Chicken Pesto Murder: Book 5 in The Darling Deli Series Read online

  “It’s wonderful to see you again, Moira. How was your food?” she said after giving the deli owner a quick hug.

  “Amazing, as usual,” Moira replied, grinning. “And as usual, I ate way too much.”

  “Nonsense,” Denise said with a laugh. “You can’t have too much of a good thing.” A sly smile appeared on her face. “Are you here with David?”

  “Yes.” She tried to ignore the blush that she felt rising in her cheeks. “We got together to celebrate a case of his that he finished up the other day.”

  “I see.” Her friend’s eyes danced with amusement. “You two enjoy your evening. I’ve still got a few more hours before we close for the night, and then I have to go meet with my husband.” Her lips pursed at this, as if even mentioning the man left a bad taste in her mouth.

  “How are things with him?” Moira asked, lowering her voice so the conversation would stay between the two of them.

  “Better, I suppose. At least we’re on speaking terms.” She sighed. “I think that this time apart has actually been good for us. With me so busy here, and him running the other restaurant by himself, we haven’t really had time to argue.”

  “That’s good. I hope you two figure things out. At least you have something that you’re both passionate about,” the deli owner said. “You both are phenomenal at running restaurants.”

  “Thanks.” Her friend gave her a grateful smile. “I can’t imagine how you run your little place all on your own.”

  “Oh, I have help. My employees are amazing, and my daughter has been helping a lot with the business aspects of it. I don’t know what I’ll do when she moves away,” Moira said. “That’s not to say that I’m not glad that she’s following her dreams, of course, but I’ll miss her.”

  “Of course you will. It’s never easy when they leave home.” Her friend gave her another quick hug. “I should be getting back to work. Have a nice evening, Moira.”

  “You too, Denise.” She watched as her friend walked away, and then realized that she had left David waiting for longer than she should have. Feeling somewhat guilty for having been so distracted by Denise, she hurried through the restaurant and pulled the heavy doors open.

  She was surprised to find herself walking into an argument. David and, of all people, Detective Fitzgerald, were standing face to face. She had never seen David look so angry before. No, actually she had, but only once, and that had been when he had saved her from the most recent madman who had tried to kill her. David was right; her life had been exhilarating lately.

  Their conversation cut off when she stepped outside, and she hadn’t been able to catch what they were saying. A few people were standing nearby, watching the argument with expressions ranging from amusement to fear. Both men looked over at her as she approached.

  “David?” she said. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” he said, his voice oddly strained. He gave Fitzgerald one last glance, and then turned towards her. “Sorry, I didn’t have a chance to get the car yet. Luckily we didn’t park too far away.”

  Is he going to act like nothing weird just happened? Moira wondered, staring up at him for a long moment before glancing over towards the other man. The detective was standing still with his jaw clenched, glaring at her, for some reason. He didn’t say anything, and Moira didn’t want to address the issue with so many onlookers present.

  “Let’s go,” she said to David, eager to get to the privacy of the car where she could ask him what on earth was going on. He followed her, his face still tense. It was strange to see the normally relaxed private investigator so worked up.

  “What was that about?” she asked once she had slipped into the passenger seat and had shut the door firmly against the night.

  “We were just having a discussion that got a little heated,” he said shortly. “Sorry, I don’t often lose my temper.”

  “What was the discussion about?” Moira asked, knowing that she shouldn’t pry, but unable to hold back her curiosity.

  “I’d rather not say,” David said after glancing at her. She was surprised to see that he looked embarrassed, although she wasn’t sure whether it was the fact that he had lost his temper or the mysterious subject of the argument. He paused at a stoplight and patted his pocket. “Darn it, I must have left my wallet there.”

  “We can go back and get it,” she said. He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, we’re almost back to your house. I’ll drop you off, and then stop back on my way home.” He still seemed a bit unsettled by his encounter with the detective, so Moira changed the subject.

  “Thanks for taking me out to dinner,” she said. “I had a really nice time, and I even got to see Denise right before I left. She’s doing well; I’m really glad we’ve become friends.”

  David also seemed ready to forget about the argument and they talked about inconsequential topics until they reached her house. Moira realized that she felt more comfortable with David than she had with any of the other men she’d halfheartedly dated since her divorce and smiled at the private investigator as he walked her to her door.

  “Thank you for another lovely evening, David. I really enjoy our… dates.” She hesitated over the last word, not wanting to scare him off.

  “No thanks necessary. I also enjoy myself thoroughly on our dates.” He said the word more confidently than she had, and she smiled again. He continued, “we will do this again, yes?”

  “Oh, yes.” Moira was delighted and after a quick peck on his cheek, went inside. She had high hopes for this relationship, but she was happy he also wanted to take it slow.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Moira carefully stabbed a toothpick through the center of the last sandwich that she had made for Detective Fitzgerald’s retirement party, then reached for the plastic wrap that would cover the platter. She and Candice had made over a hundred small sandwiches total, arranging them according to type on a few large plates. There was corned beef and swiss, honey-glazed ham with tomato and lettuce, and cold chicken breast with sharp cheddar cheese. She had also made a small plate of vegetarian sandwiches, knowing that at least a few of her regulars who were bound to be at the party would appreciate them.

