Corned Beef Murder: Book Two in The Darling Deli Series (4 page)

“Can I help you?” asked the woman who was sitting behind the counter. There was thick bulletproof glass surrounding her. Moira leaned forward to speak through the metal grille set in the glass.

“Yes, I have some information about the death of Emilia Washburn. Who should I talk to?” she asked.

“Detective Jefferson took the call,” the woman replied. “I’ll page him. Can I have your name?” After Moira told the receptionist her name, the woman picked up the phone and murmured into it, then gestured at the row of worn chairs along the wall.

“Go ahead and take a seat. It will be a few minutes,” she said.

The chair was uncomfortable, and reminded Moira of her time as a suspect in the case of Henry Devou’s murder. Detective Jefferson had been on that case too. At least this time she wasn’t a person of interest in the case; she was just an interested person. Emilia hadn’t deserved to die, and if there was any chance that there was foul play, then the police deserved to know.

“Ms. Darling, it’s nice to see you again,” the young detective said. She looked up to see him standing in a doorway next to the secretary’s counter. He looked more tired than he had the last time she had seen him, but other than that he hadn’t changed. With a tilt of his head, he gestured for her to follow him.

“Right this way, ma’am.”

At first, she thought that he was taking her to the same room that she had been interviewed in before. The long hallway looked the same, bringing back more memories of her previous visit there. She was relieved when he turned right instead of left at the end of the hallway, and led her to his office instead of an interview room.

There was only one small window in the room, but it had a nice view into the woods behind the police station. The dark wooden desk was slightly worn, probably secondhand, and was covered with papers, files, and framed photographs of a woman and a young boy. Moira saw a wedding picture of a younger Detective Jefferson in a black suit standing next to the woman.
His wife,
she realized. He was married, with a child. She had never even wondered about his personal life before, and suddenly felt bad for resenting him for suspecting that she had murdered Henry Devou. He had just been doing his job.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing at a rolling leather chair in front of his desk. She did as he said, glad that she wasn’t being treated like a suspect this time.

“So,” he began. “Harriet told me that you have some information regaling Emilia Washburn’s death?” He steepled his fingers, gazing at her. “You found her, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she said. “She was my friend. She babysat my daughter years ago, and we’ve kept in touch even after Candice grew up.”

“I see. I’m sorry that you had to see her like that. What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Well, the night before I found her, when the snow was really coming down hard, she called me. I couldn’t hear her very well, the reception was pretty bad, but it sounded like she said something about someone watching her.” Moira sighed. “The call got dropped before I could ask her what was going on, and I couldn’t get hold of her when I tried calling back. This happened before the roads were plowed, so I couldn’t drive over to see what was wrong.” She took a deep breath. “And then when I did get a chance to check on her… well, you know. She had already passed.”

“And you think that this call had something to do with her death?” Jefferson asked gently.

“I don’t know. It just seems like such an odd coincidence. She sounded scared on the phone, and then just a few hours later, she was gone.” She bit her lip. “I really don’t know what to think. I just thought that you should know about the phone call.”

“Thanks for stopping by to tell me, Ms. Darling. You did the right thing.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll put what you said about the phone call into my final report.”

“Do you think that she was being stalked by someone?” she asked.

“Not necessarily. Right now, I still think that her death was an accident; she was an elderly woman who was alone during a snowstorm. Chances are she was just cold and confused. But if you can think of anything else that seems suspicious, please don’t hesitate to stop by the station again or to give me a call.” He slid his card across the desk to her. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Darling.”

Moira was frustrated when she pulled out of the police station parking lot.
Detective Jefferson had been polite enough, but she had the feeling that he was just humoring her. In his mind, Emilia’s death was just an accident. He had already moved on to the next case. Maybe if she found more evidence, something concrete that could show that there
had
been an intruder that day, or at least a stalker. She needed to go back to her friend’s house and see if there was any evidence of anything out of place. The only question, was how?

Shoveling the sidewalk in front of the deli was a good outlet for her frustration. The physical exercise helped her to think more clearly. She knew her first step should be to talk to Martha, and to see if she had noticed anything odd, like someone following Emilia. If there
had
been someone suspicious hanging around Emilia’s house, that might be enough evidence that something fishy was going on for the police to start looking at her friend’s death more closely.

A small gray car pulled up as she was working on clearing the snow. She glanced up to see her new employee Dante step out. She had been so distracted by her conversation with the police that she had forgotten that he was supposed to work today. She glanced at her phone, frowning. He was late by about twenty minutes.

“Sorry, Ms. Darling,” he said when he drew even with her. This close, she could see that his face was pale and he looked worried. “It won’t happen again.”

“It’s okay, but next time, please give me a call if you’re going to be more than five minutes late,” she told him. “Go on inside. Darrin will find something for you to do.” She watched him walk away, debating with herself whether or not she should ask him why he hadn’t been on time. She decided not to; the kid seemed nervous enough as it was. She didn’t need to be prying into his personal life. As long as it didn’t happen again, she would let the incident slide.

Moira had Darrin and Dante work together in the kitchen so that she could stay up front at the counter all day, worried that she might miss Martha if the other woman came while she was in the back. It wasn’t until nearly three that she saw a familiar silhouette come through the front door. As soon as she had finished ringing up the customer she was with, she slipped out from behind the counter and hugged Martha.

