Background
A member of the crime team is drawn into a diabolical scheme by an ex-con, Vito Moretti, who spent eight years in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Upon his release, he set out to get revenge.
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“Oh, it smells heavenly.” Emmy stopped outside the bakery shop and inhaled. “They’re baking bread. Hank, we must buy a few loaves for everyone at the house.”
Tango inhaled and then laughed. “Do you think a bakery shop has pastrami? I could eat one right now.”
Hank opened the door, and the aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies greeted them. A young girl dressed in a pink and white uniform, holding a tray of cookies, smiled and offered them a sample.
“Don’t have to ask me twice.” Hank picked the biggest one from the tray and bit off half of the cookie. The gooey, melted chocolate clung to the corner of his mouth. “Emmy, we need at least two dozen of these.” He finished the cookie with a dreamy look in his eyes. “Maybe we should get more than two dozen so the others can have some too.”
“Look at this display case, Hank. Everything looks scrumptious. They’ve got a crazy selection.” Emmy surveyed the countless pastries and cakes.
Hank scowled and attempted to read the stickers on the case, “Chou—quettes. Tarte Bour—da--loue.” Hank continued to slaughter the French words. “Mille—feuille. Beign—ets. Pro—fi—”
“Profiterole. It’s a chocolate-covered pastry filled with freshly whipped cream or vanilla custard. It’s like our cream puffs but with a lighter, buttery flavor.” Emmy laughed as her husband drooled over each tray of pastries. “You don’t even know what they are, Hank.”
“Doesn’t matter. They look and smell delicious. We need some of everything.”
“I don’t think so, my love, unless you plan on buying a larger size of dress pants. Ones with an expandable waist, maybe?” Hank made a face at his wife.
“I don’t know about you two, but I’m finding a table.” Garth pointed at the sign on the wall. “And I’m ordering a sample plate.” A picture of a sixteen-inch platter piled with various pastries, cookies, and cakes hung on the wall directly above the order here sign.
Hank couldn’t contain his excitement. “Quick, a table for four, and we’ll each take one of those sample things.”
“Each, sir? That’s quite a lot of pastries. Would you like me to put some in a box?” The young girl glanced at all of them, but when no one confirmed the box idea, she smiled. “Follow me. There’s a table right over here.”
As they chose their chairs, Garth whispered to the hostess, “We’ll probably need those boxes, but coffee and a tray would be great to start.”
“Yes, sir. Bon appétit.” She hurried away to place their order and to send someone with coffee.
With the first tray of pastries, the young man brought four small espresso shots and a pitcher of cream. “Good afternoon, monsieur and mademoiselle. Please, enjoy a cup of un café. I brought a pitcher of steamed milk. Not everyone likes the strong, black flavor of French coffee.”
“Do you serve café Americana, s'il vous plaît? The men are used to mugs of coffee.” Emmy looked as the men rolled their eyes and arched their brows at the tiny shot glass in front of them.
The server chuckled. “Of course, we usually want to give you a sense of dining in Paris while you enjoy the pastries. Mugs of coffee coming right up.” He hurried away and returned with four mugs of steamy coffee.
“Much better. Merci beaucoup.” Garth and Tango rolled their eyes at Hank’s French. “What? I can speak the language. I have manners.”
Emmy coughed into her napkin and mumbled, “You’ve just used your full extent of the French language. A thank you very much is all you've got.”
“Not so! I understand bon appétit.” Hank couldn’t control his laugh.
“Of course you do. Anything to do with your appetite.” Emmy chose a small pastry from the tray. “Better get one, guys, before Hank picks and chooses. I guarantee he’ll forget he’s sharing with any of us.”
They each chose a dessert, oohing and aahing with each bite.
“So, boss, did you learn anything from the crime scene? Was it just a random stabbing, or did the girl have anything to do with our case?” Tango had heard about the locket from an officer, but he waited for Garth to share the details.
“Welcher tried to play it off as a simple stabbing, but they found a small clutch with a credit card belonging to Jaz, and she was wearing an engraved heart locket with Jaz’s name.”
“Looks like someone is going to the extreme to make us believe each murder is Allie’s sister. What do they expect to gain?”
“I’m guessing it’s a game to whoever is doing this. Someone leaves a clue to our next move each time.”
“So, what’s the clue this time? Was the locket unusual so we could track it?” Tango guessed the locket needed to be expensive to track it.
“No, it’s a cheap piece of jewelry. I think the clue was a business card in the purse.”
“A business card? Like they left us a calling card? Who’s it for?”
“Not a who, but a place. It’s for an upscale Italian restaurant. Located only a few blocks away from here. The name is Francine’s Ristorante.”
Tango’s eyes met Garth’s. “Wow, almost the same as Francesco’s where someone shot at you and Allie.”
“Exactly. Quite a coincidence, I would say.” Garth nodded. “I think we need to check it out, but first, I want to hear what Emmy has to share with us on Welcher.”
Emmy smiled, dabbed at her lips with the napkin, and took a swallow of coffee. Clearing her throat, she began, “I would never have guessed that Welcher was born into a very prominent family, and his father took careful steps to groom him for a political office.”
“Welcher? In politics? The guy has no finesse. I can’t imagine him kissing babies and hugging everyone’s favorite grandma.” Hank shook his head in disbelief.
“Neither could the ladies who shared their stories with me.” Emmy laughed. “He had the looks, the muscle, the money, but he couldn’t leave the women alone. One woman even said she’d heard Welcher had a bit of a fetish for some rough sex with the girls. Of course, it was all rumor, but enough to put a gray cloud over his future as a senator or the governor.”
“So, how did he end up in law enforcement?” Hank asked. “Did daddy’s money get him the job?”
“Betty Jo said her husband was at a poker game, and a few guys were joking about Welcher applying for a job with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“You gotta be kidding me. Welcher was in the FBI?” Tango almost choked on the words.
“He was going through the process, but got caught in a raid one night. A reporter plastered Welcher’s pretty face across the front page, along with a few scantily clad young ladies. Since it happened in Washington D.C., the reporters and politicians had a field day, mocking the bureau about their recruits.”
Garth thought for a minute and asked, “Did they say how long ago this was?”
“Betty Jo thought it was about the time she had Lily, her second child. She said it was about nine or ten years ago. Welcher came back to Savannah and became the rich playboy around town.”
“Another woman said an old boyfriend told her there’d been a big fallout between old man Welcher and his son. Daddy got him set up as the Sheriff and then disowned him. Nobody knows what happened. They all agreed the sheriff became a bitter man.”
“Explains a lot. Maybe the Director can dig a little deeper on the guy. In the meantime, we’ll be careful what we share with him.” Garth finished his coffee. “Tango and I are going to pay a brief visit to Francine’s restaurant. I’ll pay the tab, and Hank, if you don’t mind, maybe you and Emmy can swing by and check on Allie.”
“Sure thing.” Hank ran his hand across his stomach. “Don’t think I could do justice to pasta right now, anyway.”
Everyone laughed, and Garth and Tango headed to the cashier.
Author Notes
A member of the crime team is drawn into a diabolical scheme by an ex-con, Vito Moretti, who spent eight years in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Upon his release, he set out to get revenge.
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