Penne Dreadful Page 6

  “Hey, you know better than that.” I tried to sound stern, but his expression was so comical that I couldn’t help but laugh. I gathered him up in my arms, and he purred contentedly against my chest. Luigi’s V-8 engine noises continued while I filled his food dish with star-shaped kitty crunches, and then he couldn’t scramble out of my arms fast enough.

  It was five minutes after nine, so I picked up my cell and dialed the main number for We Care. Olivia Moore, the receptionist on Dylan’s floor, should be in by now. She answered on the second ring. “Good morning, We Care. How may I assist you?”

  So perky for a Monday morning. “Hi, Olivia? This is Tessa—Tessa Esposito. How are you?”

  There was silence for a few seconds. “Oh, Tessa! My God…it’s…uh…so nice to hear from you.”

  Her voice had gone from upbeat and cheery to cautious and confused. “Thank you. I’d like to ask a favor.”

  Another brief pause. “Of course. What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “I was wondering if I could stop down and pick up Dylan’s personal items this morning before I go to work. I’m sorry I haven’t been in sooner but—” What was there left to say? Sorry, I wanted to wait until I wouldn’t cry in front of you?

  “Oh.” Her voice sounded puzzled. “Didn’t you pick those up already?”

  Why would she think that? “No. I completely forgot about it until now.”

  “That’s totally understandable,” Olivia assured me. “Um…I need to ask Mr. Reinhart first. Would you mind holding for a minute?”

  I glanced at my watch. “Sure. Um, I could be there in a half hour if that would—”

  But it was too late. Olivia was already gone, and I was left alone with Sirius’s seventies station. I kept the phone pressed to my ear as I emptied the dishwasher and listened to Barry Manilow’s “Copacabana.” The song had reached the part about Lola drinking herself half blind when Olivia came back on the phone.

  “Tessa, I apologize,” she said. “Apparently Mr. Reinhart thought you’d picked up the stuff already. Our intern, Sandy, is the one who boxed up Dylan’s items. She went out on medical leave right afterward. We thought she’d called you, but the boxes are still sitting in his office closet. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience. Mr. Reinhart said you could come by tomorrow.”

  I’d really hoped to go today but didn’t press the issue. “Of course. That’s fine.”

  Olivia sounded hesitant. “I wanted to say…well, I’m sorry about everything that happened to Dylan.”

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. “It was quite a shock.”

  “His death must have been too,” Olivia agreed. Another line was ringing in the background. “I have to go. See you tomorrow.” She clicked off before I could say another word.

  Her words left my brain in a muddled state. What on earth had she meant by that? His death must have been too?

  I’d met Olivia at the office Christmas party a couple of years ago. She had gotten married last year, and Dylan mentioned once that she was expecting a baby. He’d also commented that Olivia was a bit on the ditzy side, complaining how she always forgot to give him his messages or would interrupt when he’d specifically asked not to be disturbed.

  I shot off a quick text to Gabby. Can’t go to Dylan’s office today. Meet me at ten thirty at Sweet Treats? I didn’t wait for a response and quickly jumped into the shower. After I had finished washing my hair and toweled off, I went to the closet in search of clothes to wear and pulled on jeans and a tunic sweater.

  My eyes fell upon the unmade king-size bed, and a wave of despair swept over me. Perhaps the worst part of Dylan being gone was sleeping alone. For a moment, I was sorely tempted to fall back into bed and spend the day weeping, but pity parties solved nothing. My sole mission now was to find out what had happened to my husband.

  After I had pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail and applied mascara to my lashes, I gazed critically in the mirror at my reflection. I felt much older than my thirty years today. My brown eyes stared back at me with faint circles of weariness under them. I applied some concealer as my thoughts returned to the conversation with Olivia. Along with being nervous about poking around We Care, I wasn’t looking forward to going through Dylan’s stuff, no matter how necessary it was. It was a chore I’d been putting off since the accident, but I knew I’d have to sort through Dylan’s clothes and other belongings in our bedroom and study sooner or later.