  She hadn’t seen the detective since the unfortunate encounter at the Redwood Grill and she hoped that whatever had happened between him and David would have blown over by now. David still wouldn’t tell her what the argument had been about. She had convinced him a few days ago to go with her and Candice to the detective’s retirement party, but had spent the last few hours worrying about whether or not she had made the right decision in getting him to come. She hoped that whatever they had argued about hadn’t been serious, and that the festive atmosphere would help to soothe any hard feelings.

  “I found the dress, but I couldn’t find the shoes you wanted,” Candice said as she came in through the deli’s front door. She was carrying a dark green dress draped over her arm and a pair of black shoes in her hand. “I hope these will do.”

  “Thanks, sweetie. They’ll be fine.”

  Moira had been planning on wearing black slacks with a pale pink blouse to the party that evening, but the day had turned out to be unexpectedly nice—almost seventy degrees and sunny, to boot. It had been months since she had worn one of her nice summer dresses, and she so rarely had an occasion to really dress up that she decided not to waste her chance. Her daughter had been kind enough to run back to the house and pick the clothes up for her, since they were planning on going straight to the party from the deli after they closed.

  “Did you get in touch with David?” her daughter asked.

  “Yes, he said that he would meet us there. I guess he has something to do first; he’ll probably be a few minutes late,” Moira replied. “Which means we’ll have to bring the sandwiches in on our own.”

  “I’m sure someone else will help us. Pretty much the entire police station will be there,” the young woman pointed out.

  “That’s true,” the deli o
wner said. “Oh, have you heard from Adrian? He’s welcome to come too, you know.”

  “I think he’s got something else going on.” Candice’s brow creased. “We haven’t really been talking as much lately.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She had noticed that Candice and her boyfriend were growing apart over the last few weeks, but she had hoped that the two would remain friends. The young man definitely had a mind for business, and had been doing a lot to help Candice prepare for opening and running the candy shop.

  “It’s all right,” her daughter replied. Her face brightened. “I’m young and single, and about to go to a party where half the town will probably turn up. Things could be worse.”

  They only spent another hour at the deli before Moira decided to call it a night and close a bit early. It was an unusually slow evening, and if someone was just dying for a sandwich they could always come to Detective Fitzgerald’s retirement party and get a free one. She took a few minutes to change into the dark green dress in the deli’s bathroom and fix up her hair, then she and her daughter loaded the sandwiches into the back of her car and left. The party was being held in the event space that took up most of the Town Hall’s sizable basement, and it was only a few short minutes away from the deli.

  Sure enough, a nice young officer met them at the door and offered to help bring in the platters of sandwiches. Moira balanced one of the large plates against her hip, and held the door for her daughter and the officer as they carried the others in. Relieved that they had managed to get all of the sandwiches inside in one trip—and without dropping any—she locked her car and followed the younger couple into the building and down the narrow stairway to the lower level of the building.

  The Town Hall’s basement was one of the most popular places for events in Maple Creek. It had held school dances, sweet-sixteens, even talent competitions. Moira had been there a few times over the years, and was always impressed by how nice the space was. There was a bar area, a dance floor, and a small room for simple food preparation. Tonight the decorations were simple: a handmade banner reading Thank You for Your Service hung from the ceiling, and a pair of blue balloons were tied to each table. A few people were already milling around, chatting with each other or signing the guest book. Detective Jefferson greeted her just inside the door, stepping quickly to the side to hold it open for her as she trailed behind Candice.

  “I’m glad you got here early; the sandwiches can just go on the table. Feel free to help yourself to the drinks or any of the snacks. The cake we’re saving for later,” he said.

  “Thanks. Everything looks amazing.” She looked around the room again, touched that so many people had turned up just to wish the older detective a happy retirement. “I wanted to say hi to Detective Fitzgerald, but I don’t see him,” she said after a moment. “Where is he?”

  “He hasn’t arrived yet.” The young detective frowned. “He was supposed to be here half an hour ago. I hope everything is all right. I know that this is a tough milestone for him. He lives for his job.”

  “I know the feeling.” Moira couldn’t imagine retiring from working at the deli. What would she do with her days? Even in her spare time, she often did things for the deli, such as inventing new soup and sandwich combos, or visiting local farmers markets to find new suppliers for the fresh produce that she needed. Without the deli to focus on, she would likely have nothing better to do than sit around in her pajamas and catch up on all of her favorite shows. Which, she had to admit, did sound tempting on her busiest days.

  “I’ll point him in your direction when he shows up,” Jefferson promised. “You can go ahead and drop those sandwiches off, and then enjoy the party.”

  The deli owner did as he suggested, pausing only to pour herself a cup of coffee before heading over to sign the guest book. She wrote, Thank you for all you’ve done—Moira, and then tapped the pen against her lower lip, not sure if she should add more. The older detective had helped to solve a couple of the cases that she had been dragged into this past year, and she honestly didn’t know where she would be right now if it wasn’t for him. She decided to leave her note as it was; simple and to the point. He would surely recognize her name, and she could always thank him in person when he got here.

