Killing Time Read online

  I Googled the name of the newspaper. “Suburban Chicago paper,” I said.

  “Why would Carlos, or Bella, have a newspaper from the Chicago area?” Lola wondered. “None of these articles are particularly earth-shattering.”

  “Beats me.” I turned over the paper. Nothing on that side but the obituaries and advertisements. I had a sudden flash. “Sometimes when folks move away from an area they still subscribe to their hometown newspaper. My parents read the New York Times every day even though they live in Florida.”

  “The Times isn’t a local paper,” Lola said and wiped her mouth.

  “True. But they identify with the northeast. Maybe the Villariases are from Chicago. Did Carlos ever mention where they lived before Etonville?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “What about his bio for the Dracula program?” I hadn’t actually seen a program, having sat through rehearsals and only half of a performance.

  “He said he didn’t want a bio.”

  An actor who didn’t want to toot his own horn? That was odd.

  “I persuaded him that the star of the show had to have some sort of presence in the program, so he gave us a few lines about how pleased he was to play the role, thanking Walter, the cast, and the crew.”

  No mention of any previous acting gigs. “He seems to be experienced. This couldn’t have been his first time onstage.”

  “Absolutely not. No first-time amateur has that kind of poise or confidence. What are you thinking?” Lola asked eagerly.

  “Nothing much. I’ll read back through these articles and see if anything pops. Otherwise…” I shrugged.

  Lola got the picture. “We tell Bill what I saw and implicate Carlos and run the risk that he becomes a suspect and might not be able to complete the run of the show, which will devastate the ELT and sink the box office and ruin our standing with the New Jersey community theater crowd, not to mention how berserk Walter will go considering he plans to quit the theater—”

  “Lola! Land the plane!”

  She paused to breathe. “Thanks, Dodie. I know you’ll do your best.” She grabbed her purse. “I have to get to the theater and intercept Walter before he issues a press release to the Etonville Standard and all hell breaks loose.”

  I wished her good luck, arranged to meet for an early dinner to discuss wedding venues—Lola was gently but firmly forcing me to organize our big day—and agreed to text if I discovered anything about Carlos. I finished my caramel macchiato, my mind idly wandering through my to-do list for the Windjammer this morning. I folded the page from the Daily Herald in half and was about to fold it in half again when I spotted the obits. My father had made a habit of reading the obituaries in recent years. He’d joke that as long as he didn’t see his name there, he was good to go.

  I skimmed a full page of remembrances acknowledging folks who’d passed away in the Chicago area last summer. A listing of seventeen deceased men and women, most in their sixties and older, two in their forties, and, sadly, one thirteen-year-old who had drowned in a boating accident. I was mulling over the cruelty of fate when the seed of an idea took root at the back of my mind. What if Carlos hadn’t been interested in the local news on July 23 but the obituaries? Generally, each obit provided birth and death dates, surviving relatives, and date and place of funeral services. Most summarized the deceased’s past—educational background, military service, and career. A few had emotional reflections on the loss of the individual. Yet there was nothing on this page that seemed out of the ordinary. Had Carlos known one of them? There were no Villariases. Even so, his potential connection to the Chicago area most likely meant nothing regarding his connection to the Grim Reaper. Hopefully, Carlos knew nothing about the murder. Still, these obits warranted some scrutiny.

  Time to call in my big gun. Pauli.

  * * * *

  The Windjammer was busy: a steady stream of customers served, a bungled order of seafood from the Cheney Brothers corrected, next week’s vegetable inventory sorted out, and staffing schedules coordinated. By three o’clock I was ready for my afternoon break. The dining room was quiet; Gillian was putting inserts into menus while Benny hauled cases of wine from the basement and polished the soda taps. I settled into my back booth with a seltzer and salad. I had to take this wedding dress thing seriously. I’d texted Pauli this morning that I’d like to talk if he had a minute. He’d responded that he had no classes today and would stop by the restaurant this afternoon.

  I doodled on an old inventory sheet: guest list, menu, dress, photographer, flowers…geez. This would be quite the production. The Etonville Little Theater had nothing on my upcoming nuptials.

  “Hey.” Pauli slid into the seat opposite me.

  “Hi. Thanks for coming on short notice. Are you hungry?”

  I ordered a burger and fries for him, another seltzer for me.

  “Is this about the dead man?” he asked, his eyes bright. “Got some new DF techniques.”

  I knew DF was Pauli’s shorthand for “digital forensics,” besides Janice, the love of his life.

  Pauli opened his laptop.

  “I’m not sure,” I confessed.

  He observed me over the lid of his computer. I withdrew the newspaper page from my bag and laid it on the table between us.

  “So like obituaries. What am I looking for?” he asked.

  What, if anything, would make Carlos save this paper from July? Was it someone in the obits? Or in one of the articles on the reverse side? I needed to keep Carlos’s name out of Pauli’s search for the moment. The kid was too close to the production. “Pauli, I need your discretion here. Like you say—”

  “Confidentiality is the first rule of digital forensics,” we said in unison and laughed. “I don’t know what I’m looking for. I’m interested in the backgrounds of these people.” I tapped the paper. As a result of his online DF classes, Pauli had access to databases and deep searches that the average civilian—meaning me—could never log on to. “If you use your digital forensics tools, you might find something…”

  “Useful.” Pauli finished my thought. “Totally. I’ll see what comes up.”

