Tomato Basil Murder: Book 7 in The Darling Deli Series (4 page)

“It wasn’t bad at all,” he told her. “We had a few people early on—I think they came right after church got out—but no one since.”

“I think it’s supposed to storm later,” she told him. “If you want, you can take off once I get the soup simmering. I doubt we’ll be very busy this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” he told her. “I might take you up on that. I’ve got some reading I wanted to get done this weekend. Gotta do it before school starts up again later this month.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll go start on the soup. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes or so, so just finish up what you’re doing now, and poke your head through the door to say goodbye before you go.”

Humming, her thoughts still on the little house in the woods, Moira began her daily job of creating a new soup from scratch. She sliced a few cloves of garlic and tossed them in a pot to sauté with a pinch of red pepper flakes. Then she took the big bowl of cannellini beans out of the fridge and rinsed them off one last time before adding the entire thing, along with a few cups of water, to the pot where the garlic and red pepper were sautéing. The beans took a while to soak, then required attention while simmering for a couple of hours, so she was glad that she had thought far enough ahead to get them prepared the night before.
Using canned beans is certainly much easier
, she thought.
But they never taste as good.

She then added chopped celery, olives, and chicken broth, along with nearly a cup of pesto that she had also made the previous evening. By the time Darrin opened the door to the kitchen to tell her he was leaving, the pesto bean soup was nearly finished. It was a recipe that she had recently come across and, after a few tweaks to make it unique, she was eager to see what her customers thought of it.
Though with the weather we’re having today, I may end up bringing most of it home with me
, she thought.

The rain only worsened as the hours wore on. An occasional wet, bedraggled customer wandered in, but Moira’s prediction of an exceptionally slow day held true. She spent the extra time cleaning until the floors and glass cases all shone, and even the bathroom smelled as fresh as spring. When she found that there were still a few hours before the deli was supposed to close, she sighed and reluctantly settled down at a bistro table with a bowl of soup, a sandwich, and a book. She knew she might as well close early, but she would feel bad if someone struggled all the way through the storm only to find that the deli was closed for the evening. Besides, there was always the chance that the weather would break and business would pick up.

She was immersed in her book so when the deli’s front door slammed open and a figure in a black raincoat stepped through followed by a torrent of wind and rain, she jumped violently enough for her chair to nearly tip over. Feeling foolish, she set her book down, quickly wiped up the mess from her spilled soup, then rose to greet the customer. To her surprise, she realized that the man who had startled her so was Detective Jefferson.

“Oh, hi,” she said, grabbing her dishes to take them to the kitchen. “What can I get you? I think we still have some coffee left; it’s on me, if you want some.”

“I’m sorry, Moira, but I’m not here for coffee.” He took a deep breath. “Do you have someone to watch the deli for you?”

“Why?” she asked, her blood turning to ice at the solemn look on the man’s face. “What happened?”

“There’s been an incident involving your ex-husband,” he told her. “We need you down at the station as soon as possible.”

“Oh my goodness,” she breathed. “What happened? Is he okay? Is my daughter okay?”

“Candice is at the station right now. I’m not going to lie, it isn’t good. Your ex-husband is dead, Moira.”

She reeled with shock, but when she registered her daughter’s name, all thoughts of keeping the deli open left her mind. Her daughter needed her, and no force on earth would keep her away from that police station.

“I’m ready,” she told the detective, picking up her purse and keys and leaving the dishes, forgotten, on the counter. “Let’s go.”

She opted to drive herself, thanking Detective Jefferson profusely for his offer of a ride, but telling him that she didn’t want to impose. In truth, she wanted to use the drive to compose herself for her daughter, and she wanted the freedom to drive Candice wherever she wanted to go after they were done at the station.
Mike…
she thought.
Could it be true? Is he really dead?
She remembered her conversation with him just yesterday. He had seemed so happy, and so… well, so alive. She might not have had the best relationship with him, but she would never have wished something like this on him, or on anyone. And poor Candice. What must her daughter be going through right now? Candice had been too young to remember the loss of Moira’s parents. She had never really experienced the death of someone close to her. The closest thing to that sort of loss that her daughter had lived through was when Mike had left them, but at least Candice had still been able to call and visit him.

Detective Jefferson hadn’t given her any details about what had happened, and Moira couldn’t keep her mind from going over the possibilities. Had Candice found him? She prayed that that wasn’t the case. Her poor daughter must be beside herself right now.

She pulled into the parking lot behind Detective Jefferson, snagging her umbrella from the car’s passenger side floor before hurrying into the police station. The waiting room was empty other than the secretary, who gave Moira a sad smile as she shook off her umbrella. Detective Jefferson was right behind her.

“This way,” he said gently, guiding her towards the door that lead to the rest of the station. “She’s in my office. I thought she might prefer the privacy.”

Moira followed him, her mind still reeling with the thought of Mike, dead. What on earth had happened? Had something gone wrong with the airplane? She knew he was supposed to fly out tonight, but she didn’t know when. Did the storm cause him to crash his car?

“Mom!” Candice exclaimed when Detective Jefferson let her into his office. Her daughter jumped up and hugged Moira so tightly, she had to gasp for breath.

“It’s all right, sweetie. I’m here.” Stroking her daughter’s hair, she guided her back to the chairs by Jefferson’s desk and eased her into the closest one. She took the other one and turned her green-eyed gaze to the detective.

“What happened, Detective Jefferson?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice strong. Seeing Candice like this tore her up emotionally. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how she would help her daughter cope with the loss of a parent.

