Read Online Plateful of Murder by Carole Fowkes - Free Book Online Page A

ran some errands, the last of which was stopping at my dad’s. I tried to put it off as long as possible, but knew there was no way asking him for a loan could be avoided. That man’s middle name should be Generosity, but I hated to hit him up for money even though it’d only be until Jezebel received my report on Dwayne.
    I stepped into my dad’s house, feeling like a locust chomping away at all he had. We sat at his kitchen table, and he offered me a hazelnut cherry biscotti and coffee. I automatically said yes, but took just one sip of the hot liquid and merely played with the cookie. It’d be like sawdust in my sand-dry mouth. Staring down at the biscotti like it would do the begging for me, I began. “Dad, I hate to ask, but—”
    “You need some money.”
    I avoided his eyes. “You knew?”
    “Figured. How much business you got? Three, maybe four cases? That won’t even keep the lights on.” His eyes conveyed nothing but concern. “How much do you need?”
    I hopped up and threw my arms around his neck. “Enough for this month’s rent. I’ll pay you back, honest, and by the end of the week.”
    Dad snorted softly and pulled out his checkbook from his back pocket. He waved his pen at me. “You know, you could always move in with me. Got enough room, that’s for sure.”
    “I love you, Dad, but I’ve got to make it on my own.”
    He nodded and it wasn’t clear whether he was disappointed or relieved. He wrote out a check for my rent and then some. “Don’t worry about paying it back.” He handed it to me. “But promise me you’ll consider working for your Aunt Lena instead of this, this…” he struggled for the word, “ Che cosa ? This adventure.” He covered my hand with his big, calloused one. “Don’t keep me worrying about you, Pumpkin.”
    I plastered on a Mona Lisa smile, hoping he’d never know how much I worried about me too. “I’ll think about it. Promise.” Merely the thought of working at Cannoli’s made me want to shriek, imagining myself wiping powdered sugar from the triple chins I’d no doubt acquire. That is, after my aunt married me off to some guy who had more black hair on his back than on his head and a five-o’clock shadow right after he shaved. But I appreciated my father’s concern, and adored him for it.
    I kissed his cheek and assured him, “I’ll be extra careful, Dad.”
    Leaving my father’s house, I drove to the bank and deposited his loan. Then, even blew some bucks on a few groceries. Ah, the good life! Once home, I post-dated a check for my rent while shoveling some cereal into my mouth.
    By the time I brushed my teeth, my stomach began churning. I didn’t relish spying on Wayne any more than reporting my findings to Jezebel, convinced it would break her heart for sure. In that moment of weakness, working at Cannoli’s didn’t sound half-bad.
    Michael called and rescued me from any further despairing thoughts.
    “Is something wrong?” Please, please be okay.
    “I’m fine and cooking veal piccata, but there’s too much here for one person. Would you like to come over?”
    Visions of delicate veal, drenched in lemon, parsley, and capers waltzed about in my head. My stomach suddenly grumbled at being fed cereal when a feast was so close. But there was Dwayne and Jezebel. I wanted to weep. “It sounds delicious, but I have other business to attend to.” My taste buds practically stood up and begged for the veal. Who was I to ignore their basic needs? “On second thought…”
    “Yes?” He sounded hopeful.
    I released a loud breath. If Gino knew, he would have my license for this. “I have a stakeout tonight. You could come along…”
    “And bring the veal?”
    I chuckled, happy he caught my drift. “That’d be great. But you should know what you’re in for. I spend the evening taking pictures from far away. It’s safe, but boring.”
    He chuckled. “A safe, boring evening sounds great. How soon can you get here?”
    We agreed on a