Tastes Like Murder (Cookies & Chance Mysteries Book 1) (5 page)

"Okay, now tell us everything from the beginning again," Mom said.

Bleary-eyed, I finished chewing my mouthful of spaghetti and stared around the cherry wood dining room table at my family. It was near midnight, and my parents had insisted I spend the night. My mother was seated at my right and Gianna to my left. My father sat at the head of the table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. Grandma Rosa bustled back and forth between the kitchen and dining room.

No way was I going back to the shop alone tonight, they had declared. It was useless to argue, and I was too exhausted from the day's activities to try. The fact that I hadn't had much sleep the night before due to my alcoholic binge wasn't helping my situation, either. After having found Amanda's body, rest would now be impossible.

Of course, I wasn't allowed to go to bed until I had eaten and shared the story of my horrific night with everyone. I took a sip of water and glanced up at the dark paneling that held my father's favorite painting, an imitation of da Vinci's
Mona Lisa.
Her eyes seemed to tell me she understood what I was going through.

"Oh, honey, wait until I get you some more to eat." My mother already had the top off the china tureen and had scooped out another slice of braciole for me before I could protest. She flashed by me in record time on her four-inch stiletto heels. Even at this time of night, she was decked out in a sparkly, silver mini dress. I had to admit she looked terrific at the age of fifty-two. The face-lift she underwent last year certainly hadn't hurt her, either. My mother has always had a fantastic figure, despite giving birth to two children. The other day we'd been shopping at the local farmer's market together, when our cashier asked if we were sisters and who was older. Mom wasted no time. She said I was.

"Mom." I covered my plate. "I really don't have much of an appetite."

She pushed my hands away and placed parmesan cheese and the plate with the braciole in front of me, then scooped more spaghetti from a bowl
.
It was a losing battle. "Sweetie, you need to keep up your strength. You've had a traumatic evening."

Gianna's delicate features were masked with worry. "Why don't you sleep with me tonight? You know, in case you have a nightmare?"

My father tossed the paper aside, frowning. "You see? That girl, she had it coming."

"Domenic!" my mother cried. "How can you say such a thing?"

Dad rubbed his balding head in exasperation. "After what she did to our daughter, Maria? It's karma. Simple as that."

"Sounds like it may have been an allergic reaction." My sister took a sip of her wine.

My father grunted and pointed at Gianna. "Someone wanted her dead. They fixed it so she'd have a reaction. God, she was a rotten little thing." He pounded his fist on the table. "You should never cross people. Or else someday you, too, might wind up lying on someone's porch."

"Oh my God." My sister rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

"I wonder if she'll get a huge crowd at her funeral," my father mused aloud as he stared at his painting. He was probably wondering if his service would be larger.

"Dad," Gianna said. "Her mother is the town socialite. They have more money than God. Amanda owned the only spa around here. Even if people didn't like her, they'll still go to the wake, at least for her mother's sake."

He waved her off and studied the paper again. "When I go, I want my obituary to take up an entire page. You'll write it, Gianna. You've always been good with words."

"Dear Lord," my grandmother muttered under her breath. "All you think about is death! It is like living with the Grim Reaper."

Dad shot his mother-in-law a look of exasperation. "You should be thinking about it too, old lady. You've got at least ten years on me. You're liable to go anytime."

"Sei pazzo."
Grandma Rosa shook her head.

"You're the one who's crazy." My father frowned at her. "I bet you don't even have a burial plot yet."

I groaned. "Enough, please? Can we stop talking about funerals for one night?"

"Poor sweetie." My mother wrapped her arms around me as I stared, eyes pleading for help, at my grandmother.

"Stop smothering her, Maria." Grandma Rosa walked into the kitchen. "Sally is not a baby anymore, for crying out loud. She is a grown woman."

My father snorted as he reached for his wineglass. "A divorced woman. I knew you never should have married that bum. Now his tramp is dead. They're ruining your life."

I put my weary head in my hands.

"You didn't finish telling us what happened." Gianna refilled her glass.

I blew out a breath. "There isn't much more to tell. Brian made a call to the station and another policeman showed up. They searched the shop and waited while Josie and I locked the door, and then they left."

"Will they close the place for a while and call in a forensics team?" Gianna, lawyer-in-training, asked.

I ate a small bite of braciole. "I don't think so. They can't be sure of the cause of death until the autopsy results come in, so they don't know if it was an accident or—" I stopped myself, unable to say the word.

Gianna looked at me in surprise. "They actually think she might have been murdered?"

"Of course she was murdered," my father bellowed. "The girl was evil!"

Grandma Rosa reappeared, setting a cup of espresso in front of me.

"If I have coffee now, I'll be up all night."

She handed me the cream and sugar from the nearby buffet table and shook her snow-white head. "Sally, my love, who are you kidding? There is no way you will sleep tonight, coffee or no coffee."

I hated to admit it, but she was right. Sighing, I took a sip of the strong drink and almost choked, then cocked one eye at my grandmother. "What did you put in here?"

She shrugged. "Maybe a little sambuca. It is good for you."

My mother reached inside her cosmetic bag and pulled out a compact. She started removing her false eyelashes at the table. "Sal, the police don't think you have anything to do with it, right? I mean, do they know what she did to you?"

I finished chewing another bite before answering. "I told Brian about our, shall we say, differences. He said they can't speculate on anything until the autopsy comes back."

"Who is this Brian?" Grandma Rosa raised one eyebrow and sat down across from me.

Gianna winked. "He's the new cop on the force. I see him at Frank's place all the time. He's very nice. Cute too."

"What are you talking about?" Heat rose through my face.

