Chapter 11

“And worse I may be yet: the worst is not so long as we can say 'This is the worst.”

 

 

Leaning forward to speaking into the microphone, Bogart said: “For what is a woman, what has she got? If not herself, then she has naught…”

Delia winced. I’ve heard those words. What is that? Is that a poem?

Bogart continued, “Not to say the things she truly feels and not the words of someone who kneels…”

He’s quoting Frank Sinatra!

“The record shows, Jeanette took the blows and did it…”

Delia mouthed the words along with him: “her way!”

A snort escaped Becca.

Delia pressed her lips together hard and elbowed the girl.

But there was Bogart again, knocking Delia’s knees with his, and then he shuffled beyond Becca to take his seat again.

The director stood behind the podium. “Refreshments will be served in the room on the right, just outside the door.” He waved them toward the back of the chapel.

Delia and Becca left the room fast and made it to the ladies’ lounge before snorting like piglets. Delia tried her best to keep quiet, but the tile had a high-echo factor. Taking a big breath, she squared her shoulders. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’m ready.” Then she snorted again. No, I can do this! She took another big breath. 

The refreshment room was long and narrow and had two tables set up along one wall. There were no windows and no sunshine to brighten this funeral reception. The bereaved stood in groups of two and three. Thomi held onto Eddie’s arm and kept her eyes on the maroon carpet.

Sam Loring stood by himself with his hands in his pant pockets.

This is the worst funeral ever.

Delia approached Sam and touched his arm. “Hi … I’m Delia. I worked with Jeanette at King Lears.”

For an awful second, she feared Sam might have the same opinion as Sanya and wonder how Jeanette was poisoned at the bakery.

Relaxing his shoulders, Sam held her eyes with his bulgy ones. “Yes, Delia, hello.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

He stiffened again. “Thank you,” he said, glancing away.

She couldn’t think of anything to say all of a sudden. I’m so bad at this.

I’m fantastic at this! Well, maybe not fantastic. This is a funeral after all.

“How long were you and Jeanette married?”

His eyes shot toward the ceiling in thought. “Twenty-one, no, twenty-two years.” His dark blue eyes came back to Delia. “I’ve always been bad at keeping track of our anniversary. I actually missed a couple of years. Jeanette never said anything.”

Okay, wow.

Delia nodded and smiled. “It happens.” She pointed over her shoulder. “Can I get you some punch? Would you like a cookie?”

Sam’s eyes flickered toward Eddie and Thomi. “No, thank you.”

“Well, I hope you are taking time to eat and sleep. Is anyone staying with you… children?”

“We didn’t have any. Jeanette didn’t want them. She didn’t think she’d make a good mother. I didn’t either.”

“You didn’t think she’d make a good mother, or you didn’t want children?” 

He shrugged. “I wanted children a long time ago … but, all dreams die,” he told her, meeting her eyes again. “Slowly and painfully.”

If Sam wasn’t standing in front of her, Delia might’ve let out a whistle of wonderment. Instead, she nodded, keeping the conversation going. “When was the last time you saw Jeanette?”

Delia realized that was a loaded question as soon as it came out of her mouth.

“When I dropped her off at the bakery.”

In the walk-in refrigerator?

“Did you look for her when she didn’t come home?”

His attention drifted to Eddie and Thomi again. “I didn’t know whether she was home or not. I … we’d argued. I drove around all night. At one point, I thought to confront her lover, but I chickened out.” Sam ran a hand through his gorgeous hair. “Sorry, you probably didn’t need to know that.” After another moment, he said, “I didn’t go home until the next morning. Jeanette wasn’t there. The police woke me up around eleven banging on the front door.”

Suddenly, Lurch was beside Delia. He’d snuck up on her silently. Without looking at her, he nodded to Sam. “We’re ready.”

Sam nodded and then said to Delia, “They’re ready to take her to the cemetery.”

“Oh, of course … wait,” she said, taking his arm briefly. “How did you and Jeanette know Matthew Oswald?”

He’d started to move away but came to a quick stop —making his chubby cheeks jiggle. “Who’s Matthew Oswald?”

“You don’t know him?”

“Should I?”

“I guess not,” Delia said, waving her hand and dismissing the subject. “He and I used to work together.” She hoped Sam thought they’d worked at the bakery.

He shook his head. “No, sorry,” he said and stepped around her.

