Cheddar Off Dead (12 page)

She looked intrigued, but she was polite enough not to ask questions. “Now that you mention it, I thought I got kind of a vibe between you two at your brother's house. And he looks at you a lot—my gosh, it all makes sense now!”

“But I heard him talking to some woman on the phone. And now I'm wondering if there's someone else.”

“You said it was over with you two.”

“But I . . . don't want it to be.”

“Ah.” Wendy nodded, then grinned at me. “You are just endlessly entertaining. As a case, as a food supplier, and now with this really interesting information about Parker.”

“Don't spread it around.”

She held up her hands. “I'm not the type. Although I will probably tell my roommate. But Bets will keep it to herself. She doesn't mix with people on the force.”

“What does she do?”

“She's a math teacher. High school.”

“And are you—a couple?”

“Yeah. For three years now.” She looked pleased as she said it—contented. I felt a burst of envy for a relationship that seemed healthy instead of tormented.

“Do you have Christmas plans?”

She looked out the kitchen window with her hawk-like gaze, then returned to the stool. “Not really. Bets's family are in Kansas, and mine are in Canada. We only travel to see them every couple of years. Probably just a quiet meal at home.”

“I'm having sort of a big meal with my family—you already met Cam and his wife, and my parents love meeting new people. Why don't you two join us for Christmas? Especially because you might still be assigned to me.”

I turned to catch her expression, which revealed genuine pleasure. “That would be wonderful! Thank you. I'll check with Bets tonight and get back—” She paused; Mick was
growling in the next room. I tensed, and Wendy swept out without another word, her hand on her hip.

I peeked around the corner to see her pressed against the front door, looking out the small window. “A white car,” she said. “Two occupants. They've pulled right up the long drive to your house, so they seem to be visiting you specifically.”

“Oh God,” I said.

“Before I go out there, take a look and see if you recognize anyone.”

Shaking slightly, I joined her at the window and peered out. The first thing I noticed was the bumper sticker that said
JFK Honors Program
. The second was that one of the visitors was extremely small. I sighed with relief. “I know them. It's my friend Jenny and her nephew, Henry. She's probably returning my pans—I told her I needed them back. Could you let them in? I have one last thing to do in the kitchen.”

I ran to the stove, added the final ingredients to my chili, then stirred it and left it to simmer. I grabbed a big glass pan for the casserole I needed to make for Gina Strauss, a client I'd met at a German food market in the city. Gina did a lot of cooking, but for a big German family meal, she needed to farm some of it out. However, she would never admit as much to her mother, so that was where I came in.

I got to work chopping some more vegetables, and Wendy appeared at the door. “Lilah, here are your visitors.”

A little person ran past her and up to my legs, which he hugged rather dramatically.

“Henry!” I said. “You are the first nice thing to happen to me in quite some time.”

“I know,” said small Henry. “Do you have any cookies?”

Jenny was peeking through the doorway, holding the big pans in which I'd baked the macaroni and cheese. I grabbed my cookie jar and let Henry thrust his little hand inside. “Jenny, you can set those on the counter there. Wendy, this is my friend Jenny Braidwell. She teaches at the school where Whitefield played Santa. Jenny, this is Wendy Banks. She's a Pine Haven police officer.”

Jenny set down the pans and shook Wendy's hand. “Nice to meet you.” Then, to me, she said, “How are you holding up?”

“I'm getting back to work, which feels good. What's my little friend Henry doing here?”

“I'm babysitting him today. I told him I had to return your bakeware, and he was more than happy at the idea of visiting.”

Henry already had chocolate on his face; he had moved to my refrigerator, where he was studying a variety of pictures that I had held there with magnets. “Who's dis guy?” he asked, pointing at the newspaper clipping of Angelo.

“He has a cooking show on TV. And he used to be my boyfriend,” I said.

“Oh, he was gorgeous,” Jenny said. This sounded disloyal, so she was quick to add, “But he was such a jerk. You're better off without him, Li.”

