Creamy Casserole Murder: Book 15 in The Darling Deli Series (3 page)

“Okay,” Reggie said, sounding relieved. “I know that between the two of you you’ll be able to figure out who did this. You won’t let him get away with it. Thanks for believing me, Moira.”

With that, the call was over. The deli owner returned her phone to her nightstand and stared sadly at her clock. So much for a good night’s rest; she’d be lucky if she even managed another three hours before having to wake up. Her shift at the deli would only last a few hours, but it started early, and she had never been a morning person.

She managed to get back to sleep more quickly than she had thought she would. When she woke up, just before leaving her house, she sent a text to David, asking him if he could meet her at Misty Pines for lunch. She didn’t tell him about the murder that Reggie claimed to have heard in the room next to his. She knew what his response would be; if there was once thing that the private investigator was a stickler about, it was her safety. If he thought there was even the slightest chance that someone really had been killed, then he would do everything in his power to keep her away from the assisted-living home, short of actually forbidding her to go.

In the daylight, the thought of Reggie actually being right about the murder seemed even more far-fetched. It wasn’t that the old man was a liar… quite the opposite, in fact. But even if he had heard Beatrice shouting for help, that didn’t mean someone had killed her. The woman might have awoken in pain and called out for help from a nurse. And the slamming of the door after she had fallen silent? Well that could have been one of the nurses rushing in to try to save her, or even the door to a different room completely slamming shut behind one of the residents. He hadn’t heard any other voices, so if the paramedics and staff seemed unconcerned, then there probably wasn’t anything to worry about. Hopefully she would be able to put Reggie’s mind to rest, and that would be the end of it.

For the time being, she put thoughts of Reggie out of her mind. She had other things to focus on, namely, introducing a new item to the deli’s sparse breakfast menu. During her cruise trip, she had come up with a recipe for a breakfast cookie similar to one of her grandmother’s dishes. She had spent some of her extra time on the cruise scribbling ideas for tasty variations to the recipe on a pad of paper, and was eager to try them. With the deli’s website already updating, promising free samples of the breakfast cookies to anyone who came in before eleven, the pressure was on. If the cookies were a hit, they could offer their early-rising guests something besides quiche and fruit, which would lead to more business, more publicity, and even more loyal customers—something the deli could never have enough of.

“Are we all out of the cinnamon blueberry breakfast cookies, Ms. D?” Allison asked. Her blond hair was beginning to come out of her ponytail, and she looked hurried and tired. The deli had been booming with business all morning. Enough people had been drawn in with the promise of free food that Moira was tempted to do this every time they came up with a new dish to offer.
Though next time I have to make sure we have more people scheduled to work,
she thought, feeling bad for her haggard employee.

“I’ve got a new batch just about to go into the oven,” she told the girl. “But this will be the last tray of them today. We should start reminding people that the free samples end at eleven.”

“I’ll be sure to tell people when they ring up their food.” After trying a free sample, most people were buying more of the cookies, in addition to their usual quiche and coffee or juice.

“What type of cookie seems to be doing the best?” the deli owner asked, putting the tray into the oven, then leaning against the counter to take a breather.

“The peanut butter, banana, and chocolate chip ones, definitely,” her employee said. They had made three varieties of cookie to begin with: the cinnamon blueberry; the peanut butter, banana, chocolate chip; and an especially gooey caramel apple cookie.

“That’s not surprising,” Moira said. “It’s hard to beat that flavor combination. I’m glad that people seem to be enjoying the cookies—I’m really excited to start serving them.” The peanut butter, banana, chocolate chip breakfast cookies were gooey and sweet, yet still managed to be at least somewhat healthy. Made with oats, they pulled apart easily and were best right out of the oven, though they were good even after they cooled. She had a feeling that they would soon be a favorite with any of her customers with a sweet tooth.