 

 

Back inside Sweaty Freddy, Delia turned on the engine and let it idle. Out the windshield, she watched the hearse pull away from the curb. Four cars followed it with their lights on. She told Becca and Bogart, “I spoke to Sam. He said he didn’t go home the night Jeanette died.”

“That’s interesting,” Becca said. She sat in the passenger seat. “His neighbors said he did.”

Delia sat back in her seat. “You asked?”

“No.” It was Bogart who answered —from the back seat. He leaned forward. “We lingered near the cookie plate. Some of the Lorings’ neighbors gossiped about it. 

“Sam said he drove around all night.”

“And he didn’t get tired?” Becca asked, scrunching her forehead. “I couldn’t drive all night without a nap.”

Bogart said, “You could if you’d just dropped off a body. That’d make you higher than Tube Shot energy drink.” He popped an entire cookie into his mouth and chewed with vigor.

Becca watched him for a minute and then turned her eyes to Delia. “You know, I’ve been wondering why anyone would drop Jeanette at the bakery. They must’ve killed her there.”

“They’d move her to get the body away from them, I guess. If they went through Jeanette’s bag, they’d have found the key to the bakery. Or,” Delia said, gazing out the windshield again and toward the service road where the hearse turned. “Or, they wanted the bakery to take the blame for some reason.” She turned back to Bogart. “What exactly did you overhear?”

“The lady in the purple outfit saw Sam and Jeanette at home around nine that night. She saw their car and Jeanette get into it with an overnight bag.”

“An overnight bag … that means she was leaving. The neighbors saw Sam?”

Becca shook her head. She’d left her hair down, and it fell to the shoulders of her black long-sleeved dress. “We didn’t ask anyone any questions, but they acted pretty gossipy about it. The other lady said a detective came to their house and asked if they were positive it was Sam and Jeanette’s car. She said that it was definitely their car.”

Delia put Freddy into reverse and backed out of the space. She drove toward the service road and then to the highway, thinking through her conversation at the afterglow. “Sam said he didn’t know Mate. How did Jeanette bail Mate out of jail without Sam knowing him?” Merging onto the interstate, she pressed the gas pedal. “That had to be a ton of money to bail him out of jail. Jeanette and Sam don’t seem that wealthy to me.” She glanced at Becca.

The girl shook her head. “I don’t think they were.”

“The last I spoke to Jeanette, she said they still owed money on their house and car and that she’d get no money out of Sam in a divorce.” Delia gazed into the rearview mirror and caught Bogart’s eyes. “How much would it cost to bail Mate out of jail? A hundred thousand?”

Bogart said, “Someone must’ve given her the money.”

“Right.”

Would Eddie give her the money —but why would he? Mate stabbed Eddie. How about Chu Hua; did she have a spare hundred thousand lying around? Did Daniel?

Delia gazed at Bogart again. “You work with Daniel. Is he wealthy?”

He nodded his dark red hair. “Oh yeah. The Stove and Keg isn’t his only restaurant.”

“Really?”

Becca shifted in her seat. “What does all of this have to do with Jeanette’s murder?”

Delia shrugged and focused on the road. “I just think there are a lot of people dying around Eddie and Sanya and Jeanette. First, Alfie died, then Sanya’s husband. Mate stabbed Isaac, his best friend, and Thomi’s dad was beaten and blinded.”

Bogart leaned forward and said to Becca, “Maybe we ought to rethink our friendship with Delia.”

Becca looked a bit paler than she had earlier. “You think it’s a gang?”

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

“Who’s involved?”

“Eddie, Jeanette, or she was; Sanya maybe, and the Kents. Mate, Chu Hua, and now I think Daniel Curran is involved.”

“What kind of gang?” Bogart wanted to know. “Arms, drugs, human trafficking?”

“I have no idea.”

“You think Eddie’s the head of it?” he asked, his head between the front seat headrests.

“I don’t know,” Delia said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “I just know people are dying around him, or … the people in my apartment building. Maybe it has something to do with the Tipsy Louie.”

Becca asked, “Why would they hurt Thomi’s father? Is he a part of the gang? Is Thomi?”

Delia’s foot let off the gas. “No!”

“She’s dating Eddie.”

Her chest tightened. “I know, but…”

“And her father was left for dead. Does she get along with her dad?”