Wendy's mouth hung open in surprise for a moment before she let out a laugh. “Bets thought you guys had chemistry. When I told her you were going to send her some of his merchandise, she texted me that she thought you two were going out. Wait until I tell her.”

“We're not going out—make that clear—but once, yes.”

Henry sneered. “He has long hair.”

“Not everyone can have your natural beauty, dear Henry,” I said, grabbing him around the waist and kissing his head.

He squirmed away, but he clearly enjoyed the attention. Jenny's little nephew had sort of become my nephew as well, since I had seen him grow up and had sat in on many of Jenny's babysitting days.

I invited Jenny and the boy to sit down with Wendy and the last of my cookies and some milk, and then I finished up my casserole and put it in the oven. “There!” I said. “These should be finished and packed up in about two hours, and then I have deliveries to make.”

Jenny shook her head. “I don't know how you do all that you do. I mean, I have a lot of lesson planning, but I don't have to shop and then cook and then deliver. That's time intensive and exhausting.”

“Thank you! It is. But I also love it.”

“You were so good on that TV show, Lilah. You looked really great on camera, and those studio lights made your hair look amazing. And speaking of your hair, do you have a new stylist? I love this cut.”

“I do. I'll give you her card. You know Serafina, Cam's beautiful girlfriend?”

“You showed me her picture. She looks like an Italian goddess, basically.”

“Yup. Well, they just eloped.”

“Get
out
!” Jenny's lovely eyes widened.

“Yeah. And she took me to her stylist, and she's the one that did this.”

“Oh, man, I want to see her. Too bad I can't get an appointment before the party tomorrow.”

Henry gave us a sour look. “Ladies are always trying to look more pretty. They should just be pretty how they are.”

Wendy held up her hand, and Henry gave her a high five. “I agree with Henry. You both look very attractive.”

“Thanks,” Jenny said. “I'm not normally the primping kind, but there is someone I'm trying to impress, and I'm going to a party with him tomorrow.”

“It looked to me like you had already impressed him,” I said. “Aside from the moment he was being introduced to me and talking about the clown, his eyes were on you.”

Jenny blushed. “He's a nice guy. He's great with kids—it is his profession, after all—and he's got a good heart. He does a lot of charity work.”

“And happens to be good-looking.”

“That, too,” she admitted.

I pointed at Jenny with a sudden revelation. “The clown,” I said.

“What?” Jenny and Wendy said in unison.

“The Christmas clown. Ross told me that she was in the building, about to entertain the kids. But she probably got there early, right?”

“I guess,” Jenny said.

“Will she be at this party tomorrow?” I asked.

“Uh—I don't know. Maybe. I think she actually is a friend of Dave's, so she probably will get an invite.”

“Good. I want to talk to her,” I said.

*   *   *

Jenny and Henry left half an hour later, and I got back to work. I carefully packed my chili pot into a sturdy
cardboard box; then Wendy put it into the back of my car. I did the same with the casserole, and Wendy stowed that one, as well. Then, after she did a quick perimeter check, I left the house and climbed into my car with her and Mick, and we drove to St. Bartholomew Parish.

“I'll have to text Pet so she can run out to get it. She doesn't like people to see the handoff. She fears it will blow her cover.”

“Got it,” said Wendy, grinning.

Moments later Pet Grandy came bounding out into the snow, wearing a red velour sweatshirt and blue jeans. She waved discreetly at me but kept her eyes moving, making sure no one saw her take the chili.

She opened my back hatch, and I said, “It's the tall box, Pet.”

“I saw you on TV,” she said. “It was great. We'll talk soon—maybe next time you come to bingo night.”

“Yeah—I'm sure my mom will drag me there in the New Year. Meanwhile, don't forget to return that Crock-Pot. You can leave it on my back porch under cover of night.”

Pet giggled. “Merry Christmas, Lilah.”

