I waited for an explosion from the mobile telecommunication universe. Nothing. Bill must have turned off his cell phone instead of putting it in airplane mode. Maybe he needed to sleep. He’d sounded worn out when we talked these last few days. I was flattered that he’d asked me to help out. He hadn’t done that before. In the early days, he grudgingly accepted my participation. More recently, he began to trust my instincts and share investigative information with me. This was taking my detection contribution to a new level. Before I attempted to contact La Famiglia, better known as conversing with the enemy, I wanted to research aconite.
I Googled the herb and clicked on websites. It had an ancient history as a poison and frequently showed up in fiction as the cause of death. I scrolled through a list of books, movies, and television series where perps used the herb as a murder weapon. Then I read more carefully. It was a plant native to Europe and Asia, its stalks covered with blue flowers shaped like the hood of a medieval monk. Aconite was also referred to as “monkshood.” There were a number of varieties of the plant; all were toxic, though some people believed it had healing properties to cure a wide range of illnesses from colds to coronary disease. It was readily available at health food outlets and pharmacies, both online and in stores, as a powder, capsules, tablets, and liquid. It was the dosage and processing that determined aconite’s toxicity. It could also be absorbed through skin or open wounds. The toxins of aconite were similar to that found in the venom of poisonous snakes.
This was some dangerous stuff. And easy to obtain… life threatening…symptoms include difficulty breathing…irregular heartbeat…no known antidotes to aconite poisoning…fatal.
Whoa. The killer wasn’t fooling around. Then I read the last paragraph on the website. Aconite was also called “wolfsbane.” I leaned back in the seat. Where had I heard that before?
I Googled the name. Up popped a picture and description of the aconite plant and a Wikipedia entry. I skimmed down the page. The fourth link was a reference to the 1931 classic movie Dracula starring Bela Lugosi. That was it! In the ELT production, Van Helsing held up a sprig of wolfsbane to ward off the presence of Dracula. It was supposedly as effective as garlic.
I felt a chill. Whoever had murdered Daryl Wolf had not only had a working knowledge of aconite as a deadly poison, but was familiar with the Dracula legend. First the stake and now wolfsbane…
It was four o’clock. I had an hour or so until the dinner rush. I could head over to La Famiglia and ask a few questions, keeping my expedition off-the-record. Henry was as sensitive as ever about his competition. I’d only eaten there once and he’d had a “conniption fit,” as my great-aunt Maureen would have said.
I walked casually to the bar. “Benny, I need some fresh air. Think I’ll go for a walk.”
“Good idea. Clear your head. You need to take care of yourself.”
Benny was sweet to be so concerned. I slipped on my lightweight coat and waltzed out the door. Once on the sidewalk, I hurried down the block to my car. La Famiglia was across town, a twenty-five-minute walk. I wanted to complete my mission and return to friendly territory by five. I gunned the engine, flew down Main Street, cut over Pinter Drive past the Shop N Go, and made a right turn. Left would have taken me to the cemetery.
As I pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the restaurant, my cell buzzed. Pauli: talk? He was a man of few words. I texted okay and my cell rang.
“Hey. What’s up?”
Pauli cleared his throat, chewing something in my ear. “Like, I took the shot you sent—”
Mr. Chicago.
“—and dug into some databases.”
“Any luck?”
“No record of any arrests. At least not in the federal police databases. They collect data from passports, drivers’ licenses, airports.”
“So he’s not a criminal,” I joked. “Great work as usual. I’m impressed.”
“Piece of cake. Didya know about half the population in America is stored in facial recognition databases?” Pauli asked.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Like, eighty percent of the photos are noncriminal too. Police use ’em to compare surveillance footage with databases of ID photos and mugshots.”
“I had no clue. I simply figured you would know something about facial recognition.”
Pauli warmed up to his topic. “It’s a biometric ID system, like retina scanning and voice recognition,” he said confidently.
The door to La Famiglia opened, and three women left the restaurant. Which reminded me, I had to get inside soon. “Pauli, thanks for this. If you find anything else in your digging…”
“So…do you wanna know his name and where he’s from?” Pauli asked slyly.
“What? Of course!”
“John Doe from Las Vegas.”
“What?”
“Like yeah. Funny, right?” Pauli cackled.
So Mr. Chicago was John Doe. What was that about? Who would name a child John if their last name was Doe? It had to be an alias. My cell pinged. “Pauli, I have to go. Text me later if there’s anything else.”
“No problem. Gotta bounce anyway.”
Pauli clicked off, and I read my text. Lola: any sign of carlos? might have to cancel tonight’s show. how are u? I texted back that I was fine, had not seen Carlos, and wished her luck. And now I wished myself luck. On the drive here, I’d formulated a plan of action. What did Bill say? Not arouse too much suspicion? I swiped on lipstick, ran a brush through my hair, straightened my coat. Good thing all of my bruises were hidden except for the one on my forehead. My bangs covered the bandage there.
I walked to the entrance calmly. I’d only been here twice before: once to pick up takeout garlic knots and once with Bill—our first almost-date that was a disaster. I opened the door. The rich aromas of Italian fare assaulted my nostrils. The restaurant was mostly empty, certainly less busy than it would be later. La Famiglia was just as I remembered it: brick walls decorated with watercolors of Italian country scenes, an open wine rack, a central oven and cooking area, and a parquet tile floor. The atmosphere oozed old-world gentility, placid and poised. I flashed on the often-frenzied ambience of the Windjammer, the dining room that featured a nautical-themed décor to replicate a nineteenth-century whaling vessel, complete with central beams, floor planking, and a figurehead of a woman’s bust above the entrance. Never mind. I wouldn’t trade its Etonville vibe.
I walked to the host/hostess station, where a thirtysomething woman in a stylish black suit typed into a computer. Checking reservations.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a light Italian accent, without looking up.
“Yes. I’d like to speak to your catering manager.”
“What does this concern?”
Showtime. I smiled. “I’m interested in the staff who put together the food for the Halloween party.”
“Oh. That.” She sniffed dismissively.
The hostess provoked my defend-Etonville hackles. “It was a lovely event. And the buffet was terrific.”
“So you needed…?”
“I’m Dodie O’Dell. Manager of the Windjammer.” She regarded me with curiosity as though I was an alien creature. Compared to the management of La Famiglia, I guess I was. Then, completely throwing me off-guard, she broke into a huge smile, shook my hand, led me to a corner table, offered me something to drink, and disappeared into a back room to fetch Marcello.
What?
Marcello, whose Italian accent was thicker than the hostess’s, with lustrous, wavy black hair, dreamy, deep brown eyes, and a sexy, sensuous mouth, was the sous chef, responsible for supervising catering for outside events. He seemed eager to connect with Etonville and its citizens. Truth be told, the clientele who frequented La Famiglia was a slightly different demographic than the Windjammer customers; they often came from surrounding towns as far away as the Pennsylvania border. The Windjammer was mostly homegrown.
I laid on the charm and informed Marcello that I was so impressed with his Halloween spread, we were thinking of attempting some of La Famiglia’s catering menu. Nothing works like flattery. I had him eating out of my hand in minutes, giving me secret recipes, explaining the logic behind food choices for the catering, naming serving personnel when I complimented their professionalism. Yet nothing I learned seemed out of the ordinary as far as the Halloween party was concerned. I made a mental note of names, especially the three servers who’d worked the bar and buffet, gushed over Marcello’s helpfulness, and regretfully declined to dine at the restaurant as his guest that evening. If I wasn’t engaged with a diamond on my finger, I might have taken him up on his invitation. I said ciao, he kissed me on both cheeks and begged me to come back to taste the house specialties—sautéed scallops with a butternut squash caponata and shrimp fra diavolo. Marcello was half Latin lover and half Emeril Lagasse. Boom!
My bruises were catching up with me, and I felt the need to take a bona fide break. I texted Benny that I was running late but would be at the Windjammer by six, then cut across town to Fairfield and drove down Ames. A half hour nap would do the trick. I had barely closed my eyes, drifting off on the living room sofa under an old blanket, when my cell rang. I counted the rings…let it go. Bill would still be in the air. It couldn’t be him. Whoever called could wait until later. Sinking into semiconsciousness, I snuggled deeper under the cover, my aching muscles getting a short reprieve. A burst of clanging from my phone woke me up again. Resigned, I threw the cover aside and swung my legs off the sofa. There was no escaping. I checked the caller ID. It was a number I didn’t recognize. I tapped on the Answer icon as the ringing ended. There was no message on voicemail. Couldn’t have been too important. A text came in from Benny: did you get a call from Bella V? she wanted your number…hope you don’t mind.
They surfaced! was my first thought. My second was, no mention of Carlos. A knot formed in my midsection. I texted Lola, asking if Carlos had shown up. One way or the other, she had to decide soon, if she hadn’t already. She returned my text: no…deciding on Dracula in next half hour…Walter angry and frantic.
For once, I sympathized with Walter. I didn’t blame him for being angry because he wasn’t privy to Carlos’s backstory. He had no way of knowing that his lead actor’s life might be in danger. What about Bella? The unidentifiable number could have been her. I had no idea what she could want with me. I called Benny.
“Hey. Did you get some rest?” Benny asked when he answered the phone.
“A little. So Bella wanted my number?”
“She came in here about an hour ago looking for you. I said you’d be back about six, but she didn’t want to wait to talk to you. Did she get in touch?”
“Maybe. I missed a call that might have been her. No voicemail.” I hesitated. “How did she seem?”
“Funny you ask. I remembered meeting her at the Halloween party. She was so…cool and calm, ya know?”
“Like she had the whole world under control when she read your palm. I know what you mean.”
“Anyway, she came into the restaurant, a scarf around her head kind of hiding her face. And she was plenty nervous today. Looked like she hadn’t slept in days.” Benny whistled softly. “What’s up with that?”
The knot in my stomach tightened. Something had happened to Carlos? I worked hard to keep my tone nonchalant. “Thanks, Benny. I’ll see you shortly.”
“Wait a minute. She said if she didn’t reach you to let you know she’d wait outside the theater until eight.”
The theater? Why would she go there? She must know Dracula could not go on without her husband. “Did she mention…Carlos?”
“Nada. Hey, Henry shifted the menu around tonight. He’s serving meatloaf instead of the chicken noodle casserole.”
“I’m on my way.”
In my MC, I tapped on the unknown number in my Recents. After a greeting from Bella, the call rang through to voicemail. I left a brief message letting her know I would be in the restaurant for the rest of the evening if she wanted to reach me. Short and to the point. I zoomed down Main and wedged my car in a parking space directly in front of the theater between a pickup truck and an SUV. My petite MC was dwarfed by the oversize vehicles.
A small crowd had already gathered in the Windjammer for dinner, and I stopped to chat with a few tables. Letting everyone know I was alive… Benny jerked his head toward my back booth before I could make my way through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
“She came back right after we talked. Kind of desperate to see you. I figured tuck her out of the way.”
Bella.
“Get her a cup of coffee?”
He shrugged. “I offered her something to drink. She refused.”
I walked slowly, not wanting to arouse any more suspicion than had already been aroused. After all, half of Etonville knew I’d fallen down steps in the Hanratty house and that neither of its temporary occupants was at home at the time. Bella showing up now had to raise questions among the populace. More so once Lola posted the cancellation of tonight’s performance. Somehow I had to get her out of here.
I approached Bella, startled to see her condition. A scarf was indeed wound around her head covering half her face and her hair. She looked up, her eyes rimmed in red with dark circles underneath, her face sallow, cheeks sunken. When was the last time I’d seen her? When Lola and I had come to grill Carlos and interrupted Bella’s gardening session. She’d been curious about our visit, but still warm and engaging.
“Hi, Bella. Sorry I missed your call.”
“No. I’m sorry to bother you.” Her voice cracked; she raised a hand grasping a wad of Kleenex to her eyes.
“That’s okay. What can I do for you?” I settled onto the seat, perched at the edge.
She paused. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
“It’s about Carlos.”
If Bella was disturbed by my statement she didn’t show it. “Yes. He needs help. We…need help.”
“Right.” How much to admit to her? “You probably heard that I was at your house yesterday. And tumbled down the basement stairs.”
Bella looked confused. “At our house?” she asked, momentarily distracted from the crisis at hand.
I explained how, when Carlos hadn’t shown up at rehearsal, I offered to stop by their place to see where he was. The door being ajar, I entered, calling out for them, and saw a light in the basement. I went down to check it out, then fell on a stair and bounced down a couple more.
Bella gazed at me in amazement. “Were you hurt?”
“Bumps and bruises. I’ll live.” I regarded her warily. “Carlos called into the theater with a story about a family emergency. No emergency, right?”
She waved off my question. “Not that kind.”
“Maybe we’d better talk.” I motioned for her to stay put and walked to the bar. “Benny…I need that night off after all. My back is starting to kill me.”
He glanced over at my booth, where the top of Bella’s head was visible. Benny was good about not being too curious. “Sure. I’ll take care of things.”
I smiled my thanks. A text came in from Lola: show canceled…might have to tie one on…you in? I responded that I wouldn’t be available until later, and I’d be in touch. No mention of Bella. She needed to be incognito for the moment. Which raised a good question: where to go with her? The Windjammer would be filling up soon, making it impossible to keep her presence hidden. No private nooks or crannies. Unless you counted the basement where Henry stored cases of wine and any produce that needed a cool environment. No, we had to get out of here through the back door.