“No, not really. But since Louie’s been disabled, she’s stepped up. He lives with her now.” Delia pressed the gas pedal. “Thomi is my best friend and has been since we were in elementary school. She’s not part of a gang. Thomi just met Eddie.”

“And her father,” Bogart asked. “How long has he known Eddie?”

“They just met.” Something struck Delia as soon as she said the words. Louie said Eddie reminded him of someone, but the person was much older. Does Eddie know the Edgar family in another capacity? Does Eddie’s dad or mom know Louie? “No,” Delia said, shaking her head. “Louie isn’t part of the gang. I would know…”

Out of the corner of her eye, Delia saw Bogart turn to Becca. 

“I would know!”

 

* * *

 

Delia drove to Buffalo on Monday morning. Riding the elevator to the sixth floor, she felt the dread rise in her chest like a metal balloon with spikes on it. Some days her father knew her; others, he didn’t. She honestly didn’t know which was worse. Pasting a smile on her face, she walked through the door with another boxed treat in her hand. Today it was a slice of Victorian sponge with Kirsch, double cream, and berries.

She turned toward the window.

Geoff Leary wasn’t there.

“Hi Delia,” he said from his spot on the other side of the room. He was in the visitor’s chair, which was kind of shocking. He hadn’t moved from the window in months. Still dressed in one of the Mountain Ash gowns, Geoff’s gray hair was combed to the side, and he was clean-shaven.

“Dad?”

He smiled.

It was as though she’d gotten into a time machine that took her back ten years. 

An intelligent glint glimmered in his dark eyes. There were still plenty of lines on his face and around his big nose. But, it was him, Dad.

Setting her purse and bakery box on the bed, Delia hurried to his side.

He held up his skinny arms.

She went right into them —or at least, halfway. She didn’t want to knock her father out of his seat. “You look amazing,” she said into his collarbone.

His hands seized her shoulders and pressed her away. “It’s as though I’ve come out of a fog.”

Tears burned her eyes. “The new medicine?”

“That’s what the lady doctor said.”

Delia dragged the other chair across the room. “I brought you cake.”

“I love cake.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. But then she leaned forward. She needed him to know everything. Fear gripped her, though. What if the medicine was temporary only and he got worse —worser…? “Dad, I’m sorry I brought you here.”

He nodded. “I know why I’m here.”

“You do? You remember everything?” The drug was a wonder drug!

“No, I don’t remember, not everything. But I remember feelings of hurt and fear.”

Her heart nearly stopped. “I’m sorry, Dad. I should’ve…”

His big hand touched the side of her face. “Dearest Cordelia. You were the only one who loved me.”

She put her hand on top of his. “Lily and Amelia love you in their way.”

“They lied to me to get what they wanted.”

Truth.

He dropped his hand and leaned back in the chair. His eyes had dark marks beneath them. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m tired. I’ve stayed awake waiting for you.”

“Do you want to lie down?”

He rested his head against the chair’s headrest. “How is Louie doing?”

Her heart sank a little. Her father had missed a lot of significant events since the beginning of the year. “Well…”

“Is he still running the company into the ground?” He closed his eyes, waiting for her to answer.

“He’s had some medical issues,” she began, but then stopped. Geoff was asleep. Delia stood, found a blanket, and put it into his lap and over his shoulders. Then she kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, Dad. I’ll come back soon.” 

Delia left the room, really not sure how she felt. Half of her was elated to talk to her father again. The other half was jittery. Would she lose him again?

Maybe, and if I do, well, I already know how that feels.

He’d remembered feelings; that was interesting.

Delia’s spirits sank a little. He remembered hurt and fear, which were some of the worst feelings out there. Her actions had hurt him. Or, maybe it was Lily and Amelia’s actions that hurt him. They’d taken the inheritance and spent it all. Amelia lived in his house with her husband and children. 

There’s nothing left —not that I want anything anyway.

But what had her father feared? Losing his memory, Delia supposed. That was a pretty scary situation. He’s back, though —and I will enjoy him for whatever time is left.

 

* * *

 

It was near ten o’clock the next morning, and Delia stood at the worktable and kneaded a new batch of dough to make Charlotte Royale, a molded dessert made from slices of raspberry jam roll cake and Bavarian cream. 

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw someone pass the window. 

Detective Montague lifted his hand and kept walking.

Delia dropped the dough, moved around the table, and stared after him. Was Nicolo coming inside? Was he going to yell at her for being in Chu Hua’s backyard? 

