Murder and Marinara (27 page)

“Okay,” I said. “Now focus on that teacup. Where's the tea bag? In the cup or on the saucer?”

Lori's freckled face was thoughtful. “Which tea bag?”

Tiny prickles of apprehension traveled up the back of my neck, and when I spoke, it was only a whisper. “Are you saying there was more than one tea bag on that table?”

She nodded. “Yup. But only one of them was used.”

I
n that moment, I heard Parisi's voice in my head. He hadn't asked for “a cup of tea.” He'd asked for “hot water
for
tea.”
He didn't need a teabag because he had his own.
A bag that was probably full of
Digitalis
prepared by Angie or Emily, one that let both Tim and Cal off the hook.

“Do you remember anything about the tea bags, Lori?” It was hard to keep the excitement out of my voice; I wanted to do a dance of joy right there in her kitchen.

“Well, one was the brand we use. That was dry. I don't remember much about the other one, except that it was wet. I'm pretty sure he left it on the saucer.”

“You are the best.” I threw my arms around her in a tight hug. “I gotta run, but I owe you big. And expect to be back at work tomorrow!”

Before getting back on my bike, I fished out my phone. Ignoring two more messages from Nina, I texted Tim instead:
Don't worry. This will all be over soon.
Then I left a message for my grandmother to let her know I had an answer. By tomorrow the Casa Lido would be ready to open its doors for the season, just as it had every other Memorial Day. Because first thing tomorrow morning, I would be calling Prosecutor Sutton myself, holiday or no. And I would give her exactly what she needed to make an arrest.

I pedaled furiously across town, my mind spinning in rhythm with the wheels of the bike. I thought of Parisi drinking his special water. Turning away the bread and asking for dressing on the side. These were all signs of a man on a diet, and I was betting that a diet tea was part of his regimen—something both Angie and Emily/Sarah would have known. I had to get to Sofia, because I needed her help for the last vital piece. As I neared the restaurant, the curb was lined with cars, including the green sedan that had nearly clipped me earlier.
Tourists.
Too bad we need their money to survive.
I skidded to a halt in the driveway at the back of the restaurant, dropped the bike, and scrabbled in my purse for my phone. When she didn't pick up, I left a frantic message:

Sofe, we just got a huge break. Meet me at the Casa Lido as soon as you can. Bring the red folder. And a shovel.

•   •   •

My sister-in-law pulled into the parking lot of the Casa Lido with her brakes screeching. Slamming the door behind her, she strode toward me carrying the folder and a small shovel. “What's going on? And why the hell do we need a shovel?”

“Here. Put these on while I explain.” I handed her a pair of latex gloves from the kitchen. “Okay, so we've already figured out the poison had to be in Parisi's tea, but the only one with access was Cal.”

“Who doesn't have a motive. As far as we know.”

“Right. But I went to talk to Lori. She cleared up his plates—I don't know why I didn't think of it before. And she gave me the answer.” I held up my fingers in a V. “There were two tea bags, Sofe. Two.”

Sofia's gasp echoed in the empty parking lot. “He brought it with him. Oh my God, Vic.
He brought it with him
.” She frantically pulled papers from the red folder. “It's in one of these articles,” she muttered. “I just didn't put it together.” She shoved a paper at me. “Look. It's all the way at the bottom.”

I held the flashlight over the sheet. “‘Accidentally brewing foxglove leaves into tea has led to poisonings and death,'” I read aloud. “But this was no accident.”

Our eyes met and Sofie nodded. “One of those crazy bitches gave him a doctored tea bag.”

“Angie had access,” I said, unable to keep the triumph out of my words. “She must be the one who locked us in the pantry and stole the trash.”

“Emily/Sarah knows drugs,” Sofie said. “But whichever of them did it has the evidence from the garbage. We'll never be able to prove it now.”

“Don't bet on it,” I said. “Grab that shovel.”

I was surprised by the flicker of fear that crossed Sofia's face. “Please don't tell me there's another body back here,” she said.

“Not that I know of. Nope, we're digging up evidence, not a body. Care to follow me to the back of the garden?”

“What for, Vic? They
took
the trash.”

“It wasn't in the trash.” I couldn't keep the grin from my face. “Because here at the Casa Lido we don't throw away our tea bags. We
compost
them.”

“Yes!” Sofia pumped one arm and lifted the shovel with the other. “One of those wenches is goin' down!” She paused with the shovel in midair. “But we've got two weeks of crap to dig through.”