"Maybe we should invite him over for dinner." My mother held the mirror out in front of her while she primped her long hair. It was dark like mine, but not as curly.

I looked at her in disbelief. "Mom, you don't invite cops to dinner."

"Why not? They have to eat too, you know."

A small gurgle escaped from my mouth before I could stop it.

My mother stood, yawned, and stretched. "I need to get some sleep. I'm showing houses tomorrow morning." She enjoyed dressing up and wearing her gold-plated name badge as she viewed homes with prospective clients. My parents didn't need the extra money. Their house was paid off, and my father received a generous pension from the railroad, which was a good thing because in the six months since my mother started her real estate career, she'd made exactly zero in sales.

Mom ran around the table, kissing each one of us on the cheek and ending with my father. "Don't be too long." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "You know how I hate to sleep alone."

He chuckled and swatted her behind. "I'll be up in a minute, hot stuff."

"Jeez Louise." Gianna raised her eyebrows in disgust. "Do we really need to see this?"

Maria Muccio loved to be the center of attention. She blew us all another kiss before she padded up the stairs lightly in her tiny high heels. She reminded me of a Barbie doll.

Gianna downed the rest of her wine in a single gulp. "Why is it I feel like she's the child sometimes, and I'm the mother?"

Grandma Rosa grimaced as she brought her finger to her head in a circular motion. "Your mama, now, do not get me wrong. She is my daughter, and I love her like crazy, but sometimes she acts like a big child. Maybe she is going through the puberty bit again."

"More like the change," I said.

We were startled by a rap on the door. Grandma Rosa peered out the window cautiously then shook her head. "Nicoletta."

My father snorted and got to his feet. In the past couple of years, he'd grown stouter across the middle. He no longer exercised and had started going to Denny's for a Grand Slam breakfast every morning. His reasoning was that people should indulge in what they loved while allowed. You never knew when God was going to call you home.

"Crazy broad probably wants to borrow oregano at this hour. I'm going to bed. If the Gregorios need help picking out a casket, tell them to come see me. I know where they can get a heck of a deal.
Notte belle ragazze
." He blew kisses at Gianna and me.

"Good night, Daddy." I thought it was sweet how our father always called us beautiful.

Grandma Rosa appeared in the doorway, followed by Mrs. Gavelli. She gasped when she saw me and pointed her finger. "You! Why you no in jail?" She turned to my grandmother. "Your granddaughter, she kill that nice Amanda. I call police and tell them you here." She started for the phone on the kitchen wall.

"Mrs. G, the police know where I am." I rubbed my weary eyes.

Grandma Rosa grabbed Mrs. Gavelli's arm and spoke to her angrily in Italian. Mrs. Gavelli continued her tirade while flapping her arms about and extending her hand in my direction. Gianna looked at me and rolled her eyes. We'd seen this wacky bit transpire between the two of them before.

"Get out of this house," Grandma Rosa responded, this time in English. "How dare you come in here and accuse my granddaughter of murder."

Mrs. Gavelli glared at me. "Is not right. You a bad lot."

"Out!" Grandma yelled.

"I call police from my house." Mrs. Gavelli folded her arms across her chest. "I tell everyone what you do."

My grandmother charged into the kitchen and returned with a broom, holding it over her head. "If you do not leave now, you will be sorry."

They took up their fight in Italian again, which ended with my grandmother rapping Mrs. Gavelli on the backside with the broom. Gianna and I sat motionless, waiting for the drama to end. It was useless to interfere.

Breathing heavy, Mrs. Gavelli shook her fist at my grandmother. "Crazy loon. We see how you like to visit little
monella
behind bars." She'd been calling me a brat ever since the incident with Johnny.

Without another word, she pulled at her tan-colored knee-highs, which had rolled down around her ankles, and flounced out the door.

"Gianna, you need to go to bed. Sally will help me stack the dishes." My grandmother calmly turned and started to clear the table as if nothing had happened.

Gianna and I stared at each other, confused.

"Grandma, shouldn't I help?" Gianna asked. "Sal's had kind of a rough night."

Grandmother Rosa raised an eyebrow at my sister and pointed toward the stairs. "You go to bed. Sally will be fine."

She wanted to talk to me alone.

Gianna seemed to get the message as well because she didn't argue any further. She kissed Grandma Rosa good night then threw her arms around my neck. "Don't worry. Everything will be all right."

I gave her a kiss on the cheek and gathered the rest of the dishes. I followed Grandma Rosa into the bright-yellow kitchen, where she spent most of her time. As I reached for the large cast-iron casserole dish on the stainless steel stove, which held remains of braciole and tomato sauce, she stopped me.

"Leave the braciole pan to soak. We will stack the rest of these in the dishwasher."

I nodded and did as I was told. When we'd finished stacking and Grandma had wiped down the counters, she motioned for me to sit at the round, teakwood table. She took my hands in her tiny, warm ones. Her dark eyes held years of wisdom I hoped I'd inherit someday. The wrinkles around them were fine, but her skin was still flawless, even at the age of seventy-five. Unlike my mother, Grandma Rosa didn't rely on face-lifts to look younger. She told everyone the secret to beauty was eating good Italian food and having olive skin. She said it hid your age better.

"People are going to say lots of ugly things to you now that this has happened." She frowned. "You hold your head up high. You have done nothing wrong."

My insides quaked. "Everyone's going to think I killed her, aren't they? Like Mrs. Gavelli?"

Grandma Rosa shrugged. "They might. People always like to make something out of nothing. You need to be careful. Your business may depend on this. Do not let people think you have anything to hide, or they will stay away."

"I don't have anything to hide," I answered honestly. "Pretty much everyone in town already knows about her and Colin. That's why they might think—"