Corned Beef Murder: Book Two in The Darling Deli Series (5 page)

Moira sent her employees home early, telling them that she would be happy to clean up and take care of the last few customers on her own. The truth was that she didn’t want them to know that she was getting herself involved in another investigation. Since her conversation with Martha and James the night before, she had only become more certain that her friend hadn’t fallen down the stairs on her own. She was relieved that David had agreed to help her search for clues, and was looking forward to seeing him again. He had literally saved her life the last time she had worked with him; hopefully he wouldn’t need to do so this time.

She was just about to lock up the front door to the deli when she saw the private detective’s black car pull into the parking lot. She held the door for him as he battled his way through the icy wind, his long coat whipping around him. Once he had made his way inside and she had shut the door behind him, she turned to give him a grateful smile.

“Thanks for coming out here,” she said.

“It’s my pleasure.” He took off one of his gloves and extended a hand, which she shook. His grip was firm and confident.

“I didn’t realize the weather would get so bad,” she said. “Sorry about that.”

“Not a problem,” he assured her. “I don’t mind a bit of wind, though I wouldn’t say no to a warm bowl of soup, if you’ve got any left.”

“I think I can manage that,” she said with a grin. “The soup of the day is lentil and lamb stew. Is that all right?”

“It sounds great,” he replied enthusiastically.

Moira had him take a seat while she went into the back to serve up the rest of the stew. There was just enough left for a full bowl for each of them. She added a few slices of the delicious barley bread that she had made earlier that day; the heavy bread was great dipped into the rich meaty stew. They ate together at the small bistro table by the window, watching the wind blow gusts of snow across the parking lot.

“So, what is your plan?” David asked as he mopped up the last of his stew with a chunk of the bread. “You didn’t give me many specifics over the phone.”

“Well, I thought we could poke around Emilia’s house and see if we can find anything that looks like it’s out of place or missing.” At his wary look, she quickly added, “Don’t worry, I have a key to her house that her sister gave me the other day, and we were old friends. Emilia wouldn’t mind.”

“Won’t the sister be there? Did you say that they lived together?”

“She’s out of town for a few days, for her job,” Moira told him. “They don’t live together, but Martha would stop in daily to check on her.”

“I’ll tag along,” David said somewhat reluctantly. “But we’re treading the line here. We’ll have to be careful to put everything back exactly where we find it, and not to break anything. I’d like it better if you got permission from the sister first.”

“It would just create more tension between her and her brother,” she pointed out. “Plus, Emilia used to babysit for me. She had a key to my house ages ago, and was welcome to let herself in. Actually, the key is probably still there,” she said with a small laugh. “I should ask Martha if she knows where it is when she gets back. If there
is
a burglar, I wouldn’t want him finding a key to my house.”

“Well, let’s get going,” the detective said, rising from the table and gathering their dirty bowls. “Time to get to work.”

Emilia’s house was dark and snow still covered the porch. They parked in the street in front, and trudged up the driveway through the snow. Moira fished the key out of her pocket with frozen fingers, and somehow managed to get it in the lock without shining her phone’s light on the doorknob. The door creaked open slowly, and the detective took a small flashlight out of his pocket as they stepped into the chilly house. Moira was reminded of the last time she had been here—it was dark and cold then, too, and the house had been just as silent as it was now.

She shut the door behind them, and David clicked on the flashlight, giving them a small cone of light to see by. He was careful to keep it away from the windows, but he knew that if anyone happened to glance inside they would see the light waving around.

“We’d better hurry,” he said in a low voice.

“What sort of things should I be looking for? How do we tell if someone broke in?” she asked just as quietly.

“Forced entry: scratches on the outdoor keyholes, broken windows or locks. I’ll handle that. You can take a look around to see if anything seems to be out of place. If there was a struggle, they may have knocked something over and not put it back right. You can also look for marks in the carpet that show that furniture has been moved recently,” he whispered. He took a small penlight from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Keep your gloves on,” he warned. “Meet me back here in a few minutes.”

She nodded and clicked the tiny light on. Trusting David to find any evidence of forced entry, she decided to head upstairs and see if she could find anything that would support her suspicions.

The first thing that she noticed was that the runner at the top of the stairs was wrinkled, but she supposed that one of the paramedics or police officers could have done it. There was nothing immediately evident in the hallway that could indicate that there had been a fight, which wasn’t surprising; anything immediately suspicious, like bloodstains or broken furniture, would have been noticed by the police. Remembering David’s advice to look for evidence of things that might have been knocked over or disturbed and not replaced properly, she bent down next to a table next to the stairs that held a lamp and a bowl of candy. Shining the light on it, she immediately noticed that there was a small crescent next to the lamp that was dust-free, as if the lamp had been moved slightly. Further inspection showed that the crystal candy dish had a small chip on the rim. Either of these things could have happened at any point over the last few days—in fact, the candy bowl might have been chipped for years, so this wasn’t solid evidence of a struggle. Although she hadn’t yet found anything that she could use as evidence for the police, she felt more strongly than ever that Emilia hadn’t just tripped and fallen down the stairs.

She headed for Emilia’s bedroom next, feeling for the first time like she was intruding on her friend. While she honestly didn’t think Emilia would have minded her letting herself in with the key, going through someone’s bedroom was another matter entirely.
She would want me to find the truth
, she told herself.
She would understand.
Still, Moira felt uncomfortable as she shone the light around the master bedroom.