“Me too. I think they’re delicious, and it will be nice to have something other than quiches to eat for breakfast when I come in early. Not that I don’t love Dante’s quiches, of course, but variety is the spice of life.”

“Too true,” the deli owner said. “That’s one of the reasons I love this place. The possibilities for new food and new recipes are endless.”

By the time her shift ended and Darrin and Meg had shown up to relieve her and Allison, David had texted her back. She smiled when she read his reply; he was free, and would be meeting her for lunch at Misty Pines in forty minutes. She would have just enough time to go home, shower quickly and change, and let the dogs out before driving over to the assisted-living home. She was glad for that; it would be nice to get out of her work clothes and freshen up before seeing the private investigator. Even though he had seen her covered in soot, mud, and blood, she still hated the thought of showing up to lunch sweaty and smelling of the deli’s kitchen.

She ended up getting to Misty Pines a few minutes late, but David, who had waited outside for her, didn’t mention it. Instead, he greeted her with a kiss. As they walked toward the assisted-living home’s entranceway, he asked her how her day had gone.

“Good,” she told him. “Though it was way busier than I expected. I felt bad for Allison—she ended up having to run back and forth from the kitchen to the register. I haven’t written down a legible recipe for the others to follow yet, so I had to do all the cooking.”

“The breakfast cookies were a success, then?” he asked. “I know you were excited about them on the cruise.”

“Oh, yes. People loved them. I really wish that I had thought of them sooner, but it wasn’t until I had to throw something together under pressure that I remembered my grandmother making them. That was years ago, of course, and I still don’t think I have her recipe exactly right, but the cookies are good anyway.”

“Knowing you, they’re delicious.” He grinned at her. “I’ll try to stop in for breakfast sometime this week and try one. Sorry I couldn’t make it today—I had an early meeting with a client.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I was stuck back in the kitchen the whole time, anyway. I really need to work on making a new recipe book for the deli.” She sighed. “Just one more thing that I have to do.”

“Why not have one of the employees do it?” he asked.

“Well, I’d still have to write out all of the recipes for them, which is the hard part. After that, it doesn’t take too long to slip the pages into plastic sleeves and put them in a binder. Sorry… I shouldn’t be talking about work right now. I want to focus.”

David held the first set of doors open for her. She walked in and paused in front of the second set of doors, which automatically locked and required a code to open.
That’s another reason I don’t think what Reggie heard was a murder,
she thought.
The only people who have the codes to the doors are the staff and some of the more frequent visitors. A stranger wouldn’t be able to get in in the middle of the night.
Hopefully Reggie would listen when she told him that she thought he had been wrong about Beatrice’s death being a murder. The old man could be stubborn, and she had a worrisome feeling that this just might be one of those cases where he decided to stick to his guns.

A smiling aide punched in the code and unlocked the doors for them. When asked where Reggie was, she led them over to one of the small round tables in the dining room. Eli’s grandfather was sitting alone, poking at his food. Looking up, he gave the couple a relieved smile.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. “I was worried that you had forgotten. Let’s hurry up and eat so you can start investigating.”

David looked over at her with raised eyebrows, correctly suspecting that something was up. The deli owner blushed. She hadn’t told him why she wanted to meet here for lunch, and he hadn’t asked. He was fond of the old man too, and had probably just assumed that this was nothing more than a social visit.

“Reggie, why don’t you tell David what you told me?” she said, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “I think it’s best that he hears it from you.”

The elderly man launched into his tale, eagerly telling David everything that he had told Moira the night before.
He certainly seems to be pretty clear on what happened,
she thought.
I have no idea how I’m going to convince him that none of this is actually evidence of foul play. A woman died… but nothing points to someone killing her.

“I think I even know who did it,” the old man finished. The deli owner blinked.

“What?” she said.

“Well, after breakfast I spent the morning trying to figure out who had motive to kill poor Beatrice. She was a sweetheart, everyone liked her. But there is one person who would benefit from killing her, and that’s her son.”