“Merry Christmas, Pet.”

We drove to my next delivery, and I felt, somehow, that I had passed out of danger, and that things would be better now.

I flipped on the radio to hear Andy Williams belting out “It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” Wendy, to my vast surprise, started singing along in an unexpected soprano. I joined her, and Mick put his soft nose between us, seemingly to get closer to our music. We drove through
snowy Pine Haven, admiring the Christmas lights, strung across the main streets, and the potted pines that brightened up the storefronts with their varied adornments.

I felt almost lighthearted, but I noted that Wendy's right hand rested at all times on her thigh so that it was never very far from her gun.

B
itter cold and blustery wind arrived on Monday morning; I felt bad sending Mick out into the yard at all, but he faced the gale with courage and did what was needed with more speed than usual. Then he trotted back in and went to his basket by the stove, which was nicely warm, since I was baking scones to go with Wendy's breakfast of cheesy eggs and bacon.

“You're going to fatten me up,” Wendy said. She was already dressed in another pantsuit—this one a black knit set with a white blouse. “But it sure is good.”

“It's the least I can do. And look how happy Mick is by the stove.”

The phone rang, and I clicked it on while I peered at my scones through the oven glass. “Hello?”

“Hello, Lilah. It's Ellie.”

“Ellie! I've been meaning to call you. Did you want to do some last-minute shopping with me?”

“Oh—do you know, I did most of mine online this year.”

“That was smart.”

“And so convenient! But listen. I'm calling with a confession, sweetie.”

Ellie was my friend, and had been for the last three years, ever since we'd met at, of all things, a Tupperware party. She also happened to be Jay Parker's mother. Only Ellie and my parents were allowed to call me “sweetie.”

“What sort of confession?”

“There's something I wanted to tell you, as my friend. But I knew you would worry. So I made Jay promise he wouldn't tell.”

“What is it?” My internal alarm had my skin prickling. “Are you okay?”

She sighed in my ear. “I am, but I didn't know until this morning. My doctor was good enough to call before Christmas, because she knew I would worry. Tests came back negative. I had a cancer scare.”

“Ellie! You should have told me. I would have been there in a flash, with food and consolation.”

“I know, Lilah. You are such a good kid. But I just—I didn't want to worry you, in case it was nothing. Which, thank God, it was.”

Then it hit me: Parker had been talking to her on the phone. It was her to whom he had said, “I love you.” But I had asked if it was his mother, and Parker had said no.

“So—did you speak to Jay yesterday morning about this? On his cell phone?”

“Yes. He said he couldn't talk, but then he called me back a while later.”

“Let me get this straight. Your son spoke to you, but when I asked if it was you, he said no.”

“I guess he didn't want you to ask about it.”

“So he
lied
. He lied to me.”

“Well, he was protecting me, I guess.”

“Right. The way I was protecting Pet Grandy when I lied. For which I got two months of silence from your son.”

Ellie whistled. “I sense a little battle coming on. But just so you know, Jay had my feelings at heart.”

“I appreciate that. But you were there, Ellie. You saw how he turned on me and decided I was a dishonest person.”

“Which I know you are not.”

“Thank you.”

“Go have it out with him, and then you'll be back together by Christmas, and that's the only present I need.”

“I
will
have it out with him. I can't guarantee the getting back together part. We were barely together the first time.”

“Do you want him back?” she asked.

I paused. “Yes.”

She clapped into the phone. “Oh good. Oh, I'm so glad. Jay can seem like such a boring stick, but there's really so much more to him.”

Wendy was wandering around the house again, looking alert. “Ellie, I have to go. But I will definitely see you before Christmas. And I'm so glad you're okay.”

“Thanks, sweetie. Bye.” I hung up and narrowed my eyes at a tree in my backyard. It was currently being lambasted by the polar wind, and it bent low under the barrage.

“Everything okay?” Wendy asked me.

