Penne Dreadful Read online

  “No. I feel fine, and my headache is starting to go away.”

  “Tess, you’re all shaken up. Your health is more important. We’re going to the hospital, and I don’t want to hear any more arguments.”

  I knew he wouldn’t change his mind but decided to see if he might meet me halfway. “If the doctor says I’m all right, I’m going to work afterward.”

  Gino grunted. “Why is everyone in this family so damn stubborn?” He didn’t wait for my answer as he started the car and we moved down the street. “Thankfully, your car is drivable. Lou’s not going to write you a ticket, but we can’t do anything about the insurance company.”

  I sighed. “That’s the least of my worries.”

  We both fell silent during the five-minute drive to Harvest Park Hospital, and I called Anthony on the way to explain what had happened. He sounded concerned and told me not to worry about my shift, but I assured him I’d be there eventually.

  The emergency room was at full capacity when we arrived, and I groaned. “We’ll never get out of here.”

  “That’s a good thing. You won’t be able to go to work then.” Gino flashed me an evil grin.

  The woman at the counter took my medical information, and then we found a couple of empty seats. Despite all the other people, though, I was the next one called. Perhaps Gino’s Harvest Park PD jacket had something to do with it.

  The doctor did a few tests, held up some fingers, and asked how many I saw, then typed notes into a laptop. “You might experience some stiffness,” he warned. “That’s normal after a car accident. But if you have any vision blurriness or severe headaches, come back immediately or go to see your regular doctor.”

  Gino folded his arms over his chest. “Is she okay to go to work today?”

  The doctor frowned. “Yes, but normally I’d advise against it. Given the circumstances, Tessa, I’m sure your boss would understand.”

  “I have to go.” Chuck’s revelation had motivated me even more to find out what had happened, and I didn’t want to waste another minute.

  “Your car is back at your house,” Gino said as we exited the hospital’s main entrance. “I didn’t want you driving, so I had one of my coworkers drop it off.”

  Puzzled, I stared at him. “How am I supposed to get home tonight?”

  Gino opened the passenger door of his car for me and walked around to the driver’s seat. “I texted Gabs about your accident. She said to call when you need a ride home. You get out at nine, right? She has some extra stuff to do at the store and will be there until then.”

  “Wow, that’s late for her. Okay, I’ll probably take her up on it. Thanks for everything.”

  Gino watched me soberly. “Are you sure you want to go back to Slice, Tess? I mean, if Anthony and his employees are doing drugs or something else illegal, this could be more dangerous than I originally thought. Sure, it might relate to Dylan’s death or maybe something entirely different, but I don’t want to take any chances with your safety.”

  I gripped the side of the seat between my fingers and blew out a sigh. “This is a horrible thing to say, but what if—God forbid—Lucy had been murdered? Then you discovered through your investigation that she’d lied to you and you were forced to question her honesty for the first time ever. Could you forget about it?”

  “No,” he admitted in a hoarse voice. “But I’m a detective and—”

  “I know,” I interrupted. “But if you weren’t a cop, could you walk away?”

  He sighed. “All right, I get what you’re saying. God knows I don’t approve, but I do happen to understand. Please be careful about what you say to Anthony though.”

  “Dylan was pretending to go to work every day. What was he doing instead? Who was he doing it with? Maybe it relates to why he was killed.” Funny how you think you know a person. I had never suspected a thing. Well played, Husband. Well played.

  Minutes later, Gino pulled into the parking lot of Slice. “If you have any pain, I want you to promise that you’ll call Gabby to come get you sooner. If she’s not available, call me.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “No. You’re vulnerable and upset, and I’m worried about you.”

  “Upset yes, but vulnerable no,” I admitted. “Not anymore. Angry sums it up much better. I want answers, Gino, and I’m going to find them.”

  Ten

  “Is everything okay, Tessa?” Anthony asked. “You look kind of pale. Maybe you should go home. Are you having any pain?”

