“What’s wrong?” Anthony said, as I pushed past him. “What did I say?”
I shouldered my way through a gaggle of teenage girls and flung open the door to Carlo’s.
Carlo stood at the table closest to the door, having just delivered a cup of coffee to a woman in a New Jersey Devils cap, and he turned, smiling.
“Bernie,” he said, bringing his hands together in a clasp and shaking them. “What a relief it was when I heard they released you. Are you hungry? Everyone’s hungry after a night in the lockup, right? Because of the street festival, we’re open all day for food, coffee, whatever people want.”
I rushed up to him and grabbed him by the arm.
“Carlo, this is important. Is that the mystery man you saw with Mark?”
Carlo nodded. “Imagine my surprise when I saw him come through the door.” He scratched his goatee. “All this time, apparently, Dan and Joanna knew him. You see, his name is Steve, and he’s—”
I didn’t wait to hear what Carlo was going to say. I strode across the room, eager to get to Steve, before he slipped away again.
The three sat at a table by the window. To escape through the front door, Steve would have to get past me.
As I approached, all three of them—Dan, Joanna, and Steve—looked up, surprised.
Steve frowned.
“You’re Steve,” I said.
“And you’re the woman who chased me down the street.”
“This time you’re not getting away.”
Steve’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Dan, Joanna, can we please find a place where I won’t be bothered?”
He half rose in his seat.
“Sit down,” I ordered, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him back into his seat.
Forget about softie Bernie Smyth; tough-as-nails Eve Silver wouldn’t let this guy run.
“I’ll have Carlo’s crawling with cops in the blink of an eye. Then you can tell them all about how you murdered your cousin.”
Steve let out a bark of laughter. “My cousin? Murder? What are you talking about?”
Again, he gave Dan a look and then Joanna, widening his eyes, as if asking for their help with this madwoman.
“Easy now, Bernie,” Dan said. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
“You can say that again. The cops have pointed to me as the killer, but the guy’s sitting right here in Carlo’s drinking coffee.”
“No, Bernie. This is Steve Tufte, a business developer. He’s been interested in buying property in town. In fact, he was ready to buy Cafe Roma, but Mark’s untimely death put a stop to that deal.” He addressed Steve again. “Steve, this is Bernie Smyth. She works at Moroni’s Italian Bakery next door, but she used to work for Mark Lewis.” He cleared his throat, as if embarrassed. “Apparently, she’s got a little mixed up.”
Steve leaned back in his chair and then ran a hand across his brow. “You think I killed Mark?”
“Right,” I said, trying to sound confident. But something about all this wasn’t right. In fact, it was very wrong.
“So you didn’t chase me because of my burger franchise?”
“Burger franchise?”
“Hungry Eye Burgers. I was planning to buy Cafe Roma, tear it down, and build a burger franchise. The press and angry community groups have already hounded me in other towns—they’ve dubbed my restaurants ‘stinky eyesores’—and I thought you were one of them, trying to scare me away from investing in Carmine.”
I had a vague recollection of a story about the burger franchise on The Carmine Enquirer news site. Still, how did Steve’s burger franchise relate to his family connections? Had Mark promised him a good deal for the cafe?
“Did being Mark’s cousin play a role in all this?”
“Mark’s cousin?” Steve shook his head. “I met Mark a few times because of the sale of the property—more times than I’d thought necessary, because he got upset at the price I offered.”
“He walked out on you at Carlo’s because you disagreed on the price?”
“That’s right. But prior to the property negotiations, I’d never met him before. I’d never even been to Carmine before. I live in Montclair.”
Dan and Joanna both nodded, corroborating what Steve had said. At that moment, Maria approached the table with a plate of cannolis, courtesy of Moroni’s.
“Maria,” I said. “You told me Steve was Mark’s cousin.”
Maria shrugged. “To be honest, I’d only seen him around a couple of times, and I only learned later that he was Mark’s cousin. Susan told me, and she ought to know, right?”
“That’s odd,” Joanna said. “You’re right: Susan, of all people, ought to know who Mark’s relatives are. We looked at the family tree together. I’ve even explained all the legal stuff to her. In fact, with poor Liz dead, there’s only one surviving next of kin.”
“Susan,” I said, my throat constricting. The words came out in a whisper. “It’s always been Susan.”