The Wedding Soup Murder: An Italian Kitchen Mystery (10 page)

“T
his better be worth it,” I muttered. In a far corner of the parking lot of St. Theresa’s Church in Bayview Township, Sofia and I sat in her car, watching people enter through a side door. We were in stakeout clothes—at least our idea of such: dark clothes, hair in a ponytail tucked into a ball cap, and sunglasses.

“Hey, coming here was your idea.” Sofia adjusted her glasses and settled her cap firmly over her hair. “You upset because you sacrificed a date with Mr. Down on the Bayou? He gave up kinda easy—don’t you think? Is his ego that delicate?”

“I don’t know, Sofe. I guess after last time—”

“You mean when you implied he was a murderer?”

“Don’t remind me.” I looked in her rearview mirror for anyone coming in from the sidewalk.

“Do you recognize anybody?” Sofia asked.

“Not yet. It’s getting too dark anyway,” I complained.

“I think we should go in.”

“No way! If you think I’m going in there—” I jumped at the sound of a light rap on Sofia’s window.

Sofia already had the window down and had whipped off her sunglasses. Standing outside the car was a sweet-faced nun bearing a smile that could only be described as angelic.

“Are you here for the meeting, girls?” she asked.

“Uh . . .” I began, but, as always, Sofia jumped in.

“We are, sister. Thank you,” she said.

“Well, you’re in the right place. They’re held in the church basement, right through that door. I’m Sister Elizabeth. Of course, I’m not part of the organization, but I like to provide support to those who are struggling.”

“Thank you, sister, but—” I said.

Sofia interrupted, dropping her voice to a confidential tone. “My friend here is trying to decide whether or not to go in.”

I shot Sofia a murderous glance, but Sister Elizabeth gave me such a sympathetic look that I nearly launched into an Act of Contrition right there. “I know it’s hard, my child,” she said. “But the Lord will see you through. And so will I.” Then she opened the driver’s side door, which Sofia had so helpfully unlocked. She held out her hand to us. “Come, girls. I’ll walk you both inside.” Then she pointed to my hat and glasses. “But you’ll have to take those off.”

“Sure,” I said, slowly removing the ball cap.

Sister Elizabeth smiled brightly. “The glasses, too, dear.”

Once the glasses were off, I felt as naked as the day I was born. As I trailed behind Sofia and Sister Elizabeth, I wondered how I’d be able to explain my
presence at an AA meeting if I were recognized. The old
I’m doing research for a book
story was growing mighty thin.

We took the last two seats in the last row, and I scanned the room quickly. I didn’t recognize anybody, and I had to hope like mad no one recognized me.

“So?” Sofia asked. “Any wedding guests or staff from the Belmont here?”

“No,” I said. “So you can just stop asking me.”

“Oooh, someone’s grumpy.” She shifted in her folding chair, which squeaked loudly; I fought the urge to hide under my own.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” I said out of the side of my mouth.

“You’re the one who came up with the idea of the AA meeting.”

A middle-aged man in front of us turned around and smiled. “Recognizing the problem is the first step.” He stuck out his hand, and I shook it weakly. “I’m Rick,” he said. “You won’t be sorry you came. Can I get either of you a coffee?”

I shook my head, and Sofia said, “No, thanks.” But she rewarded him with a classic Sofia smile, and his cheeks actually got pink.

“You let me know if there’s anything I can get you girls,” he said, and turned back in his chair.

“Nice way
not
to call attention to yourself there, Sofe,” I whispered. “And it might have been my idea to come here, but I didn’t mean we should
attend
the meeting. I figured we’d sit outside and watch people go in.”

“Better this way.” She pointed to a podium at the front of the room. “When they go up there to talk, they give their names. Then we’ll know for sure.”

“Yes, but how many of these will we have to sit through? And what if somebody sees us?” I had a sudden image of Nina LaGuardia at the anchor desk at News Ten, detailing the story of the famous mystery writer spotted at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. I hunched down in the rickety chair.

“For God’s sake, Vic, it’s
anonymous
. Hence the name. The idea is that you protect the identities of the people in here.” She shook her head. “So just chill out.”

“Sure,” I said, “and let’s see how chill you’ll be if the mommy or daddy of one of your dance students shows up—”

“Excuse me, ladies.” A slender African-American woman in a maxi skirt stood at the end of our aisle. “I see that you’re new, and I just wanted to welcome you,” she said softly. “I’m Leticia, the group leader. I hope you’ll consider sharing your stories with us today.” She nodded, her feather earrings swaying. “I know it takes courage just to show up.”

Oh, Leticia, you have no idea. Will I have to stand up there and give a fake name and tell a fake story in front of people who have overcome so much?
The panic made its way up my spine, manifesting itself in beads of sweat on my forehead.

