The Focaccia Fatality Page 3

  “There’s a guy out there I’d rather not see. Please, do this for me?”

  “Sure.” Jeff smiled and left me alone to feed on my growing anger.

  The next time the door opened, Mrs. Gallagher strode through it. I glanced up, my hands full of sliced bread that I decoratively laid on platters Jeff had returned with.

  Her eyes gleamed as she stood across from me. “I hired you to keep the bread flowing, Melina, yet I haven’t seen you out there doing so. What seems to be the problem?”

  I opened my mouth to answer when Jeff stepped up and said, “Melina’s been helping us out. We’re short one person. Sorry, Mrs. Gallagher. We’re trying our best to keep up.”

  To say Jeff was charming was an understatement. He had so much charm and such good looks, that I would have succumbed to him in a second if I wasn’t already put off by my experience thus far with Aidan. Mrs. Gallagher, however, was more than taken with him and flushed as he flirted with her.

  She laid her hand on his arm and smiled. “Thank you for clearing that up for me, Jeff,” she said and then gave me a nod before returning to her guests.

  “Wow, you know how to work her, don’t you?” I asked softly and gave him a wide grin.

  “You didn’t want to tell her about your avoidance issue, did you?” He laughed, snatched a slice of focaccia, and balanced the huge platter on his shoulder before leaving the kitchen.

  Helpers came and went until I decided I had to keep up with my own job instead of asking them to do it. Enough of being a chicken-shit. Should I run into Sinclair, I’d kill him with kindness. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that, but if it did, I was ready.

  Another tray of bread in hand, I turned a corner and ran smack-dab into Aidan. I stumbled back and caught my balance as he teetered on his cane. “Sorry, I didn’t see you,” I murmured.

  “No problem, lass,” he said with a smile and stared at me.

  I stepped aside and said, “Excuse me, I’ve got to deliver this.” I left him standing there and strode purposefully toward the long table that appeared to have been ravaged. Workers quickly cleared and replaced empty dishes, containers, and trays, with additional food and pastries.

  “Good grief, these people can eat,” I mumbled softly to a young woman dressed in the same gear I had on. We’d joked earlier in the evening about how much food there was and whether it would go to waste, or go home with us. By this time, the guests had nearly cleaned out the entire menu that Mrs. Gallagher had ordered, including the bread.

  Jillian snickered. “It’s no wonder they’re fat,” she whispered before disappearing into the crowd with a tray of drinks.

  The blonde bombshell stepped to the table, filled her plate with a smidge of everything, and piled a couple slices of focaccia on top of it all. Her slender figure and height reminded me of Vinnie Esposito, a shop owner and criminal justice instructor at a local university who had assisted my friend BettyJo who’d been stalked by a creep not so long ago. This woman wasn’t as tall, and didn’t have the Italian good looks that Vinnie had, but she carried herself with the same confidence and assurance that Vinnie did.

  I smiled when she said, “This bread is so tasty. I just can’t eat enough of it.”

  I nodded, mumbled I was glad she liked it, and watched her walk away.

  She’d crossed the room and began speaking with a burly man of fifty or so. His features were flabby, and drooped like those of an old bloodhound. I watched their conversation heat up and glanced around to see who noticed this little drama. It appeared I was the only one aware of it. I fidgeted with the rolls while her eyes narrowed and her features hardened as she leaned in close to speak to him.

  The man stepped back, glanced away, and then back at her. He said something that must have cut her to the quick, because she plunked her dish of food onto the nearest empty space and marched off, still holding a slice of focaccia.

  I fumbled with the rolls, ducked away from the table, and walked toward the nearest bathroom. Washing my hands, I wondered what the exchange had been between the two guests. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been good. I shrugged, figured it was none of my concern, and dried my hands.

  The party had begun to wind down. The merrymakers were less jubilant, probably sated from all the food and drink they’d managed to take in. I smiled as I glanced over the near empty dishes, trays and platters of leftover, delectable offerings. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until this very moment. I’d spent most of my evening working with the crew and avoiding Aidan.

