The Focaccia Fatality (9 page)

A rap on the back door caught my attention and revealed Bill on the doorstep. He handed me a check, took the filled, flat plastic trays loaded with his usual order, and said he’d catch me later. I nodded, returned to the shop, and started stacking goods for customers to buy.

Seven o’clock came and went with no sales, just gawkers peering in the front windows. I began to worry in earnest by the time the clock struck nine. No one came to get their daily bread, Samantha called to say she quit and hung up without an explanation, and I wondered why. I’d hung the open sign in the window and the
Sale of the Day
sign hung just below it, and again, I worried over why the lack of customers.

The morning newspaper was stuck in the mail slot of the shop door. I plucked it from the slot and unfolded the paper to the front page. Large print glared at me as I read the article caption. Vanderkemp’s identity, background, and history, including her Olympic star status, stood just under her photograph front and center of the page. Mention of her work for Joshua Hardin filled the second paragraph. The third paragraph concerned me and how I’d been involved in her murder. No wonder I had no customers. Everyone thought I was a killer. Yikes!

I read and reread the article. By the third pass, I could have recited every word. It was then that I realized why I had gawkers and no buyers. People wanted to see me, not to buy bread. The media had rolled up around ten o’clock and had the audacity to enter the shop.

A cameraman shifted the weight of the huge camera balanced on his shoulder as Karen Stark stepped toward the counter, microphone in hand. To say I felt the wind of panic blow over me was putting it mildly. I swallowed, smiled, and asked if I could help her.

“Miss Cameron, it’s been said you knew the deceased woman found in the Providence River this week. Is that right?”

“No comment,” I murmured and stared straight at her.

The camera man moved in closer and I stepped back, bumping against the shelves that held loaves of bread.

“Did you know Miss Vanderkemp personally?” Stark insisted.

“Get out of my shop.” I answered.

“How well did you know Miss Vanderkemp? And, how did you feel about identifying her body?”

I marched around the counter just as Vinnie Esposito entered the room. I grabbed Stark’s microphone and tossed it to the floor. “I said, get out,” I yelled into Stark’s face.

Wide-eyed and stubborn, Karen Stark held her ground, much the way I held mine. Suddenly, the cameraman left the building. Vinnie had grasped the back of his collar and given him a hearty tug. Unbalanced as he was, he had no choice but to go in the same direction she went.

In the heat of the moment, I picked up the microphone and flung it out the door behind the cameraman and then stepped toward Karen Stark. She backed away, said she’d be back, and rushed out the door and into the van she’d arrived in. As Karen passed Vinnie, she made a remark and Vinnie flipped her the finger. I snickered and turned away.

As Vinnie marched through the door for a second time, she slapped her hands together as though dusting off any leftover germs attained from her rough handling of the cameraman.

“I saw the newspaper and thought I’d better come by.” Vinnie glanced at the full shelves and then stared at me. “You’ve had no business today, have you?”

I nodded. “It seems the paper has made me out to be involved in Vanderkemp’s death or whatnot and my usual customers have deserted me.” I ran a hand across my forehead and shook my head. “I was afraid this would happen.”

“The paper needs to retract the article or make it clear you weren’t involved with the murder of Vanderkemp and that you had nothing to do with it,” Vinnie stated.

“Good luck with that. The newspaper puts out anything they damn well please. I don’t think they’ll write a retraction.”

Vinnie snorted, pulled her phone from her jacket pocket, and said, “We’ll see about that.” She dialed a number, walked into the kitchen, and started speaking to someone in Italian. Since I hadn’t a clue as to what she was saying, or to whom she said it, I stayed where I was and continued to await customers that weren’t ever going to buy my bread again.

When she’d finished her conversation, Vinnie poked her head into the room and said, “Got some cheese to go with this focaccia bread? I’m starving.”

“In the upstairs refrigerator,” I said and watched her scoot out of sight and then return brandishing a block of hard provolone. I left the shop and went through the swinging doors to join her at the stainless steel table.

Our snack consisted of cheese, bread, and tea. I heard the bell over the door jingle and left Vinnie to see who’d come in. Instead of a customer, Mrs. Gallagher stood in the center of the shop, a calculating look on her face.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Gallagher?” I asked.

“No, you’ve done enough. This shop will soon be closed and you’ll need to find another state to live in,” she said.

“I think not,” I said in return.

“Who will buy from a person involved in murder? No one, that’s who.”

