Spicy Lasagna Murder: Book 13 in The Darling Deli Series (4 page)

On doctor’s orders, she was to spend at least a few days recovering before she went back to work. She had objected, horrified at the thought of sitting around her house alone and in pain all day, but even she had to admit she was in no state to be working around food. She was still getting used to the painkillers she’d been prescribed, which eased her sharp headache and the lessened pain in her arm, but made her feel drowsy and lightheaded.

She was able to stay awake about twenty minutes of every hour, and she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened in the barn. Those poor men. How had they gotten caught in the blaze? Why hadn’t they gotten out as soon as they’d seen the fire get out of control? And what had happened to the third person? Had he somehow escaped the blaze? If so, was he another victim, or had he had a darker purpose in that building?

She knew that Detective Jefferson likely hadn’t had any evidence pointing either way when they spoke yesterday, but she thought that his questions implied that the fire was more likely arson than a simple accident. Why else would he have wanted such a complete story? The thought of arson made her angry—she knew firsthand what it was like to lose everything in a fire. How could anyone do that to another human being? At least when her house had burned down, she and Candice had both been elsewhere and Maverick had gotten out safely.

The deli owner coughed, the pain in her throat bringing tears to her eyes. She knew from what the doctor had said that the heat and smoke had caused fluid to build up in her lungs, and coughing was her body’s way of trying to get it out. Knowing that didn’t make the process any more comfortable, though.

At least the dogs seemed to understand that she was hurt. They were unusually subdued today, possibly uncomfortable around her because of the sharp smell of smoke that had followed her home. She was beyond grateful to Candice for stopping by last night to feed them and let them outside while she was in the hospital. Her daughter had stayed to visit her afterward, and Moira was finally able to express the guilt that she felt at the thought of the two dead men.

Now she was home alone, in pain, and, well, bored. She had tried her hand at cooking, but it was just too difficult to do anything more than put a frozen dinner in the oven when she could only use her left hand. Plus, she didn’t have anything in her freezer that looked like it might be worth eating. Getting dressed this morning had been enough of an adventure; she certainly wasn’t confident enough to try to use a knife yet. At least she had the solace of knowing that David was coming over soon, and he had promised to bring her some of her favorite Chinese takeout.

“Come on, you two,” she said to the dogs. “Let’s go on a walk. I hate feeling cooped up, but I don’t think I should drive anywhere in the state that I’m in.”

The doctor had cautioned her not to drive until she knew how she would react to the pain medication, and she was taking his warning seriously. The last thing that she wanted was to get into another car wreck—she had just bought the SUV for goodness sakes—and she dreaded the thought of hurting someone accidentally.

After managing to pull a light jacket on—it barely fit over her cast—Moira shoved her feet into a pair of slip-ons and called the dogs over to the front door. Realizing that they were about to go somewhere more fun than just the back yard, the two of them perked up and sat eagerly at her feet, tongues lolling.

“Stick around, all right?” she said sternly. “I don’t want to have to go stumbling through the woods looking for you.”

The dogs were normally pretty good off leash, but occasionally pretended to be deaf when she called them back. Despite that, she enjoyed walking the wooded trails with them, and it felt good to make use of the five acres of property that surrounded her little stone house.

Jus stepping outside made her feel better. The day was overcast, but it hadn’t rained yet. The breeze smelled fresh and thankfully kept the persistent smell of smoke in her hair away from her nostrils. She’d already thrown away the clothes that she had worn to the corn maze; she couldn’t have saved them no matter what she did, and she knew that if she’d kept them they would only have served as reminders of that horrible day.

The dogs ran in front of her, chasing and wrestling with each other. When they reached the mouth of the wooded path, they began sniffing eagerly at the fallen leaves, following the scent trails of the forest animals for a few feet before getting bored and finding another interesting smell to snuffle. Moira smiled to herself as they walked, feeling at peace in the quiet forest, the only sounds birdsong and the gurgling of the little brook.

When they reached the stream, she let the dogs wade through while she took the bridge. Both Maverick and Keeva loved the water, and didn’t seem at all put off by the chilly spray.
At least Keeva isn’t rolling in the water like she did last time
, she thought. She didn’t fancy trying to give the humongous dog a bath with the use of only one hand.

As they neared the end of the trail, she saw David’s car parked in the driveway. Hoping that he hadn’t been waiting long, she hurried the last few feet and waved at him. Maverick’s ears went up and he let off one intimidating bark before recognizing the vehicle. He and Keeva raced across the yard, the Irish wolfhound pulling ahead thanks to her long legs, and greeted David as he got out of his car.

“Sorry, I thought we’d make it back before you got here,” she told him when she got closer. “I decided to take a quick walk with the dogs since they seemed down.”

“I just pulled in,” he assured her. “I hadn’t even gotten out of my car yet. Look what I brought.”

She grinned at the sight of the Chinese takeout bag. Just what she needed to feel better; a giant helping of honey chicken, fried rice, and an egg roll.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she said. “Let’s go in, and I’ll put some plates down.”

David ended up setting the table, insisting on the job once he saw Moira struggling to do it one-handed. Annoyed at her own feebleness, but knowing that she really did need his help, she gave the dogs both fresh water instead. At last they sat down and pulled open the boxes full of steaming food. Moira sighed as she inhaled the delicious scent of her favorite takeout meal.

“Thanks for coming over,” she said.

“It’s my pleasure,” he replied. “Besides, I wanted to update you about the barn fire.”

She put down her fork, her hunger suddenly fading with the need to hear whatever information he had.

“What do you know?” she asked.

“Well, two other people confirmed that there was another person in the barn with you. No one got a good look at whoever it was, but eyewitnesses said they saw a hooded figure running out of the barn shortly after you went in.”

