Murder in the Moonshine: An Italian-American Culinary Cozy Mystery (Rita Calabrese Culinary Cozy Mysteries Book 3) by Klovers Maureen

Author:Klovers, Maureen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Rita filed her story just before ten p.m. Sal was already in bed, exhausted from his turn as host, so she tiptoed into the kitchen and rinsed the dirty dishes as quietly as possible.

The phone rang, and she was surprised to see Sam’s name on the caller ID.

“What’s wrong with my story?” she whispered into the phone, trying not to disturb Sal.

“Your story? Nothing. It’s fantastic. Definitely front page, stop-the-presses material. Marjorie’s working on the layout now.” Rita could hear the little click-clack of Sam’s tongue ring against her teeth. She was either anxious or irritated or both. “No, it’s not your story I’m calling about. It’s Ana’s.”

“Oh—the obituary. Yes, I wanted to write it, but she was so sure she could handle it and then Rocco and Pia came over and I just had to get their reaction—”

“Rita, I’m not calling about that. I’m calling about Ana’s other story.”

“What other story?”

“You haven’t seen it?” From Sam’s tone, Rita could tell her editor was frowning.

“No.”

“That’s funny. She told me you had.”

Rita plopped into a chair at the kitchen table. “What is it? Something salacious about someone I know?”

“Knew,” Sam corrected her. “Sort of, anyway.”

Rita stared at the phone. She felt as though Sam were speaking in riddles.

“She handed in a transcript,” Sam explained, “of a conversation between Jason Baker and Brandon McNally that she claims was recorded less than an hour before his death.”

Remembering what Pia had just said, Rita let out a strangled cry. Pia had seen Brandon walking out towards the dairy barn around ten-thirty. Pia also claimed to have seen Charlotte Stadtmueller and Ana Rivera in the hallway near the back door. And Charlotte had been nervous, Pia had said.

Now the pieces began to fall into place. Brandon had gone out to trap Jason into some kind of confession; Charlotte had been standing guard, making sure no one interrupted them. And Ana, who had orchestrated it all, had come in at the end to check on them.

“Rita? Are you there?”

“Yes, I—Sam, if you’re asking if the recording could have been made shortly before his death, the answer is yes.”

Sam was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Do you think you could recognize Jason’s voice if I played the recording?”

“No.” Rita cringed. “But his girlfriend could.”

****************************

When Rita trudged into the Sunshine Café the next morning, she felt like a woman condemned. “Table for one,” she mumbled to the plump, tattooed hostess, turning bright red. “Sarah’s section, if possible.”

That must not have been an unusual request, because the waitress immediately obliged, wiping down a laminated menu and leading Rita to a dark wooden booth near the kitchen. Rita tossed her copy of that morning’s Morris County Gazette on the table, but continued to clutch her purse, feeling like Judas. Only instead of thirty pieces of silver in her bag, she had her phone—and, on it, a copy of an audio recording.

But then Rita shook her head, silently rebuking herself. The Judas analogy was quite a stretch. She

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