“Martha,” she said. “I’m so sorry about Emilia.” The other woman had red-rimmed eyes, and seemed to be staring at the world with a disbelieving gaze.

“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” she said. “I didn’t even get a chance to say a real goodbye. There was so much I wanted to thank her for.”

“I know. I can’t believe it either. I wish I had gotten there sooner,” Moira said. “I might have been able to do something to save her.”

“No.” The other woman shook her head. “I talked to the coroner. He said that she died instantly. She didn’t suffer at all, and even if you had been there when it happened, there wouldn’t have been anything that you could do. I’m just sorry you had to find her like that, Moira.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get the image of her lying on the floor out of my head.” She paused, not certain how to broach the subject of Emilia’s call with her sister. “A few hours before she—” she began, only to be interrupted by a man who came through the deli’s front door in a swirl of snow. He walked straight over to Martha and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“James,” he said by way of introduction. He extended a gloved hand, which Moira shook. He looked to be about ten years younger than she and Martha were, and was dressed in a thick wool coat and expensive-looking boots. She hadn’t the slightest idea who he was—Martha wasn’t married, was she?

“This is my brother,” Martha said quickly. “He lives in Europe. He came to visit for a few weeks —he’s staying at the Porcupine Inn, silly man. I told him he wouldn’t be a burden to either of us, but he insisted. I just wish that he had come sooner. He only got to see dear Emilia once before the accident.”

“I didn’t know you two had a brother.” She thought back, trying to remember a single mention of him, but as far as she remembered, Emilia had never even spoken his name once.

“He’s our half-brother,” Martha clarified. “From our father’s second marriage. We didn’t know him well growing up, but family is important, and we’ve reconnected in recent years.”

“Sorry,” James said. “I think I interrupted you when I came in. What were you saying?”

“Oh, um, it was about your sister.” The interruption had thrown Moira off track. “I got a weird call from her a few hours before I… found her.”

“What did she say?” James asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Well, I couldn’t understand her very well. I think the storm was making the cell reception worse, but it sounded like she was worried that someone was there… watching her.”

Martha gasped, covering her mouth with one of her hands. She looked up at her brother with wide, concerned eyes. James, however, just snorted.

“She hasn’t been in her right mind for a while. It was probably just the mailman that she saw, poor girl. I’m sure the storm confused her,” he said.

Emilia definitely seemed all there when I saw her the other day
, Moira thought with a frown. She didn’t like that James was dismissing the phone call so quickly. Martha, on the other hand, looked worried.

“She did say something to me a few days before I left,” she began hesitantly. “She told me that some of her old necklaces had gone missing. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time, since she has misplaced things before only for them to turn up in odd places. But what if someone stole them from her?”

“And then went back for more during the storm, only to be confronted by Emilia. Since your car was gone, someone easily could have thought that the house was empty,” Moira said, her mind working a million miles a minute as she began to piece together what might have happened to her old friend. Martha shuddered.

“I’m glad that I’ll be heading back down to Traverse City for another few days tonight. I don’t think I could stay alone right now,” she said. “I feel bad; I haven’t touched a thing there since you found her, not even to do the dishes. It just feels so wrong being there without her. I don’t know if I’ll ever be comfortable there again.”

“Ladies,” James interrupted. “Don’t get yourselves too worked up. I’m sure if there had been a burglary, the police would have said something. What happened to Emilia was just a terrible accident. Don’t torture yourselves by trying to find a crime when there wasn’t one.”

Martha sighed, lowering her gaze, her expression defeated. The deli owner felt a sudden surge of dislike towards the man. She disliked being condescended to, and hated seeing the defeated look in her friend’s eyes. Before she could open her mouth to give a biting reply, Martha spoke up in a quiet voice.

“He’s right, Moira. I’m sorry, I know you’re just trying to help, but I want to lay my sister to rest peacefully, and not keep going over her death every time we see each other. I hope you can understand that. And I’m really sorry that you had to be the one to find her.”

She stared at her friend in disbelief for a second, and then shook her head. With a sigh, she said, “All right, I’ll stop bringing it up.”
Until I get more evidence,
she thought.
“Does either of you want anything to eat or drink?” she added. “It’s on the house.”

Despite what she had told Martha, she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened to Emilia. The fact that she had some jewelry go missing a few days ago just made Moira more certain that there was something suspicious about her death. She was beginning to think that it was some sort of burglary gone wrong. The only problem was, she had no evidence to bring to the police, who had already ignored her suspicions once. It looked like she would have to start her own investigation. And she knew just who to call for help.

* * *

David Morris leaned back in his old leather chair, trying to figure out what he had just gotten himself into. He had just gotten off the phone with Moira Darling, the cute, feisty deli owner who had somehow managed to convince him to help her investigate the death of one of her friends. While he was looking forward to seeing her again, he wasn’t sure how he felt about getting involved in such a personal case.

“Ah, well,” he said to himself. “At least it will get me out of town.” He could stop for coffee on the way there, and hopefully pick up a bowl of steaming homemade soup when he got to the deli. At worst, he would be spending the evening with an attractive woman. At best, if Moira was right about the case, he might even be able to help solve a murder.

Whistling a cheerful tune, the detective began packing his bag with all of the essentials; laptop, notebook, a flashlight, and a thermos for warm coffee. He chose his favorite coat, a long black wool duster. It was clichéd for a private investigator, but he looked good in it, and Moira was attractive and single. It wouldn’t hurt to make an effort to look nice.

* * *