Murder at St. Mark's Read online

  Murder at St. Mark's

  Priscilla Baker

  Copyright © 2020 Priscilla Baker

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover Design by http://www.StunningBookCovers.com

  Chapter 1

  "Coming through! Hot!" a loud voice called out.

  Lucy Moretti stopped moving and watched as a server carrying a large tray of entrees pushed through the swinging door out into the dining room. As he vanished from view, she started walking again, hoping to sneak through the kitchen and back to her office without being noticed.

  "Boss, got a sec?" one of the line cooks called out to Lucy as she moved behind him.

  "Sure, what's up?" she asked.

  "Almost out of the polenta side that's being served with the special,” he called back, “What do you want us to use next?”

  "Gotta ask Chef, you know that. I'll send her over," Lucy replied. With that, she kept walking.

  The executive chef, Alison Pope, was a recent hire and the staff were taking their time getting used to her. Even with training at Johnson & Wales and years at various restaurants up and down the East Coast, including a Michelin starred restaurant in New York City, Alison had to earn her place at the head of Lucy’s culinary team. Lucy knew it had been a tough transition for Ally, from sous chef in New York to executive chef here. But really, she had been doing a great job. And a question about a side dish was definitely in her wheelhouse.

  Lucy finally reached the office and found Alison there, flipping through her recipe binders.

  "Hey, Ally, they're almost out of the polenta side. Raul needs to know what you want to do next."

  “On it,” Ally replied. She stood up and shrugged her chef coat back on before leaving the office, buttoning it up as she went. Lucy sighed and sank into her chair, reaching for the cup of coffee she’d set down earlier next to her computer. Of course, by now it was cold.

  She looked up at the picture of herself and Alison at their college graduation, hanging above her computer, and smiled, remembering when they thought that exams and cooking classes were hard. Their joy practically shone out of the photograph, Lucy’s dark hair and Ally’s blonde both standing out against the green grass. The picture had been taken the first year they lived together, randomly assigned as roommates. Ally was working her way through the culinary program, and Lucy was earning her degree in hospitality management so she could take over the family business. They had eaten better than most college students during those years, with Ally constantly bringing home leftovers and failed experiments from class. Lucy could cook, coming from a family of restaurant owners, but her skills were nothing compared to Ally’s.

  After four years of sharing a room, and meals every night, Lucy and Ally were best friends. After graduation, they had gone their separate ways, Ally to Charleston, South Carolina to try to land a job, and Lucy back to Boston to start her second round of schooling at Alba, the restaurant her grandparents had started, which at the time was being run by her father.

  Lucy had really been in training to take over Alba for most of her life, but she moved into new gear once she graduated. Moving back home meant living in her old room in the apartment over the restaurant. She had waited tables at Alba before college, but now took on more serving and bartending shifts than ever before, in addition to taking on some of her father's tasks. Within five years of graduation, she had taken over the front of house operations and was working closely with Jackson, the previous chef, who had worked at the restaurant longer than she had been alive. Lucy could still remember sitting in this very office with him while he worked on menus and teased the cooks about their mistakes. He had retired years ago, and now was filling his time with fishing down in the Florida Keys. In the years since Jackson had retired, Lucy’s father hired a few different head chefs, none lasting longer than a year. But now, Lucy and Ally were finally working together, living their college dream, and things were looking up.

  Lucy glanced up from her reverie as Ally returned to the office.

  "All taken care of…we're switching to sautéed green beans with shaved red peppers. That was meant to be the side dish for tomorrow's special, the cod, but I'll head over to the farmer's market in the morning and see what I can get to replace it."

  "Sure, whatever works," Lucy responded, "it's your call." She turned to her computer, trying to remember what she was working on in the first place. Labor, she remembered. She was hoping to find something extra in her labor budget to bring on another dishwasher over the summer. With business picking up, they needed one.

  The time passed quickly, and before she knew it an hour had passed and Lucy had to get up and stretch her legs. She strolled through the kitchen, intending to head out to the dining room.

  Where’s Alberto? Lucy thought, noticing that one of her line cooks wasn’t at his station. She headed out to the alley behind the restaurant where the staff liked to sneak off to take smoke breaks. A tell-tale orange light flickered across the alley, but it was too dark for Lucy to see who was holding the cigarette. Taking a chance, she called out, “Alberto!”

  On the other side of the alley the light jumped and dropped to the ground, where it was quickly put out by someone’s shoe.

  “Coming, boss,” rose a deep, guilty voice out of the darkness.

  “I know the weather is finally warming up outside, but we need you in here! It will still be nice out on your day off, I promise,” Lucy called out. She went back inside, letting the door close behind her. Without having to look, she knew that Alberto would follow. Lucy let herself smile a moment later as she heard the door open again behind her, signalling Alberto’s return to work.

  The rest of the night passed in a blur until suddenly it was after midnight and the servers were crowding around her, ready to turn over their receipts and cash sales for the night, leaving Lucy to reconcile the numbers and check the math.

