Yappy Hour (7 page)

“I'm so sorry,” I said.

“How? How did he die?”

“I really don't know. I found him on the floor. I'm sure the police…”

Gus looked around the room as if suddenly lost. “I … Excuse me one moment, Maggie, I want to call his folks.” He glanced at his watch. “They live back east. It'll be early morning there now … but…”

I stood. “Of course. I should go.”

He grabbed my shoulders abruptly. “No. Please. Stay. I just…”

“Okay, no problem. Go ahead and call them.”

He left the room, and a heavy sadness enveloped me. I hated to have been the one to break the news to him. I should have listened to Officer Brooks. Why did I have to stick my nose into it? Let the professionals handle it.

As I waited for Gus, I finished my veal piccata. I was tempted to lick my plate, but figured that was in extremely poor taste. I mean, who even had an appetite after finding a dead guy?

Me, apparently.

I poured myself some more wine and sipped, waiting for Gus to return. When he did, it was evident he'd been crying.

“I'm sorry, this is really a shock. Dan was my best friend. He was like my brother.” Gus looked away from me, his eyes searching the room, his shoulders slumped.

“I understand,” I said, feeling the sadness grip my heart. What would I do if something happened to Rachel?

“Were you able to reach his parents?” I asked.

Gus shook his head. “I got their voice mail. I didn't have the heart to leave a message.” He dragged a hand through his dark hair. “I cook Thanksgiving dinner for these people … they're like my family.” He took a deep ragged breath. “I'll try them again later.”

He sat at the table next to me.

“Dan and I met at the Culinary Academy. It was his idea for the restaurant. He'd run it and I'd be head chef, because he couldn't cook to save his life—” Gus paled and his voice hitched. “I mean…” He shook his head. “I can't believe he's gone.”

We sat in silence for a moment, letting the gravity of it sink in.

Gus poured himself a glass of wine. “Well, Dan wouldn't want me sitting around crying, that's for damn sure.” He pressed his lips together and seemed to pull resolve from within.

I fidgeted in the chair and determined to pull on the same internal resolve Gus had reached. I cleared my throat. “What made you think Dan was with Rachel?” I tried to ignore the pit that formed in my stomach as I asked the question.

Gus frowned. “What?”

“Earlier you said you thought Dan might have been with Rachel. Why did you think that?”

Gus shrugged. “He talked about her constantly. Said he was going to win her back.”

By threatening to bring Alcohol Beverage Control down on her?

Or had the letter been a ploy? Perhaps an excuse to see Rachel?

I wondered if Gus even knew about the letter.

“What do you think happened?” Gus asked. “I mean, what strikes a man down in his prime? Did he have an aneurism, a heart attack or…?” He shook his head, frowning. “He was so healthy.”

“Gus, no. I don't think it was a natural cause.”

Gus blinked at me rapidly. “What do you mean? Not a natural cause…”

An image of the magnum bottle beside Dan flashed across my mind and I felt nauseous. “I think someone killed him, Gus.”

Gus shook his head, clearly in denial. “No, no, that can't be. Who would hurt Dan?”

“That's what I wanted to ask you.”

“Everyone loved Dan,” Gus said.

Clearly not everyone.

In the silence that followed, Gus abruptly stood and then sat again. He drummed his fingers on the table, and then fixed his eyes upon me. “Maggie, you have to help me. The police are going to think I killed Dan.”

 

Chapter Eight

I woke up with a throat as dry as sandpaper and a pounding headache. I glanced around the room, completely disoriented. Where was I?

And then suddenly it came flooding back. I'd found a dead guy, Rachel was missing, and I'd passed out at the hot Italian guy's place—the guy who thought he might be suspect numero uno.

My head throbbed out a rhythm similar to Beethoven's Fifth.

Good God, why had I drank so much? It certainly didn't solve any of my problems.

On the night table was a tall glass of water. Apparently, Gus had left it for me. What a nice guy. Still, I couldn't be too careful. If what he'd blurted out last night was true, he had a lot to gain from Dan's death.

