The Wedding Soup Murder: An Italian Kitchen Mystery (6 page)

When my shift was over at the restaurant, I called my sister-in-law, Sofia, to meet for dinner. “Sure,” she said, “anywhere but at the Casa Lido. I don’t want to run into your mother.”

As my mom tended to blame Sofia for the problems between her and Danny, things had been a bit strained between Sofia and her mother-in-law. It didn’t help
that Nonna adored Sofia, and wanted nothing more than for her and Danny to get back together again. As Sofia had once remarked, “You need a freakin’ score card with that family of yours.”

We were meeting at the Shell Café, one of the few places in town that was BYO. I showed up early, a bottle of Cabernet in hand. When Sofia arrived, she made quite an entrance in her tropical-print maxi dress. The bright colors set off her dark skin and hair, and revealed her slender but curvy form. We chatted about work—Sofia owned a dance school—until our food came: a grilled salmon salad for Sofia and the roast chicken special for me.

“So, I can’t believe you haven’t burned up the phone lines calling me, SIL,” I said.

“Why?” Sofia pushed the salad around on her plate and ate a small bite of salmon.

I grinned across the table at her. “Because I know you’ve heard about Elizabeth Merriman, and I told you Tim and I were working that reception. I fully expected you to grill me.” I happily tucked into my roast chicken and mashed potatoes.

“I did see it in the paper. I guess my mind’s been on a bunch of other things.” She looked up from her food, and I thought her eyes seemed a little tired. “So fill me in.”

“Oh my gosh, where to begin?” I started with Kate Bridges, and the battle of the chefs in the kitchen, and then moved on to my conversation with the Natales and the fight between the Iron Lady and Chef Kate. I could see Sofia getting interested in spite of herself. During our “adventure” in May, she had nagged and
prodded until I agreed to investigate. The two of us had quite a partnership, despite how it almost ended.

“So, we’re fairly sure she went over that seawall.” She put down her fork and took a sip of water. “You think she was pushed?”

“Maybe. Or she could have fallen. But I don’t think she jumped. She’s just not the suicidal type. Her nickname was the Iron Lady.” I pointed to her still-full wineglass. “Are you gonna drink that? Because I hate to see a good Cab go to waste.”

She pushed the glass my way. “It’s all yours.” Then she smiled faintly, a flicker of mischief in her eyes. “I can only imagine Princess Roberta Natale finding out somebody gets bumped off at her wedding reception.”

“I forgot that you know Roberta,” I said. “You graduated high school together, right?”

She nodded. “And I liked her better when she had a few pounds on her. But I do feel bad about what happened at her wedding.”

“But it could have been afterward, Sofe. Elizabeth was still alive at nine o’clock. For all we know, Roberta didn’t even find out until it hit the papers.”

“True.” She thought for a moment. “I guess the big thing is when she was killed.”

“Right. And I sure hope Dr. Chickie can account for his time that night.” I downed what was left in my own glass of wine and then moved on to Sofia’s. “Hey, did Dr. Chickie do your teeth, too?”

“Nope. I never needed braces.”

Looking at my sister-in-law’s delicate bone structure, straight nose, and perfect mouth, it seemed a silly
question. “Of course you didn’t. And neither did Danny. The two of you will produce children with beautifully straight teeth and save a bundle on orthodontia.”

Sofia, staring down at her salad plate, didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry—should I not have mentioned Danny? Aren’t things better with you guys?”

“They are, I guess. He’s even coming around to the idea of me applying to the police academy.”

I reached across the table and squeezed her arm. “That’s great.”

“It is. I mean, we’ve come a long way.” She frowned. “It’s just that there are some issues of timing right now.”

I waited for her to go on, but she just picked at her salad. This was the quietest I’d ever seen my normally voluble sister-in-law. “Is everything okay, Sofe?” I asked.

“Yes. We’re still working some things out.” She grinned at me, and for a moment was her old self. “You know what that’s like, right, Vic? How
are
the Macho Twins these days?”

“Well, they’re both speaking to me. Cal’s flirting with me again.”

“Glad to hear it. And what about Tim?”

I sighed. “Tim swore me his eternal friendship. And is likely dating a redheaded wedding planner named Lacey.”

