Penne Dreadful Page 5

  “Anthony is one of the largest donors we have at Heavenly Angels Church. He arranges a toy drop-off at his restaurant every Christmas.” Mom tapped a finger against her dark hair, piled high on top of her head in a dramatic updo. “When I was in there last week, he asked how you were doing. He was so upset about Dylan. I know it’s a difficult situation, honey. A senseless and tragic accident.”

  I kept quiet while she prattled on, arranging linen napkins on the white lace tablecloth. “I heard that Belladonna’s is looking for an experienced chef. You could have that job in a heartbeat. Dylan was a wonderful man, but let’s face it, sweetheart: a hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance policy won’t go far these days. He should have provided for you more.”

  “He was only thirty years old. We didn’t think death was in our immediate future.” I hated to admit it, but she was right. We should have planned better.

  She sighed. “Well, at least you don’t have to worry about taking care of any children by yourself.”

  Her words sent a pang through my chest. My biggest regret was not trying for a baby sooner. We would have been married six years on Valentine’s Day, but I was the one who had wanted to wait to have kids. Dylan had been anxious to become a father, and at times I still pictured him with our make-believe family—playing ball with a dark-haired son or carrying a daughter around on his shoulders, her blond hair the spitting image of her daddy’s. Sadly, it would never be more than a dream now.

  Mom’s face reddened, as if she had guessed my thoughts. “That was insensitive of me, darling. Now getting back to this…job.” She frowned, as if the word made her ill. “The DeNovo boy works for Anthony, doesn’t he? His first name is Butchy. Have you met him yet?”

  The sauce bubbled while I stirred, and I longed for my mother to stop talking so I could venture into my safe, happy place. “No. I saw a delivery kid named Sam and met another one named Eric.”

  “Butchy’s such a lovely young man,” she gushed. “He was at the Grab and Go last week and carried my groceries to my car for me. Anthony always hires the politest kids. I heard one of the boys couldn’t find a job so Anthony hired him, even though he didn’t need three delivery boys. Isn’t that wonderful? Butchy’s mom, Angela, is on the Altar Rosary Society with me. She’s running for president this year. It’s terrible to say, but I hope she doesn’t win.”

  “Why? I thought she was one of your friends.” I didn’t know the DeNovo family, except for Angela whom I’d met a couple of times when she’d been with my mother. They’d moved to Harvest Park a few years back, after Mr. DeNovo had passed away. Like my mother, they were devout churchgoers. I’d started to drift away from the parish after I married Dylan, who had not been very religious.

  She paused to refill her wineglass and then placed the bottle back on the table. “Because she’s starting to lose it. Angela’s in the beginning stages of dementia and comes out with the strangest things. The other day she told me Butchy’s the manager at Slice.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “Exactly.” My mother shook her head. “It’s so sad, especially since she’s only a few years older than me. Anyhow, are you sure the cookies won’t be too much trouble? We could buy them, but yours are so much better. I’ll reimburse you for the ingredients.”

  “It’s no trouble, and I’m not worried about the money.”

  “You need to have some fun, darling. How about taking a cruise with me? I’m thinking about going to the Caribbean after Christmas.”

  I did a mental eye roll and didn’t answer right away. My mother was a cruise enthusiast and thought a vacation could cure any ailment.

  “I’m sure Justin would watch Luigi.” Mom continued, her glass perched elegantly against her full red lips. “He’d do anything for you. That man has always had his eye on you.”

  My mother’s ramblings usually gave me a mild headache, but this comment flat out annoyed me. Justin Kelly and Dylan had been best friends since their college roommate days at the University at Albany. Dylan and I met two years later when I returned home one summer to be in a wedding where he and Justin also happened to be groomsmen. The first time I’d laid eyes on Dylan, I’d fallen hard, and Justin’s friendship had always been part of the deal.

