Death of the Family Recipe (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 3) (25 page)

Then Dan, Atkinson and Joe filed out of the room amid non-stop questions rapid-fired by the reporters. For about thirty seconds, there was a stunned silence in the tavern, then the crowd returned to its raucous self, silverware clanged, laughter rose and ice cubes clinked. So much for justice and child parent reunions.

Peggy pinched me. "Can you believe it?"

I dropped my sandwich and shook my head. "I can honestly say I don’t believe it. How did Dan get bail for Atkinson, this is a capital case."

"Because the judge dismissed the murder charge on the baby." She shrugged. "Police never produced a body, so the D.A. had to drop the charges." Her light green eyes danced. "Isn’t Dan brilliant?"

I nodded. "I won’t argue with you there." I picked up my sandwich and gnawed on it for a while. "Peggy?"

"Yes?"

"Who’s William Hyden?"

Peggy stopped mid-bite, then put her sandwich down. "Why do you ask?"

I shrugged. "I found his name in some notes in one of the boxes. And I noticed he was crossed off the witness list. I don’t know, just got my attention. So, who is he?"

She wiped her mouth and hands with her napkin and sipped her club soda. "He’s just a guy we thought might be able to help the case." She tugged on an earring. "But, turns out he can’t. Nothing for you to worry about."

I knew Peggy well enough to know when she was fibbing — or at least leaving out details. But I didn’t push it — I had other ways of finding out about people, and I fully intended to explore them. "Oh, okay." I signaled the bartender. "Check please."

<<>>

I was glad to come home to an empty house because I had a call to make that I didn’t want Ted to overhear. I went into the back room, pulled out Joe’s progress file and found Curtis Severied’s number. I got his voicemail but rather than leave a message, I picked up my keys and left for Burbank.

While I was driving my cell buzzed with a call from Joe – I ignored it. No doubt he wanted to share the news about the bail and the website, which I feared I’d be wrangled into working. Joe and I would pow-wow later because I had some questions of my own. Why did Atkinson specifically want me to work on his case? Who the hell was this guy? I was damned sure going to make Joe tell me.

I turned left onto Lanier and parked in front of a beige Spanish style bungalow. I checked the address again but the bungalow matched Curtis Severied’s address.

A reedy middle-aged man with a shock of white hair, not dressed in priest’s frock, answered the door. His pale blue eyes were clear and curious. "May I help you?"

Nothing about the man said priest, and I figured I had the wrong address. "I’m looking for Curtis Severied."

He nodded. "Yes, that’s me. Who are you?"

"I’m Scotti Fitzgerald, but you might not recognize me because the last time you saw me was twenty-nine years ago."

His gaunt face creased into a frown. "You would’ve been a baby then."

"That’s right. But I’m all grown up now, and I have some questions about the day you found me."

With that comment, dominoes fell into place for Severied, and he raised a finger. "Ah. I wondered if you might come looking for me." He stepped aside and swept his arm toward the inside of the house. "Would you like to come in?" Based on the family photos on the mantle, I assumed Severied left the church or never took his vows. He perched on a floral armchair and offered me the sofa. "What is it you want to know, Ms. Fitzgerald?"

"You were the one who actually found me? Not Father Fran?"

He nodded. "That’s right. But naturally, I alerted Father Fran to the situation immediately, and he took care of it."

I cocked my head trying to work out the logistics in my mind. "So, you saw me, picked me up and carried me to Father Fran?" He nodded. I snapped my fingers. "Just like that? You didn’t hesitate, or look around to see if maybe my mother was nearby or anybody?"

Severied tapped a finger to his lips and looked upward as though accessing his memories. "Yes, you’re right. I saw you lying in the pew, and my first thought was that your mother must’ve left you there for a moment. But I checked the confessional, the rest rooms, and the other pews." He shrugged. "You and I were the only ones there."

Clearly Severied wouldn't volunteer anything and would have to be coaxed for every bit of information. "You didn’t go outside to check?"

