CHAPTER 1
Whenever I thought of my sister’s upcoming wedding amidst the holiday rush, I panicked. If ever things could go wrong in the restaurant business, this combination spelled disaster. To make it worse, Chloe, as the chef for our family restaurant, took charge of the menu for her own wedding.
As a diversion, I checked the homicide alerts for recent murders near Pinewood, Maryland, where I lived. Although the restaurant took up most of my time, Chloe and I had worked out ways for me to take time off to feed my passion for investigative reporting. I was most interested in those cases where it seemed as if the police had nabbed the most convenient suspect or they had no suspects.
One alert caught my attention.
Other than the victim’s name, there was little information shared. “A shooting yesterday in Blanton, MD, resulted in the death of Carson J. Keltce, outside his home. If you have any information, please contact the Blanton PD.”
From his picture, Keltce was an attractive man, white, probably a professional from the jacket and tie. There had been only one update since the earlier post. Again, the alert shared meager information.
“Police responded to a call of a shooting and a man down. First responders pronounced Carson J. Keltce dead at the scene. Anyone with information should contact the police.”
Blanton wasn’t that far from the family restaurant, Cenare, I co-owned with Chloe. From the information I pulled up, Blanton was a small town, probably a bedroom community for some working and living in DC. The pictures showed mansions and large homes.
I’d never been to Blanton, and I avoided DC with all the tourists and traffic whenever possible. My best friend since high school, Nicole Mancini, worked in DC as a social worker. It occurred to me I hadn’t heard from her for a while.
I took a deep breath, cuddled with my cat, Tira, showered, and dressed.
After more than a month back living in my childhood home, the short drive to Cenare no longer bothered me. I still kept dresses and shoes in the upstairs loft there, where I’d lived for several years. Back then, my only commute to work had been a flight of stairs.
I arrived at Cenare before Chloe, as always. I spent my early mornings working on the books and checking the status of orders. I went upstairs to the office and took care of those tasks, then headed back downstairs to start the inventory. Chloe arrived and handed me a breakfast casserole. Her breakfast treats were always a pleasant surprise.
“Thanks, Chloe. I don’t know why, but I’m hungry. Probably the cold front.”
“It’s definitely chilly out there. Great idea to put a coat rack in the side room.”
She pulled off her jacket and set it on the rack next to mine. I handed her the menu, and she opened her mouth to say something as my phone pinged.
I smiled, put my hand up to Chloe, and answered.
“Hey, Nicole. How are you?”
“Izzie.” She sobbed.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick? Your parents?”
Chloe’s mouth dropped, and she froze in place.
Between sobs, I caught a few words. “CJ.” “Police.” “Dead.”
“Try to calm down. I think you’re trying to tell me something about someone named CJ, the police, and someone died. Who’s CJ?”
“He’s the person in charge at HHS – Home Health Services. The company I work for.” She gave off an anguished cry.
“Are you seeing or involved with CJ?”
“Yes. Only he’s dead, Izzie. The police came and asked me questions. Someone killed him.”
“Is his last name Keltce?”
“Yes. How did you know that?”
Chloe put her hands out and I mouthed, “Later.” She shrugged and got to work.
“I spotted the alert this morning. I’m surprised the Baltimore police sought you out already.” Nicole lived in the outskirts of DC, with most of the places she worked in the DC area.
“I wasn’t home. I was at his house. Inside when someone shot him in the driveway.”
“OMG. Nicole, did you see the shooter?”
“No. The police asked me that, too. I was in the kitchen. I heard the shots and ducked. Don’t ask me why I ducked. I did. When I heard no more noise, I looked out the front door. CJ was on the ground, flowers by his side. I called the police.”
“Was he alive then? Did he say anything?”
“I checked for a pulse. Only I couldn’t find one. I called out his name. Blood everywhere. I got sick by the hedges as the police arrived.”
She cried some more. “Before you ask, the police also asked if I knew anyone who had a beef with him. Not enough to kill him in cold blood. Some people groused about their hours and cases and pay.”
“Are you okay? Do you need to work today?” It was Tuesday and in the past, Nicole’s hours were sporadic.
“I’m due at the Medical Rehab Center at noon. On call for all trauma victims for the next twelve hours. Izzie, the police told me not to leave the area. I explained about my job. The two of them argued whether it was beyond the usual limit. Finally, the older one, Sandler, cleared me to go to work and warned they’d be checking to make sure I showed up.”
"Are you okay with going to work?”
“Yes. I think so. I need something normal. Maybe I’ll call and see if anyone can take my shift. Why would the police check on me?”
“Usually in a homicide, they always look at the people closest to the victim and in the area at the time it happened. You’re both.”
“That‘s why they wiped off my hands, right? I tried to explain the maple syrup, only they weren’t listening. Do I need an attorney, Izzie?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. If you can’t afford one and you need one, they’ll assign a public defender. In the meantime, be careful what you say to them.”
I heard the doorbell in the background.
“Izzie. I have to go. The police are back.”
She disconnected.
The last time we’d talked, she’d broken up with Mickey. The only other thing I remembered were her comments about doing the work of two people and budget cuts. She’d talked of changing jobs and mentioned a change in leadership. I’d tried to convince her to look for a job closer to Pinewood. That hadn’t happened, and now a murder.
Excerpt from AN ITCH OF SECRECY. Copyright © 2024. All rights reserved.
.jpg)