As though Sofia could read my mind, she gave my arm a less than gentle squeeze. Then her face took on an expression
of modest shyness. “I think we’ll just listen today, Leticia. Thank you.”

“Whatever you feel comfortable with, ladies. If anyone asks you to speak, just say ‘I pass.’” She handed Sofia a small card. “In the meantime, you may want to take a look at this.” Leticia turned and moved gracefully through the room, greeting some with a handshake and others with a kiss.

“Why is everybody so damn helpful?” I hissed.

“Temper, temper,” Sofia said. “Remember why we’re here, SIL.” She passed me the card.

“What is it?”

“It’s the twelve steps. I figure you ought to learn them.”

I snatched the card from her hand and stuck it in my jeans pocket. After an introductory prayer (to which I added a couple of my own:
Please, Lord, don’t let this be a mistake. Please, Lord, don’t let anyone see me
)
the meeting got started. Leticia read from some AA literature, made a few announcements, and explained how the meetings worked. Then a basket was passed around for donations.

“This is like sitting through Mass,” I whispered to Sofie, who shushed me and frowned. I put a five in the basket and looked around for a small man with crazy white hair. What if he wasn’t here? We’d be losing valuable time. But my own worry faded in the face of those who stood up, identified themselves, and talked about their struggles. I was so lost in people’s confessions that I almost didn’t notice the person making his way up the main aisle.

A small man with stooped shoulders, a resigned air, and wild white hair like Albert Einstein took his place
behind the podium. “My name is William,” he said, as he looked out at the audience. “And I’m an alcoholic.”

“Oh my God,” I said, as I got into Sofia’s car. “Sally was right. She called him a twelve-stepper. He was with Toscano that night in the club bar, and it wasn’t the first time. Sally said she’d seen them there together before.”

I braced myself against the dashboard as Sofia pulled out of the parking lot. I was always nervous when my sister-in-law drove the getaway car, but tonight she was moving at a relative crawl—only two miles over the speed limit, as opposed to ten.

“What connection could there be between Fox and Toscano?” she asked.

“As Sally would say, that’s the sixty-four-dollar question. But let’s back up here. Toscano comes to Belmont Beach about six months ago. How does he meet Elizabeth Merriman?”

“He joins the club?” Sofia said, turning off the GPS.

“Possibly. Or he’s a former Merriman employee, too.” I took out my pad. “Would you check with your uncle on that?”

Sofia nodded. “If he used to work for them that would explain how he knows Fox.”

“That’s assuming
this
William Fox is the same one who worked for Merriman. So far, we’re going on a hunch here.”

“True. For now let’s assume he is, so we can think this through.”

“Okay,” I said. “You know, I hadn’t thought about
Toscano as somebody from Elizabeth’s past, only her present. But if Toscano didn’t work for Merriman, how does he know Fox?”

“Maybe he’s a twelve-stepper himself?”

“He was drinking a beer in the club bar.” I shook my head. “You know, Sofe, as I watched them together, I got the sense that Fox was somehow submissive to Toscano.”

“You mean like Jack’s the big dog and William is the little one?”

“Exactly. My instinct tells me that Fox needs Toscano more than Toscano needs him. But for what?”

“Money?” Sofie asked. “Information?”

“Or an exchange of one for the other. You’ve got me thinking. What if Toscano set out to get into Elizabeth’s good graces? What if he knew she was a wealthy widow and found out Fox used to work for her?” I pointed to a green sign on our right. “Don’t miss the parkway entrance.”

But for some reason, she sailed right past it. “I’m going a different way. Back to Toscano,” she said. “You think that he found Fox and was paying him for information about Elizabeth?”

“It’s a reasonable theory, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. That’s a lot to base on two guys having a drink in a bar.”

“Maybe. But we have to start somewhere.”

“And I know just where that is,” Sofia said. “We’re gonna confirm whether or not our William Fox is the same one who worked for Elizabeth’s husband.”

I held up my hand. “Oh no, you don’t. If Sutton
finds out, I’m dead. Not to mention what my brother will do to us both for getting involved in this mess. I’ve already trespassed at the club, crossed a police line, and pocketed evidence. And I’m tired of lying to people, Sofe—” At which point my sister-in-law let out a giant yawn. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I boring you?”

She grinned and shook her head. “Well, actually, you are, but I’m also tired. C’mon, Vic. What harm would it do to talk to William Fox?”

“He’d probably run right to Toscano with it. You said yourself that we need to watch out for him.”

“I said that
you
need to watch out for him. He doesn’t know who I am. But you have a point.” Sofia made a sudden turn onto an unfamiliar road, her eyes fixed straight ahead while she spoke.

It wasn’t until we passed a sign for Dover that I finally caught on. We were stopped at a light, giving me a clear view of the driver in front of us, and my stomach sank. “Sofia Theresa Delmonico Rienzi, are you following that car?”

