Bon Apetite!

By CD Moulton

Introducing Det. Lt. Nick Storie and the crew. Nick is a violent crimes detective for South Station, Naples, Florida. He gets a call from his captain, Paddy James, that there has been a death by poison of some kind. Then another, then another.
The only connection is with Watson's Market. All victims bought vegetables there. The victims range from a scientist's cheating wife to a family with small children.
Can Nick solve this one? Is he up against a bona fide genius?
Nick meets the woman he will marry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CD Moulton
• Release date: Jun 4, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452377636

CD Moulton

Born in Florida, travelled the world as a rock guitarist with some big names in the late sixties, early seventies. Been everything from a high steel worker to longshoreman, from musician to bar owner, and much more. Educated in botany and genetics. Now living in paradise (Panamá!)

Book preview

Nick Storie

Book one

Bon Appetite!

© 1986 by C. D. Moulton

Smashwords Edition

© 2010 & 2013

all rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Nick Storie

Book one

Bon Appetite!

Introducing Det. Lt. Nick Storie, Homicide

Contents

Prologue

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Epilogue

About the Author

CD was born in Lakeland, Florida, and lived much of his life in Florida, though he has lived in various other places, such as San Francisco, California, Tegucigalpa, Honduras, and many other places for short periods of time in his 11 years of traveling in import/export and research. He traveled more when he was a rock guitarist.

He has been everything from a longshoreman to a high steel worker, from an auto salvage yard manager to a bar owner, from a concession stand operator to a commercial fisherman.

CD now resides in Panamá, where he pursues his research into orchid culture and his favorite pastime: beach bum.

Bon Appetite!

Prologue

Allison McEvers clutched her thin plastic raincoat over her hair, pushed the Toyota door open, jumped out (striking her ankle on the sharp edge of the rocker panel), swore earnestly as she slammed the damned undersized pain trap's door, and ran for the supermarket.

Good evening m'am. It's a little wet out tonight, isn't it? Gloria Todd said disinterestedly for about the ten thousandth time that shift as Allison pushed into the store. Allison grunted sourly, glared, took a wet cart (with a sticking wheel yet) and headed up the aisle.

Baking powder, garlic, corn starch, salt, sugar, saltines – those fresh macaroons looked good – peas, beets. Now dairy. Milk, cheese, margarine, sour cream, biscuits – God but I hate those frozen things! Taste liked baked paste! Now over to housewares. Foil, napkins, towels. Need toothpicks. Comet, Dawn, toilet paper. Now for the veggies. Celery, bananas, onions – Oh, good! Mushrooms that haven't turned black! Potatoes – watch out for the ones with strings and black splotches. Carrots, celery – I'll pay that for tomatoes when hell freezes over! Beautiful broccoli. I can get a lot of it while it's so cheap and freeze it. VERY good spinach. Cabbage. Zucchini. I shouldn't, but cherries. Now the flour. All purpose. Season All. Chili powder. Boston Kitchen is best. That should do it!

Oh, yeah. Toothpaste. Hair spray. Now I can get the hell out of this dump!

Check out time. Oh, right! Drop the damned mushrooms – I didn't get eggs! Oh, well. I have four. Don't crush the mushrooms, as pretty as they are.

What in the HELL am I doing with two celeries? Oh, well. I can make a pepper pot. It'll be good in this chill. I’ve got onions. I have stew meat. Do I have cayenne?

Who cares. I can use black.

She finished and ran, pushing the stupid damned resisting cart to her car, threw the sacks into the back seat and headed home, cursing at the way idiots drive in the rain.

After seven thirty! I missed Wheel of Fortune! Shit! It's been that kind of day!

Eight hours later she was dead. So was Gloria.

Sam Nestin tapped his pipe against the wall, shook his head at the way the rain dripped off the brim of his old Homburg into the bowl, grimaced at the thought that only he and his secret lover, Johnny Watts, even wore hats anymore, noticed the wet chill and buttoned the top button of his trench coat.

As he entered Watson's Choice Market some stupid broad almost ran him down with a cart coming out the In door, then had the brass to swear at him for not watching where the goddamned hell he was going. She swore at the cart for some reason and rushed on into the rain, swearing at the weather.

She got into one of those older tinny foreign cars and almost backed into the car across.

Sam grinned and rolled his eyes at Gloria, who grinned back. He went in to get a few things for the peppered chicken he'd fix for when John came in at ten.

Some nice Bordeaux to go with it. Need a few fresh vegetables, especially for the peppered chicken. Good mushrooms tonight. Onion, celery, bellpepper, garlic – they'd both eat it so it wouldn't bother them much – sour cream and bean sprouts. He had the rest. Some of that broccoli for steeping in the stock. Maybe a few of those carrots.

Gloria teased him a bit. She knew he was gay, but always tried to pick him up anyway. They had a lot of fun at the checkout and there was no one to gripe at the delay while they visited and joked.

It was a miserable night, but he was an optimist. Later would be great and tomorrow there was a good chance it would clear up. Sunny and cool.

He didn't wake up in the morning, so he never knew. Neither did John.

Bertha Carter told the two kids to stay put while she was in the market or she'd fix them to where they couldn't sit for a week, heaved her well-rounded body out of the station wagon and plodded into Watson's Market under her big bright red-and-white umbrella.

That overly-handsome Sam fellow held the door open for her and smiled. She smiled back and went in. She suspected he was queer, but he was always nice. She liked him. He was one of the few who greeted her and Lamar into the neighborhood three years ago. It wasn't easy being the first blacks in the place.