  As Dylan was starting out at We Care, Justin had graduated from the fire academy and immediately secured a job at the Harvest Park Station. He and his wife, Natalie, had married about a year after Dylan and me, and we’d often gone out together as a foursome. We’d bought our house shortly after they had—in fact, their ranch home, where Justin now lived alone, was on the next block. Natalie and I had been on pleasant enough terms, but our friendship was nothing like Dylan and Justin’s, or even mine and Justin’s, for that matter.

  We were shocked when Justin revealed they were divorcing because of an affair Natalie had been having with one of her coworkers. Since she’d moved out a year ago, Dylan and I had tried to lend Justin support in any way possible. I constantly invited him over for dinner, but he seemed to prefer Dylan bringing a plate over to his house instead, although he’d always call or text me a thank-you afterward. He’d been a rock for me since Dylan died, despite the fact he was grieving too. Justin never made any inappropriate advances, and my mother needed to know that.

  “That’s ridiculous. Justin has been a godsend since Dylan’s death.”

  “He’s a good man,” my mother agreed, “and he didn’t deserve the way Natalie treated him. I simply said for you to watch out. He’s always been interested in you. A mother knows these things.”

  She didn’t understand. “He helps out with repairs around the house. You know, fixing the sink and stuff like that. We both miss Dylan terribly, and it’s nice to talk to someone who loved him as much as I did.”

  Mom wagged a blood-red acrylic fingernail in my face. “Theresa, listen to your mother. A man isn’t that helpful unless he wants something in return.”

  She reached down to pet her two Jack Russell terriers, Parmigiano and Reggiano, or “Parm” and “Reggie” as we all called them, after the King of Cheeses. She hardly ever went anywhere without the dogs. They were more spoiled than most children. Excited by the attention, the dogs began to run around the room in circles.

  “Mom! They’re scaring Luigi.” I pointed at the cat, who was trotting up the stairs in a panicked effort to get away from them.

  We were interrupted at that moment by a knock on the door. Gino, his wife, Lucy, the twins, and Aunt Mona were ready to descend upon us.

  Aunt Mona was my father’s younger sister. She and my mother had always gotten along famously, even though they were like day and night. Mom was delicate and petite, while Mona was big boned everywhere and immensely proud of it. She wore her grayish-brown hair in an outdated beehive hairstyle, and every winter, she donned the same faux-fur coat, along with black sturdy boots that looked as if she’d stolen them off a Viking.

  My mother and Aunt Mona were even closer now that their spouses were no longer in the picture. She and my Uncle Hal had divorced when Gabby and Gino were still in elementary school. He’d since remarried, and last we heard, he was living in California.

  Lucy put her arms around my shoulders and hugged me tightly. She smelled good, a mixture of violet perfume and the crisp clean air outside. Lucy was blond and petite, with green eyes that shone like expensive jewels. She and Gino made a striking couple. The Mancusi family genes had dominated, and their twins, Rocco and Marco, were exact replicas of their father. Darling little imps who some days I was convinced came airmailed straight from hell.

  “Aunt Tessa!” Rocco started to jump up and down. “Where’s Luigi? How come he won’t come see me?”

  “Because you pulled his tail last time,” his mother admonished him in a soft voice. “That’s why you two can’t have a pet.”

  “I get to pet Luigi first!” Marco yelled as he ran up the stairs with his brother following closely behind hi
m.

  “Can’t have a pet?” Gino called over his shoulder to his wife as he raced up the stairs after them. “They’ve got two lizards, a snake, and goldfish. What do you classify those as?”

  Lucy ignored him and turned to hang up the kids’ coats. “Do you need some help in the kitchen, Tess?”

  “Thanks, but everything’s ready to go.” I brought the sauce and salad to the table while my mother followed with the rest.

  Gino arrived at the bottom of the staircase a few seconds later, carrying one twin and dragging the other behind him. He sat them down at the Little Tikes table I kept on hand especially for these occasions. “I’d better not see either one of you throwing garlic bread this time,” he warned.

  “Aunt Tessa, Luigi’s in your bathtub.” Rocco giggled. “He’s drinking water out of the faucet.”