The bed was a large, old-fashioned four-poster with a floral print bedspread. The bed was neatly made, with a folded nightgown sitting next to one of the pillows. There was a large antique armoire on the opposite wall. She padded over to it and, after hesitating for a second, opened it. There were the expected clothes, plus a jewelry box sitting on the top shelf. Holding her penlight in her teeth, she took out the jewelry box and opened it, surprised to find it completely empty.
Odd
, she thought. She knew that Emilia had a lot of antique jewelry, of which she had been understandably proud. Of course, this could be a new jewelry box that she hadn’t had a chance to fill yet, but it looked nearly as old as the armoire did.

She put the box back and shut the armoire, feeling a chill as she remembered what Martha had said before about Emilia missing a few necklaces. Had her friend really been killed over something as simple as old jewelry?

Upset by the thought of her friend’s murder, but happy that she making progress, she headed towards the attached master bathroom next. Nothing looked out of place in the impressive room until she opened the medicine cabinet. Besides a half-used tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush, and a stick of deodorant, the cabinet was completely empty. Moira knew that her friend had been on several prescription medications to keep her health issues under control… so where were they?

She still hadn’t found any solid evidence of foul play, certainly nothing that she could bring to the cops. Frustrated, and feeling more strongly than ever that something was wrong, she shut the cabinet and went downstairs to meet up with David and see if he had found anything. He wasn’t waiting by the front door, but she could hear him moving around in the kitchen.
I might as well take a look in there too
, she thought. She was about to turn to head towards the hall that led to the kitchen, when something caught her eye. Next to the front door was a coat rack, which held one of Emilia’s coats and a key chain. Remembering her words to David earlier, that one of her own house keys was probably still somewhere at Emilia’s house, Moira decided to look for it. It didn’t take her long to find it and a quick comparison with her own copy of her house key proved that it was indeed the right one. She took it off the key ring, wincing when the nail on her thumb bent back, and slid it into her pocket. At least she had one less thing to worry about now.

She found David in the kitchen. He was frowning at the back door, and was so lost in concentration that he jumped when Moira cleared her throat.

“Did you find something?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not sure.” He gestured her over, and she peered out the window. It took her a second to see what he saw.

“Footprints?” she asked.

“Yeah. And look, they’re only partially filled with snow. With how windy it is, they can’t be more than an hour old,” he told her.

“But… that means that someone was here right before we got here,” she said, feeling a chill spread through her. She was glad that there were two sets of footprints, one leading to the house and one leading away from it. At least whoever had come here wasn’t hidden away in the house somewhere.

“I took photos of the ones that were less obscured,” he told her. “With any luck, I’ll be able to figure out what brand of shoe they’re from."

“Is there any sign of forced entry?” she asked.

“No there’s not,” he said. “So whoever was here either had a key, or is very skilled at lock picking, because whoever it was locked up behind them.”

“It can’t have been Martha—she’s almost two hours away from here in Traverse City.” Moira shivered. “We should get out of here. Whoever it was might come back.” She looked around the dark, shadowy kitchen, half expecting to see someone looming in the corner, but there was no one there. Just the empty kitchen, with the soft hum of the fridge, two coffee cups on the table, and the moan of the wind outside.

Two coffee cups.

“David,” she said slowly. “Martha said that she hadn’t touched a thing since I found Emilia, not even to do the dishes.” She paused. “If she was telling the truth, then who was Emilia drinking coffee with on the day that she died?”

“That is a very good question,” he said. He gave her a considering look, and Moira knew that he finally believed her that Emilia’s death hadn’t been an accident.

“I want to check something,” she said suddenly, remembering the key ring in the other room. The detective followed her through the house until they reached the foyer.

She pulled out the key that Martha had given her, and matched it to each of the keys on the key chain. Not a single one matched it. She turned to look at David.

“Who doesn’t have their own house key on their key chain?” she said. “Whoever killed her must have stolen it.”

“This is starting to look more and more like a burglary gone wrong,” David said. “I think you were right, Moira.”

“Do we have enough to go to the police?” she asked him hopefully.

“I don’t know.” He hesitated. “I don’t think so. They’ve already ruled it an accidental death; they are going to need some pretty solid evidence to reopen the case. Everything we’ve found so far might seem suspicious to us, but each thing can also be explained away logically. The footprints could have been from anyone, even one of your friend’s siblings. The coffee cups could have been from another day. And maybe these are just her spare keys, and she has a separate key chain in her purse with a house key.”

“Are you saying you don’t actually believe me?” she asked, hurt.

“I do believe you,” he said. He shook his head. “It’s just going to take a lot more to get the police to believe you, too.”

They headed out to the car together side by side, Moira pausing only long enough to lock the door behind her. She felt disappointed that neither she nor David had found any solid evidence that there had been an intruder in Emilia’s house the day that she had been murdered.

They were just walking up to David’s car when another car pulled up in front of it. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she recognized Detectives Fitzgerald and Jefferson.

“Ms. Darling,” Jefferson said as the car idled in the street. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”

“I was… just getting my key,” she said, thinking quickly. She pulled the copy of her house key that she had retrieved from inside out of her pocket and held it up. It gleamed in the streetlight. “I gave it to Emilia years ago, and thought it might be a good idea to get it back before it gets lost.”

“How did you get inside?” he asked, his voice more curious than accusatory.

“Oh, I have a key,” she said offhandedly. “I’ve known Emilia for years.” She watched as the two detectives conversed quietly for a moment, and then Jefferson turned back to her.