  It was almost two o’clock when I’d finally reached Slice. My head still ached, but I didn’t want to go home. I shook my head, wincing from the stiffness in my neck. “It was only a fender bender. How about I freeze some dinners? I’ll whip up some of my eggplant parmigiana.” My mind was preoccupied with what Chuck had relayed to me earlier, and it was quickly becoming an obsession. What else had Dylan lied to me about?

  “Whatever you’re most comfortable with.” He hesitated. “Some more tomato sauce would be great.” He handed me an order slip. “And we got a call for two pizzas. I’ll grab some dough out of the cooler for you. Don’t worry about making any fresh today.”

  “The sauce I made yesterday is gone already?” Anthony hadn’t heard me, and I was left alone with my thoughts. Was there a way to phrase my questions without making him suspicious? How often was Dylan here, Anthony? Was he doing other things besides your taxes, like finding creative and dishonest ways to help your floundering business?

  I checked the prep table and saw that the vegetables and cheeses had already been filled. Anthony came out of the cooler with five bags of dough. Before he could walk away again, I stopped him. “Do you have a second?”

  “Sure. What’s wrong?”

  “I was wondering how often Dylan used to come in here. I mean, was it like every day, or maybe two to three times a week?”

  He removed his hat and scratched his sparse hair thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. But he did my taxes, you know. It wasn’t all pleasure and pizza.” He smiled in an effort to keep his tone light, but I detected a curious glimmer in his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  Desperation had settled into my tone. “Was he always alone? About how long would he stay?”

  Anthony furrowed his brow. “What’s going on, honey? Level with me.”

  Okay, how to get out of this one. Gee, Anthony, I was wondering if one of your employees might be responsible for my husband’s not-so-accidental death. Or maybe you saw somebody tamper with his car that day. In fact, I kind of think you and him were involved in something illegal! Cooking any books with those pizzas, Anthony?

  Gino’s warning floated through my mind. I needed to be very careful about what I said. Sighing, I forged on. “He might have been cheating on me.” The lie stuck in my throat, and my voice was hoarse. “I was wondering if you knew anything about it.”

  Shock registered on Anthony’s face. “There’s no way. Dylan talked about you all the time. He adored you, Tessa.”

  “Well, the last couple of months before he died, Dylan started acting really strange. A woman knows when she’s being lied to.” Then I decided to go a little further. “I think he was meeting someone here.”

  Anthony carefully stroked the white whiskers on his chin. “No. He was a good boy. I never saw him meet a lady here. He came in a couple of times with a friend of his. It’s been a while, so I can’t remember the guy’s name.”

  “Tall, athletic guy. Dark hair?” I asked. “A fireman named Justin?”

  He snapped his fingers. “Yeah, that’s right. Now I remember Dylan saying that he worked for the fire department. Nice-looking boy. But in answer to your question, no. I never saw Dylan here with another lady.”

  I gripped the edges of the prep table. “That’s a relief.” I racked my brain for something else to add. “But there was something going on with him
. Money might have been an issue, since finances were always pretty tight at home. Did Dylan…” In a sudden panic, I groped for the right words. “Did he ever ask you to borrow money?”

  The color rose in Anthony’s face. “No. Those pizzas need to be baked, Tessa. Butchy will be back for his next delivery soon. Don’t forget the sauce either.”

  “Sure,” I said. “But I made some yesterday. It’s gone already?”

  Anthony seemed uncomfortable. “I’m freezing some. You can never have too much of a good thing, right? If you want to leave me the recipe, I’ll make it myself. I know you’re pretty busy in here with the pizzas and dinners.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I’ll do it.” I didn’t mind Anthony using my sauce for the dishes, but if he thought I was giving him the recipe, he had another thing coming. I tried to work the conversation back to my husband. “Did Dylan—”

  “Please, Tessa. The pizzas.” Anthony narrowed his eyes and walked into the dining area, where a couple had settled into one of the booths.