Her thick-lashed brown eyes widened in a semblance of innocence. “What car?”

I pointed. “You know what car. The one in front of us with the little old man driving.”

“What little old man?”

“Cut it out, Sofe. There’s only one car and one old man; he’s got crazy hair and he’s stopped at the same light we are. Really, what do you plan to do? Track him to his house and ambush as him as he gets out of the car?”

“Hmmm.” She raised an eyebrow. “Not a bad idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea! Turn around right now and get us back to the Garden State Parkway so we can go home.”

“Look, now we know he’s the Dover Township William Fox, right? I just want to see where he lives. Maybe look around a bit.” She tugged on the brim of her cap. “After all, we’re dressed for it.”

“And I suppose you’ve forgotten what happened to us last time?”

“Oh, last time was no big deal,” Sofia said, dismissing me with a lazy wave of her hand.

“No big deal? Do I have to remind you that we were almost killed?” I shivered at the memory of how my last “adventure” had ended. “I should never have gotten myself into this. I don’t care if Dr. Chickie spends the next twenty years in Rahway Prison.”

“Yes, you do. And you can’t help yourself; you want to solve the puzzle.” She leaned close to the steering wheel and squinted through the front window. “YRB-763. Write it down.”

Though I was skeptical, I wrote down the number anyway. The light changed, and we both moved through the intersection, Sofia keeping a respectable distance behind Fox’s car. “You really think Danny’s going to run a check on his license for you?”

She grinned. “If I ask nicely enough. And I know lots of ways to ask nice.”

At that moment, Fox put on his left signal, and Sofia increased her speed slightly. “This area’s more residential,” she said. “He’s gotta live around here somewhere.”

I shook my head. “This is crazy. It’s a risk. What if he’s a nut job?”

“He’s one little old guy. I can take him myself if I have to.” She hesitated. “Vic, I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought there was any real danger. Especially now.”

“What do you mean, ‘especially now’?”

She hesitated before she spoke. “Just that Danny and I are really working on things, and I don’t want to him mad at me.”

We passed two residential blocks, but Fox’s signal still blinked. “I don’t want him mad at me, either—that’s why I think we should turn around and go home.”

“We will, as soon as we get a look at Fox’s house. You can learn a lot about a person that way. That is, if he ever makes this turn.”

When Fox finally turned, Sofia slowed down, putting an extra car length between our vehicles. He lived only a few houses in; we waited until he pulled into his driveway, and then drove past slowly. “Watch out the back window,” Sofia said. “Let me know when he goes in. Do you think he noticed us?”

“It doesn’t seem like it. He just went inside,” I said. “And now the lights are going off.”

“Great.” Sofia made a k-turn and we cruised past the house to get a better look. “He’s not exactly livin’ large, is he?” she said.

“No.” I looked at the sad little house with its missing roof shingles and broken sidewalk, the plastic flowers stuck in a window box. There were old newspapers, still in their plastic bags, littering his front walk. “The poor guy,” I whispered. “If he’s the same William Fox
who worked for Merriman, he sure has come down in the world.”

“Well, that’s what we need to find out.”

“Don’t you think we’ve found out enough for tonight? Let’s get out of here before anybody sees us.”

But Sofia was already parking the car. Facing the intersection, I noted, no doubt for a clean getaway. “Just hang on a minute, okay?” she said. “There’s nothing illegal about sitting in a car on a quiet street on a summer evening.”

“Yes, but you won’t leave it at that. In about thirty seconds you’re going to suggest that we get out of the car on this lovely summer evening and snoop around this poor guy’s house.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she said, turning off the ignition.

“Guess what, Sofe? Trespassing
is
a bad thing!”

But as usual, Sofia wasn’t listening. “Look,” she said, “His garage door is open. And notice how far the garage is from the house.”

“Not as far as we’re gonna be when you start that car back up. Let’s get out of here, please.”

“All in good time, my pretty.” She handed me my ball cap. “Put this on.”

I groaned. “What could possibly be in that old man’s garage that would help us with this case?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out. Would you mind getting the flashlight out of the glove box, please?”

At the mention of the flashlight, I had a terrible sense of déjà vu. The last time we’d, um,
explored
, using Sofia’s flashlight, we’d ended up facing down an
angry cop. “I will get the flashlight,” I said, “but I’m not leaving this car until we come up with a reasonably plausible story for why we’re here if we get caught.” I set the flashlight on the seat and turned to my sister-in-law. “Well, Watson?”

“First, I’m not Watson. Second, I have a story all ready. Put your hat on and I’ll tell you.”

I sighed and put the ball cap back on, tucking my ponytail inside. “Okay, boss. Disguise in place.”

She nodded. “Very good. So here’s what we’ll say if William Fox or any of his neighbors sees us on the property: We’re lost.”