“It's just some vegetable peelings and eggshells. It'll go fast. C'mon.”

We hurried to the back corner of the garden, where the composter was overflowing with all manner of food refuse. “When I found the body, Tim came from here with the empty compost bucket.” I pointed with the flashlight. “That tea bag was in there—I know it.”

Sofia eyed the dark mound and made a face. “It's a little stinky. And there's a lot of it.”

“All the more reason to get started. Now give me that shovel.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were up to our elbows in potato skins, coffee grounds, and carrot curls. Our gloves were black, and we both had smears across our faces. We also had a pile of wet tea bags, none of them the one we needed.

“Ugh, this is gross,” Sofia said. “And we're not getting anywhere, Vic. We've got one flashlight we have to share, and we're looking for a tiny little tag.” She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, adding another dark streak to her dirty face. “Wouldn't we do better in daylight?”

“Probably, Sofe.” I looked around the dark garden, the blue shed rising ominously in the distance. “But I have this sense of urgency. I can't really explain it, but we have to do this now.”

She shivered. “Okay, but it's a little creepy out here.”

We worked in silence, each of us pawing away, strewing compost everywhere. Just as I was wondering how I would explain the mess to my grandmother, Sofia let out a shriek. She held the bag gingerly by its tag, her eyes glittering in the darkness. I trained the flashlight on it. The tag was a faded yellow, with some Asian characters. I could just make out the letters “Chinese diet tea.” I fumbled to get the plastic bag open, and Sofia dropped it in.

“SIL,” I said, “I would kiss you if you weren't so disgusting.”

“Right back at ya.” She groaned and got up stiffly, and I did the same.

I stuck the bag in my jeans pocket and patted it. “We have evidence now.”

“I wouldn't be too sure of that if I were you.” And then she stepped out from the shadows and swiftly circled Sofia's neck with one arm. In her other hand, she held a hypodermic needle—aimed straight at my sister-in-law's heart.

“D
rop that tea bag on the ground, please.” Sarah Crawford, aka Emily Haverford, pointed with the toe of her sneaker. “Right here at my feet.”

The blood pounded in my ears as I looked at Sofia's calm face and stared into her eyes. I read two messages there:
Don't give it to her
and
I told you so
. I swallowed hard and shifted my gaze to Crawford. Even in the darkness, her blue eyes were crazed. “Listen, Em . . . er, Sarah,” I said softly. “I can't give it to you unless I know my sister-in-law is safe. You let her go, and I'll drop the bag.”

She swung her head from side to side, tightening her grip on Sofie's neck. “You don't tell me what to do. I tell you.” She made a stabbing motion with the needle. “Or maybe your cute little sister-in-law would like a nice shot of adrenaline.”

Sofia's eyes fluttered briefly, but she remained still. A tiny incline of her head told me to keep trying. I went in a new direction. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

She peered at me through her long bangs. “I'm not,” she said simply. “I gave him years of my life—for what? So he could leave me for a younger woman?” She gave a bitter laugh. “It's a tired old plot, isn't it, Miss Mystery Writer?” She jerked her chin at me. “What do you know? You
or
her?” She slid her eyes toward Sofia. “You're both young and pretty. Wait. Wait till you're middle-aged and no one wants you.”

As she talked, her hold on Sofia loosened. All at once my sister-in-law let out a fighting shriek, stamped down on Sarah's foot, and elbowed her once hard, knocking the hypodermic from her hand. As the needle rolled toward me, I kicked it a safe distance away. When I looked up, Sarah Crawford was on the ground with Sofia's foot planted firmly on her neck. “You move, bitch,” Sofia growled, “and I'll crush your scrawny neck.”

“Wow,” I gasped. “Those karate lessons really paid off.”

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly. “Now grab that needle.”

I stuffed the tea bag into my shorts first, then glanced over at the hypodermic, afraid to turn my back on Sofia and the crazy woman she had pinned on the ground. Grateful I was still wearing my gloves, I picked it up between two fingers and held it out in front of me. “Now what?”

But Sofia's eyes grew wide; she opened her mouth to speak, but the voice I heard wasn't hers.

“You stupid bitch.” I turned to see Angie Martini behind me, holding a small but menacing little pistol. It wasn't aimed at me, but at her rival for her husband's affections. And it was then that I finally remembered.