  I popped around a corner into what I believed was referred to back in the day as the morning room, when I tripped over something. I reached out to catch myself, and looked down. An arm extended past the door case, a piece of focaccia bread clamped firmly in the hand. My gaze traveled the length of the arm, up the shoulder, and over the face of the blonde woman I’d previously spoken with. Her empty-eyed stare and lack of movement raised an alarm that started in my toes and rapidly sped through my entire system. Deep bruises appeared on her neck, making it clear she’d been strangled.

  It took a second for the situation to register. Backing away from the horrific scene, I quickly moved through the crowd toward Mr. Gallagher. When I touched his arm, he gave me a quick glance, looked away, and then back again.

  He leaned toward me and said, “Is everything all right? You’re terribly pale.”

  Soft-voiced, I asked, “Can you come with me for a moment?”

  His brows rose as Gallagher nodded and accompanied me from the room. “There’s not a problem with the bill, is there? I know that you’ll be leaving soon. Olga said she’d take care of the bills.”

  “N-no, the invoice is fine. There’s something you need to see.”

  We’d nearly reached the morning room when Vincent stopped me cold with a terse question. “Can’t you just tell me? I need to get back to my guests, Melina.”

  “Fine then, there’s a dead guest in the morning room,” I stated.

  Taken aback, Vincent stared at me as though I’d just stepped off the mother ship with an alien in tow. “That’s not funny.”

  “No, it isn’t. She’s in here,” I said and pointed to the room just beyond us. The lights were off, and the room dark. A shadow, cast from the corridor lights, gave it a dusky appearance. I peered toward the doorway and into the room before I flipped the switch.

  “So where is this body?” Vincent demanded as he glanced around.

  I motioned to the space next to the door casing. “She was here, right here. Dead as a doornail, honest. I would never make up such a thing, Mr. Gallagher.”

  His lips pressed together, his face became florid. Oh boy, this wasn’t good. I put my hands out, palms up, and said, “She was here. Right here. She even had a piece of focaccia bread clenched in her fist.” I glanced around, but there was no bread anywhere.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I think you should call the police and tell them her body is missing,” I pleaded.

  “I’ll do no such thing. First off, there’s no body, and secondly, I think you’ve made the whole thing up. Why? I couldn’t begin to guess. Get your coat and leave my home, now,” Gallagher demanded vehemently.

  Unable to understand why he refused to believe me, I said, “I need to take my trays and things.”

  His face darkened. “You’ll get them in the morning. Right now, I’d like you to get out.”

  “But, but, she’s dead. I saw her, honest.”

  “Who is she, then?” Vincent asked impatiently.

  “How would I know? I haven’t a clue as to who most of your guests are. All I know is that she arrived with Aidan Sinclair. Ask him who she is,” I snapped and marched off toward the kitchen to gather my coat and bag.

  Moments later, I strode from the Gallagher’s driveway and started up the sidewalk when I heard my name called. I turned to find Aidan Sinclair leaning heavily on his cane as he limped up the sidewalk.

  “Hold on a minute,” he begged wearily.
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br />   “Why should I? We have nothing to say to one another,” I answered.

  He stopped for a second, took a breath, and then continued on while I waited, unwilling to meet him halfway. “We need to talk, Melina. I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  “I haven’t misunderstood a single thing, Sinclair. You’ve made everything abundantly clear.”

  I turned to walk away when I felt his hand on my upper arm. Aidan’s grip tightened as he hauled me around while he balanced his weight on the cane. “Stop, please.”

  I heaved a sigh and said, “Fine. What do you want?”

  “Vincent just asked me about my date. He said you’d seen me enter the party with a blonde woman.” He peered at me in the light from the streetlamp above. “I didn’t have a date. I came to the party alone.”

  “Really? That’s not how I saw it when the two of you came in together,” I said dryly.

  “I didn’t have a date and I wasn’t planning to stay all evening. As a matter of fact, I’m exhausted and didn’t want to attend this affair at all.”

