Death of an Italian Chef

by Lee Hollis

  “How on earth did it get there?”

  Hayley shrugged. “Maybe he accidentally dropped it when he left the other night.”

  Tilly gazed at Fredy’s badge photo.

  “Or maybe he decided to quit mid-shift for some reason and tossed the badge on his way to his car,” Hayley offered.

  “That doesn’t sound like something Fredy would do. He was always telling us how happy he was working here. I just don’t understand it,” Tilly said. “Stan, one of the orderlies, stopped by Fredy’s apartment after his shift yesterday, and must have rang the bell nine or ten times and got no answer. He even peeked through the windows and said it didn’t look like Fredy had been home.”

  Hayley had no proof, but she strongly suspected Fredy’s disappearance must have something to do with what Randy claimed happened to Chef Romeo. However, she had no clue how it was connected. At this point, it was just a simple hunch.

  “Should I call the police and tell them we found his badge?” Tilly asked.

  Hayley thought about it and nodded. “It can’t hurt. Did anyone try to file a missing person report yet?”

  “The administrator called the acting chief, Sergeant Herrold, but she’s been slow to act. She said we should wait a little while longer to see if he suddenly turns up.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Hayley sniffed. “She doesn’t seem to want to believe anyone who tries to report a crime.”

  Hayley decided against stopping by Randy’s room to let him know what she had found, not until she had more information to share. She wanted him to get some rest. So she left the hospital and spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon shopping for food she needed for that night’s dinner rush at Chef Romeo’s.

  When she pulled into the restaurant lot at four-thirty there were already a few cars parked, with people in them patiently waiting for the doors to open. She had a gnawing feeling that it was going to be even busier tonight than the previous evening.

  Sure enough, Liddy was behind the hostess station melting down when Hayley entered the restaurant.

  “Um, I may have overbooked a smidge for tonight,” she squeaked.

  “By how much is a smidge?”

  “I don’t know; a lot. Let me put it this way: There is no way we are going to be able to accommodate everyone.”

  Hayley sighed. “We’ll just do the best we can.”

  She glanced out the window where more cars were arriving. People were now surging toward the door, getting in line. Hayley hurried into the kitchen, where she found Kelton, the sous-chef, setting up his workstation.

  “Kelton, I’m going to need you to take charge tonight in the kitchen. There is already a crush of people outside, we’re going to be insanely busy—”

  Kelton flashed her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll step up. Chef Romeo’s been training me. I’ve been waiting for a night like this. I can handle all the orders coming in. If I fall behind, you can just start handing out appetizers on the house to keep the customers distracted.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Hayley said. “Thank you.”

  “I just wish . . .” Kelton’s voice trailed off.

  “What?”

  Kelton shook his head, forlorn. “I just wish Chef Romeo was around to see this, how popular his place has become . . . this is what he worked so hard for.”

  “He knows,” Hayley said. “Let’s make him proud.”

  Minutes later, the clock struck five and the doors opened. Diners poured in and Liddy quickly began seating parties at their reserved tables. Mona, Betty, and Devon began taking orders, and Kelton and Hayley got to work preparing the dishes in the kitchen, while Lenny kept all the water glasses and garlic bread baskets filled. The line of walk-ins stretched all the way across the parking lot and down the street as Liddy took down the names on her waiting list, apologizing to everyone for how long it would take for them to be seated, although silently fearing the possibility that they might not get in at all at this rate.

  By nine o’clock there were still no signs of the restaurant slowing down. Since it was a Saturday, nobody was in a big rush to get home. While Hayley and Kelton worked feverishly on fulfilling the orders—Hayley’s linguini and clam sauce a particularly popular choice this evening—Liddy burst into the kitchen, armed with her iPad. “People are starting to complain they had a reservation at eight-thirty and now it’s past nine! I’m afraid they’re going to start a mutiny by the hostess station! I have no idea what to do!”