“Ah.” She shook her head. “Those gingers will get you every time,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Did you say her name is Lacey?”

“She’s actually very nice, despite her name and hair color. We met her at the reception.” I looked down at
my unfinished meal, slowly losing my own appetite. I shrugged. “Look, when I came back, I made it clear there was no hope for him and me. I guess he got the message.”

“But you still wear the necklace he had made for you.”

I touched the silver choker with its small pendant of green sea glass. “I like this necklace.”

Sofia’s dark eyes were serious. “What do you really want, Vic?”

“Well, I want to finish this novel I‘m writing and publish it under my own name. I want to learn to cook like Nonna. And I want to get some beach time this summer.” I shook my head. “But when it comes to my romantic life, I don’t have a clue.”

“Speaking of clues, Vic, where do we start?” The old enthusiasm was back in Sofia’s voice.
Here we go again,
I thought.

“Look, I’ll admit I’m curious about what happened to Elizabeth Merriman. And I’d like to help Dr. Chickie.” I lowered my voice. “According to Danny, an embezzlement charge is pending, which gives him a motive, but—”

“But what?” Sofia was leaning on her elbows, her eyes wide.

“Regina Sutton came to see me at the restaurant this morning, just to give me this.” I held out the card. “I have to go down there and give a statement.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t do some research,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal.

“Doing research nearly got us killed.”

She grinned. “So we know better this time.” She
pointed her fork at me. “And don’t tell me you haven’t been going over it in that mystery-writer brain of yours. You’re driving yourself crazy over how that woman ended up on the beach.”

“You’re right about that one.”

“Okay, so if she
was
pushed, who are the suspects?”

“Anybody’s guess, Sofe. But not one person I spoke to that night had a good thing to say about the Iron Lady. Any one of them might have ‘helped’ her off that platform.” I scooped up the rest of my mashed potatoes, as my appetite was returning. “But she was threatening Dr. Chickie and had a loud argument with Chef Kate. Plus, there’s a boyfriend.”

“I thought you said she was pushing eighty!”

“She’s not allowed to have a boyfriend because she’s old? Not only that”—I leaned in closer for emphasis and to get a good look at Sofia’s face for this part—“he’s almost twenty years younger than she was.”

“Get out.” She shook her head. “On second thought, good for her. Wait a minute,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Didn’t you say she was rich? I wonder if she left him anything.”

“According to Mustang Sally, the club bartender, she’d paid for his bayside condo.”

“Maybe he was in a hurry for the rest of it.” She leaned forward, her eyes interested. “So, who else we got?”

“Not sure. It could be any one of a number of people who were at that wedding—guests, club staff. Or even somebody who wandered in off the street.” I had
another thought. “She had a giant emerald ring on her finger. Maybe it was a robbery gone bad.”

“But that doesn’t explain what she’d be doing out on that seawall.” She shook her head. “We’re flying blind without the time of death.”

“True. And I don’t imagine Regina Sutton will be sharing that information with me.”

“Danny might.” Sofia looked down at her plate and speared a bit of lettuce, but didn’t put it in her mouth.

“I don’t know about that. He came to see me in the restaurant after the news broke, and he couldn’t tell me much. Don’t forget, it didn’t happen on his patch.”

“He’s got friends on the Belmont force.”

“True. But I think Danny will be careful about what he says and doesn’t say. He has to be.” I winked at her. “Maybe you can charm it out of him.”

She shook her head. “He was not happy I got involved in that last one. Come to think of it, why are
you
so hot to get involved? You told me never again.”

I sighed. “I know I did. But I’m a witness. And there’s Dr. Chickie to consider. My dad’s after me to try to help.”

“And your mom wants you to stay out of it.” At the mention of my mother, her eyes looked sad again.

“Mom will come around, Sofie.”

“I hope so. I wish she were happier that we’re trying to work things out.”

“She will be, once things are more settled. C’mon, she’s a protective Italian mama. You’ve got one of those. And someday you’ll be one yourself.”

“Right.” She pushed her plate away and took another sip of water.

“So, what do you think?” I asked. “Dessert?”

“I don’t think so, Vic.”

I pointed to her nearly full plate. “You hardly ate anything.”

“I know. I think it’s the heat.”