Moira frowned. This sounded suspicious.

“The fire marshal told the press that he’s considering the barn fire to be arson, but he hasn’t come out yet with whatever evidence they’ve gathered,” he continued. “So chances are, the other person you saw in the barn set the fire.”

“Whoever that was killed two people,” she said, shivering. “Do you think the murders were intentional or accidental?”

“There’s no way of knowing yet. There are a few different theories about what happened. My guess is yes, at least one of the murders was intentional. It’s just too much of a coincidence otherwise. But there’s always the possibility that the arsonist never intended anyone to die. Everyone I’ve spoken to confirms that the two men—Mr. Samwell and Mr. Franks—didn’t get along very well. It’s possible that the third person wasn’t involved at all, and this was just a feud gone wrong between the two of them.”

“Either way,” Moira said, “I hope the police get to the bottom of it soon. Mr. Samwell’s wife probably wants closure, and I know I do, too. Just a few minutes longer in that barn, and I could have been the third victim.”

Being back at work was a relief. There was nothing better to distract her from the pains of her healing body than cooking and whispering to her customers. Despite her bright mood, however, Darrin kept giving her worried glances, as if he was afraid she would collapse at any minute. She knew that the persistent cough that she had developed wasn’t helping matters any, but there was nothing she could do about it. The doctor had told her it would likely resolve itself in a few weeks, and with the prescribed cocktail of antibiotics and painkillers, she was reluctant to add cough medicine as a chaser.

“Mrs. Brown called,” Darrin told her once she was settled on the stool behind the register. “She wanted to know if you’re still going to be able to cater her husband’s retirement party. She also said to give you her best wishes, and that she hopes you recover quickly.”

“You can tell her that as far as I’m concerned, the plans that we discussed haven’t changed,” Moira assured him. “A broken arm has never stopped me. And tell her thanks for the sentiment. I’d call her myself, but talking still isn’t the most comfortable thing for me; my voice is still so hoarse.”

“I’ll give her a call,” he promised.

“Great. I guess I should get to work on the soup. It might take me a while like this.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“I can manage, Darrin,” she said. “I’ve been cooking for years. I’m relatively certain I can do it one-handed if I need to.”

He frowned, but didn’t say anything, which Moira was glad for. She didn’t want to admit it, but she did have her doubts. Would she be able to safely chop and slice using only one hand? Three days out, she felt much better than she had her first day home from the hospital, but she still needed practice to get used to her new limitations.

Peering into the fridge, trying to decide what the easiest thing to make would be, she was relieved to see ground lamb. She had been planning to make the Italian wedding soup tomorrow, but she could make the Italian soup with one hand much more easily than she could the heartier beef and vegetable stew that she had planned for. All she would have to do would be to chop up some greens and onions, mix the ground lamb with egg, cheese, and some garlic, and make the broth.
This shouldn’t be too difficult,
she thought.

She was wrong. Attempting to slice parsley and endives with only one hand resulted in uneven pieces and torn leaves. She knew her customers probably wouldn’t notice—or care—once the soup was cooked, but it still bothered the perfectionist in her. The onion was only slightly easier, and she decided to use the garlic press for the garlic. At least she managed to roll the meatballs without issue.

Sighing as she poured the broth into the pot, she almost wished that she had accepted Darrin’s offer of help. How did the doctor expect her to live like this for
weeks?
She had a business to run—she had no time for a broken arm.

She had just put all of the ingredients in the pot when a knock sounded at the deli’s side door, the door that they used only for deliveries. The deli owner froze, quickly double-checking her mental calendar. It wasn’t a delivery day—of that she was certain. So who could it be? Frowning, she quickly washed her hands and, still drying them on the hand towel, opened the door.

At first she didn’t see anyone and was about to close the door again and write off the knock as a prank when she heard a quiet whine. Moira poked her head out the door and looked to the right. There, tied to a cinder block with a length of rope, was a very pregnant chocolate lab.

The two stared at each other for a long moment, then the lab wagged her tail and Moira’s heart melted. Shoving another cinder block in front of the open door to keep it from swinging shut and locking her outside, she walked over to the dog.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she crooned. “Did someone drop you off here?”

The dog took a cautious step backwards, but extended her head to sniff Moira’s hand carefully when she offered it. The deli owner saw some sort of paper tucked inside her collar and reached slowly out to take it. She opened the folder paper and read:

I know you like dogs. Plz take good care of her and her babies. My dad was gonna shoot her if I didn’t get rid of her.

It was signed by a sloppy scrawl that she couldn’t read. The writing looked like it belonged to a child, someone in middle school perhaps. Moira’s heart ached. What sort of parent threatened to shoot their child’s dog? A pregnant dog, no less?

“You poor, sweet girl,” she said. “Let’s at least get you inside and fed and watered, then we can figure out what to do with you.”

Only after some encouragement was the dog willing to slink through the doorway, where she then crouched, shaking, in the middle of the floor. Moira shut the door and tied the rope attached to the dog’s collar to the door handle to keep her from wandering around the kitchen, then rushed out to the register where Darrin was talking to a customer. She waited until the elderly man had taken his cold cuts and left, then told Darrin what was going on.

“Someone left a pregnant dog by the side door,” she said. “She’s scared, but she seems nice enough. I’m going to run out to my car and grab the extra leash and the travel bowls I keep in it, then once I get some food and water in her I’ll see if I can make an appointment at the vet for today. I want to make sure she’s healthy before bringing her home, and I need to ask the vet how far along he thinks she is. Are you okay to watch this place on your own for a few hours if you have to? The soup’s already on, thank goodness.”