  I went downstairs to give Luigi a hug and picked up my phone from where I’d left it on the bay window seat. Gabby had texted, Works for me. See you then. With purse in hand, I went into the garage, settled myself in the front seat, and backed the car out. Then I headed for the center of town.

  I found a parking space in front of Meat and Greet and locked my car. Through the glass window of Sweet Treats, I spotted Carlita behind the bakery display case, chatting with an elderly couple. She gave no indication that she’d seen me, but it was a given. Carlita missed nothing.

  “Hey, girl.” Gabby was walking briskly toward me down the sidewalk, her hands buried deep in the pockets of a black-and-red-plaid jacket. Her dark hair whipped around her face, and her cheeks were pink with excitement. She linked her arm through mine. “My favorite detective, Nancy Drew, is ready to crack this case wide open. It’s so good to see you getting back to your old self again. Now, let’s get this party started.”

  “Hola, lovelies,” a heavily accented female voice greeted us as the row of silver bells jingled over the door. The paper cut-out turkeys that decorated the glass in honor of Thanksgiving—most likely made by Carlita’s grandkids—flapped their orange-and-brown crayon-colored wings clumsily in the chilly wind.

  Carlita was counting change back to the elderly couple. She said adios to them, and they smiled as they made their way around us to depart. Carlita stepped out from behind the case and immediately threw her plump arms around me, her strength crushing me. “So good to see you, my beauty.”

  In her midfifties, Carlita was of Spanish descent while her husband, Giuseppe, was one hundred percent Italian. The best of both worlds, Carlita said, and she alternated between speaking in Spanish, Italian, and English. She was about my height and heavyset, although she carried the extra weight gracefully.

  Carlita’s sharp, dark eyes were somber as they examined my face. “I am so happy to see you, Theresa.” Like my mother, she always called me by my given name. She clucked her tongue. “Sorrow—it makes you skinny. That is why I am here. What can I get you?”

  Like Archie, Carlita missed little that happened in Harvest Park, and if she wanted to know something about your life, she was never shy about asking.

  If I told her I wasn’t hungry, she would be insulted. “I’ll take one of your apple fritters.” Dylan and I had always been huge fans of the pastries. I’d made them a few times myself, but mine didn’t come close to Carlita’s. Prepared with flour, fresh apples, and cinnamon, they were then fried and coated with a rich, sugary icing. They were always mouthwatering and even better when served fresh and hot out of the oven. Dylan would often bring one home for me along with Archie’s coffee if he’d gone to the gym on a Saturday, but he’d stopped going altogether last summer and started working at the office instead.

  “Ah.” Carlita nodded in approval. “Your sweetie’s favorite. I give you two—one my present. You need to fatten up.” She glanced at Gabby, who was examining the contents of the case. “What you want, love?”

  “Hmm.” Gabby’s face was pensive. “A couple of your butter cookies, please.”

  Carlita pointed a finger, almost in accusation, at Gabby. “I hear you have new boyfriend again.” Carlita herself was married with six children and numerous grandkids, whose framed photos decorated the stark white walls of the bakery.

  “Jeez, Carlita, we’ve only been out a couple of times. I wouldn’t exactly call him my boyfriend,” Gabby said. “H
ow do you know this, anyhow?”

  “Giuseppe saw you with him the other night. He see you going into the movies.” Carlita ducked behind the counter to gather our goodies.

  Giuseppe was happy to leave the socialization part of the business to his wife and spent the majority of his day baking in the back room. Carlita’s two eldest daughters also worked at her shop.

  “Nothing is a secret in this town,” Gabby whispered to me.

  “Carlita,” I said. “Do you remember the last time you saw Dylan in here?”

  Her heart-shaped face grew sympathetic. “He used to come in every Saturday morning.” She patted her stomach. “He say he go to gym, work out, and then stop here to fatten up again.” Carlita sighed. “I miss that boy.”

  Tears clogged my throat, and I said nothing.