  “I do,” Hayley said. “Go to the wine rack, get as many bottles of the cheap house Chianti as you can carry, and start serving free wine as a thank-you for their patience.”

  “Do you think that is going to work?” Liddy asked skeptically.

  Kelton chuckled. “I know when I’m drinking wine and feeling happy, I usually forget what I’m mad about.”

  “You’re probably right,” Liddy said before scurrying out, passing Mona, who barged into the kitchen carrying a plate of eggplant Parmesan.

  “Kelton, hand me the sharpest knife you’ve got!” Mona roared.

  “Is somebody’s steak too tough?” Hayley asked.

  “No,” Mona barked. “I’m going to stab someone!”

  Hayley turned to Kelton. “Don’t give her a knife, or anything she can possibly use as a weapon.”

  Kelton grinned and went back to cooking.

  “What’s wrong, Mona?” Hayley sighed.

  “There is some overgrown, obnoxious jerk out there who keeps sending everything I serve back to the kitchen,” Mona spat out, holding up the plate in her hand. “Apparently, there isn’t enough breading on his eggplant Parmesan. Before that, there was too much dressing on his salad, and before that, he said his sautéed mushrooms tasted funny. There is no pleasing him, so I might as well just take him out.”

  Mona reached for a knife lying on the cutting board, but Hayley blocked her with her body. “Mona, there is an old saying: The customer is always right.”

  “Yeah, I got a saying too, it’s two words and the first word starts with an F and the second with a—”

  “Mona! Just let Kelton prepare another eggplant Parmesan,” Hayley pleaded. “And tell the gentleman we would like to offer him a free dessert, anything he likes.”

  “You don’t reward people for their nasty, rude behavior, Hayley, the way I would handle it—”

  “Yes, we all know how you would handle it, Mona. You would gut him like a fish. Give Betty the table, let her deal with him, and you can wait on someone less hostile, okay?”

  This seemed to appease Mona for the time being, and within an hour, by ten o’clock, the mad rush seemed to be finally dying down. There were only a handful of tables left, which allowed Hayley to leave Kelton on his own so she could head back to Chef Romeo’s tiny office, which was located off the storeroom to search through his files for any information on who she could call about his untimely death. There had to be someone, a family member, or a friend, anyone who might have some idea about a will, or who might be able to come and tend to his affairs, or know of any contingency plans in case of an unexpected event like this.

  Hayley sat down in a chair behind the cramped desk and opened the metal drawers. She came across a password scribbled on a Post-it note on top of a stack of files that successfully unlocked his desktop computer.

  She clicked through some operating budgets and spreadsheets and found a treasure trove of family recipes he had collected and perfected over the years. There were links to a number of articles written about him in various food and lifestyle magazines, but they were all very recent, none dating back more than a year. There did not seem to be much information on him beyond that, which struck Hayley as odd.

  She clicked into his photos. Again, there were very few there. Just some pictures of him standing outside the restaurant in Bar Harbor as a couple of men put up the big Chef Romeo’s sign before the grand opening and one of him with his investor Connie, where his smile seemed forced as if he was wishing he was a
nywhere else.

  Hayley then clicked on an album labeled Family, hoping this might finally provide the answers she sought. There was only one photo. Romeo had his arm slung around a man, shorter, even heavier than Romeo, balding, maybe a few years older. They were at an outdoor amusement park, a large Ferris wheel looming in the background. Romeo had labeled the photo Me and Cousin Alonzo, Coney Island, 2018.

  A cousin.

  In a relatively recent photo.

  Finally, a clue.

  It wasn’t much to go on, but at least it was a start.

  Chapter 17

  Cousin Alonzo.

  Hayley knew she had to locate him.

  He was the only relative, hopefully still living, of Chef Romeo’s that she currently knew about.

