guess that’s where the money was. I could see why Melanie’s husband wanted to divorce her if all these things were true. I could also see where he, and all those other people, might have a thought or two about killing her.

  How were Rachael and Melanie’s murders connected? From all accounts, they weren’t close. Did we have one killer with a problem against both women? Why would Rocco or this DiGiovanni character want to whack Melanie, too? Did they really use the term ‘whack?’ I thought it sounded legitimate. The only connections between Melanie and Rachael were being alumnae from Mellon, twins, and residents of New York state.

  I finally found a blurb and video from the local news on Melanie’s murder that said she may have been poisoned. Well, that kind of poured cold water on the theory their murders were related. Wouldn’t the murderer use the same weapon for both? Maybe not. Who could figure out the mind of a killer? Not me. I certainly had learned that with our last two murders in Destiny. Both of those had made about as much sense as eating pickled beets.

  I’d had enough. I eased out of bed once again and took my empty ice cream bowl to the kitchen and washed it. I brushed my teeth again, and returned to bed. I emailed the links to all the articles I’d found to Alex, and for good measure, to Sean, then turned off my laptop. My phone rang two seconds later.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, honey,” my mother answered, not sounding at all like her usual sunny and upbeat self.

  “Are you okay? You sound really down.”

  “You couldn’t be more right. I feel totally down, And I feel guilty. It’s my fault those women are dead.”

  I couldn’t believe she was thinking that. “What? Mom, no! It is not your fault. Not at all. If you’re going to go that route, then it’s my fault for suggesting the event.”

  “No, it’s not your fault at all!”

  “Well, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind that it was my fault, but if you’re going to feel guilty, then I should feel even more guilty.”

  “Absolutely not. Oh, Molly, I keep thinking that if I hadn’t planned the reunion those women would still be alive. Your father thinks I’m being silly.”

  “He’s right,” I agreed. “I understand why you might feel guilty, but you had no control over what happened. If someone wanted those women dead, they would have accomplished that no matter what. Are you thinking the murderer had some sort of connection to Mellon? Do you remember anyone saying anything that might help the investigation?”

  My mother sighed. “No, nothing that I haven’t told Alex and Sean. It’s odd that these two women were killed at the benefit. Well, Melanie wasn’t at the benefit, but you know what I mean. And why were they killed? Why did whoever want them dead wait till the benefit? Did they travel all the way to Destiny just to kill them?”

  “I’m sure the police will figure it out,” I assured her. “Alex is in charge of the investigation.”

  She sighed again. “Is there anything you can do?”

  I had to smile. “Are you asking me to get involved in the murder investigation?”

  “Not involved, exactly, but maybe you can poke around. You were so good with the last two murders Destiny had.”

  “I think that’s the same thing as getting involved.” I was glad that she sounded a tiny bit more cheerful.

  She laughed a little. “I guess it is. I don’t expect the police to find the killer, or killers, in the next ten minutes, but I won’t feel better until they’re caught. I feel it’s my responsibility to make sure justice is carried out.”

  “It will be. Alex is good, and Sean is, too. Alex is in charge, but Sea
n would find the time to step in if he was needed. So, stop feeling guilty. I don’t think there’s anything I can do, but I’ll think on it.”

  “I can’t believe I’m asking you to get involved. Your father’s going to have a fit if he finds out you’re getting wrapped up in helping to solve another murder. You know he worries about you even though he won’t come right out and say it.”

  My father was the quiet type, and not prone to public demonstrations of affection, but he adored my mother and me. “I know. Tell him not to worry. Why don’t you try and get some sleep, Mom?”

  “Thank you, honey. I feel better now that we’ve talked. I know you’ll come through. G’night.”

  She hung up before I could tell her I wasn’t positive I would be able to come through for her. Or could I? I smiled inside. Only my mother would have that much faith that I could definitely help solve a double homicide. I finally fell into an uneasy sleep after trying to watch a comedic movie from the eighties that I couldn’t get into.

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  When I got up the following morning, Sean was gone as I expected. It was Sunday, but there were no off days where police work was concerned. He’d taken his container of food along with the cupcake, and left a return love note for me. No mention of when I’d see him again. Olivia and Kendra were handling the bakery today, so I had the day to myself. I trotted downstairs and retrieved the newspaper. When I stood in my kitchen and unfolded it, I was greeted by this loud headline: