Corned Beef Murder: Book Two in The Darling Deli Series (7 page)

“Sure,” she said. “But I can assure you, Dante doesn’t have anything to do with this case.”

He sighed and stirred his soup slowly with his spoon. She knew that he was thinking of how he’d had to save her life a few months ago.

“I should get going,” he said at last. “It’s late, and the roads are bad. Just keep your eyes open and be careful, okay?”

“I will,” she told him. “And let me know if you find anything out—about any of the people you’re going to be looking into.”

She watched as he got up and left. She was surprised to see him pause right outside of the door. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of something in the snow. When he had driven away, Moira walked over to the window and looked out. David had taken a picture of one of Dante’s footprints.

Breakfast in the Darling house was usually an every-woman-for-herself affair, so Moira was surprised to find an entire meal laid out when she woke up. Candice was putting the finishing touches on a huge platter of pancakes when Moira entered the kitchen. The rich, savory scents of bacon and coffee filled the air. It was just beginning to get light outside, and she was surprised that she was up so early. The delicious smell of breakfast must have woken her.

“Wow, what’s the occasion?” she asked as she poured herself a mug of coffee.

“I just wanted to say thank you for everything,” her daughter said. “You’re the best mom ever.”

“Well, you’re a pretty awesome daughter yourself,” she replied with a smile. “Thank you.” The food looked amazing. Moira also realized that her daughter was a pretty formidable cook. When had her little girl grown into such a responsible skilled adult?

She helped Candice finish up setting the table and then the two of them sat down together. She was just about to dig in when her phone rang.
Who on earth is calling me this early?
she wondered. She was tempted to ignore it; it would be rude to interrupt the breakfast that her daughter had made to take the call, but Candice just smiled and told her to go ahead and answer it.

“It might be Darrin or Dante calling to say they can’t go to work today,” she pointed out.

“Oh, good point. I’ll be right back,” she promised.

She grabbed her phone off the counter and left the room before glancing at the screen. The caller ID said
Martha
. She was surprised—why was her friend calling her so early? Hopefully there hadn’t been another burglary.

“Moira, thank goodness you answered,” the other woman said as soon as she put the phone to her ear. “I’m so scared. I think someone’s following me.” The words were eerily similar to what Emilia had said on the day that she died.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Moira said, clasping the phone to her ear. “Have you called the police?”

“I’m going to call them next. I just thought you and your detective should know.” She took a shaky breath. “I went out to the gas station this morning to pick up some more orange juice,” she began. “And someone followed my car to the gas station. They idled in the parking lot while I was inside, and then followed me back.”

“Are you at home now?”

“Yes, and that car is still in the parking lot. I can see it from the balcony. It’s just sitting there, idling with its headlights off.”

“Can you see what the driver looks like?”

“No… but the car is old and red. One of the headlights is dimmer than the other.”

“All right… be careful, Martha. You should call the police as soon as we hang up. Keep your doors locked, okay?”

“I will,” she promised. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you first tried to tell me something fishy was going on. I shouldn’t have listened to James—what does he know?”

Moira returned to the breakfast table feeling shaken and worried. She filled Candice in on what Martha had said as she spread butter over the pancakes.

“Wow, that’s so creepy,” her daughter said. “I can’t even imagine how she must feel. Do you think the police will be able to do anything?”

“Hopefully. Maybe they’ll even reopen the case of Emilia’s death, now that they have a serial burglar on their hands.”

“Do you think Martha’s in danger from him?” Candice asked.

“I don’t know. I thought that Emilia’s death might have been an accident—if the burglar thought he was alone in the house; she may have surprised him. But if he’s stalking Martha now… maybe he has darker intentions.” Moira bit her lip as she gazed at the spread of delicious food in front of her. She didn’t want to admit to her daughter that her appetite had left her, but she didn’t know how she was going to enjoy breakfast with her friend in such danger.

* * *

As soon as she got the soup of the day—a sumptuous cheesy chicken bourbon soup, always popular with her customers—simmering on low heat, Moira tried calling Martha back, but the phone rang through to voicemail. She was worried, but didn’t know who else she could contact. She didn’t have James’s phone number and wasn’t sure if the police would be able to tell her anything. She decided to take a short break from work and check on her friend in a few hours, when Darrin got to the deli.

* * *

“Martha? Are you here?” she called out, knocking on the door for a third time. There was no answer. She tried the knob, but it was locked.
She could have gone out for groceries or to meet someone
, Moira thought. But she didn’t really believe that the other woman would have left her apartment, not with how scared she sounded on the phone.

She headed back down the stairs of the apartment building, and when she got outside she noticed a police vehicle parked on the other side of the parking lot. Martha must have made the call, then, and they had sent someone out to watch her building. The only question was… where was she? A quick look around the small parking lot showed her that Martha’s car was still there, which meant that the woman had to be somewhere nearby. With a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, she braced herself and walked over to the police car. Maybe they would be able to do something to find the missing woman.

“She hasn’t left since I’ve been sitting here,” the officer said. “Are you sure she isn’t just in her apartment taking a nap?”

“Well, no, I’m not,” Moira admitted, feeling frustrated. “But I knocked a few times, called her cell phone, and even shouted through the door and she didn’t answer me.”