  Just as quickly as the employees had appeared, they all vanished, joking and shouting as they pushed down the stairs to the locker room where they would change before disappearing into the night. Lucy tried to organize and count all the slips of paper that had been pushed into her hands, checking to see if all of her servers had been in the group. They were young and energetic, and the customers loved them, but collectively, they could definitely be a handful for her.

  There was a knock on the door frame and Lucy looked up to see Donovan Fagan, another server, standing in the entrance. "Hey, Lucy, just dropping off my sales," he said as he handed her the slip.

  "Hey, Donovan, thanks. How was it out there?" Lucy asked. Donovan was only in his thirties, but had been at the restaurant since he was a teenager. When he was scheduled to work, Lucy knew that she didn't have to worry about the servers at all. Donovan could always keep them in line, and they looked up to him.

  "Things went pretty smoothly. Customers were happy, servers were happy, couldn't have asked for anything more," he said, slouching against the door frame as he spoke.

  “Listen, Lucy,” he continued. “I may have to take a few days off, coming up. Get some time away. Is that okay?” he asked.

  “Sure thing, Donovan. Just make sure you let me know exactly when ahead of time. We’ll just have to figure out how to get by without you!” Lucy responded, smiling. “And thanks for bringing by your sales. Now get out of here! I’ll see you tomorrow.” Lucy turned b
ack to the spreadsheet on her computer, and started to work.

  Chapter 2

  The following morning, Lucy startled awake at the sound of pounding on the door to her small apartment above Alba. She groaned and rolled over, hoping whoever it was would go away. She glanced at the clock on her night table and winced when she saw it was only quarter to ten in the morning. Late for the rest of the world, but awfully early when you had been at work closing a restaurant until four a.m. the night before.

  The noise stopped briefly while the pounder spoke, "I need you to open the door. This is Officer Fitz from the Boston Police Department."

  Damn, Lucy thought, I guess that means I really have to get up. She climbed out of bed and grabbed the robe hanging on the back of her door, wrapping it around herself. She hurried out of the bedroom and across the living room to the front door, smoothing her dark curly hair back into a ponytail as she went. Just as she reached it, she pivoted, taking a few steps to the left and closing the door to the second bedroom next to hers. It has been her childhood bedroom, but these days it functioned as a storage unit for the restaurant. Whoever was knocking certainly didn’t need to see that mess.

  She reached the front door just as the pounding resumed, opening it while the police officer’s fist was still in the air.

  On the other side of the door, standing on her little balcony raised up above the alleyway behind the restaurant, was a man wearing a Boston Police Department uniform. He was a little taller than she was and was clutching a handful of papers. He had light brown hair, and green eyes that seemed to sparkle in the morning light.

  "Good morning ma'am, I'm sorry to disturb you. My name is Officer Fitz of the BPD and I need to speak to you regarding an incident in the neighborhood last night. Are you the owner of the restaurant below, Lucy…" he trailed off, shuffling through his papers.

  "Moretti," Lucy answered, baffled as to why he was at her door in the first place. An incident in the neighborhood? What on earth does that mean? she wondered. Sure, there was the occasional fight or burglary, but the cops had never shown up at her door before.

  "Yes ma'am, Lucy Moretti. Are you the owner of Alba?" As he spoke, he glanced past her into the apartment, which was a disaster.

  "Yes, sir. I own and manage Alba. What can I help you with?" Lucy moved a little in the doorway, hoping to block the pile of laundry she knew was just behind on her the other side of the room. Living alone, it was easy to lose control of the laundry situation.

  "Do you employ a Donovan Fagan in the restaurant?" The officer looked straight ahead, not making eye contact.

  "Yes, Officer, I do. I've known him for years. What's the problem?"

  The officer sighed, finally making eye contact with Lucy. "Ma'am, I regret to inform you that Mr. Fagan's body was discovered this morning in the courtyard of St. Mark’s Church over on Hanover Street. We suspect foul play."

  Lucy gasped, feeling like someone had punched her in the gut. She slouched forward and Officer Fitz put a steadying hand on her arm. "Ma'am, would you like to sit down?” Without waiting for an answer, he guided her back inside the small apartment to the couch that was visible from the doorway. They sat down and he looked at her expectantly, waiting for a response.

  Lucy gathered her strength and looked up at him—even sitting down he was tall. "What happened? Foul play? What does that even mean?" she quizzed the officer.

  Office Fitz started to answer, "Ma'am…"

  Lucy held up a hand and cut him off. "Please, not ma'am. Just call me Lucy."

  "Okay, Lucy. Mr. Fagan was found early this morning in the courtyard at St. Mark’s. He was found by the cleaning lady who goes in before services begin. He was declared deceased on the spot."

  "But...how?" Lucy started to interrupt again, but this time it was Office Fitz who held up his hand and continued to speak.

  "He was stabbed. With a steak knife. Unfortunately, it has the Alba logo on the handle. Are you familiar with the type of knife I'm describing?" He paused and looked at her.

  Lucy felt the blood rush to her head. A steak knife, with the Alba logo on the handle? That was what they used in the restaurant downstairs. She owned hundreds of them. But how did one get out of the restaurant, let alone stab one of her employees at the church down the street?