Like half ownership of DelVecchio's.

We had talked into the late hours of the night. He'd been emotional about losing his friend and, let's face it, I wanted the company.

But what had I agreed to? He'd asked me to help him find out who killed Dan. But I wasn't qualified to investigate anything. That's what the police were supposed to do, right?

And what about Rachel? Where was she really? I wasn't buying the elopement story. That seemed crazy. There's no way she'd eloped because, if that was true, I would have found something on her computer. Searches for a marriage license, or a list of best places to elope, even a search on Vegas, but I hadn't found a thing.

I just couldn't believe it.

If she had met someone online, then I certainly would have found evidence of him; aside from the few chats, there were no texts, photos, or even a sweater he'd left in her closet.

Then a terrible thought tugged at my consciousness. What if the person who killed Dan had kidnapped Rachel?

Or worse …

I shuddered to think about it.

I thought back to the last communication I'd had from Rachel. A text … How did I even know it was from her? Anyone could have sent it. All I really knew was that it had come from Rachel's phone, but if she'd lost it or someone had stolen the phone …

I groped for my cell and tried her number again.

Voice mail!

The smell of bacon wafted through the apartment.

Oh goodness. Gus was cooking me breakfast.

I slipped out of the covers and found that I was fully clothed—wrinkled, but clothed nonetheless. There was a bathroom attached to the master bedroom, and I took advantage of the chance to wash my face. Gus had left a new toothbrush alongside a fresh set of towels. He was thoughtful, I'd give him that. Then a nagging little voice reminded me that a murderer had to be thoughtful to commit a crime and get away with it.

I couldn't let my guard down until the police had arrested the killer. I pushed the thought from my mind that my own sister had plenty of motive and her disappearance could also be self-imposed.

Was she on the run?

I stepped out of the bedroom and peeked into the living room. A rolled-up blanket and pillow were on the couch. Obviously, Gus had given up his room to me. He'd fed me and made sure I'd been comfortable last night and this morning. How could I think this man could have anything to do with Dan's death?

I crossed into the hallway and called out, “Is that bacon I smell?”

“No!” Gus answered. “Pancetta.”

Murderers didn't cook pancetta for their guests for breakfast!

He smiled as I came into the kitchen. He looked refreshed this morning. His eyes were bright and clear; gone were the red rims from the weeping he'd done the night before.

He picked up a pair of tongs and placed the pancetta on a plate for me, then he slid an omelet alongside it and handed me the plate. “Did you find the towels and toothbrush?”

“Yes, thank you. I appreciate you letting me stay the night.”

He grinned and my knees went a little jelly and weak. Did he have to have such a killer smile?

“Don't worry about it. You weren't in any shape to go home last night. It was my fault anyway. I shouldn't have given you Chianti in your condition.”

“You didn't make me drink it,” I said.

He chuckled. “I'll make you drink this though. It'll cure anything.” He steamed some milk in a small aluminum pitcher, poured it into a cup, then added some espresso with a flourish. When he handed me the demitasse cup and saucer, I saw that he'd made a heart on top of the coffee for me.

I laughed. “It smells heavenly!”

From an overhead cabinet, he pulled out a small bottle of pain relievers and shook out two brown pills. “These are just backup.”

“Are you part angel?” I asked.

He chuckled. “No one has ever accused me of that.”

“Well, you're acting the part this morning,” I said, digging into my omelet. After one bite I stared at Gus.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“This is the best omelet I've had in my life.”

He smiled. “I don't do breakfast at DelVecchio's yet, but I'm thinking about opening for a Sunday brunch soon.” His handsome face grew serious, almost sad. “At least that's what Dan had wanted to do. He had big plans for us, but now…” He waved his hands around as if he didn't know what else to say and wanted to drop the topic.

“Have you been able to reach his folks yet?” I asked.

Before Gus could answer, there was a knock at the door. Gus looked puzzled. “Excuse me,” he said, walking out of the kitchen toward the living room. When he opened the front door the voice of Officer Brooks floated down the hallway.