  “Who was she, then, and if she wasn’t with you, why was she acting as though you were together?” I asked.

  With a shake of his head, Aidan admitted, “I have no idea. I was on the walk when she slipped past and got to the door first. She held it open for me, was extremely charming, and then went off on her own. Frankly, I never asked her anything.”

  With manners such as he had, I found it difficult to believe Aidan would have ignored propriety. When I said so, he laughed out loud and shook his head again.

  “Melina, I don’t know her, and I wasn’t interested in getting to know her. I only came here tonight because I had to. Once I saw you, then I stayed. We have unfinished business. Let’s get a coffee somewhere and talk.”

  “No thanks, I have to be going. We haven’t any business to discuss, not now, not ever. Good night, Aidan.” I walked away without a glance back or another word while tears rolled down my cheeks. Whether it was for a lost love or for the dead woman, I wasn’t sure. I simply knew deep in my heart that I was headed for trouble, trouble of the worst kind. A murder had been committed and didn’t that make mine a Merry Christmas? I think not.

  Chapter 4

  The back door slammed shut behind me when I entered the kitchen. Damn it all to hell, it had been a night to beat all nights. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and fumbled for Porter Anderson’s business card in my wallet. Still dressed in my hat and coat, I sat at the table and ran my thumb over the card, wondering all the while if I should call. Mr. Gallagher was a powerful man, with loads of more powerful friends. He could bring horrible shit to my doorstep if I wasn’t careful. He could even put me out of business, should he choose to do so. How? It didn’t matter. When you have power, there’s always a way to get the end results you desire.

  It only took a moment before I’d punched in Porter’s number and listened as the call went through. When he answered, I heard voices in the background and said, “Porter, there’s been a murder.”

  A hesitation and then a deep sigh came across the line. “Melina, you can’t stay clear of death, can you?”

  I gave a snort and said, “I guess not.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Home, but that’s not where the murder took place, and there’s more,” I added.

  “Of course there is. I’d expect nothing else from you,” Porter answered in a resigned voice.

  “Can you come by?” I asked.

  “Give me some time. I’ll be there as soon as I wrap up the present situation.” He hung up and I stared at the silent phone.

  Porter didn’t sound at all happy about my announcement. It was a good bet he’d give me a hard time when he arrived. I shrugged out of my coat, tossed it and my hat onto the coat rack in the office, and made coffee. Tea wouldn’t cut it at this hour, not for Porter and not for me. While it brewed, the aroma of fresh perked coffee calmed my nerves. I pulled a Stromboli from the fridge and heated it in the microwave.

  A knock on the door brought me running. I swung it wide and ushered Porter in out of the cold. His face a mask of dismay, I knew I’d been right about having a hard time. In these instances, it’s not fun to be right. I took his jacket, poured coffee, and watched as he paced the room like a caged lion.

  “Here, take this. Would you like a piece of Stromboli?” I asked.

  “Sure, why not. I haven’t eaten since noon.” He leaned over the Stromboli and sniffed appreciatively.

  Slivers of pepperoni, salami, and provolone cheese, melded together in the crusty baked roll that I’d ordered from Mack & Mutts earlier in the day. I hadn’t had time to eat it. I sliced the sandwich in two and slid one half in Porter’s direction. I chomped my own piece down like a starving waif. When I glanced at Porter, I found he’d done the same and was wiping his mouth with a napkin. So much for savoring the flavor.

  “Tell me,” he ordered.

  When I finished the story, he folded his arms, stared at me in disbelief, and said, “This is weird, even for you. Hell, I can’t march up to Vincent Gallagher’s door and ask if there’s been a murder. Why didn’t you call me right away?”

  “I didn’t think of it. I was so shocked at finding her, that all I could do was tell Gallagher. When we got to the morning room, her body was gone. If I hadn’t been so scared, I’d have thought I imagined the whole thing. She was there and I swear she was dead. What can you do?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll have to speak with my boss and he’ll have to check with his. Without a body, I’d say there’s not much we can do.” He leaned against the wall. “Gallagher tossed you out, huh?”