“I’m not certain your daughter should hear it again.” He nodded at Candice. “I brought you here so she could see you. If you’d like, I’ll give you a moment of privacy, then you can join me in one of the interview rooms so I can tell you what happened.”

“Of course. Thank you.” She waited until the detective left the room, then turned back to her daughter, who was shuddering into her hands.

“Candice, sweetheart, come here. It’s okay…” She embraced her daughter again, offering tissues, trying to make sense of her daughter’s hysterical words. Moira thought she caught the word “blood,” and her stomach dropped. Whatever had happened didn’t sound good.

When Candice was able to breathe deeply again, Moira handed her a few more tissues, leaned over to kiss the top of her head, then left the office to go find Detective Jefferson. It was time she got some answers about what had happened to Mike, and what exactly Candice had seen.

Jefferson was waiting for her in the hallway, leaning against the wall and looking tired. When he saw her, he straightened up and gestured her towards one of the more comfortable interview rooms down the hall.

“Take a seat,” he said, indicating the set of plush armchairs. “I took the liberty of getting us some coffees. I’m sure you could use a boost, and I know I could.”

“Thanks,” she said, sitting down in one of the chairs. She held the warm mug of coffee in her hands, but didn’t drink yet. She kept trying to tell herself that none of this was real, it couldn’t be, but Detective Jefferson’s drawn face told her otherwise.

“What happened?” she managed at last.

“This is just what I’ve managed to gather from your daughter and the cleaning woman at the hotel,” he began. “I don’t have the full story yet. Both of them were distraught, and in no place mentally for questioning.” Moira nodded to show that she understood.

“About an hour ago, Candice showed up at the hotel, worried because her father had been out of contact all day. Since it was past time for him to check out of his room, a hotel maid agreed to open the room up for your daughter and see if Mike had already packed up and left.” He paused. “From what she told me, up until this point your daughter’s biggest concern was that her father had left without saying goodbye. She was quite upset at the idea.” He paused, and Moira couldn’t help but feel her heart ache for her daughter. What did it say about the sort of father Mike had been that his daughter’s first thought had been that he had left without saying goodbye, not that he was hurt or in some sort of trouble?

“Go on,” she said when he seemed reluctant to continue. “What happened?”

“Well, they opened up the room and found his personal items strewn all over the place; they eventually spotted Mike’s body.” He grimaced. “I can’t tell you more than that, since it’s an ongoing investigation, but I’m sure your daughter will later. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and I wish she hadn’t been the one to find him.”

“Me too,” Moira whispered, stunned. She had been expecting to hear that Mike had been in some sort of accident, not… this. Was it really possible that her ex-husband had been murdered?

“What do you need us to do now?” she asked. “Do I have to… identify the body or anything?”

“Your daughter already did that for us,” he told her reluctantly. “I would never have asked her to, but she insisted.” He sighed and looked away from her gaze. “I will need to ask you some questions, Moira. Routine, since you
are
his ex-wife. I’m sure you understand.”

She did, but she wasn’t happy about it. All she wanted to do was comfort her daughter and try to wrap her head around the idea that the man to whom she’d been married for years was dead.

It took almost another hour for her and Candice to finish things up at the police station. Her daughter would be spending the night at Moira’s apartment.

Once they got inside, she let Candice get settled in the bedroom while she boiled water for tea. She quickly made up a tray of tea, cookies, and chocolate and carried it into the bedroom to give to her daughter.

“Thanks, Mom. Can you just put it on the table?” Candice asked. “I don’t feel very good right now. I just want to sleep.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Come on, Maverick, let’s go,” Moira said to the dog curled up next to Candice on the bed. He gave Moira a mournful look and low whine when she spoke, but didn’t move.

“He can stay,” Candice said, reaching over to stroke the dog’s soft head. “I think he knows how miserable I am right now, and he just wants to keep me company.”

“Okay, just let me know if he gets annoying. I usually make him sleep on the floor, since he snores and makes the whole bed shake when he chases things in his dreams.”

She let herself out of the room and shut the door behind her, hoping her daughter knew that Moira would be more than happy to get anything in the world for her.
What now?
she thought. She couldn’t imagine focusing on a book or television show, but was still too shocked by everything that had happened even to think about calling her friends.
Except David,
she thought.
David needs to know.
If Mike
had
been murdered, maybe David could even be of some help in tracking down the culprit.

Disappointed when she got his voice mail, she left a quick message explaining what had happened. She told him that she would pick him up at the airport tomorrow as she had promised then hung up.
What will he think when he hears that?
she wondered.
Will he be upset that I didn’t tell him about Mike being in town?
She often found herself unsure just how seriously David thought of their relationship. Did he care about her as more than just a good friend? She hoped so; she knew that the feelings she had been developing for him over the months were serious, but she was too wary of hurting their friendship to be the first to say anything.

She heard a sob from the other room and put down the phone. Now wasn’t the time to figure out her relationship issues. Her daughter needed her. She also knew that she would have to explore her own emotions about Mike’s death eventually. They had grown apart over the years; she had spent a long time resenting him for having an affair and leaving her and Candice, but her heart still felt heavy at the thought of him being completely gone.
If I had known, would I have done anything differently the last time I spoke to him?
she thought. Would she have taken the opportunity to tell him what she thought of him for abandoning their family, or would she have told him that she forgave him?
Is it bad that I don’t know the answer to that?
she wondered as she got up to check on her daughter. She liked to think that she would have forgiven him, but when she remembered how his leaving had crushed nine-year-old Candice, she knew it wouldn’t have been that simple.