Salami Murder: Book 8 in The Darling Deli Series (5 page)

“What soup do you think you’re going to enter?” asked Allison as she folded up the stepladder, her expression curious. She had only been an employee for a few weeks, and had yet to hear all of the stories about the goings on at the deli that her employees seemed to enjoy sharing.

“I don’t know yet,” Moira told them. “The recipe has to be original. That’s another reason I wanted to give you guys a heads up. I’ll be talking to Darrin and Meg too, next time I see them. I’m going to give each of you the chance to come up with an original recipe if you would like.”

“You mean, one of us will be entering our soup in the competition?” Dante asked.

“I thought we could do a little fun competition of our own,” she explained to them. “Each of us will make a recipe, and then we’ll have David and Candice taste test them without knowing whose is whose. We’ll enter the winning soup in the fair, and the person who came up with the recipe will get full credit.”

“That’s a neat idea,” Allison said. “How long do we have?”

“Oh, a few weeks. There’s no rush,” Moira told her. “And of course you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

“I think it will be fun,” she said.

“Me too.” Dante grinned. “It’s a great idea, Ms. Darling. We won’t let you down.”

Smiling to herself, she left her two employees to take care of the register and went back to the kitchen to check on the soup. She was glad that she had come up with the idea; a friendly competition would be fun, and would give her employees a chance to show off their own culinary skills. While she loved cooking, she would gladly let someone else take the spotlight at the fair, especially if it meant that the deli won. The blue award ribbon would be sure to bring in some new customers, which was always a good thing.

Moira stirred the soup, gently wafting some of the steam towards her face with her hand. Inhaling, she decided that it smelled done; now all that was left was a taste test. She spooned a small amount of the soup into a deli cup, blew on it to cool it, then raised a spoonful to her mouth. The soup was savory and spicy, leaving her mouth pleasantly warm. Not too hot, which was good, but it definitely had more of a kick than most of her soups. She thought it was delicious, but the approval of her customers was the real test.

Deciding that it was about time to begin defrosting the bread for the next day’s sandwiches, Moira glanced at her phone quickly first to be sure she hadn’t missed a call from anyone important. Instead of a call, she found a text message from Candice. She opened it, wondering if her daughter had forgotten something at her house the evening before. What she read instead sent ice through her veins.

In the hospital. Had a car crash, but I’ll be okay.

She didn’t even think about it. Her hand found her purse, her finger looped around the key ring, and she was on her way out the door.

***

“Mom, I’m fine,” Candice said for what Moira realized must be the tenth time. Chagrined, she stopped trying to straighten the pillow beneath her daughter’s head and sat back in the single chair in the hospital room.

“You don’t have any idea what happened?” she asked nervously. Her daughter was a good driver, safe and cautious. Moira was certain something must have caused the car to malfunction; there was no way Candice would have tried to take the turn so fast otherwise.

“I told you already, the brakes just didn’t work. I tried pumping them and everything. There was nothing I could do.” Candice leaned gingerly back against the pillow and closed her eyes with a soft noise of pain. The white bandage around her head looked pristine, for which Moira was glad. She knew that the sight of her daughter’s blood would only serve to increase her worry even more.

“How long did they say it would take your elbow to heal?” she asked.

“They want me to wear a sling for a few weeks,” Candice said quietly. “They said it’s only bruised from where it hit the window, but the swelling might get pretty bad.”

“Sweetie, you should stay awake until Detective Jefferson gets here,” Moira told her daughter gently. “And the doctor said he wanted to check you out one more time before you take a nap. It will only be a few more minutes.”

“I know.” She sighed and opened her eyes. “It’s the pain medicine they gave me. It’s making me groggy.”

“Honey, I think you should come stay with me for a few days.”

“No.” Candice shook her head and struggled to sit up. “I’m an adult. I can do this on my own. I’ll be fine once I get off these pain meds.”

Moira sighed but decided not to push the issue. She remembered what it was like to be young and want independence so desperately. Besides, she would only be fifteen short minutes away from her daughter if Candice did end up needing help. She just wished there was
something
she could do to help her daughter. Seeing her lying in the hospital bed, injured, roused her protective side.

They didn’t have to wait long; a few minutes later a soft knock sounded at the door and Detective Jefferson walked in. He nodded a greeting to Moira, then turned his attention to Candice.

“Are you feeling well enough that I can ask you a few questions?” he asked her.

“Yeah.” She struggled to a seated position. “Go ahead.”

“Did you see anyone suspicious around your car today?” he asked, pen poised to take notes on his notepad.

“No.”

Can you think of anyone that would want to hurt you?” Candice shook her head.

“Excuse me,” Moira said. “But why are you asking her these sorts of questions?”

“Ms. Darling, your daughter’s crash was no accident.” He paused. “I just got the preliminary report back from the mechanic. Her car didn’t malfunction; the brake lines were cut.”

Moira stared at him in horror, her heart lurching in her chest. According to what Detective Jefferson was saying, someone might just have tried to kill her daughter.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t reach me,” David said, his voice tinny over the phone. “I was with one of my new clients, and my phone was on silent.”

“It’s fine,” Moira said, cricking her neck to trap the phone between her shoulder and ear, so that she could use both hands to slice the chicken breasts. “She’s going to be just fine, according to the doctor. She has a mild concussion and a bruised elbow. Her car is another story, but the insurance should cover most of it.”

“Have they had any luck finding out who did it?” he asked.

“No.” Moira grimaced and put the knife down. Thinking about what had happened to her daughter made her prickle with anger and anxiety. “They have no idea.”

“I’m sorry. I know this must be hard,” he said.