“Hmm? Oh—yeah. That was Parker's mom. She and I were friends before I ever met him.”

“Really? I can't imagine Parker having a mom. He seems like one of those people who just emerges at birth from an administrative office, fully grown.”

I laughed. “Or springs from the arm of Zeus?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Yeah, Parker clearly didn't have a babyhood.”

We laughed, and my phone rang again. I clicked on, grinning at Wendy. “Hello?”

“Lilah?” It was Cam, and he sounded upset.

“What's wrong?”

“I just wanted to make sure you're okay. Serafina—was attacked.”

Something wrenched in my stomach. “What? Is she all right? Is she there? What happened?”

Cam took a deep breath. “It seems like it was a mugging. She was walking down Sheridan with that expensive Italian purse—” In the background, Serafina made a wailing sound.

“Oh no! Did they take her red purse? It was gorgeous!”

Cam sighed. “You women are beyond me. Yes, the guy took the purse.”

“Is she okay? Did he hurt her?”

“She's bruised up a little. He knocked her down, and she—fought with him. She didn't want to give up her bag.” Cam's voice was shaken.

“Did you call the police?”

“Yes—we just finished with them. They're on the lookout, and Serafina gave them a good description. But I just had a
thought—could this have anything to do with everything else that's been happening? Could it be related to the shooting, and your Santa Claus?”

“But why Serafina?”

“I don't know. Unless there was something they thought she had. . . .”

“Did she keep anything of value in there? Besides money, I mean?”

“Credit cards. Some family pictures valuable only to her.” Serafina wailed again in the background and spoke some broken Italian. “And I guess some items in her wallet—business cards, stuff like that. And her address book.”

None of that sounded like a motive for targeting Serafina personally; and yet I wondered. Who else knew of Serafina's link to me? Who knew that if he wanted to send a message, he might consider attacking my family?

“Let me talk to her,” I said.

Cam put Serafina on the phone. “Fina. Are you okay? Do you want me to come over and make you some chocolate cake?”

She gave a watery laugh. “Sweet Lilah, my little sister. You are good to me.”

“Would you and Cam like to come over here for a while? Get out of the city?”

“No. Cam is watching over me. I'll be fine. But my purse, Lilah! My beautiful bag. It cost so much—my sisters saved up to give it to me when I left for America.”

“They'll find it. Usually people take the money and toss the purse. They'll find it and return it to you.”

“Oh, I hope. The worst is that he was Italian, my attacker.”

Again my skin prickled. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I fought with him, and he spoke Italian. He said, ‘
Pazzo, pazzo
.' Means ‘crazy.'”

“Fina, I have to go, but you can call me later if you want. I know how it feels to be attacked. It's scary. You tuck under some covers and have some hot chocolate and watch one of those Italian movies that makes no sense.”

She giggled.

“And if you need me and Mick and Wendy to come there and protect you, we will.”

“Thank you, Lilah.”

We said good-bye, and I hung up the phone. Then I grabbed my laptop where it sat charging on the kitchen counter. I opened it up and typed “Enrico Donato in Chicago” in a web browser. His name was there, but the number was unlisted. Then, on a whim, I searched for the number of Rosalie's Salon. I doubted she would be open on a Monday, but I dialed anyway.

Someone picked up on the second ring; there was a hubbub of voices in the background. “Merry Christmas from Rosalie's! How can I help you?”

“Enrico Donato, please.”

“Rick? Hang on—Rosalie, is Rick here?” she called. Some background murmuring, and then a man's voice.

“This is Rick Donato.” It was his voice, soft and chilling. It brought his features back to me clearly, especially the intelligence in his gray eyes.

“Mr. Donato. This is Lilah Drake. I met you the other day in—”

“I know who you are, Miss Drake. How can I help you?” His voice, silky and polite, was sinister to me.

“You can explain why, if I have nothing to fear from you, my sister-in-law Serafina was attacked today outside her building.” Wendy appeared next to me, looking alarmed. She held up her hands, as if to stop me from talking.