My walk down the boardwalk. The French movie posters. The convenient alibi that put both women in the same place at the crucial time, having a very public argument.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “It
is
diabolical.”

“Angie, I didn't say anything. I swear,” Sarah whimpered. “I was trying to help.”

Get her talking, Sarah. Get her talking, please
. I gripped the barrel of the needle. But would I have the nerve to use it if I had to? One corner of Sofia's mouth lifted; she got the message and slid her foot down to Sarah's chest.

“Help?” Angie sneered. “Oh, you're a great help.”

“But I did what you said. I watched her so I could figure out what she knew. I followed her here.”

The green car. Some detective you are, Vic.
Sarah flailed an arm in my direction. “And they found the tea bag. They led us right to it.”

“And now we're stuck with two hostages. You're pathetic—you know that?” Angie's eyes glittered in the darkness, her voice a guttural rasp. “We used to laugh at you, Gio and me. He used you, and so did I.”

“No,” Sarah whispered. “He loved me.” She turned her head to the side, weeping softly. I had to remind myself that she had helped plan a man's death. And that I was about to become a hostage to two psycho women.

“And now for you two.” Angie swung her arm around and trained the gun at my chest, her red nails looking like drops of shiny blood. I held the needle so tightly, my hand trembled. “First, you're gonna drop that needle on the ground,” she said. “Then the tea bag.”

“Angie,” I said. “You don't want to do this.”

“Don't tell me what I want to do!” She jerked her head toward Sofia. “Let Sarah the Spy get up.”

But Sofia didn't move a muscle. “Looks like we're at an impasse, Angie,” she said coolly, her foot still resting on Sarah's chest.

“I've got the gun,” Angie said.

Sofia nodded. “True. But we've got the evidence.” She glanced at me. “I say we give them a head start, Vic. This way no one gets hurt.”

“Please, Angie,” Sarah said. “Just listen to what they say so we can get out of here.”

“Why should I listen to them?” she asked harshly. “We had a perfect plan, and they ruined it.”

“Listen, Angie,” I said. “If you drop the gun, I'll give you the tea bag. And you can both go.” My voice shook and my fingertips were numb from clutching the hypodermic. “But I'm hanging on to the needle, okay?”

“How many times do I have to say this, Victoria? You don't tell me what to do.” She waved the gun wildly, and I flinched, wishing I had a chance to see Tim one last time. To finish my book. To say good-bye to my mom and dad. I slid my eyes toward Sofia; she saw my fear and shook her head.

I was about to close my eyes and wait for the inevitable when a third crazy woman stepped out of the shadows, a frying pan raised high. “Oh no,” I whispered. “Not the head. Please not the head.”

My grandmother let out a primal cry as she brought the pan down, connecting hard with Angie's right shoulder. I cringed as Angie, howling, crumpled in a heap. The second she let go of the gun, Sofia was on it. I watched in surprise as she emptied the chamber.

While Angie wailed on the ground, Nonna stood over her with the frying pan inches from her face. “You touch either of my granddaughters,
puttana
, and the next place this lands is your skull.”

The moments that followed were a blur of sights and sounds. Sirens. Lights. Sarah sobbing. Angie clutching her shoulder and moaning in pain. Men in blue uniforms, one of whom stepped from the group, his face white.

“Wanna tell me what the hell is going on here?” he growled.

Sofia threw herself against his chest. “Am I glad to see you, Detective.”

Dan glared at me over the top of his wife's head.

“You should have seen her, Danny,” I babbled. “She was awesome. She disarmed that crazy Emily. I mean, Sarah.”

Sofia gripped Dan's arm. “Oh, but Vic was great. She was afraid, but she kept Psycho Angie talking. And then—” Her eyes grew wide. “Bam! Nonna comes out of nowhere and whacks her with that pan.”

“She dropped like a rock!” I said. “You should have seen it. Then Sofie got the gun and—”

“What you did was dangerous!” he shouted. “I warned you both, damn it!” He jerked a thumb toward Nonna, who was still holding the frying pan and calmly giving a statement to an Oceanside officer. “And she's worse than the two of ya put together.”

“But we're okay,” I said.

He reached out an arm for me and let out a loud sigh. He squeezed the two of us tightly, lifted his eyes to the heavens, and muttered a prayer. “Please, God, preserve me from crazy broads.”

Sofia lifted her head and smiled. “But they're in custody, Danny.”

My brother frowned, and just for a second switched to Stern Cop mode. “I wasn't talking about
them
,” he said.