  She continued. “Then he stop coming. Except day he died, he come in for a loaf of Italian bread. Say you no have time to make and wanted him to pick up. But he did not talk much. I ask him if he want fritter to go and he say, ‘No, thank you.’ Say he not eat them anymore.”

  I had forgotten about the bread. If I didn’t have time to make some fresh, I would often ask Dylan to pick up a loaf on the way home, and I’d add my garlic topping to it. Dylan loved my garlic bread, and I usually made it two or three times a week, but now that Carlita had mentioned it, he’d stopped indulging and limited himself to only one piece with dinner over the past several months.

  My mind was jumbled with details. I tried to focus on the scant ones I knew about Dylan’s last day. He’d stopped at Carlita’s for my bread and then gone over to Slice for a late lunch. According to the information Gino had given me right after Dylan’s death, the accident must have occurred around midafternoon. Had he gone to work for the morning and left early? The day before he’d been dressed in a suit when he kissed me goodbye but was seen by Earl and Archie wearing sweats in the middle of the day. He’d also had coffee with a man he was not fond of. I wrinkled my brow. This was like a puzzle with a thousand pieces and none of them fit. I hoped the visit to his office tomorrow would help answer some of my questions.

  Carlita started to put the goodies in two white paper bags, then stopped. “You beauties eat here?”

  Gabby shook her head. “I’ll eat mine back at the store.”

  “I’ll take mine to go, please, so I won’t be late for work.” I handed her a ten-dollar bill. “Ring up both orders together. My treat.”

  “Sí?” Carlita’s eyebrows wiggled slightly as she took my money. “You work at Slice now, I hear.”

  Damn, she was good. “That’s right. I’m cooking in the kitchen.”

  “Ah, you work with the handsome Vincenzo. He stop here all the time. He love my almond cookies. Say this bakery better than all the ones in New York City.” She touched two fingers to her lips. “That one—he is bellissimo.”

  “Do you know him well?” I asked.

  She wiggled her hand back and forth. “Sometimes he talk to me, sometimes not. He a bit moody.”

  Yeah, no kidding.

  “I’ve heard he’s cute.” Gabby grinned. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  Carlita stabbed a finger into her own well-endowed chest. “I be his girlfriend. He come in here so often that he either love my cookies or I am the main attraction.”

  I laughed. “Always so modest, Carlita.”

  “Of course. When you’ve got it, flaunt it, right? But that one.” She sighed. “He have those big, dark eyes that I could lose myself in. He own restaurant in New York City before. Food critics give it five stars,” she said as proudly as if it had been her own.

  “He told you this?” I asked.

  “Sí. He tell me he tired of big city life. He come back home to help his brother.” Carlita crooked her finger at us, indicating for us to lean closer across the counter, even though there was no one else in the shop. “But I hear other things. That his business in big trouble.”

  “Again, how do you know this?” Gabby demanded.

  Carlita gave us a teasing smile. “I know everything. No, just kidding. We have same food distributor. He like to talk.”

  So things had gone sour for Vince with the restaurant. “What sort of trouble?”

  She shrugged. “Ernie—my food guy—he say that maybe their tax man turn them in. They take money from their own restaurant.” She furrowed her brow. “Stealing money from your own business?”

  “It happens more often than you think,” I said.

  “Very strange.” Carlita handed me my change, then her dark eyes gleamed with sudden recognition. “Aha! I remember now. He walk out that day when your young man come in for the bread. They act like they know each other.”

  I struggled to keep the excitement out of my voice. “Did they talk?”

  “Your sweetie hold the door open for him and Vincenzo—he grunt in return. Very rude. I ask Dylan if he know him and he say, ‘Yeah, unfortunately.’ And that was all.” Carlita raised her pencil-thin eyebrows at me. “Why you want to know?”

  “Oh, no reason.” I tried to sound casual, but it was definitely time to have a little chat with Vince Falducci.

  Seven

  I arrived at Slice ten minutes early and entered through the back kitchen door. As I hung my coat on one of the hooks and tied on an apron, two male voices carried from the walk-in cooler adjoining the kitchen. I recognized the first as Vince’s.