He rubbed his chin. "I might’ve. Probably. But it was very quick. I saw you, picked you up, checked the obvious places and determined you’d been left with us."

His casual attitude surprised me, and he spoke as though recalling a pleasant summer picnic from his youth. "So, that wasn’t unusual to you? I mean, weren’t you startled or upset by finding an infant left alone in the church?"

Severied tugged on his earlobe and stammered. "Well, yes, of course. I mean, certainly." He smiled at me. "But sadly, it sometimes happened."

I cocked my head. "What? You mean discovering a baby in the church wasn’t that unusual? It happened before?"

He bowed his head slightly. "Once or twice."

I studied him for a moment not wanting to hop into yet another rabbit hole to pursue other abandoned babies. "And you didn’t see anyone? Didn’t hear a car drive away? Footsteps? Nothing?" He shook his head. "There was no note? Nothing telling you who I was or why I was left there?"

He shook his head again. "No, I’m sorry. Nothing."

I sat back, dejected. "What happened when you brought me to Father Fran? Did he say anything? Was he surprised? Did he seem to know me?"

Severied was perplexed by the question and stared at me for a moment. "Know you?" He shook his head. "The Father was in conference with some parishioners when I brought you back to his office. I waited — only for a minute or so — and then they came out and left."

"Who were the parishioners?"

He shrugged. "Just a young couple." He tapped his forehead. "Braun or Brandt. Sorry, it was a long time ago. They seemed in a hurry and left right away. Didn’t say anything to me."

I frowned at him. "Really? They came out of Father Fran’s office, saw you holding a baby and didn’t ask why you had a baby in your arms? Or whose baby it was?"

He chuckled. "Now that you mention it, no they didn’t. And you’d expect that wouldn’t you?" He drifted for a moment then came back to the present. "After they left, I advised Father Fran of the situation, he took you and told me to return to my duties." He smiled sympathetically. "I never saw you again."

Which was code for, ‘I’ve got nothing more to tell you.’ I stood up. "Nothing else? Even the smallest detail might help."

He stood and led me toward the door. "No, I’m sorry, I wish I could be of more help but that’s all I know."

I paused at the open door. "Do you mind if I ask you one more question?"

"Not at all."

"Why didn’t you become a priest?"

Severied blinked and backed up a couple of steps. "Why do you want to know?"

I held his guileless gaze. "I just wondered if it had anything to do with me."

He smiled softly. "I can assure you, it didn’t."

I thanked him and walked out the door — but I have to say I didn’t believe his last answer.

On the way home, I picked up a couple of pizzas from Dominic's in Burbank and walked through the kitchen door brandishing them. "Dinner is served."

Ted grumbled. "Why didn’t you answer your phone?"

I put the pizzas on the butcher-block and went to the cabinets for plates. "Because I was driving."

"Scotti."

I opened the boxes and put four slices on a plate for Ted and two slices on a plate for me. "Ted." I stuck out my tongue at him. "You’ve got your trusty tracker app, obviously you knew I was on my way home."

He reached out a long arm and pulled me into a hug. "Next, I’m going to put a bell around your neck." He kissed me. "How was your day?"

I pulled out a stool and went at my pizza. "Okay. I went to Dan’s office to do more research. Then decided to hit Dominic’s for dinner." I looked up at him. "Did you see the press conference?"

Ted got a beer for him and a club soda for me out of the fridge. "I heard about it." He frowned and pulled another couple of slices onto his plate. "Does it mean what I think it means?"

I sighed. "What do you think it means?"

"That you’re still on this case." He pointed to the phone. "Joe called the landline because you weren’t taking his calls either."

I wiped my hands on a napkin and pushed my plate away. "They’ve set up a website, and somebody is going to have to monitor it. One guess as to who that might be." Ted grunted and chewed on his pizza. I fanned out my arms. "You don’t get to be mad at me. Be mad at Joe." I raked my hands through my hair. "This case is like a bad suit, I can’t get it off me."