He kept walking into the courtyard.

Delia grabbed a baker’s cloth and rushed through the swinging doors and into the customer area. Customers were waiting at the counter, three of them, and they seemed to be together.

Good, because I have to spy right now.

Glancing between their heads, Delia saw Detective Montague through the center arched window. He stood outside the Stove and Keg, near the fenced-in patio, and spoke to one of the waitresses. Was he looking for Daniel Curran? Surely Nicolo had seen Chu Hua and Daniel embracing each other through the window the other night. Did he have questions?

I have questions.

Bogart and Becca seemed to have the counter under control, so she went around the corner and up the stairs on the other side of the room. 

Two small rooms and a bathroom were all there was to the upstairs, and they felt small because of the sloped ceilings. Delia hadn’t done much with them, just used them as storage areas for the time being.

She stepped into the first room. There were two sets of windows. One faced the Stove and Keg, the other overlooked the narrow alley between King Lears and the Bean Pod Candle Shop. 

Delia leaned on the windowsill and watched the courtyard. There was Nicolo. He sat at one of the outdoor tables, facing King Lears. 

Daniel Curran was just taking a seat opposite him.

I’d love to hear that conversation. My first questions would be: Why are you cheatin’ with your brother’s girlfriend? Why are you such a jerk? 

Suddenly, Daniel sat back hard in his chair. The legs of it moved a bit with the force of the guy’s reaction.

Nicolo leaned forward and continued speaking.

Was it so shocking that he’d been caught? 

Were they talking about blueberries now or poison?

Nicolo got to his feet and handed Daniel a card. Then he stepped around the table and headed back into the courtyard.

Oh no, is he coming here next?

Delia turned and headed out the door —but stopped in the restroom to check her vibe. Makeup in place—check; no slouching, pull the bra straps up and smooth the muffin top…

Footsteps came up the stairs.

Delia turned and went into the hallway. Bogart was probably on his way up to tell her Nicolo was here to see her. She got to the stairway and glanced down.

It was Nicolo who climbed the stairs. He looked straight at her. There was no hiding now.

I don’t need to hide. I face whatever challenges come my way, especially if they’re blue-eyed and broad-shouldered.

“Hi,” she said and stepped out of the way so he could stand on the landing.

His eyes slipped over her hair and face. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Sure,” she told him, waving toward the same room she’d just exited. “Sorry, there’s no furniture.”

Nicolo moved forward, tested one of the boxes, and then had a seat.

Delia went around him and sat opposite him.

He nodded toward the side window. “Is that the same window you jumped out of a couple of months ago? When you landed in the dumpster.”

She grinned at him. “It is!”

“Stop grinning,” he snapped.

She did. Immediately.

He scooted toward her. They really weren’t that far apart, to begin with, and now his knees bumped hers. Leaning in and holding her eyes, he said, “I saw you, Delia.”

That is the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.

Clearing her throat, she sat up straighter. Did Nicolo mean he’d seen her just now when she’d watched out the window, or did he mean the other night at Chu Hua’s? “Which time?”

Nicolo’s brows came together. “How many backyards have you snuck into recently?”

“Oh,” she let out, getting it. 

His frown deepened. “You said you weren’t going to get involved.”

Delia’s shoulders sagged a little. “I know, I know. And I had every intention of not getting involved. I’ve broken my word, and I hate that. But, I was honestly going to call you as soon as I found what I was looking for.”

“Which was?”

“Mate,” she said, straightening with the name. 

He leaned back. “We found Matthew this morning.”

She relaxed then. It was funny, because she’d had no idea how wound up she’d been. “You did? That’s fantastic, Nicolo. Where was he?”

“At the Barcelona lighthouse.”

“I knew it,” she said, wagging her index finger at him. “I knew he was close by.”

“He’s dead.”

Delia turned to stone. “What? How?”

“Broken neck. Matthew was on a boat, which finally came ashore, and one of the historical society people found him. The coroner thinks he’s been dead ever since he got out of jail.”

“What, like two weeks?”

“Right.”

She leaned back again, studying the windowsill while she considered the new information. “Maybe he killed himself, but how?” Delia talked to herself, not to him. “He was on a boat, so how could he break his neck?” She stared at Nicolo. “Unless he hung himself on the mast.”

“No, he was on an inboard ski boat. It’s small.”

Delia nodded. “So, he didn’t kill himself.”