“Yeah. It is. I hate feeling so helpless.” She sighed and walked over to the sink to wash her hands, doing her best to ignore the pitiful look Maverick gave her as he begged for food. “Tell me about your case. Have you had any luck finding out who the thief is?”

“Not so much,” he said. “One more person has stepped forward with a claim, but none of the cases seem to have anything in common. Two of the people had hired the same plumbers that Candice did, but the others had nothing to do with them, so I think that’s a dead end. It’s very frustrating; none of the missing items is valuable enough for the police to get seriously involved, but when they’re all considered together, it’s quite a lot of money. Whoever is doing this has made, well, stolen a few thousand already.”

“I hope you catch them soon,” she told him. “I’m sure you will, though. I don’t know a better private investigator.”

“You don’t know any other private investigators,” he pointed out with a chuckle. “But thank you for your confidence, anyway. This thief has got to make a mistake at some point, and when he does, I’ll catch him.”

“Your job sounds so exciting compared to mine,” Moira said. She was trying to open a container of blue cheese with one hand, and having limited success. “You tell the best stories.”

“It’s mostly boring,” he said. “There’s a lot of paperwork and red tape. And takeout. A lot of takeout. At least you have healthy, tasty food to eat while you’re at work. It must beat eating Chinese leftovers.”

“You know you’re welcome at the deli any time,” she told him.

“I’d come more if you’d start letting me pay. I feel bad accepting free meals.” It was an old argument: Moira refused to take any payment from him when he got food at the deli, claiming that she owed him for all of the detective work that he had done for her for free. When she pointed out that he should let
her
pay for his time, he usually grudgingly agreed to take the free food instead.

“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “I usually send the employees home with some of the leftovers, and you don’t hear them complaining.”

“You win for now,” he said, amused. “One day I’ll find an argument that will work on you. Say, all of this talk about food is making me hungry. Do you want to grab dinner at the Grill in a few hours?”

“Sorry,” she said regretfully. “But I’m actually having Denise and Martha over for dinner at my new house tonight. Neither of them has seen it yet, so I promised them a tour.”

“That’s okay.” He sounded disappointed, but quickly recovered. “Another night then.”

“It’s a date,” she said with a smile. They said their goodbyes and she hung up, finally able to turn her undivided attention to the counter full of ingredients that, with any luck, would be transformed into a gourmet meal in a little over an hour.

She pulled the last tray out of the oven just as her doorbell rang. Maverick gave a “woof” of greeting and trotted down the hall to see who was there. Moira followed, surreptitiously wiping a few stray breadcrumbs off of her shirt. She was glad that her friends had been able to come over this evening, and was anxious to see what they thought of her new house.

“It smells delicious,” Martha said, the first through the door. “Should I take my shoes off?”

“If you’d like,” Moira said. “There’s a shelf in the closet. Or leave them on if you prefer, I don’t mind.”

It felt oddly formal at first, showing her friends around the house and explaining to them the repairs and decorating that she had done. They oohed and aahed at all the right moments, and Denise gave her a bright smile when she saw the kitchen.

“This is wonderful, look at all the counter space,” she said, thrilled. “It’s just perfect for you, Moira.”

“Thanks. This house was a lucky find,” she said. “There’s a bit more land than I need, but I do think it’s perfect for Maverick and me.”

They sat down at the dining room table, and Denise cast an expert eye over the food. Moira grinned, knowing that her friend would recognize the dishes.

“Stuffed chicken breasts,” the redheaded woman said. “Your favorite dish at the Redwood Grill, isn’t it? I’m eager to try yours. If they taste as good as they look, then you might have to give my chef some pointers.”

The breasts were indeed as good as they looked, Moira was glad to discover. The golden brown breading on the outside was crispy, and gave way to tender white meat and a stuffing of melted blue cheese, spinach, and roasted garlic. The spinach leaf salad with dried cranberries and walnuts offered a slightly sweet counterpart to the savory, rich entree. Moira felt a glow of pleasure as her friends enjoyed the scrumptious meal; very little compared to watching people enjoy something that she had cooked. It wasn’t until desert—flourless brownies and vanilla ice cream with plenty of coffee to go around—that the conversation really picked up.

First her friends asked about Candice, and listened in enthralled horror as she told them about the discovery of the cut brake lines. She assured them that her daughter would be okay, and then changed the subject as quickly as she could. Over the past few days, Candice’s injury and the cut brake lines had been all that she could think about. The constant worry and anxiety was wearing her down, and she was determined to do her best to enjoy this evening with her friends. They were all busy women, and hadn’t had as many chances to get together recently as they would have liked.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so hard to get hold of lately, but I’ve got a good excuse,” Martha said. She looked up, her eyes sparkling in a way that made Moira lean forward curiously. “I met someone.”

“Tell us everything,” Denise exclaimed eagerly. Moira wondered if she had imagined the soft look of sadness that had flashed across her friend’s face for just a second. Denise had a strained relationship with her husband, who was often out of town working at their other restaurant.
She must be lonely
, she thought.
Sometimes being married to the wrong person is worse than being single.

“Well, he’s a firefighter,” Martha began. “And he lives in Lake Marion. I met him at a picnic at my church. We went out for lunch yesterday; it was our fourth date.” Her eyes flicked towards Moira, concern darkening them for a moment. “We, ah, also saw David there,” she said hesitantly.

“Oh?” the deli owner wondered why her friend looked so concerned. David lived in Lake Marion, and it was a small town. The bachelor ate out a lot, so the thought of him and Martha running into each other wasn’t very far-fetched.

“He was with someone. A woman.” Her friend looked at her questioningly, obviously wondering if she was aware of this new turn in the private investigator’s social life.