“I’m not involved. I simply found Miss Vanderkemp dead in your house,” I snapped.

“You did no such thing. She wasn’t on the guest list, and I can prove it. She was never there, not ever,” Mrs. Gallagher blustered.

Also good at blustering, I insisted, “She was, too, and I have a witness that saw her. Furthermore, I stumbled over her dead body near the end of the evening. Vanderkemp had been removed by the time I brought your husband to see her. I asked that the police be called and he adamantly refused. Because she was no longer lying dead on the floor, he called me a liar and threw me out.”

“He did no such thing. My husband would never treat anyone that way, and he certainly didn’t know this woman,” she said with a haughty sniff.

“Be that as it may, she was at your party.” I folded my arms. “I saw her arguing with Joshua Hardin,” I added.

“Nonsense. Joshua, well, uh, he, uh . . .” Her voice faded away as I tossed the newspaper article at her.

“Yes, he did, he knew her, and they’ve had an affair for more than a year. She definitely was at your party. Somebody strangled her to death and then took her body from your house. She was tossed into the river like garbage, and that’s just rotten.”

“I don’t believe you.” Mrs. Gallagher looked down her nose at me.

“I don’t give a shit what you believe. Just get the hell out of my shop and don’t ever come back.”

Aghast at the way I’d spoken to her, Mrs. Gallagher turned on her heel and strode from the shop as though she walked the red carpet. Her hoity-toity attitude pissed me off to no end, and I heaved a sigh.

Clapping her hands, Vinnie burst through the swinging doors. A huge smile on her face told me that I’d handled myself well. How well? That would be anyone’s guess. I grinned and remarked, “Thanks for the help.”

With a chuckle, Vinnie said, “You were holding your own. You certainly didn’t need me. By the way, the newspaper will be retracting their article and make it perfectly clear that you had no hand in Vanderkemp’s death.”

Surprised, I asked, “How did you manage that?”

“Don’t ask. Just be glad that I could get that done for you.” Vinnie checked her wristwatch, said she had to leave, and promised to look in later.

After she’d gone, I turned the sign to closed, locked the shop, and bundled all the bread I’d been unable to sell. Packaged and ready to go, I gathered my coat and filled the car with bread. The Fiat was filled to the brim as I drove toward the homeless shelter. I turned into the driveway leading to the rear of the building and unloaded the goods to be served to the many hungry people who needed sustenance. Once I’d handed off the last parcel, I drove to Sean’s apartment complex.

Sure she’d seen the newspaper, I doggedly went up to her floor and knocked on the door. In no mood to be questioned, I whole-heartedly hoped she wouldn’t ask. It’s awful to be so wrong, so often.

Connor answered my knock and smiled in welcome. I heard Sean conversing with someone and winked at him. “Would that be Aidan’s voice I hear?” I whispered.

“Aye, he’s been here for an hour or more. Come in, Sean’s anxious to see you,” Connor beckoned me inside.

I leaned toward him and softly asked, “Has she read the newspaper today?”

All I got was a nod. Oh, my.

Entering the room, I saw Aidan’s smile and then Sean turned toward me. Her face lit up like the Christmas tree neither of us had bothered to set up yet.

“Good gosh, you’ve made the paper, Melina. Are you worried about the publicity?” Sean asked.

“I should be,” I said with a nod and then shared my day with all who simply stared at me. Had I grown horns or turned green, or what? I didn’t know, or care. I just wanted some down time to get my wits about me. Maybe I should have gone to the park again, but Sean was my first and foremost concern.

Her face a mask of concern, Sean gasped when I told her about Mrs. Gallagher. “Imagine, that woman had the audacity to give me a hard time? What a nerve,” I said.

“She’s nothing to worry about, dear. All will be well, you’ll see,” Sean murmured and patted my hand.

“Enough about me. How is your ankle?” I asked.

“I’m doing fine. I can get around and I’ll be able to come to work tomorrow,” she answered.

“No, no work for you for at least a week. If Connor wants to take you out and about, that’s fine, but you’ll not be coming to work for a while.” As she would have insisted, I held up my hands and said, “Not a word, not one. Take time to heal and then you can return to work if you wish.”

“All right, then,” Sean grumbled.

“I’ve told Sean that we could do some sightseeing. A nice ride to Newport would be good for her, and lunch at the Black Pearl Restaurant is in order, as well.” Connor glanced at Sean and said, “What do you say?”