“
We’re lost
? That’s it? And how do we explain the black ninja clothes and hats? The flashlight? Our presence in this old guy’s garage at ten thirty at night?” I pointed to her dashboard, my voice rising. “And look, a state-of-the-art navigation system. I’m pretty sure
we’re lost
isn’t going to cut it!”

“Will you keep your voice down? Look, we can sit here all night and argue or we can learn something. I’m thinking William Fox is in a deep snooze by now. That garage is wide open; he parked in the driveway, so we can duck behind his car. We’ll do it fast—in, out, and back in the car. Five minutes, tops.” She held out her hand. “Are you in?”

“I’m in, but I’m not shaking on it,” I said, slapping her hand away. I looked up and down the deserted street. There were few lights on around the neighboring houses, and no street lights. Maybe we could take a chance on a quick look in that garage.

“C’mon,” she said. “And be quiet when you close the car door.”

My stomach churned as we stepped out of the car.
I wish I hadn’t sampled so much of that veal,
I thought. Sofia led the way, staying to the sidewalk until we came to the apron of Fox’s driveway. The overhead garage door was stuck in place, and for a moment I indulged in frightening fantasies of us being trapped inside or, worse, getting whacked on the head with that door. Sofia, who knew me well, grabbed my arm. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll go quick. I won’t turn the light on till we’re all the way inside.”

Our sneakers crunched on the loose gravel, setting my heart pounding. We ducked behind his car and slipped inside the garage. I scurried behind Sofia, who trained her light inside. It was clear why Fox had parked in his driveway: there wasn’t an inch of room in the garage. Stacks of newspapers and magazines covered two of the walls. Open cardboard boxes of tools, chipped dishes, and all manner of junk lined the cement floor. There were old bicycles, garden tools, and a rusted red wagon. Had it belonged to one of his children? The sight of it filled me with sadness and not a little remorse. We were intruding, not only on his property, but into his personal life.

“Holy crap,” Sophia whispered, running the light around the walls and floor. “This place is a hoarder’s paradise.”

I grabbed her arm. “Clearly we’re not going to learn anything here, Sofe. Let’s just
go
.”

“Not yet, Vic. Can’t you hang on a minute?” She
aimed the light at the far wall, revealing several rectangular objects. “C’mon, let’s check these out.”

As we got closer, the rectangles proved to be plaques, haphazardly tacked to the back wall. I squinted. Each one bore a logo with a stylized M. “They’re from Merriman,” I whispered. “Awards of some kind.”

“So, he’s the right William Fox,” Sofia said. She shifted the light. “This one is for twenty-five years of service.”

“He must have started there as a young man,” I said.

“Think about it, Vic,” Sofia said. “You work at a place for all those years and suddenly somebody pushes you out. That’s gotta be tough. Then your whole personal life falls apart. You’d be mighty pissed—maybe even angry enough to kill somebody.”

“But why wait twenty years?” I whispered.

“What does it matter? He was
there
that night,” she insisted.

“So were a whole lot of other people.” I looked around nervously. “Turn off the light so we can get out of here, please.”

She linked her arm through mine and grinned. “C’mon, scaredy-cat. Sofia will take care of you.”

I ducked under the lowered garage door with a hammering heart and a disturbed conscience. We sprinted for Sofia’s car. I had my door open, one foot already inside, when I heard his voice.

“Are you ladies looking for me?” William Fox asked.

Sofia and I turned slowly, simultaneously, just as though we’d choreographed the move. Fox stood on
the sidewalk in his pajamas and bathrobe, his hair so wild I expected him to begin a lecture on relativity. I braced myself for the inquisition:
Who were we? What were we doing here? Did we know trespassing was a crime?
But instead, William Fox did a curious thing—he smiled.

“Please excuse my attire,” he said. “I sometimes like a nice breath of air before I go to sleep.”

And if he’d decided to take that breath about two minutes earlier, my sister-in-law and I might be occupying the back of a police car right now. But I was holding my breath too tightly to even exhale with relief.

“So,” Fox said, “is there anything I can help you with?”

Gee, I don’t know, William. Unless you’d like to confess to the murder of Elizabeth Merriman.
“I—” I began to say, but Sofia pressed sharply on the toe of my sneaker with her dainty foot.

“We’re so sorry to disturb you,” Sofia said. “But we heard you speak at the meeting tonight. And—you’ll forgive us if we don’t introduce ourselves?”

At this, William Fox beamed. “Of course,” he said, nodding. “Are you looking for a sponsor; is that it?”

“I’m not,” Sofia said, beaming back brightly, “but my friend here is.”

I turned to Sofia indignantly, my mouth open wide enough for Dr. Chickie to do some follow-up work. Still smiling, she said, “You don’t have to be embarrassed. Mr.—er, William—understands.”