“Why do you say that?” David asked. He seemed to be taking Reggie seriously, or at least giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Because she was well off, and he wasn’t,” the elderly man replied. “He didn’t even have money to buy a new car after his broke down—I heard him tell her that was why he takes the bus everywhere now.”

“And she had him in her will?” the private investigator guessed. Reggie nodded, and David frowned. He caught Moira’s eye and nodded toward the dining room door. “Reggie, will you excuse us? We’ll be right back; I just want to bounce my ideas off of Moira without chancing anyone else listening in.”

Reggie nodded, and Moira and David got up and left the dining room. The private investigator leaned against the wall outside the door, and the deli owner stood next to him.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“He seems pretty sure that there was some sort of foul play,” she said with a sigh. “Look, I’m sorry. I should have told you why I wanted to meet here, but you get so weird about me being involved with this sort of thing.”

“By ‘weird,’ I’m assuming you mean ‘concerned for your safety’,” he replied with a smile. “I admit that I can get a little overprotective sometimes, although to be fair, your track record for staying out of trouble isn’t all that stellar. But in this case… I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Reggie’s a great guy who’s concerned about the circumstances of his friend’s death, but there really isn’t any evidence that points to her being murdered.”

“What about her son, though?” she asked. “If Reggie was right, then he really could have a motive to kill her.”

“Without any other evidence, a motive isn’t enough,” he pointed out. “Look, if you really think that there’s something to what Reggie is saying, I’ll take a look around. Otherwise, let’s just enjoy our lunch and do our best to convince him that Beatrice’s death, though tragic, was a natural death.”

“At first I didn’t think there was anything to his story, but he just seems so sure…” She sighed. “You’re right. This is an old folk’s home. People pass away from natural causes all the time. I just hope Reggie will listen to us when we tell him that his friend wasn’t murdered.”

Despite their best efforts, however, the old man refused to listen.

“I know what I heard. Beatrice was struggling with someone—she was being attacked. I thought you of all people would believe me.” The look he gave Moira made her flinch. No one had ever looked at her with such disappointment in their eyes. Had she really let him down so much? Would Reggie ever forgive her?

The next few days passed in a blur of activity; despite her plans for taking it easy her first week home, both the deli and her personal life demanded her attention. It was easy to get back into the swing of things, but she occasionally found herself longing for a return to the tropical beaches and impeccable service of the cruise. The coffee that she brewed at home just could not compare to the exotic flavors that had gushed from the ship’s espresso machines every morning. One thing that she did appreciate about being home was the privacy. On the cruise ship, the only time she was really alone was in her small room under the main deck; it was a wonderful feeling to be able to sit outside on the back porch and enjoy the peaceful morning without another soul within sight.

It wasn’t until the weekend that she finally had a day off. Saturdays were one of their busiest days, but she had absolute faith that her employees would be able to handle anything routine that got thrown at them. She was looking forward to a well-deserved break from the deli, and the chance to catch up with her friends. She had met Denise and Martha on Wednesday morning for their weekly cup of coffee together, but none of them had been able to stay for long. She had barely finished telling them about everything that had happened on the cruise when she had picked up a call from Dante saying that the oven wasn’t working. So she’d been forced to rush back to the deli before she got a chance to ask her two friends if they had done anything interesting since she had last seen them.

Taking advantage of the fact that she didn’t have to wake up early to rush in to work, Moira slept in late on Saturday morning. She felt refreshed when she rose, and once again wondered what on earth she had been thinking when she changed the deli’s hours to include breakfast.
Back when we opened in time for lunch, I was never out of bed before eight,
she thought.
Now I’m regularly up to my arms in food prep by seven.
She didn’t regret the decision, though, not really. The deli was bringing in a lot more customers now, and the extra hours let her hire more employees. She was glad to be able to give the wonderful young people working for her a good job. One problem with living in such a small town was that employment was hard to come by outside of tourist season.