  She clicked on Romeo’s contacts app on his computer and was surprised to discover very few names and numbers listed. There was the restaurant staff, some local business contacts, a few important numbers like the Bar Harbor police and fire departments, but very few personal contacts; only a handful. Connie the investor made the cut, as did Hayley herself, but Romeo had not been in Bar Harbor long enough to develop a wide range of friends and associates. What Hayley found odd upon scrolling down the names alphabetically was that there were literally no family or friends from New York. It was obvious to anyone from his thick accent that Romeo hailed from the great state of New York, and several times he had mentioned his family emigrating from Naples. He spoke of growing up in Brooklyn, where he ran his own restaurant before desiring a change and moving to Maine, so why was he not keeping in touch with anyone from back home? It was as if that part of his life had been wiped clean—on his computer, anyway.

  But there was still this one photo of Romeo and his cousin Alonzo at Coney Island. He had kept it, which meant, in Hayley’s mind, that this was someone Romeo probably loved and trusted. But there was no contact information. After scrolling down the entire list of mostly local contacts, she almost missed a number at the end. There was not a name or business attached to it, simply the number.

  But the area code was 718.

  Finally, something that connected Romeo to New York.

  But was it Cousin Alonzo, or someone else?

  She didn’t know whether she should call the number so late in the evening, so instead she decided to send a text to the number and see who eventually responded. After just typing Hello, I’m a friend of Romeo’s and hitting send, she waited a few minutes until someone texted back.

  Who is this?

  Hayley typed back, Hayley. Who is this?

  There was a long wait, but the answer finally came two minutes later.

  I don’t know anyone named Romeo.

  Hayley sighed, exasperated.

  What should she do now?

  She typed back, What about Alonzo?

  The wait time for an answer took even longer this time, and Hayley was just about to give up when she received another text.

  This is Alonzo. How did you get my number?

  Bingo.

  Hayley typed as fast as she could. It was in your cousin Romeo’s list of contacts.

  This time the reply was immediate. I told you, I don’t have a cousin named Romeo.

  Hayley tapped her phone furiously. I am looking at a picture of the two of you right now.

  Instant reply. Send it to me.

  Hayley emailed herself the photo on Romeo’s computer and then forwarded it to Alonzo.

  Instead of receiving a text, her cell phone lit up.

  He was calling her.

  She accepted and hit speaker. “Hello?”

  “Is this Hayley?”

  “Yes, Alonzo, thank you for calling me. Did you get the picture of you with Romeo that I sent?”

  “Yeah,” he shouted in a thick Brooklyn accent. “But the man I’m with is not this Romeo you keep talking about. That’s my cousin Luca.”

  Hayley flopped back in her chair, flabbergasted. “Well, I know him as Romeo Russo.”

  “Nope. That’s not his real name. I grew up with the guy in Bensonhurst, and I’m telling you, his name is Luca Esposito. He’s my first cousin on my mother’s side.”

  Why would Romeo change his name when he moved to town?

  What was he running from, or hiding from?

  “Is he there with you now? Can you put him on the phone?” Alonzo asked.

  Hayley’s heart sank at the thought of what she was about to have to do. “I’m afraid I have some bad news . . .”

  Alonzo listened to Hayley in silence, except for a few sniffles here and there and a clearing of the throat. She had obviously upset and shaken him with the tragic news and when she finished, he did not speak for some time as he processed everything. Hayley had purposely not mentioned Randy’s story of seeing someone murder Romeo or Luca—not yet anyway. That was something that would have to wait until she had more answers.

  But then, Alonzo blurted out, “Did someone rub him out?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “He shut down his restaurant and left Brooklyn pretty quick without saying goodbye to anyone, and you’re saying he changed his name to Romeo Russo or whatever, so that tells me he must have been in some kind of serious trouble.”

  She couldn’t argue with cousin Alonzo’s logic, because all the evidence she had found so far suggested the same thing.

  “All I can say at this point is, that’s a definite possibility,” Hayley said in a measured tone.

  “I wonder if this has anything to do with his house blowing up,” Alonzo pondered.

  Hayley suddenly snapped to attention. “Excuse me? His house blew up?”