“Look, I’ll phone it in, but you shouldn’t worry too much. I haven’t seen anything unusual since I’ve been here. I’m sure your friend is fine,” he said. Feeling like she wanted to either scream or cry, Moira turned and slowly made her way back to her car. Martha
wasn’t
fine. She would have answered the door if she had heard Moira, she was sure of it.
I won’t let her end up like Emilia
, she told herself.
I need to find her brother—he might take me seriously.

Once she got to her car, she picked up her cell phone and called David. She hadn’t heard from him since the night before, which meant that he probably hadn’t found anything important, but he seemed to be good at tracking people down. If anyone could put her in contact with Martha’s one remaining family member, he could.

“Do you think you could get me her brother’s phone number?” she asked once she had filled him in on the events of the last few hours. “His name is James Washburn. He didn’t seem that helpful the last time I talked to him, but now that his sister is missing, he might take me seriously. I need him to help me find her.”

“Just a second,” came the detective’s voice. “It should be no problem to find him… there, perfect. Are you ready?” He repeated the number for her while she scribbled it down on one of the napkins that always seemed to be floating around her car.

“Do you want me to head towards town?” he asked. “I’ll help you look for her.”

“Thank you so much,” she said. “The more people looking for her, the better. Can you meet me at the deli in just under an hour?”

“Sure thing,” he said. He paused, then added, “Please be careful, Moira.”

When she hung up with David and tried to call James, she was disappointed to find that he wasn’t answering his phone either. For a crazy second she wondered if he was in danger too—could someone be targeting the entire Washburn family for some reason?
He’s probably busy, or just not answering because he doesn’t know my number,
she told herself.

She sat in the car for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do next. Eventually she settled on going over to the hotel where Martha had mentioned her brother was staying. When she pulled into the parking lot, she was surprised to find that the hotel was in fact a shady little roadside motel, with half of the neon ‘vacancy’ lights broken. The way James dressed, she had been expecting that he would stay somewhere nicer. Maybe he just liked to save money whenever he could; to Moira, that sounded like a very reasonable way to live.

She wasn’t sure what room he was in, but she thought that whoever was working at the front desk might be willing to tell her if she explained the situation. She had only taken a couple of steps away from her car when she noticed something that made her freeze mid-step. Parked in front of the door at the very end was an old red car with one droopy headlight—a car that perfectly matched the description that Martha had given her earlier in the day.

David quickly cleared his workstation, shoving pages of research and photos into his leather bag. There was one stop that he had to make before going to help Moira. For her sake, he hoped that his suspicions weren’t true. She was such a trusting woman, even though she had ample reason not to be.

The shoe store was empty besides the confused clerk David brushed past on his way in. Unfolding a piece of paper that he had shoved in his pocket before leaving his office, he began picking up the shoes and comparing their treads to the photos that were on the paper. After a moment, he took out his camera phone and snapped a few more pictures, this time of the shoe itself. Leaving the befuddled clerk behind, he rushed out the door and slipped behind the wheel. He hoped that Dante was at the deli today; he had some questions for the young man.

“Hi Mr.… Morris, was it?” Dante asked from behind the counter.

“Call me David,” the private investigator told him. “May I have a word?”

“Um, I’m supposed to keep an eye on the register and help the customers. Darrin’s in the back cleaning the stove.”

“I don’t see any customers,” David said. “Come join me at one of these tables. Moira wouldn’t mind.”

The young man nervously edged out from behind the protection of the glass counter and sat opposite the private investigator at the bistro table. David let out a sigh when he saw the employee’s shoes. They matched the photo on his phone, which meant the tread matched the prints in the snow outside of Emilia Washburn’s house.
“Where is she?” he asked.

“W-what?” the young man said. He blinked, his face showing surprise but no fear.

“Martha,” he said. “You know, the sister of the woman that you murdered?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dante was staring at him wide-eyed. Frowning, David slid the picture of the two snowy footprints across the table towards him.

“One of these is yours, I took it right after you left the deli yesterday. The other one was found outside of Emilia’s house the night someone broke in. So either you killed her, or you just decided that it would be a good idea to rob a dead woman’s house,” he said. He slid his phone across the table next, with the picture of the shoe from the shoe store that had the same tread as the two footprints.

“I double-checked. This was the only shoe I could find that has the exact same tread pattern. You’re wearing the same shoe right this second.”

Dante stared at the photos for a moment, shock spreading across his face. He pushed them away, meeting David’s gaze with his own panicked eyes.

“I didn’t do it. You have to believe me.” He took in a shuddering breath. “I wasn’t even in town the night of the storm; I got caught in the blizzard and had to stay at a motel about an hour away. I used my bank card. I’m sure there’s a record of it somewhere. I can call my bank. they’ll tell you.”

David held up a hand, cutting the young man off.

“Get your bank on the line, now,” he ordered.

If the kid was telling the truth—and judging by his reaction, it was likely—someone else was the killer, and Moira could be in a whole heap of trouble.

Moira’s first thought was that the murderer was at the hotel, and that James was in danger. She had already started towards the door with her phone out and her thumb hovering over the button that would speed-dial the police when a more horrifying thought occurred to her. Could it be that James himself was the killer?

No,
she thought
. It doesn’t make sense. Why would he steal from his own family, and stalk and kill his two sisters?
She had to admit that no matter how horrible it seemed, the evidence was there. According to Martha, Emilia only recently had been having things go missing, and James had only recently come to town. Emilia would have let her brother in if he had come to her during the storm, which could explain the extra coffee cup and the fact that David hadn’t been able to find any evidence of forced entry at her friend’s house.