  “Yeah, I felt like an idiot and insisted he call the police, but he was having none of that,” I said shortly.

  “Can’t blame him there. Any politician, especially a member of the Rhode Island Senate, is extremely reluctant to bring the police to his door for anything, and I mean anything. Did you see someone come away from the doorway? Something that would make you suspicious of them?” Porter asked.

  Aidan’s face swam through my mind. I shook my head. “The only unusual thing I saw was a minor drama played out between the blonde woman and a stout man who resembles a bloodhound.”

  His shoulders shook with laughter. At least Porter was no longer pissed off at me. I’d guess the food had changed his attitude. Food can lift spirits, lighten moods, and bring on smiles. There’s a lot to be said for the benefits of it.

  “Descriptive, but I think a name would be better when I bring this information to my captain.” His phone jingled from deep within his jacket. He looked at the number on the screen and grimaced. I listened as he answered the call.

  “Anderson,” he barked. “Where?” he asked and scribbled the address on a scrap of paper from his pocket. “I’ll be right there. Are the crime scene techs there?” He gave a last grunt, hung up, and prepared to leave.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “There’s a floater in the Providence River. A blonde woman. Get your coat,” he ordered.

  My pulse skyrocketed, as did my heart rate. Christ, now I had to identify a person who’d drowned? Why me? Then it sank in. This might be the blonde from the party. Hells bells. I buttoned my coat as we left the building and quickly went down the back stairs.

  Lights flashed, cops taped off the scene, and a whole swarm of uniformed and plain clothes officers milled alongside the railing that bordered the Providence River a little way down from the Rhode Island School of Design campus. I’d never seen so many policemen in one place and I was nervous. My knees shook, I gaped in fear, and my heart pounded so hard, I thought it would pop out of my chest.

  Porter glanced at me and said, “Come with me.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “What do you think?” he asked with an ominous expression.

  My panic had reached epidemic proportions. I gasped for breath as my throat began to close.

  He reached a hand out and gently said, “I’ll b
e right there, don’t worry. This is for identification purposes only.”

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  The cops parted like the Red Sea as Porter and I walked toward the body. It was apparent everyone knew Porter would take the lead on this investigation. Engine 1 blocked the street, firefighters stood back and waited for the paramedics to take charge upon their arrival. Not every truck responded at the same time when a call came out. I remembered reading about financial cutbacks within the city government and how the fire department and staff were affected by it, as was the general public. Sirens screamed in the background as a rescue drew closer. I darted glances to and fro as we drew nearer to the draped body that lay on the cold, hard ground.

  Porter held my arm and escorted me to the victim’s side. A cop stepped close to him and whispered in his ear. Porter nodded, looked at me, and then at the coroner who knelt next to the woman. He dipped his head slightly when the man stared up at him. The sheet flipped back in one swift movement of his hand. I grabbed Porter’s arm with both hands as my knees buckled. It was her.

  “Don’t leave me now, Melina,” Porter murmured in my ear as he held me up. “Take a deep breath. You can get through this.”

  I hauled in a couple of breaths, waited until the darkness behind my eyes abated, and then leaned into Porter. “It’s her, the woman from Gallagher’s party.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, she’s the woman with the bruise marks on her neck. I think somebody choked her to death.” I said, keeping my eyes on his face and away from that of the dead woman. “Can I go home now?”

  From behind me, I heard a deep voice say, “I’m afraid not. Take her to the station, Anderson.”

  I turned and gave the man behind me a disbelieving glare. “W-why? I don’t know this woman. I simply saw her at a party this evening.”

  His dark eyes and swarthy skin sent my imagination spinning out of control. The man reminded me of Captain Hook, without the hook, of course. I gaped at him.

  He said, “We need all the information we can get for identification purposes. You’re the one person we have right now that can help us. You’ll do that, won’t you?”