  He was no fool, having been around my investigating long enough to know when I was on the hunt. Except I wasn’t. This present gig was simply an attempt to lessen Lola’s concerns about Carlos’s behavior Halloween night. Combing through random obituaries seemed pointless. Yet it was all I had to go on. Sooner rather than later, she might have to go to Bill with what she’d witnessed.

  Benny delivered Pauli’s late lunch and my tech guru went to work.

  “The info in the obits should help you get started.” As if Pauli needed help.

  “Mmm,” he said and bit into his sandwich.

  I left Pauli to his own devices while I researched wedding outfits and prices. Whoa! Sticker shock! I scanned pages of dresses that would equal several months’ rent. Or the gross domestic product of a small nation. A justice of the peace was looking better and better…

  The door jingled announcing the arrival of a customer, and I glanced up out of habit. The place was empty, so the man could have his choice of tables. Gillian invited him to sit wherever he pleased. He declined a table or booth and instead seated himself at the bar, accepting a menu from Benny. I refocused on my wedding wardrobe. I yawned and stretched. Pauli was bent over his laptop and I needed either caffeine or fresh air. I opted for both.

  “I’m going for a walk. Let me know what you find?”

  Pauli bobbed his head, his eyes never leaving the laptop screen. “Gotta bounce in half an hour.”

  Behind the bar, I filled a carryout container with coffee, snapped on a lid, and swung my bag over my shoulder.

  “Here you go,” Benny said and deposited a bowl of tomato basil soup in front of the patron. “Your BLT will be up in a minute.”

  The man ducked his head over
the soup and inhaled. “Smells delicious.”

  “Our chef’s specialty soups are always a hit.” Benny polished a glass. “First time at the Windjammer?”

  “Yep.” The man dipped his spoon in the bowl.

  “Etonville’s close to the highway, so we get a lot of traffic passing through town. Eating here or at La Famiglia.”

  I exchanged glances with Benny. Any mention of Henry’s culinary rival usually set off shock waves in the Windjammer. Fortunately, Henry was in the kitchen, up to his elbows in garlic and prime rib.

  “Hmm,” the man replied, checking something on his cell phone.

  I recognized Benny’s polite attempt to make conversation. Pure bartender banter.

  “I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” I said to Benny, and smiled at the man who gazed at me, his spoon halfway to his mouth. Ordinary enough. Late forties, maybe fifty, dark hair, medium build in a suit coat with his shirt collar unbuttoned. It was a habit of mine, describing people to myself. Ordinary except for his eyes. Coal black and piercing. I was startled, uncomfortable as he continued to stare at me.

  Benny went to the kitchen for the rest of the man’s lunch and I stepped out from behind the bar. “Enjoy your meal.”

  “Thanks. Nice day out there.” He went back to his soup.

  “It is. Typical for this time of the year in North Jersey.”

  “I wouldn’t know. It was thirty yesterday back home,” he said.

  “That’s cold! I know Upstate New York was freezing last night.”

  Benny moved through the swinging door from the kitchen and held a plate aloft. “BLT coming up.”

  The man tucked a napkin into his belt.

  “I grew up down the Jersey Shore. We rarely saw freezing weather.” I left the door open in case he wanted to linger over our weather chat.

  “Midwest,” he said.

  “Midwest?” I asked. I noticed the Chicago Cubs logo on his windbreaker.

  “My home. Where the temp was thirty,” he reminded me, his eyes boring a hole into the center of my forehead.

  “Whoo,” said Benny. “Too soon to have weather like that. At least wait until after Thanksgiving.”

  The man chuckled, Benny grinned, and I waved goodbye to both of them. I pulled on my leather jacket. Some coincidence. Carlos with a possible connection to Chicago…a stranger wandering into the Windjammer also with a possible connection to Chicago. The Windy City had invaded Etonville.

  8

  Lola smoothed an Excel spread sheet on the table between us. “I did a thorough investigation of possible wedding venues in the area.”

  “Which area?” I asked, wary, studying the list Lola had compiled.

  “Etonville. Creston, Clifton. I ignored Bernridge. New York, if you think you want something more glam.”

  Glam was not in my wheelhouse. “I think local is fine.” And less expensive.

  “Etonville is limited. There’s the Episcopal Church basement, the park if you are thinking warmer weather. I got married on a June afternoon.” Lola’s face took on a dreamy expression. “It was outdoors under an arbor, the sun setting, a string quartet…”

  Lola had been a widow for over ten years. Boyfriend-hunting for most of the time I’d known her. Unsuccessfully. Lately, she’d sworn off the pursuit of men.

  “Are you thinking warm weather?” Lola asked, the subtext being “set a date.”

  “Not sure.”

  “Oh. Now in Creston, there’s the Crestmont Country Club, Pleasant Valley Catering, the Loft, Davino’s, One Stop Wedding…” She looked up. “What kind of place do you think Bill will want?”