“What?”

“Yes, act surprised, but I don't believe you. Who else knew I was related to Serafina? Who else knew where Serafina lived? Who is conveniently located in the very same building as Serafina?”

His voice was colder now. “Did her attacker suggest that he was using her as some kind of warning?”

“No. He took her purse. But he was an Italian man; she said so.”

“There are many Italian men in Chicago, Miss Drake.”

“Forgive me if I happen to see a pattern. Two attacks on my family within a few short days—shortly after I meet you and tell you that I was at the scene of the murder of a man who owed you money.”

There was a pause, then Donato's smooth voice. “I understand how upsetting it all must be. But may I suggest that at this moment you are not being logical, and that you are likely to see many other possibilities for what actually happened. I gave you my word that I had nothing to do with Mr. Whitefield's death. People who know me are aware that my word is good.”

“I don't know you.”

“Which is why I am forced to tell you again—I have nothing against your family, nor am I responsible for any attacks against them. I will see that Serafina, who happens to be my friend, is protected. And I will do my best to find this man.”

“Spare me any more of your promises. And stay away from my family,” I said. And then I hung up on him.

I sat for a moment, until the red web of anger cleared, and then I turned to Wendy, feeling panicked. “Did I just hang up on a mobster? Did I just yell in his ear?”

“You did.” Wendy took the phone from me. “Is Serafina okay?”

“Yeah. Just shaken up. And I guess I am as well.”

“It sounds like it could have been a random mugging.”

“Yeah. But the timing doesn't strike you as odd?”

“It does.” She thought about it, staring at my phone. “I'll think on it. And I'll mention it to Parker. I think he's interviewing people all morning, but I'll try to get through to him at lunchtime.”

“Interviewing people? Who?”

“Family, friends, neighbors of Whitefield. Possible witnesses who might have been on Breville Road at the time Whitefield was shot. Anyone who might have seen the blue car.”

“It's a lot of work, isn't it? Painstaking work.”

“It is. But Parker's good at it. He's methodical—that's how his brain works.”

I nodded. “If you're finished with that plate, I'll do the dishes.”

“No way. You cooked—I'll do cleanup. You can go back to your calendar and work out your deliveries. Do we have any today?”

“No. I left today free because I'm going to a party tonight. With Parker, actually.”

She had been clearing the countertop where we'd eaten, but she turned back, her eyes wide. “With Parker?”

“It's a fake date. He wants to be able to interview all the people from JFK without them putting up their guard. He's using me as a way to get in.”

Wendy shook her head. “He could get to them any number of ways. Don't kid yourself. It's a real date. Parker, you clever devil.” She grinned down at the counter while she wiped it with my sponge.

“Yeah, he's great,” I said. Wendy laughed.

I opened the door to my half basement and went to my utility closet, where I retrieved a couple of rolls of wrapping paper. I brought them back up, found some Scotch tape, and moved to the living room, where I had a large coffee table. I grabbed the pile of presents I'd already purchased from where I'd stacked them next to my couch. “Do you have anything you need wrapped?” I asked Wendy. “I can do it while I'm handling these.”

Wendy peeked around the corner, holding a dish towel. “I do have something, actually. It's in my trunk. That would be amazing.”

“Go get it. I'm a pretty good wrapper.”

Wendy did her careful looking around, then opened the door, letting in an unfortunate blast of cold air. She returned a minute later with a small bag. I peeked inside to see a jewelry box and a bottle of perfume. “Nice,” I said.

“Pretty safe gifts,” she agreed. “I'm not the best at buying that stuff, but I'm learning.”

For the next half hour, I achieved a sort of serenity in the act of wrapping. Folding paper, curling ribbon, tucking in pretty accents.

Wendy finished in the kitchen and came in to watch. “That looks great,” she said.

“Do you have a pine tree at your house? Any sort of fir or pine?”