  “I think we should sell.” His rich, deep tone resonated through the room. “You’re barely making it as it is. It’s nice to be charitable, but you’re running a business here, for God’s sake. And there was no need to hire that woman.”

  “Her sauce is great,” Anthony insisted. “It won top honors at the fair and I have no doubt it will be very profitable to us.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Was he going to advertise my sauce on the menu somewhere? Penne topped with Tessa’s tantalizing award-winning tomato sauce. Had that been the reason Anthony hired me? No matter. All I wanted was an opportunity to snoop around and see if someone at Slice had disliked Dylan enough to want to get rid of him.

  Vince snorted. “Oh, okay. I see what you’re doing. Still, it wouldn’t hurt your daughter to help out once in a while and save you some on payroll.”

  “Izzy doesn’t like working here,” Anthony said.

  “Really?” Vince held back a laugh. “You could have fooled me. She never had a problem hanging around when Esposito was in here.”

  My entire body froze. Anthony’s voice became a low, angry growl. “Shut up. That’s bull and you know it. Besides, she may have started off liking him but things changed…and you know what happened then.”

  A knot formed in the pit of my stomach as I listened to their exchange. Anthony’s daughter had disliked my husband. Why? Was there a chance she could have killed him?

  “Izzy’s getting married in a few months,” Anthony went on. “She’d never look at another man.”

  “She’s only marrying Rico because he’s rich,” Vince said sharply. He walked out of the cooler with Anthony following. Both men fell silent when they noticed me standing there.

  Instead of acting embarrassed, Vince scowled and moved past me into the office, slamming the door behind him. Anthony shut the cooler door, and for a moment, we both stood there in uncomfortable silence. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Vince…he…uh…gets these strange ideas in his head sometimes. Dylan was a good boy. Like a son to me.”

  I bobbed my head up and down. “Sure.” The news that Anthony’s daughter may have had something against Dylan was totally unexpected. Would Vince be willing to tell me anything further? What was the deal with him anyway? The other day he’d been pleasant and polite when he thought I was a customer, but now, he acted like he couldn’t stand me. Or was that his way of covering up the embarrassment when he’d tried to ask me out?

  Anthony handed me a nam
e tag, which I pinned to my apron. “I brought some dough out of the cooler for you to start prepping pizzas. We just got an order in for one.” He placed the slip next to me and pointed at the peel on the table, an aluminum shovel used to place the pizza inside the oven. “I’ve filled the prep table with all the toppings, and if you need spices, oregano, or basil, they’re in the utility cabinet next to the stove. That’s where you’ll find canned tomatoes and paste for sauce too. Are you going to be all right on your own in here for a while? We got a reservation for thirty people for dinner. It’s an anniversary party.”

  “Sure, I’ll be fine.” I went to the three-bay sink to wash my hands. Even though I wasn’t sure about the timing on the wall oven yet, it was great to be back in my element again. I was already making mental notes of items Anthony should add to his menu. “Thirty people is a lot for you, right?” I sprinkled flour on the work surface from the shaker he’d put there.

  “We don’t usually get parties that size,” Anthony admitted, “so it’s a big deal. They’re friends of the family. I hope Izzy shows up.”

  “So, you don’t know if she’s coming in?” I asked.

  “If the mood strikes her, Izzy will be here,” Anthony said. “She’s busy planning her wedding. That takes a lot of time, you know.”

  “Of course.” Before I could say anything further, the phone rang and Anthony went to answer it. I covered my hands with flour and started to knead the dough, excited to lose myself in the task for a while.

  Vince came out of the office and tied an apron on. He shot a surly glance back in my direction as he went to the register but made no attempt to speak to me, so I took the bull by the horns. “Hi, Vince.”

  “How’s it going, Mrs. Esposito? So happy that you came back today.” His tone was thick with sarcasm.

  “Have I done something to offend you?” I asked.

  Vince refused to turn and meet my gaze. “No, ma’am. I’m not offended by you.”