A Dish Best Served Cold: An Italian Kitchen Mystery (Italian Kitchen Mystery, An) (20 page)

“Yes,” I said, a little startled. “How did you know?”

“It ain’t that hard, miss,” he said. “For one thing, you’re too pretty to be related to a Petrocelli, and for another, your eyes are just like Robbie’s.”

“It’s my dad who really looks like him,” I said. “We think he went by the name Robert Riese. Does that sound familiar?”

“Mighta been the name. Don’t really remember.”

“Well, can you tell me what you do know about Roberto?”

“A little bit. He was one for the ladies, that’s for sure. Well, until the drugs got hold of him.”

“Was he involved with drugs?” Sofia asked.

“Was he?” Domenica let out a snort. “You kids think you invented marijuana, but it’s been around for years. That’s how Robbie started. He hung around those jazz clubs. But after that, he went on to harder stuff.”

Great. So Zio Roberto was a pothead, and probably worse. I might have to tell Nonna and my dad a sanitized version of this particular chapter of Rienzi family history.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

“Yup, it was a real shame. He was a smart guy. Coulda rose in the ranks if he’d wanted. But Mr. Leo didn’t like anybody in the organization messin’ with drugs. Absolutely forbade it. He did
not
approve, no, sir.”

Sofia and I exchanged a glance. We both knew that Barone’s organization was only too happy to traffic in drugs. “Mr. Domenica—” I began.

“Please, call me Gerry, honey.”

Okay, Gerry honey.
I so wanted to say it out loud, but instead I smiled. “Thank you . . . Gerry. I was wondering if you knew what eventually happened to Robert.”

He shut the book and slid it across the table to me. “Sorry, I don’t. Wish I could be more help.” He stood to go. “Now, if you girls don’t mind, I have to get back to work.”

As I watched him go, an insistent question pounded in my ears—
the past or the present? The past or the present?
Where did the answer to Pete’s death lie?

W
e had barely fastened our seat belts when I turned to Sofia. I started the car, but left it in park. “Did you notice the tattoo that showed from under Domenica’s left shirtsleeve?”

“No. You were sitting on that side of him. Why?”

“The image was faded and blurred, but I’m sure it was a lion. I tried to see the rest of it through the fabric, but it was too dark.”

“A tattoo of a lion? Wait a minute,” Sofia said. “Are you telling me—?”

“You bet I am. I think Gerry Domenica has a tattoo of a prancing lion on his arm, similar to the one that Tattoo Guy has. That’s got to be more than a coincidence, don’t you think? I wonder if they’re connected somehow.”

“To each other? Or to—?” She stopped suddenly, her mouth dropping open to form a pink, glossy O. She turned to me with a look of triumph. “Okay, Miss Writer. Think: Why is a lion significant?”

I frowned. “I don’t know. King of the jungle? A representation of courage?”

Sofia clapped her hands, her tone gleeful. “I can’t believe I got this ahead of you. Think horoscopes. Think DiCaprio.”

“Oh my God, I’m an idiot.
Leo.
Leo Barone! Of course.” I put out my fist for a bump from Sofia. “Good catch, SIL. I wonder if the tattoo signified loyalty or something.” My mind was racing through the possibilities. “It might make sense for Gerry Domenica to have a tattoo related to the Barones, but why the carousel operator?”

“I guess we can’t rule out coincidence,” Sofia said, but didn’t sound convincing.

“True,” I agreed, “but for the sake of argument, let’s assume there’s a connection.”

Sofia pawed through her purse and pulled out a pack of sticky notes and a pen. “So back in the day, Gerry Jr. gets a lion tattoo.” She stopped, her pen poised over the paper. “But why, Vic? His
father
was part of Barone’s inner circle, not him.”

“Right. Okay, let’s think about this. We think that Domenica Jr. is eightyish, right?” I did some quick mental math. “That would have put him in his teens and twenties at the height of Barone’s operation in Atlantic City. He certainly could have been involved. You heard him talking about it today—he had this gleam in his eye.”

“Like he was proud of it,” Sofia said.

“Exactly. And he identified Roberto and Alfonso; he talked about them as though he knew them.” I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road, hoping Sofia would help me navigate. Even with a GPS, I had a tendency to get lost. “In fact, don’t you think it’s strange that he looks at me and sees an immediate resemblance? That he also knows that Zio Roberto did drugs and was a bit of a Casanova, yet has no idea that he ended up in jail for murder? A murder that was pretty well publicized, according to our own research.”

“Oh yeah,” Sofia said, scribbling away on the yellow notes. “He was picking and choosing what he wanted to tell us.”

“There were other things, too—something that he said that made me think he was lying, but I lost it. Or something I noticed about him. I don’t remember now. It’s driving me crazy.”

“You’ll probably remember at three o’clock in the morning.”

“Let’s hope.” I pointed to a light up ahead. “Is that the turn for the parkway?”