  She voiced the question out loud, "Yes, I know exactly what you're describing. But how did one of my knives end up being used to stab one of my servers? You still haven't told me what happened!" Her voice rose in frustration.

  "Ma'am—Lucy—this is an ongoing investigation. We don't have any answers as to what happened at this moment. I do need to ask you another question. Do you have any contact information for a next of kin for Mr. Donovan? We'd like to inform his family, if possible." Office Fitz seemed to relax slightly as he came to the point of his visit, and he leaned back into the couch.

  "Of course...I know he had an aunt, I think. His parents passed quite a while ago. Let me check...maybe in his employee file in my office downstairs. If you can just wait a moment…" she trailed off and looked at the officer, hoping he would protest so she didn't have to go all the way down to the restaurant this early. He stayed silent and looked at her expectantly.

  Lucy rose and slipped on the pair of shoes next to the door as she grabbed her keys from an eye hook on the wall her father had installed decades ago. Officer Fitz jumped up and pulled wide the front door to the apartment, gesturing for her to exit first. She stepped out on to her little porch and shivered, pulling her robe closer as the cool ocean breeze cut through her pajama pants. They were a few blocks away from the water, but still close enough to experience the cool sea air. She walked down the rickety wooden stairs and stopped at the bottom, where the back door to the restaurant was. She unlocked the door and stepped back, mirroring Officer Fitz's gesture for him to enter first. She reached past him as he did and flipped on the lights, revealing the industrial dish room that sat just inside the back door.

  Lucy led the way through the kitchen, past the stainless steel counters and tables gleaming in the dark to the door to her office, which she unlocked with yet another key.

  "Geez, how many keys does it take to get into this place?" Officer Fitz seemed to be attempting to make a joke, but it was impossible for Lucy to tell. She responded with a tight smile instead of an answer.

  Once inside her office, Lucy sank down in her chair and gestured for Officer Fitz to take Alison's chair next to her. They shared one long desk pushed against the back wall of the office, with shelves above it. She opened one of the filing cabinets behind her and sorted through it, looking for the file with Donovan’s name on it.

  While she looked, Officer Fitz glanced back at the kitchen, taking it in. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem awfully young to own a restaurant like this,” he commented.

  “Actually, I do mind” Lucy responded, still flipping through the files. “I don’t see how my age is relevant at all. Alba is one of the most successful and longest-lasting restaurants in the area.”

  “I’m sorry,” the officer apologized, “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just wondering how you were able to start your own restaurant. Just making small talk is all.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Lucy softened, regretting her hot-headed response. “I actually didn’t start it. My grandparents were born in Italy and came to Boston in 1934. A few years later, just before the Second World War, they started the restaurant. They ran it for years, until the mid-eighties when my father took over. He and my mom ran it until three years ago, when they retired and I took over. They’re living it up in Arizona these days. The restaurant is the family legacy.” As she spoke, Lucy finally located Donovan’s file and pulled it from the drawer.

  “That’s amazing. I wish I had something so tangible to show why my family came to America. My grandparents had a very different story,” Officer Fitz mused. “Where did the name come from?’ he asked.

  “Well, it’s a little convoluted. When my grandparents came here, and
opened the restaurant with the war raging back in their country, they realized how lucky they were. ‘Alba’ means dawn in Italian, or at least something like it. So, my grandparents named the restaurant after their new beginning, in a new country.”

  “That’s really sweet,” Officer Fitz answered, as Lucy removed Donovan’s file from the drawer and opened it so she and the officer could read together.

  The file still had his original application in it, from over fifteen years ago, with her father’s handwriting across the top. ‘Hired,’ it read in his big block writing. Lucy had still been a child when Donovan started working, spending her nights with her parents in the office they were now sitting in.

  She handed the file to Officer Fitz but could tell right away it wouldn’t be helpful; Donovan had drawn an ‘X’ through the section for a relative’s information. Her father had always included it on the application after the time a server had collapsed in the kitchen back in the eighties.

  “This is no help at all. Did he ever mention where the aunt might live?” Office Fitz asked as he leafed through the old application.

  “Honestly, no. I want to say she was his father’s sister, though, so there’s a chance her last name could still be Fagan. I think she was out of state, possibly up in Vermont? I know he would travel to see her, at least a few hours away.” Lucy paused. “Do you mind if I make a cup of coffee?” she asked, starting to get up.

  “Of course not,” he answered, still reading. “Is it possible to get one myself? It was an early start this morning.”

  “Sure. Cream or sugar?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes, cream, no sugar, thank you.”

  Lucy pushed through the swinging door and down past the line of burners that turned out hundreds of meals per night. It was always strange being in the kitchen so early, when no one else was there. At night, it was so loud and hot that it was tough to even think, but in the morning it was cool and quiet and dark. Lucy walked through the door to the first section of the dining room. It was broken up into three different areas—Lucy’s grandparents had designed it that way to keep the place feeling cozy. She headed into the second dining room, where the bar was located. There was the espresso machine the customers loved. Lucy and her employees certainly took advantage of it as well.