  Bill? He’d as soon get married in the Municipal Building as one of the locations Lola had included on her spreadsheet. However, I was grateful to my BFF for getting the matrimonial ball rolling. “I’ll ask him. Maybe we can go over this list next week?”

  “Sure. Just remember…”

  “I need to get cracking. Thanks.”

  She ducked her head. “Any progress on the you-know-who front?” she stage-whispered so eagerly I hated to break the news.

  “Nothing yet. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Hi there.”

  I jerked upward. “B–Bill!” I stuttered. Did I sound guilty? “Nice surprise.”

  He glanced from Lola to me. “We made early dinner plans. Remember?”

  “Right!”

  Lola scooted out of the booth. “I’ll let you two have a nice, relaxing meal together.”

  “Don’t hurry off on my account. Join us,” Bill said.

  “Thanks. I have to run next door. Put out any vampire fires before they get out of hand.” She looked meaningfully at me. “Let me know about Chicago,” she added before bouncing off.

  Lola!

  “What did she mean about Chicago?” Bill removed his coat and cap.

  “We were gabbing about wedding venues.”

  “In Chicago?” he joked.

  “No, silly. We were talking about…” My mind fumbled through a range of possible justifications. “…the ELT season for next year. They’re considering Chicago. The musical?” I gave myself a mental pat on the back for quick thinking. I needn’t have bothered. Bill hadn’t heard a word I’d said. He studied a menu even though he knew it by heart.

  “Great.”

  “Maybe we can get married underwater?”

  “Okay.”

  “Or at the top of the Empire State Building?”

  “Whatever you think…” He frowned.

  “Bill!” I yelled. At the bar, Benny looked up from his crossword puzzle. All good, I gestured.

  “What?”

  “Something must be up. You agreed to get married in a swimming pool.”

  “I did?” He groaned. “Guess I’m preoccupied.”

  “Want to talk about it?” I asked tenderly.

  He folded his hands. “Things took a strange turn today.”

  “How so?”

  “Might not have been a murder after all.”

  “What are you talking about? There’s a dead body in the morgue.”

  “The guy died all right. According to the coroner’s preliminary report, the victim had heart disease. He died from a heart attack, confirmed by a lack of blood at the murder scene.”

  Yippee! My pulse soared. That meant Carlos could not have been a murderer. Lola would be ecstatic. I had to tell Pauli that he could suspend his search—

  “Problem is, we ID’d the guy. Turns out he’s a pro.”

  I gulped. “A pro…?”

  “Professional. As in associated with organized crime. Name’s Daryl Wolf.”

  “Was he a…hitman?”

  “Possibly. Not sure yet.”

  “What would a pro be doing in the Etonville cemetery?” I asked. Or talking with Carlos. “With a stake attached to his body.”

  “Good question. And all the way from Chicago.”

  OMG.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Bill had decamped for his office after raving about Henry’s prime rib, telling me he’d be working late and not to wait up. The dinner crowd had begun to drift in, and my mind was in a muddle. I scurried from the dining room, to the cash register, to the kitchen, supervising, managing, and greeting, all the while I sorted through Bill’s revelation. The victim’s death was almost surely from natural causes—even though Bill cautioned me the coroner’s findings were only preliminary—so there was no point in bothering him with Lola’s Halloween night observation in the church parking lot. Whatever the conversation between Carlos and the guy in the Grim Reaper costume was about, it didn’t result in murder. Which left me off the hook. That fact didn’t eliminate troublesome questions, though: What was that discussion about? And their previous “communication” during the party? Why did Carlos leave early? Why did he keep the
newspaper page from the Daily Herald? And, most troubling, what was a mob associate from Chicago doing in Etonville?

  I picked up a coffeepot.

  “Earth to Dodie…come on down,” Benny murmured.

  “What?”

  “I asked if you wanted me to close up tonight, but I think you were miles away. Am I right?” he asked.

  “I guess.”

  “Is it the wedding? I remember the year we got married. My wife was flying around like a madwoman, trying to get everything done. I wanted to help, but there were some things she had to do herself.”

  “There’s a ton of organization.” I was thinking about Lola’s Excel spreadsheet.

  “You should try those online wedding planners. Like Marrying in Style, Before You Tie the Knot, It’s Your Big Day.”

  “You’re familiar with them?”

  “My little bro is getting hitched next year. It’s all he talks about,” Benny said.

  “I’ll check them out.”

  The restaurant was full by now, many customers sampling Henry’s garlic-roasted prime rib and agreeing with Bill about its flavorful taste. The verdict was thumbs-up, though there were a few rumbles wondering “how long this garlic thing would last.” Time to unleash slider week. We’d had it in the past and the mini sandwiches were always popular.

  I surveyed the dining room, coffeepot in hand. The one thing all of tonight’s patrons could agree on was the status of the murder investigation. Which was not a murder any longer. Information continuously leaked out of the Municipal Building and rebounded around town like a loose basketball. The consensus? The murder victim was an out-of-town troublemaker.

  Once the actual cause of death was announced in the Etonville Standard, the rumor mill could shut down. But until then…