  I smiled. “He does that a lot.”

  Marco turned as if to go back upstairs. “Uh-oh. I shut the door so he can’t get out.”

  “That’s all right,” I assured him. “Luigi can open the door if he wants to.” The cat was long and lean, and the doorknob of the bathroom was positioned slightly lower than the other ones throughout my house. To tell the truth, he was probably happier in there for now. Luigi hated the dogs and wasn’t fond of the twins either.

  As we all sat down, there was a tap on the front door. I turned to see Gabby standing in the small vestibule. I crossed the room and took the bottle of merlot from her hand as she hung up her coat. “I have wine. You didn’t need to bring any.”

  Gabby grinned. “There’s never enough wine. Follow me out to the kitchen so we can talk for a minute.” She raised a hand in greeting to everyone as she walked past the table.

  “Aunt Gabby, will you sit with us?” Rocco pleaded.

  “Sure thing, little man. As soon as I get done helping Aunt Tessa.”

  Gino watched us, his fork raised in the air. “All the food is already out. What are you two up to?”

  Lucy patted his hand. “Eat, dear. You’re way too suspicious of everyone these days.”

  “It’s that easygoing nature of his,” Gabby called out grandly as we went into the kitchen. She grabbed a crystal goblet out of my overhead white cabinets with the glass panes in front. “What have you been doing since we talked yesterday?”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Not much. Besides cooking all day, I’ve been trying to plot my strategy for tomorrow. I’m making a mental list of people I want to speak to, but I’ll be limited because of work. I need to talk to Justin, but he’s out of town until tomorrow and then he’s working. I already texted him and asked if he’d stop over Tuesday night when he gets done. I don’t want anyone else to tell him what happened, but I couldn’t exactly say it in a text either.”

  Gabby opened the bottle of merlot she’d brought and then poured herself a glass. “Who’s on your list?”

  “I thought I’d start with Carlita.” Carlita Garcia owned Sweet Treats, the bakery next to Gabby’s store, and she was notorious for knowing all the Harvest Park gossip. Dylan had been laying off desserts for a while and claimed he was gaining weight, although I certainly hadn’t noticed it. Still, if he’d been out and about town the day he died, she would have seen him. Carlita had eyes in the back of her head.

  “I guess it wouldn’t do any harm,” Gabby admitted. “The chances that she saw something aren’t very good though.”

  “Can you take a quick break and meet me over there tomorrow, say about ten? I have to be at Slice at noon. My shifts are going to be twelve to nine o’clock, so I won’t be able to do much digging after work, but I should have enough time to stop by Dylan’s office in the morning as well.”

  She gave me a small impish smile, which made me think she had something up her sleeve. “Liza doesn’t get in until ten, but I’ll try. Text me in the morning, and I’ll help conduct your first official interview.” Liza Fowler was Gabby’s lone employee. She was a few years older than Gabby and myself and a fellow book worshipper like her boss.

  My cell buzzed from the kitchen counter. Before I could grab it, Gabby glanced down at the screen and did a double take. She held the phone out to me like it was diseased. “Why the hell is Matt Smitty calling you?”

  A prickle of uneasiness shot through me, but I tried to act casual with her eyes glued on me. Ignoring the question, I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Tess. It’s Matt. Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

  “No, this is fine.” Gabby stuck her finger down her throat, and I rolled my eyes. “What’s up?”

  Matt spoke in a low tone. “I was on the phone with Earl and asked him about how Dylan was dressed the day he came in. Funny thing is that Earl did remember. He said he made a comment to Dylan because he was wearing sweats, and Earl said it was the first time he hadn’t seen him in a suit and tie. He asked Dylan if he was slumming it for the day.”

  I clutched the phone tighter. “Does he remember what time he saw Dylan? Did he drop the car off or wait for it?”

  “Earl said he waited for it. I checked, and his appointment was for three o’clock. Earl said he did notice a suit hanging in the back of the car. Maybe Dylan got off work early?”