  Having no choice, I dug my hands into the dough, and an immediate sense of calm washed over me. The pies were finished far too soon, and the urge to keep my hands busy was overpowering. I was tired and stressed, my body stiff and sore from the accident. It probably had been a mistake to come in, but I was off for the next two days and could rest up then. There was no time to waste.

  After I had started the sauce and the pizzas were in the oven, I thought that perhaps some creativity would help ease my anxiety and decided to make some stromboli. I scanned the reach-in fridge of the prep table and placed diced ham, pepper, onions, and mushrooms into separate bowls. I greased a frying pan on the stove and added the ingredients one by one, ladling tomato sauce on top to simmer for a few minutes. As the mixture cooked and the delectable smell of onions and frying ham filled the room, I rolled out pizza dough on to a cookie sheet and cut it in half. I covered the pieces of dough with pepperoni slices and added the warm, rich mixture from the pan. Then I folded the dough around it and brushed the top with melted butter. As I placed the loaves in the oven, the back door slammed, and a young man walked toward me.

  He appeared to be barely out of his teens and, at about five foot seven, wasn’t that much taller than me, and he looked so thin, I thought I could quite easily pick him up. Dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans, white sneakers, and a black hooded jacket, he waited patiently as I removed the pizzas from the oven one by one, slid them off the peels and into the cardboard boxes, and used the rocker knife to cut even slices.

  He smiled at me politely. “You’re Mrs. Esposito, right? Eric told me you’d started working here. I’m Butchy.”

  I returned his smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Butchy. My mother knows your mother from church.”

  “Oh?” His ruddy complexion deepened. “My mom gets really ticked off when I miss Mass. She once made me go to confession and tell the priest I hadn’t been to church for a whole month. He was okay about it, but she forced me to say a ton of Hail Marys.”

  I laughed and turned to take the loaves out of the oven.

  Butchy sniffed at the air. “I love stromboli and those smell great. Your husband said you were an awesome cook.” His face froze. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way.”

  Intrigued by his words, I glanced around the kitchen. Vince was in the office with the door shut, and Anthony was now sitting in a booth with some of his regular patrons, laughing loudly. “Thank you. Did you know Dylan well?”

  He shrugged. “Well enough, I guess. He always stopped to talk to me and ask how things were going. Real nice guy. He spent a good deal of time in Anthony’s office with him when he was here.”

  How interesting. “Was Dylan here every day?”

  He paused to think. “Pretty much. At least it seemed like he was always around, especially in the last month or so before he—” Butchy lowered his eyes. “I figured he was working for Anthony full time as his accountant.”

  I leaned forward on the table eagerly. “Did you ever see Dylan come in here with anybody? Or was he always alone?”

  Butchy’s amber-colored eyes became wary. “I’m not sure what you mean. Like, was he ever with another lady?”

  “Anyone. Man, woman, it doesn’t matter.”

  He studied me carefully. “Why are you asking so many questions?”

  Have a little tact, Tess. He’s getting suspicious. If I tried the ruse about the other woman, maybe he’d provide some information and not worry about my motive. “Okay, you’ve got me. What I really meant was, did you ever see him with another woman?”

  Butchy glanced out into the dining room, as if he was checking on Anthony’s status as well. “No, but Izzy would go into the office sometimes when he was there.” He fidgeted under my gaze. “I think she kind of liked him. And one time—” He hesitated, then grabbed the pizzas and began to stuff them into the black warmer bag. “Never mind.”

  I reached out and touched his arm. “One time, what? Please tell me.”

  He stared down at my hand, positioned on his elbow. Flustered, I removed it, but he still refused to look at me. “I walked by the office one night and heard her talking to Dylan. Anthony wasn’t here, and Vince was on the phone. She asked Dylan if he wanted to—you know.”

  Blood pounded into my face. “If he wanted to what?”

  Butchy practically squirmed with discomfort. “If he wanted to go back to her place after work. She told him she’d make it a night he’d never forget.”

  Speechless, I stared at Butchy and prayed this was some type of joke.