“See the green sign with the pretty yellow state of New Jersey in it? The one that says
Parkway
? That would indicate that this is our turn.”

“There’s no need for sarcasm, lady. I didn’t want to miss it. I’m on the clock here.” I accelerated onto the northbound ramp, only to join another long line of drivers—day-trippers heading home. I sighed. “Here we go again.”

“That’s okay,” Sofia said. “Gives us more time to debrief. Let’s get back to the tattooed carousel operator.”

“Danny thought the guy was an ex-con.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to jump to that conclusion,” Sofia said. “Anybody without a regulation haircut is suspect to your brother.”

“Maybe. But I trust his instincts. If the guy did spend time in jail, couldn’t the lion tattoo be connected to a gang or something?”

“I guess,” Sofia said doubtfully. “But if the lion does symbolize the Barones, that would mean—”

“That their criminal activity didn’t end with Leo’s death!” I interrupted. “And that maybe Richard Barone isn’t as clean as he’d like everybody to believe. God, I wish I could see him without his shirt.”

Sofia let out a laugh. “There you go again, risking death by Iris.”

“You know what I mean. I wonder if he’s got a lion tattoo. Not that I would
mind
seeing him without his shirt, but that’s neither here nor there. But speaking of Iris—if Barone is dirty, does she know it?”

“Never mind Iris,” Sofia said. “Did Pete know? That’s the big question. If Barone is mobbed up, and Pete somehow got wind of it, that would be reason enough to get him out of the way.”

I looked over at her. “Or pay somebody else to do it.”

“Probably.” She opened the red folder and studied our list of names. “You know, Vic, I think we need to back up the truck here.”

“Would you mind translating that highly Jersey-esque phrase for me?”

“You have been in New York waaay too long,” Sofia said, rolling her eyes. “You know what I mean—let’s rethink this for a minute. All along we’ve been assuming that Pete drank himself to death at the hand of a person or persons who wanted him out of the way. Given his blood alcohol, it’s a likely scenario: He drank himself into unconsciousness and fell facedown in the shallow water in the carousel house. But we still haven’t answered the big question of what he was doing there.”

“A planned meeting with one or more of the suspects?”

She nodded. “The more I think about it, the more I think it’s likely, especially if he was blackmailing any of them.”

“So let’s review our timeline. Pete showed up as we were serving dinner, somewhere between six and six thirty, before the storm hit.” The traffic was breaking up; I picked up speed and my thoughts followed suit. “At some point he interacted with Iris, according to Gale at the library. It was likely after six thirty when I saw him leave, but he was only holding the food bag. Nando saw him after that holding
two
bags, one of which held his food, but another heavier one as well.”

“Did Nando tell you a time?”

“No.” I shook my head. “We were all so busy. And once the storm was really raging, I don’t think many of us were paying attention to the time.”

“Okay,” Sofia said, “if my memory serves, we all ran inside around seven thirty and Danny got called out at about eight forty. I remember looking at the time when he was leaving.”

“That sounds right. And at some point when we were inside, Father Tom came in because he had seen Pete out on the boardwalk.”

“So Pete was probably still alive at eight, yes?”

“I think it’s likely. But somewhere in that hour between seven thirty and eight thirty, both Jason and Alyssa went missing for a while.”

“And you’re thinking one or both of them might have met with Pete?” Sofia asked. “But that would mean that either they went out in the storm or Pete came back to the restaurant, right?”

“Right. But now that you spell it out, I can see the difficulty with that theory. If the storm was that bad, and Pete had come by the restaurant, he would have tried to stay and wait out the storm, don’t you think?”

“I
do
think. And if either Jason or Alyssa met him somewhere and came back—” she began.

“They’d be soaking wet,” I interrupted. “Of course. You know, I tried to pin down Alyssa about where she’d been, but she was evasive.”

“She was probably in a lip lock somewhere with Tattoo Guy,” Sofia muttered.

“But remember she also said something about the temps wanting to leave early and splitting tips, but I don’t remember exactly when. I’m wondering if Tattoo Guy might have followed Pete at some point. You know what? I think it’s time to put in a call to Alyssa,” I said. “We need to identify that guy.”

“Do you think she’ll tell you his name?”

“She will if she thinks we want to hire him.”

“That’s sneaky, Vic. I like it.”

“Would you get my phone out of my purse? It’s by your feet.”

“How do you find anything in here? Sheesh.” After emptying half the contents of my purse, Sofia finally fished out my phone. “Got it. I don’t suppose she’s in your contacts?”

“No. But if you check the call history, she’s the only number with an 848 area code.”

“Oh, okay. Yup, it’s here. Want me to call?”

“Please. And then put her on speaker.” I shot her a grin. “But keep your pretty mouth closed; I don’t want her to know anyone is listening in.”