  I grabbed a Post-it Note off the counter and wrote down the time. I had forgotten to ask Archie what time Dylan had stopped in for coffee that day but could always check back with him. Why had my husband wanted me to think he was going to work when he evidently hadn’t? “Thanks, Matt. I appreciate it.”

  “Tess.” Matt’s voice turned husky on the other end. “I feel really bad about what happened to Dylan. Please let me know if you ever need anything. You can call me anytime, even if it’s in the middle of the night.”

  I raised an eyebrow at Gabby, who had inched closer to me and was trying to listen in. Matt might have meant to offer me comfort, but this struck me as odd. We were not friends anymore. Why would he think that I’d call a married man in the middle of the night? “Thanks, Matt.” I hung up, at a loss for further words.

  Gabby’s eyes searched mine. “What did he want?”

  “He said that Dylan was wearing sweats the day he brought his car in and Earl spotted a suit in the back seat. It must have been the same one he was wearing that morning when he left the house.”

  She gave me a sharp look. “What else? Come on. It’s written all over your face.”

  “It’s…no big deal,” I said uneasily. “He said for me to call him if I needed anything.”

  Gabby pointed a finger at me. “You see? I told you. He’s still carrying a torch—”

  She never finished the sentence, because at that moment, Gino peered his head in the doorway, and we both jumped.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stood there, watching us in silence for a few seconds. Had he been listening in on our conversation?

  “The pasta’s getting cold, ladies,” he said between clenched teeth. “You should come back to the table. If you’re done with your gossip session, that is.”

  Oh yeah, he’d probably heard more than we wanted him to.

  Six

  Monday morning dawned gray and overcast, but at least snow hadn’t been predicted. Even though the calendar only said November, it wasn’t unusual to see a Nor’easter this time of year.

  I stood in front of my bay window with a mug of coffee in hand and watched the two little girls across the street board the school bus. It would be easy to stay home, in the confines of my warm, comfortable kitchen with its light-blue Formica countertops and stainless-steel gas stove. I could lose myself in an abundance of flour and sugar and get my baking underway for the upcoming holiday season. But I knew I couldn’t hide from the world any longer. A new determination had filled me in the last couple of days. I could not—and would not—rest until I found the person responsible for my husband’s death.

  In the past, I had always been a huge
fan of the holidays and spent most of December wrapping presents and baking an abundance of Christmas cookies. I usually made between fifteen and twenty different varieties. Instead of sending cards, I delivered homemade treats. My most popular variety among adults were the genetti—a soft-textured, glazed Italian cookie with nonpareils on top. Children loved my famous gingerbread men made with rich molasses and my butter cookies dipped in melted fudge and adorned with plenty of colorful sprinkles.

  I gave cookies to everyone I knew—family, neighbors, coworkers, friends, and even the mailman. Since I loved making them and never wanted to disappoint anyone, I would bake again this year, but the magic was gone from the season for me. At this point, I wasn’t sure if it would ever come back.

  With dread, I tried to prepare for my first holiday season as a widow. I already knew from my mother and her experience how difficult all the “firsts” could be. Plus, I still had Dylan’s birthday to get through in a few days. Maybe I’d look into helping out at one of the local shelters this year. Keeping busy was the key to combat the loneliness. I couldn’t let myself sink back into the well of despair I’d fought so hard to climb out of.

  A hazy mist had settled over the horizon as the sunlight behind the clouds struggled to break through. The glow expanded in the sky, its sudden light giving me hope. A new day had dawned, and its message was abundantly clear to me. Time to start over.

  I was somewhat nervous about going back to work in a kitchen other than my own again. I simply had to resign myself to the fact that my dream restaurant—the one Dylan and I had talked incessantly about for years—would never happen.

  A noise from the kitchen startled me out of my thoughts, and I turned to see Luigi sitting on the breakfast counter as if he owned the place. His enormous green eyes gazed at me, watching my every move with intense curiosity.