Oh no!

How was I going to explain the fact that I'd spent the night at Gus's place? It had been completely innocent, that was true—Gus was a perfect gentleman—but still, it looked awful. At the very least, I showed poor judgment in drowning my stress with vodka last night.

This was sure to get Officer Brooks and me off on the wrong foot. Inanely, the thought of hiding under the table crossed my mind.

No! Ridiculous!

Behind a kitchen swinging door?

Don't invite him in, Gus, I thought, hoping to send him the message telepathically. Don't invite him in!

The voices were getting louder, aka closer.

“Smells good in here,” Brooks said.

I stood, then sat. Panic flooded me and my legs began to shake.

Could I dash back into Gus's bedroom? No! That would look even worse!

“Come on in,” Gus said. “I'll make you an espresso.”

Darn it!

The kitchen doorway filled with Officer Brooks's form. A look of surprise crossed his face, then passed as he quickly composed his features back into a neutral expression.

“Maggie,” he said by way of greeting.

I stood. “Hello, Officer.”

Did my voice sound warbly? A little guilty?

Now not only had I been caught at Gus's, but soon he'd find out that I'd spilled the beans about Dan.

Gus entered the kitchen and looked between Brooks and myself, assessing the situation.

As they stood next to each other, I realized they looked like complete opposites. Brooks was an all-American guy, with blond hair and blue eyes and an open stance—the kind that said, what you see is what you get. Gus, on the other hand, was the Latin-lover type: dark hair, dark eyes, and an aura of mystery surrounding him.

“What are you doing here?” Officer Brooks asked me.

Gus turned his back to Brooks and began to steam milk at the espresso machine. “She came to ask me about Rachel,” he said smoothly. “I haven't seen her since Thursday, though.”

My shoulders eased down from around my ears. Gus was going to cover for me.

Brooks looked from me to Gus.

I did my best to keep my eyes wide and look innocent. After all, I was innocent! The worst that I could be accused of was telling Gus about Dan. Could that mess up an investigation?

Gus handed Brooks the small, white espresso cup; he'd made a little picture of a smoking gun in the steamed milk. Brooks ignored the design and gulped the espresso down.

“Thank you, Gus. I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company, but I'd like to speak to you about something rather unpleasant. Can you come down to the station?”

Gus's brows flew up. “The station? What's going on?”

Brooks glared at me. “I'm not at liberty to say.”

Why the glare? Did he suspect that I had told?

I scooped the final forkful of omelet into my face and tried to hide my no-doubt guilty expression.

Gus cleared my plate and loaded it into the dishwasher. “I'm sorry that I have to go now, Maggie. Come by the restaurant tonight. I'll make you dinner.”

Brooks watched me, presumably assessing my reaction to Gus.

“Oh, Gus. Thank you for the offer,” I said. “But I think I have to work.” I looked at Brooks. “Can we open The Wine and Bark tonight?”

“Yes, my crime scene tech is done. You're clear to reopen this evening,” Brooks said.

Gus pressed his full lips together. After a moment he said, “A rain check, then.”

I cringed.

Really? Did he have to say the same thing Brooks had said only last night?

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

The man had made me a superb dinner the evening before, saved me from stumbling home in the dark drunk, and now had just filled my belly with the best omelet of my life, and here I was, completely ungrateful.

“Who could turn down your cooking, Gus?” I said, attempting to sidestep the awkwardness.

Gus smiled, while Brooks's eyes narrowed.

“Are you ready to come to the station now?” Brooks asked.

“Yes,” Gus said. “Can I drive myself? Or…”

“You can ride with me,” Brooks said.

Gus stiffened. “Right. Okay, then. Let's go.”

I stood and we marched out of the kitchen and into the apartment hallway.

“Do you want a ride home, Maggie?” Brooks asked.

“No, thank you,” I said. “I need to go check in on my great-uncle.”

Brooks nodded, then said rather possessively in front of Gus, “We're still on for our date tomorrow, right, Maggie?”