  “Here you are. How’s the party?” Moira turned around to find David standing a few feet behind her. He was holding his right arm gingerly, wincing slightly as he moved it to reach for the pen.

  “The party would be better if the guest of honor were here, but it’s still nice. Are you injured?” she said, unable to keep the concern out of her voice.

  “Don’t worry—it’s nothing major. Since the weather is so nice, I took my bike out for the first time this year. Hit an unexpected patch of loose gravel, and fell on my shoulder.” He shrugged, flinched, and then grinned ruefully. “It’ll heal up fine, and it’s a good reminder that I need to get back into shape.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t worse; Candice broke her arm riding a bike when she was younger.” The deli owner laughed ruefully. “I don’t even remember the last time I rode a bicycle. I think mine is gathering rust in the back of my garage.”

  “Maybe we can ride together when the weather is nicer.” He scribbled his signature on the guest book, and then straightened up and looked around. “Did you just say that Fitzgerald isn’t here?”

  “Not unless he just arrived. Jefferson told me when I got here that he hasn’t shown up yet,” Moira said.

  “Odd.” David’s forehead wrinkled into a frown for a second as he looked around.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Did you ever find your wallet?” she asked.

  “No.” He sighed. “Luckily it didn’t have much cash in it, and I already canceled my cards.” He shrugged, less bothered by the missing wallet than she would have been. “It’s annoying, but I already got replacements. Where did you get that coffee? It smells delicious.”

  The party carried on, sans the guest of honor, for a good half hour before Moira saw detective Jefferson pull a young officer out of the crowd and drag him over to a secluded corner near her. She tried not to eavesdrop, but failed miserably. When she heard Jefferson tell the young man to go to Fitzgerald’s house and see what was taking him so long, the first tendrils of real concern unfurled in her stomach. What if something bad had happened to the older man? She didn’t know him well, but he didn’t seem like the type to be late for his own party. Biting her lip, she stood up and looked around for David, hoping to ask him if he thought that there was any reason that she should be worried. She nearly bumped into a balding man about her age, who was watching the corner where Detective Jefferson was standing with an odd expression.

  “Sorry, excuse me,” she said quickly. He glanced over at her for a split second, during which she noticed pale gray eyes and an unusual tattoo peeking out from his collar.

  “’S’alright,” he mumbled, looking away from her again just as quickly. Trying to ignore the man’s unpleasant smell of stale cigarette smoke and unwashed clothes, she looked around the room again, hoping to see David.

  Instead of finding the tall, dark-haired private investigator, her gaze landed on another familiar face—that of her friend Martha Washburn. She had known the other woman for years, but their friendship had only really solidified recently, after Martha’s sister’s untimely death. Moira had been the one to find Emilia’s body, which could have put a strain on their blossoming friendship if she hadn’t also been the one who had saved Martha from meeting the same fate. The two women were closer than ever now, though they didn’t get to see each other as much as either of them would have liked.

  “I thought you might be here,” Martha said, smiling as she reached out to hug her friend. “I was pretty sure that I recognized your sandwiches.”

  “Yep, Candice and I made them,” Moira chuckled. “How are they? We worked all day, but still had to rush to get the last few made.”

  “Both of the ones I had were delicious,” the other woman assured her. “I�
��m positive that you’ve won yourself at least a few more loyal customers this evening.”

  Moira opened her mouth to thank her friend, but at that moment a commotion started near the entrance to the hall. A woman screamed and dropped to the floor, to be immediately surrounded by people eager to help. Detective Jefferson was on the phone, looking grim. A young officer was standing next to him, and Moira recognized him as the man that Jefferson had sent to check on Fitzgerald. He looked pale, and even from across the hall, she could see that he was shaking. David was approaching her quickly, and she hurried to meet him, leaving a confused Martha behind.

  “What happened?” she asked, fear making her stomach clench.

  “Something terrible.” David took a deep breath. “Detective Fitzgerald is dead.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Wow, that’s horrible.” Darrin had paused in the middle of scrubbing the counter to listen while Moira told him about the detective’s retirement party the night before. Now he was shaking his head, the rag forgotten. “Why would he do something like that?”

  “I don’t know, it just doesn’t make sense,” said Moira. “To serve over thirty years on the force, only to kill himself the night before his last day of work… it just seems so sad. I feel terrible for his wife.”

  “Are they sure that it was a suicide?” the young man asked.

  “I only know what I overheard the young officer who found him tell Detective Jefferson. His name was Fier, I think. Officer Fier. He said that he found Fitzgerald surrounded by empty bottles of sleeping pills, with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.” She sighed. “I hate to say it, but it really does sound like suicide. I’m sure they’ll have more information in a few days, when the toxicology reports come in, though.”

  “I’m sorry you and Candice had to be there, but I’m almost glad that I decided to stay home and work on schoolwork instead of going.” He sighed and picked up the rag again. “You just can’t catch a break, can you, Ms. D?”