Ted scowled and dropped his pizza on the plate. "Just tell him, no. Tell him you don’t want to work on the case."

I reached across the counter and pinched his cheek. "That ain’t the way this thing works, missy. You take the work you got." I picked up my uneaten pizza and nibbled on it. "That’s the deal honey, if I want my license, I don’t get to pick and choose. And besides, I need his help with Rose’s case. If I quit and piss him off then there goes that."

He held my hand. "I don’t like it."

"I know."

"Crap."

"You said it."

<<>>

Matt showed up early enough for breakfast on Wednesday morning, and after he and Ted plowed through a couple of plates of bacon and eggs and a stack of toast, it was time to make cookies.

"But dude what about the piping and filling?"

I pulled stainless mixing bowls out of the cabinet. "It’s Christmas, and Christmas means cookies. Lots of them. We’ll get back to the filling and piping later."

I didn’t really need Matt’s help with the Christmas cookies because I’d been banging them out every Christmas since I was a kid. But it was good practice for him, and I made him do all the lifting, fetching and pouring. When we got to the icing, sprinkles and decorating, he cheered up — like a kid with finger paints and no limits. And soon, piping and filling took a backseat to the fun of making Santas, Christmas trees and candy canes.

By the end of the week, I had twenty-five filled cookie tins — halfway there. And Matt liked taking home the rejects, which I suspected he was eating for dinner, so it saved me calories too. I was proud of my little baking protégé. "You’re doing great Matt. If you keep this up I may teach you to make my special Christmas cake."

Matt’s deep green eyes twinkled. "A cake just for Christmas? Cool!"

I nodded. "Uh-huh and it’s all wrapped in spun sugar. You’ll love it." I pushed him toward the door. "But for now baby bro, it’s time for baking students to go home."

"Okay, see you Monday?"

I shook my head. "Sorry, I have a job to do for Joe all next week. But the week after is open, I think."

Matt nodded and said, "Okay but don’t make that Christmas cake without me."

He left with his two tins of broken cookies and I ducked into my office. I had an hour before my loving husband would be home, and I was itching to continue my research on William Hyden. I called Eric and put him on speaker. "So, you got anything for me?"

"Yeah, didn’t you see my email?"

I didn’t feel like getting flour on my laptop and said, "Not yet. You want to give me the cliff notes?"

Annoyed, Eric sighed. "He’s a forty-five-year-old actor/director/playwright in NoHo. Unmarried. No record. He owns a small theater on Lankershim where he puts on plays and gives acting lessons. All his social accounts and website are tied to that. Just like a million other guys in L.A."

I grunted. "How do we know he’s our guy?"

"He’s the only William Hyden in L.A." Eric chuckled. "And…Tina Devereaux was one of his acting students."

I jabbed a fist in the air. "Yes!"

I heard noise in the background and Eric muttered, "Shit." He whispered, "Gotta go, Zee is back."

"Why, is it a secret that you’re talking to me?"

Eric kept his voice low. "Scotti, I shouldn’t even be helping you with this. And don’t bullshit me, because I know what you’re up to. But I don’t want Zee going down for it, if it comes back to bite us in the ass."

I blew out a sigh. "Okay, sure, I get it. So, let’s change topics. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about that damned website?"

Zelda laughed. "I knew that would piss you off, roomie."

Without telling me, Eric had put me on speaker. "Hey Zee, having a good time? And if you knew, why didn’t you warn me?"

Eric cut in, "Because we were sworn to secrecy. I finished the night before we left, and they didn’t know if they’d announce it or not. Depended on how things went."

That just pissed me off more. "You knew they were going to do the press conference and all that? And again, you didn’t tell me?"

"Well roomie, since you didn’t want to hear anything about it, why would we tell you? And besides, didn’t you quit this case?"

I groaned. "I keep trying, but Joe won’t let me. He’s been calling non-stop. No doubt about this lame-ass website. I should’ve left town like you guys."