Her head bobbed up and down. Sean’s eyes sparkled. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

I grinned. The two of them made a fine couple. It was time Sean enjoyed life beyond the shop and her card games. Which, in turn, brought Billy Badass to mind.

“Sean, where did you meet Eddie?” I asked.

Her face paled for a second before she looked at me. “I knew you’d want to know that. We’re friends. That’s all I’ll say.”

“Nothing more? Just friends? That’s all you plan to tell me?” I asked.

“Did you ask him how we met?” Sean wanted to know.

“He said you were his BFF on Facebook. Really, Sean?” I said with my hand on my hip.

Her laughter was infectious. I couldn’t help but chuckle as did her two admirers. Aidan sneaked a glance in my direction and gave me a slight headshake. I wouldn’t press Sean for an answer since I was sure she’d told Aidan what I wanted to know.

With a serious expression, Sean asked, “What will you do about the business? What if our customers don’t return?”

“We’ll deal with that later. Right now, you’re my main concern, Seanmhair,” I assured her.

“Connor will see to it that I’m fine. You and Aidan run along now.” Sean shooed us away.

“You’re sure you don’t need a break, Connor?” I asked.

“Not at all, Melina. You two needn’t worry about us,” Connor said as he walked with us to the door.

We bid him goodbye and went on our way. As we left the foyer of the complex, Aidan asked if I’d take a ride with him. I agreed and got into his car while leaving mine in the lot. His Mercedes Benz rode like a dream and Aidan handled the car with ease. I snuggled into the soft leather seat and rested my head against it.

We’d reached East Greenwich before I realized it. I stared at beautifully decorated homes, all ready for Christmas, and wondered what lay in store for me and Seanmhair. What if Mrs. Gallagher was right? What if there were no more customers? Then what? How could we survive? How would I manage to pay my bills? Would I have to move out of Providence or even leave Rhode Island? I tossed the nagging thoughts aside and settled my gaze on the man of my dreams.

“You haven’t said a word about the newspaper or Vanderkemp. Any thoughts?” I asked.

“Melina, it does no good to worry about these things. They’ll work themselves out one way or another. Allow Detective Anderson to do his job, and you do yours. People will return, I’m sure of it,” Aidan said with a squeeze of my hand.

“I hope you’re right. How about Eddie? Did Sean tell you how she knows this guy?”

He glanced over and gave me a sweet smile. “She is indeed his BFF on Facebook. They met in person at a homeless shelter when she delivered some bread for you and he was serving food to those in line. He’s a former Vietnam veteran and helps at the shelter about twice a week. Other than that, I have no idea what he does. I didn’t press her and you shouldn’t either. Let the fact that he came to her rescue suffice,” Aidan advised.

I considered his words and nodded. “I will. Seanmhair is old enough to make her own decisions, though the strip club incident concerning her arrest for hanging out with the wrong sort of person had worried me. I think Connor is a good influence on her and they get along very well.”

“Has she told you he’s asked her to marry him?” Aidan murmured as he drew up alongside McKinley’s Pub.

I shook my head at his news and said, “I haven’t been here in ages.” The pub sits on the water’s edge at Norton’s Marina. I’d been here in early summer before my life took a sudden turn after I’d found Mrs. Peterson’s dead body. I’d been invited to cruise the bay with friends and we’d eventually ended up at McKinley’s for fish and chips. I related the story to Aidan as we entered the pub.

With a wave to the barman, Aidan was greeted with a smile and two mugs of ale. He was known by name, so I was sure the ale was Aidan’s own. We took the mugs and headed for a private nook that was empty.

“This place starts to rock a bit later, so we might want to eat and get out before it becomes rowdy,” I said.

“My thoughts exactly,” Aidan said before taking a swig of ale. “You say the fish and chips here are good?”

I nodded. “They aren’t like what you’ll find in Britain, but American fish and chips are tasty. Try them. I think you’ll enjoy the meal.”

Our server couldn’t keep her eyes off Aidan. I couldn’t blame her and was glad he was with me and only me. As an only child, I’d never shared well and now was no different. When she brought the bill, Aidan gave her a wide smile and thanks. I thought she’d swoon, but she didn’t. I glared and she scooted away. Our conversation throughout the meal was light and cheerful. I was sick of thinking and talking about Vanderkemp’s death, who did the deed, and what might happen to my business.