“We found him a couple of hours ago. I just informed his brother, Daniel.”

“Right, yes, Daniel. Mate’s death leaves the door open for Daniel and Chu Hua to be together, doesn’t it?”

Nicolo didn’t agree or disagree. He just sat there staring at her.

She waved her hand. “You saw them through the window, too. You know what I’m talking about.”

He let that drop. “We’ve had the boat removed so forensics can go over it.”

“Fingerprints,” she said, nodding. “It was probably just one of the nearby boats, though, don’t you think? Someone broke Mate’s neck, dropped him in a boat, and untied the rope. They let him drift away. No fingerprints.”

He sat there a moment, not moving and not blinking. 

“What?” she asked.

“That’s a pretty good theory.”

She leaned forward. “If I didn’t bake, I’d be a private eye.”

He leaned forward, too. “I’d like you to stick to baking.”

She didn’t want to move. He was just too delicious. Nicolo was the human equivalent to the finest ice cream in the world, that stuff in Dubai that cost eight hundred dollars per scoop.

“Are you going to keep your word this time and stay out of it?”

“No,” she said, straightening a little. “I won’t lie to you again, Detective. There is just too much intrigue in my apartment building for me to say that I won’t stick my nose into it. And now we’ve formed the Murder Club…”

“The Murder Club?” His voice had turned quite stern.

“Yes, and we’ve bought…”

“What?” he interrupted.

“T-shirts.”

“This is a game to you.”

Her chin dropped. “Absolutely not. We are serious about proving Becca innocent.”

“Who’s in this Murder Club of yours?”

Delia made slicing motions with her hands, unwilling to divulge her friends —especially since Nicolo disapproved of it.

“You, Becca, and the guy who drives a Harley with a sidecar.”

“See,” she said, placing her palms on her knees. “That’s why you’re a detective. And, his name is Bogart.”

“Humphrey Katz.” He rubbed his face and then dropped his hands to his thighs. “Okay, Delia. I’ll tell you what. Keep your little Murder Club. I can’t stop you. But, you’d better tell me the moment you find any information.”

“Yes,” she said, delighted. “We’ll share information.”

He shook his head. “No, we won’t. You’re the only one who’s sharing.”

“That doesn’t seem quite fair.”

Nicolo tilted his head. “Would you rather I arrest you for interfering in a police investigation?”

“So, I’ll call you every time I learn something interesting.”

“Text me.”

“Right. Right,” Delia said. “I went to Jeanette’s funeral.”

“I know.”

“You were there? I didn’t see you.”

“I was in the next room listening to the eulogy Humphrey prepared.”

Delia cackled in delight. “Wasn’t that the best?”

Nicolo didn’t say it was, but he smiled. And then he got to his feet. “Alright. I’m off.”

Delia stood, too, leading the way out of the room. “Let me get you some cake.”

“I don’t need …”

She turned on him. “Never insult a baker.”

“Cake would be great.” He held up his hands as though she was about to make an arrest.

“That’s what I thought.” 

Downstairs, she went around the counter and grabbed a pale pink bakery box. Not only did she give Nicolo a slice of Victorian sponge, but she also gave him several cookies and a Cornish pasty. “Have a nice day, Nicolo,” she told him, handing the box across the hot case to him. 

He nodded and walked out the Dutch door.

She looked at Bogart. “He’s going to fall in love with me when he finds out how that tastes.”

Becca came along on the other side of her. “He reminds me of Brad Pitt.”

“Paul Walker,” Delia said.

“My next boyfriend,” Bogart told them.

Delia grinned. “Nicolo is not gay.”

“Yet.”

Since there were no customers, Delia told them, “Listen, he just told me they found Mate dead, and he has been for two weeks. That means Mate didn’t kill Jeanette.”

Bogart scratched his back with one hand, frowning. “Jeanette killed him after she broke him out of jail?”

“Or Eddie did,” Delia said.

“No offense, Boss Lady, but you charge Eddie with a lot of crimes.” He walked around the display cases and closed the Dutch door. “Don’t you think it’s more likely that Daniel killed him? Mate found out about the affair, they fought, and Daniel won.”

“Maybe,” she said. “I told Nicolo about our Murder Club.”

Becca backed away. “Why?”

“Don’t worry. We just have to let Nicolo know when we figure something out.”

Bogart nodded and leaned on the case. “I’ll get him a rainbow t-shirt.”