Alyssa picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” Her tone was cautious; I guess I wasn’t in her contacts, either.

“Hey, Alyssa. It’s Victoria Rienzi. How are you?”

“Oh, hi, Victoria. I’m good. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. I’ve got you on speaker, okay? I’m driving.”

“Sure thing, girlfriend,” Alyssa said, her sweet voice carrying in the enclosed car. “What can I do ya for?”

Sofia made a gagging motion with her finger to her open mouth, and I shook my head at her furiously. “Well, you know how crazy Labor Day weekend is down here, and we’re shorthanded at the restaurant without you and Jason. We thought we’d reach out to some of the temps we had on the night of the party.” I held up my crossed fingers. “Did you know any of them?”
Of course you did, Alyssa, but will you tell me?

“Well, I kinda knew Jackson. You might remember him.” She giggled. “Actually, you might remember his tats.”

Sofia’s eyes widened and I put my finger to my lips. “Oh, sure. He helped out a lot when we were packing up to go inside. You think he might want some work?”

“Maybe.” I waited, but she didn’t offer anything else.

“Do you have contact info for him?” I persisted. “A phone number or e-mail?”

“No, sorry,” she sang into the phone. “I only met him that night.”

Sofia scribbled on her pad and held it up for me to see.
SHE’S LYING!!!
it read.

“Do you know his last time?”

“That I do know. It’s Manchester. Jackson Manchester.”

I glanced at Sofia, who was frowning as she wrote down the name. “Okay, thanks, Alyssa,” I said. “Have a good year.”

“You, too, Victoria! Bye now.”

Sofia ended the call and held up the pad again. “Jackson Manchester? Anything strike you about that name?”

“Aside from sounding like the name of a British noble, it’s about as fake as my mother’s eyelashes.”

“You bet it is.” Sofia zoomed out on the screen of my GPS until it showed the whole of Ocean County, complete with the names of its towns, including
Jackson
and
Manchester
. “This dude took his name from a map.”

“So, who is he?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Sofia said, “but I’m beginning to think he’s the key to this whole thing.”

*   *   *

When I got back to the restaurant, things were as hectic and busy as my mother had promised. Lucky for me, my grandmother had gone home before the dinner service, but I was sure she was preparing a tasty lecture to serve me when she got the chance. I put on my apron and grabbed a ticket book, moving automatically around the dining room to check on linens and setups before the dinner rush began. I was setting up the coffee station when the dining room door opened; it was Miss Ferraro, clutching a rusted metal box.

“Hello, miss,” she said. “Do you remember me?”

“Of course. But we’re not open for dinner yet, and—”

“I’m not here for dinner.” She held out the box as though it contained a dangerous animal. “I came to bring you this.”

“Uh, okay. What is it?”

She looked around nervously. There were beads of perspiration on her forehead and along her upper lip. “It was his,” she whispered. “I found it in an old dresser I had downstairs. It’s locked, so I don’t know what’s in it. I only know I don’t want it in my house.” She held it out to me, her arms trembling from its weight.

My pulse racing, I took it from her and immediately looked around for somewhere to duck it. “I’m not sure why you brought this to me.”

“Well, you wanted to know about him. So I thought maybe you know somebody you can give it to. Somebody who might want his things. I thought about bringing it to Father Tom—”

“Oh no,” I said hastily. “I’ll take care of it; don’t worry. I’ll make sure the right person gets this.”

“Thank you.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “It’s a relief to me to get that off my hands.” She left the restaurant, her shoulders sagging.

She looks worried,
I thought as I watched her go.
But about what?
Did she have her own suspicions about Pete? Still alone in the dining room, I set the box on a nearby table. Its hinges were rusted, as was the small lock holding the clasp shut. I lifted it, testing its heft, then shook it. Something metal was in there; I could hear the soft
clack
as the object hit the sides of the box. I shook it again and heard the rustle of papers. I
had
to find out what was in there.
Yeah, and so did Pandora,
said a voice in my head, one that sounded a lot like my sister-in-law’s.

I grabbed my purse, slipped the box under my apron and crossed my arms over it, and hurried down the hallway toward the kitchen. Tim and Nando were deep in preparations and barely noticed me. I grabbed a pair of vinyl kitchen gloves and slipped them into my apron, then pushed through the back door to the parking lot, where I locked the box in the trunk of my car. With shaking hands, I shot off a text to Cal:

I know it’s your day off, but I could use your help with something. Can you meet me at the restaurant? And bring your tools, okay?

A half hour later Cal came into the dining room bearing his toolbox and a puzzled look on his face. “You got somethin’ that needs fixin’?”

“Not exactly.” I kissed his cheek. “Thanks for getting here so fast.” I guess the kiss must have encouraged him, because he pulled me close.

“I am at your disposal, Victoria.” His grin was on the wicked side, as was the look in his eyes. I disentangled myself as gently as possible.