  He didn’t wait for my response. “Dylan told her to get lost, Mrs. Esposito. He didn’t take the bait. Then he said something to Izzy about how she should be careful that her fiancé didn’t find out about her promisc—I mean her behavior. Jeez, I can never say that word right.”

  “Do you mean she’s promiscuous?” I asked.

  Butchy nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. One night when Dylan and I were leaving, she was in the parking lot making out with some guy in a BMW. It wasn’t Rico either.”

  “Who’s Rico?” I asked, trying to remember where I’d heard the name.

  “He’s Izzy’s fiancé. She got real angry when Dylan mentioned it and told him to mind his own business—or else.”

  Fear settled in my stomach. “What do you think she meant by that?”

  “I’m not sure,” Butchy admitted. “But you don’t ever want to get on Izzy’s bad side. That broad has enough venom in her to make a snake jealous.”

  Dylan had made quite an enemy of the seductress Isabella. How far would she go to protect her secret from her fiancé?

  Butchy seemed oblivious to my internal thoughts and prattled on. “Between you and me, I can’t stand her. If I had enough guts I’d have told Anthony about her and that other guy, but I was afraid he’d fire me, so I kept quiet. It’s not my business, and I need this job, Mrs. Esposito. I’ve got seven brothers and sisters at home and have to help out all I can.”

  “Of course,” I said, feeling immensely sorry for him.

  He took a step toward me, his features softening in the light from above. “After that night, I don’t think Izzy went near your husband again. She kind of acted like he had the plague, you know what I mean? I even heard her tell Anthony one night that he should get rid of him.”

  The hair rose on the back of my neck. “Get rid of Dylan?”

  “You know,” Butchy said. “Fire him. Find someone else to do his taxes.”

  “Oh, right.” Relieved, I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to run. Please don’t tell Anthony about any of this, okay?”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” I assured him.

  He gave me a feeble smile. “Have a good night and don’t worry. Things will get better soon.”

  I watched
him disappear out the kitchen door and tried to pull myself together. At least something had gone right today. Butchy seemed willing to talk and, unlike the others, wasn’t treating me like an alien. He might even turn out to be an ally.

  The door to the office opened and Vince came out, sniffing the air. He stopped short by me and pointed at the loaves on the table. “What’d you make those for?”

  “I had some extra time and thought that maybe we could put them up for sale.”

  Vince scowled and ran a hand through his unruly hair. “We won’t be able to sell them.”

  A woman leaned over the checkout counter, staring in at the both of us. “Hi, I called in a pizza. Last name is Hunter.”

  Vince waved a hand dismissively at me. “I’ve got this.” He took a pizza box off the wall shelf behind me, stepped over to the counter, and laid it down in front of the woman. “Fifteen dollars.”

  The woman eyed the loaves that I was wrapping in foil with interest. “Oh my. Is that stromboli I smell?”

  “Fresh out of the oven.” I smiled.

  Anthony reappeared from the dining area and nodded politely at the woman. “Hello, Mrs. Hunter, how are you today?”

  “Fine, Anthony, thanks. How much is the stromboli?”

  Both Vince and Anthony turned to look at me, but I simply shrugged and said nothing. Let them figure it out for themselves. The satisfaction in proving Vince wrong was priceless.

  “Uh, twelve dollars a loaf,” Anthony said with uncertainty.

  “I’ll take both of them.” Mrs. Hunter glanced down at the little girl who was clinging to her coat and whining. “Can you give her a slice, please? She’s driving me crazy.”

  “No problem.” I cut off a thick slice, placed it on a paper plate, and handed it to the woman. “It’s still very warm, so be careful.”

  Mrs. Hunter broke off a piece for the child, then helped herself to one. She took a small bite and closed her eyes as she chewed. “Oh my, this is delicious. Will you be featuring this on the menu from now on? My family loves stromboli.”

  Vince and Anthony exchanged a glance between them. “Sure,” Anthony hedged. “We could do that.”