I looked at her slender arms. “I mean, you’re not trying to lose weight or anything, are you? You teach dance all day. You must burn a million calories.”

She raised one of her beautifully arched brows. “In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t have to
try
to lose weight.”

“Show-off.” I patted her arm. “Okay, I’ll be virtuous and I won’t have any, either.”

“Right. And then you’ll stop at the boardwalk for
zeppole
.”

“Oooh, there’s an idea. Maybe food will take my mind off this case.”

“I doubt it. In fact, when I go home, I’m taking out the red folder.”

The infamous red folder had held all our notes and information for our first—and I had hoped last—investigation. “Didn’t the newspaper say she owned Merriman Industries? I think that’s a good place for me to start, don’t you?”

“Given your formidable research skills, yes. I think my focus should be the club.”

“Does this mean we’re on the case?” Sofia held out her hand.

“Against my better judgment, but yes.” I took her hand and shook it. “God help us,” I added.

We paid the check and said our good nights, and I headed out of town toward my cottage, determined I would not eat another thing. But as the smells of boardwalk food drifted my way, I walked up the nearest ramp. I’d landed close to the rides pier, with the carousel house at one end and the Ferris wheel at the other. Though not a rides person, I’d taken a spin on that wheel with Cal not so long ago. The lights of the rides streaked the darkness in lines of neon color, illuminating the faces of those strolling the pier. I had missed this in New York; this was home, my history. Even the summer crowds didn’t bother me. I walked past the game stands and the arcade, halfway tempted to stop in for a quick game of Skee-Ball. But the lure of fried dough won out.

I bought a half-dozen
zeppole
and walked down the ramp to the street, shaking the bag to properly coat the little Italian doughnuts with several layers of powdered sugar.
I will not open this bag,
I thought
. Not till I get home.
At which point I would make myself a cup of decaf, put two (maybe three) fried treats in a napkin, and sit out on my deck to eat them. But my happy thoughts darkened considerably as I approached my cottage and saw that I had visitors. Standing in front of my door like two mismatched sentries was none other than the newly married happy couple, Dennis and Roberta Doyle.

“We’ve been waiting for you. You weren’t at the restaurant,” Roberta said accusingly. “So your dad told us where you live.”

Thank you, Frank
. I gripped my bag of
zeppole
. In less
than three minutes, these babies would be too cold to eat. I sighed. “Shouldn’t you guys be on your honeymoon?”

Roberta, whose dark hair was styled in a complicated upsweep that mimicked her wedding look, narrowed her eyes at me. “We don’t have a honeymoon, thanks to that old bitch getting killed.”

“Yeah, that was really thoughtless of her. Look, I’m sorry about what happened at your wedding. But why are you here?”

“Your dad told my dad that the county prosecutor came to see you. I wanna know what you plan to tell her.”

Frank strikes again.
“I plan to tell her the truth, Roberta.”

She pointed a French-manicured fingernail at me. “You mean you’re gonna tell her about what Elizabeth said to my dad and get him arrested for murder.”

“Whoa,” I said, holding up my palm. “You’re getting way ahead of things here.”

She put her tiny fists on her hips. “Am I really? Everybody in town knows he took money from the club, and then Elizabeth ends up dead. On the night of my wedding!” she wailed.

“Okay, I know it doesn’t look good for him.” I thought about trying to comfort her, but realized she was in no mood for it.

“It sure doesn’t.” Dennis, who until this moment had been silent, chimed in. “The guy’s got a motive.”

“Shut up, Dennis,” Roberta snapped. “You’re not helping.” She pointed at me again; I wondered if her
mother had ever taught her that it’s rude. “And neither are you. You don’t care if this whole town knows somebody died after my wedding reception or that people think my father did it!”

Well, I did care about
one
of those things. “Roberta, people who know your father will know he’s not capable of such a thing, and— Hang on, did you say
after
your reception?”

Her face grew wary. “I don’t know when she died, but I do know that old bag was still alive when we left the reception.”

“Yup.” Big Dennis nodded in agreement, giving me a hopeful smile. I smiled back, thinking he was too nice for the bratty Roberta. “We left at eleven thirty,” he said. “And she was still in her office. I could see her through the window when we got in the car.”