  “Yeah, they said it was a combustible gas leak. The explosion was so big it killed the old lady next door, Mrs. Crabtree. They found her wheelchair in the wreckage. The video from a nearby traffic light showed one of the wheels sticking up out of the debris, just spinning round and round. It even made the local news.”

  What a grisly image, Hayley thought.

  “I never believed it was just a sad, tragic accident, because shortly after Luca left town, I started to hear rumors around the neighborhood that the explosion had been deliberately set. Luca can sometimes rub people the wrong way, and word is, he ticked off the wrong person.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have had it out for him?”

  “Nope. But around here, you learn not to ask too many questions, if you know what I mean. I’m just grateful Luca wasn’t at home when the place blew up . . . unlike poor Mrs. Crabtree, who wasn’t so lucky.”

  Hayley explained to Alonzo that Romeo, aka Luca, had recently asked her to take over his restaurant while he was incapacitated, but she was now focused on finding out if he had a will or some kind of contingency plan upon his unexpected death.

  Alonzo told her that Romeo’s parents were dead and his one sibling, an older brother, was back living in Naples with a wife half his age whom he met during a pilgrimage to his homeland, which must have passed by a high school where the girl was a senior at the time. Alonzo claimed he was pretty much Luca’s only living relative, in the States anyway.

  Hayley promised to keep him apprised of any news in Bar Harbor regarding Luca’s death, along with anything else she could find out, before ending the call.

  Hayley then immediately called Bruce, who answered groggily, “Hello?”

  “Were you sleeping? It’s barely after ten.”

  “It’s almost midnight,” Bruce grumbled.

  Hayley checked the time on her phone.

  He was right.

  She listened and heard no sounds coming from the dining room. Everyone must have already gone home. She had been so caught up in her investigation, she had completely lost track of time.

  Bruce was prattling on about the trial, how the loaded cheeseburger he had ordered from the hotel’s room service was probably the best he had ever tasted, how tomorrow was a Sunday so he was going to walk along the Hudson River Greenway on the west side to get some much-needed exercis
e. She waited until he was finished before breaking the news about Chef Romeo.

  Bruce was stunned into silence.

  She then filled him in on what Randy had sworn to have witnessed, her conversation with Cousin Alonzo, the explosion in Brooklyn and the sudden identity change. Before she got any further, Bruce interjected, “You want me to look into Romeo’s previous incarnation as Luca Esposito and his near-brush with death in the old neighborhood while I’m right here in New York, don’t you?”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Hayley said brightly, as if this had all been Bruce’s idea.

  “Sure, why not? It’s not like I have a lot to do here, like a major, high-profile trial that could win me the Pulitzer. Why don’t I just put that on the back burner and focus on this?”

  “I love you, Bruce,” Hayley cooed.

  “You love me because you know I’ll say, ‘Yes, Hayley, I will be happy to gather whatever information I can for you during the few spare moments I have.’ ”

  “Yes, and I love you for just being you.”

  “You can put down the Hallmark card. I already said I’ll do it.”

  “Do you miss me?”

  “A little. But I think I’m going to miss the awesome loaded double cheeseburger I had for dinner even more after I leave this hotel.”

  Hayley chuckled. “I promise to make you one just like it when you get home if you tell me what’s in it.”

  “That’s just it, the secret sauce is the magic ingredient. You’ll never be able to re-create it.”

  “I accept the challenge. Now get some sleep.”

  “Oh, you mean what I was doing before you so rudely called me and woke me up?”

  “Goodbye, Bruce.”

  “Love you too.”

  Island Food & Spirits

  BY HAYLEY POWELL

  A few weeks ago, while at the Shop and Save, I ran into one of Mona’s boys. I can’t remember his name, there are so many. Anyway, Chet or Digger—I’m pretty sure it was one of them—let me know that he had been out clamming that day, and the Barnes family was fully stocked up, if I was interested. That family knows I am a sucker for fresh clams, especially if they are mixed with a garlicky sauce and topped on a big bed of linguini pasta!