Bella was nervously tapping her fingers on the table. “I need to get to the theater,” she said.
“But there’s no performance of Dracula this evening. Without Carlos—”
She nodded vehemently. “Of course. I still need to get there.”
I waited only a fraction of a second before grabbing my bag. “Let’s go.” I led her to the back of the restaurant, exchanging brief signals with Benny as the rear door closed on us. Outside, we stepped onto a small cement porch that overlooked Henry’s garden, where he harvested rosemary, thyme, sage, and basil, among other herbs. Which reminded me of Bella’s garden and the wolfsbane/aconite. There would be time to confront the murder later. Maybe I could figure out a way of working the plant into our conversation—
“We have to hurry,” Bella said abruptly. “Is that the back entrance to the theater?” She pointed to the loading dock next door, which held a half-full dumpster and two trash bins. It would be overflowing on strike night. Whenever that would be, given tonight’s cancellation. She started down the porch steps.
“Wait a minute. What are we doing here?” I grasped at her coat. “Anyway, the theater is closed. No one’s home.”
Bella hesitated, partly because I had a gentle hold on her arm and partly because it appeared as if that possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “Oh no.”
I brushed some dirt off the step and sat down. “If we need to hurry, maybe you’d better tell me everything. And fast.”
She glanced at the loading dock. Then sat down. “I hardly know where to begin.”
I’d been there often enough, trying to explain myself to Bill. “Pick a spot and let it out,” I said softly.
“I told Carlos doing this show was a mistake. Like some other decisions he made…”
“Leaving Colorado to come to New Jersey?”
Bella gasped. “You know?”
“About moving from Lennox to Etonville?”
Bella, stunned, bobbed her head. “I don’t understand how you—?”
“Changing your names.” This wasn’t a question.
Bella surrendered. “Choosing ‘Carlos Villarias’ as an alias was another mistake. Anyone who knew anything about the history of Dracula could figure it out.” She turned to face me straight on. “Anyone smart and perceptive.”
I had to leapfrog over compliments and drill down fast. “Where is Carlos?”
She wavered.
“Bella, if you want my help, you’re going to have to trust me. You have no one else to turn to, right?” I reminded her.
“I don’t know. They came to the house yesterday and grabbed us.”
Almost twenty-four hours ago. That explained Bella’s distressed appearance.
“We were blindfolded. We drove for about fifteen or twenty minutes and were taken into a building.”
Someplace not too far from Etonville. “Do you know who the driver was? What he looked like?”
“There were two of them. Only one spoke. They wore dark clothes with ski masks over their heads.” She broke down, crying.
“Why? What did they want?”
She wiped her face in the head scarf. “If you know about Colorado and Lennox and Villarias, you must know about the…”
“Witness protection program. The police in Chicago have been communicating with Etonville’s police chief—”
Bella darted up. “They said no police or Carlos wouldn’t live to see tomorrow morning,” she cried.
“Okay. No police.” For the moment. “Why did they let you go? What’s with the theater?”
“Carlos turned over information on…men he was working for.”
“I know. Organized crime guys.”
“Yes. And we went into hiding. I didn’t know that he kept a crucial piece of evidence as…insurance. I only found out about it a week ago. And now they’ve come to collect it. They are desperate to have it,” she exclaimed.
“What is…it?”
“A flash drive.”
Bill’s words came rushing back: …there’s something the runner has that implicates the crime boss directly…proof that he planned the murder of a politician. OMG! Carlos was sitting on that kind of evidence? No wonder they nabbed him. And were desperate to get their hands on the memory stick.
“They let me go…rather, they brought me back to Etonville and left me a few blocks away.” Bella twisted her hands. “I’m supposed to get it. They’ll call me and tell me where to meet.”
This was sounding more and more like a B movie nightmare. Mafia bosses, kidnapping, ransom for evidence, drop-offs and pickups…and no contacting law enforcement. Except that it involved people I knew. “And if you don’t have the flash drive…”
She let the implication hang in the air. “They’ll call at eight o’clock.”
It was six thirty. “So where is it?”
“Carlos said he hid it in the theater for safekeeping. In the scenery.”
“On the set of Dracula?”
My thumbs bounced around the keyboard of my cell phone. First I texted Lola: in trouble…need to get in theater on the qt…come to loading dock with key. Next I texted Bill: the crime boss evidence is in the theater…long story…come here when you land.
I paused. I should let Suki know what we were up to but I had assured Bella the police wouldn’t be dragged into the search. After we found the memory stick, all bets were off.