The clock over the checkout said seven thirty two. Lamar would be home at about eight fifteen so she'd have time to fix Spanish rice. The kids liked it, too, so that would work out pretty well. She'd splurge a little bit and put in some of those beautiful mushrooms!

Onions, celery – she'd get canned tomatoes at that price! – carrots. Some bananas for on the cereal in the morning. They were especially nice. Velveeta was getting awfully expensive. She'd get the store brand. Now for the hamburger. She had rice.

She spent a few minutes gossiping with Gloria about the Lambs and how Cissie was running around with Ham Trevor while her ever-loving husband, The Doctor, was too dense to see what was going on right in front of his face. It was a little embarrassing as she went out to see Cissie getting out of that fancy expensive car.

She nodded curtly as Cissie haughtily swept on by ignoring her existence and into the market. She pretended not to hear Calvin mutter, Damned rich bitch! because he'd picked that up from her. She'd have to watch her tongue. Little pitchers have big ears. Did anyone say that anymore? Her mother always did. She sighed heavily and carefully drove home to fix supper, glad that she and Lamar didn't play those stupid dangerous and silly games. Their marriage and lives were very stable, thank you! She and Lamar were very happy with their lives and with each other.

Lamar, the kids and Bertha were found dead in their beds by her sister, Mary Ann Johnson, the next morning.

Cissie Lamb threw her furpiece around her neck, slid out of the red Jag and swayed toward the store.

God! she hated to have to shop in that place, but nowhere else was open way the hell out here after six.

That black family were parked between her and the door and the wife was unloading groceries. She'd be DAMNED if she'd be civil to them! The very NERVE of that trash to move into such a nice, quiet, affluent neighborhood and start putting on airs! Beulah or Bertha or something. Trash, even in the name!

It would never happen up home!

Everyone said they were model neighbors and that Leroy – or whatever – was always helping everyone in the neighborhood. Half the damned neighborhood spent its summer weekends at their place having those lowbrow barbecue things.

Definitely NOT the Arnold Lambs! There would be no connection whatever between the Lambs and such as the Carters! HER husband was a highly respected professor and scientist! She would NOT, now or ever, lower herself to their standards!

Speaking of her darling husband, he was off to some lecture tour or something. He wouldn't be back until late the following afternoon so she'd invited Ham Trevor over for a cozy late-night gourmet snack and an even cozier early morning tumble.

It looked like dear sweet Arnold could tell her earlier when he was planning to be off on some university thing. Five to six before he even said he wouldn't be there for dinner!

Well, the rice pilaf was already scheduled and set up. Even special appetizers were prepared so Sylvia could fix it as planned before she went home. She knew all about what everyone was doing anyhow.

Why the hell couldn't Sylvia have bought the stuff earlier? Why did the mistress (quick grin) of the house have to shop while the housekeeper sat on her lazy ass watching TV?

Cissie could use a bit less modernity. Those mushrooms were beautiful! Odd in some isolated little market that catered to the bourgeois trade. They didn't need much for dinner, but those couldn't be passed up!

Avocados! At this time of year! Even Henri's didn't have THEM now! Maybe she should come here more often! Those carrots looked tender and the onions were PERFECT! What beautiful tomatoes – and everything was so CHEAP! The celery was crisp and exactly the right color!

Now some good imported cheeses – and they were also surprisingly cheap and of rather good quality! Jacques LeBouef Bleu that cost twenty four dollars a pound at Henri's was eight nineteen a pound here! Saltines. Ritz. Tonic water and lime juice – but didn't she see fresh limes back there?

DEFINITELY, she'd have to come here more often! And fresh Key limes? This time of year? And so PERFECT?! Everything looked like it had been put out no more than ten seconds before. This was certainly better than Henri's! It was too bad everything was so cheap here. She'd always felt you get what you pay for, but this didn't fit that mold at all, at least to look at.

She managed not to be too overly rude to the moron girl at the checkout. She even had to carry out her own purchases and it was in plain plastic bags, not the designer containers she was used to.

Just as well! Why advertise where you found this stuff? She would definitely come back here to grocery shop at night when no one would recognize her.

Both Hamilton Trevor and Cissie Lamb's bodies were found on the following afternoon when Dr. Arnold Lamb returned from his lecture in Orlando.

Sylvia Gonzalez had been discovered, dead, by her boyfriend about an hour earlier.

Doc was sad about Sylvia. He'd miss her. He couldn't work up much emotion for Cissie and Ham.

Gloria Todd closed the store at eleven sharp, cleared out the register, put everything in the safe, saw George, the produce manager and Fred, the meat cutter, out. She took her own bag of groceries to her car and stopped to ask George if he was feeling all right. He looked queasy.

I think I got a touch of flu, Glo, he replied. I'll take something when I get home. I'll drive carefully. I'm only a little lightheaded is all.

They said their goodnights.

George Masakis didn't make it home. Neither did Fred Lecoufle.

Donald and Ethel Green, retired, shopped at Watson's Choice Market about eight fifteen. They were found dead early the next afternoon.

Tami French shopped there just before nine. So did Olga von Schmidt. They both died the following night.

Chiaou Sim Leun shopped at Watson's Choice about ten thirty or so on his way home from his job at the local SuperAmerica filling station. He died the second day after.

Fifty six other patrons of Watson's Choice Market that same evening were not affected in any way.

Lt. Nick Storie finished the night shift at South Station and went home. He was getting into bed at the time someone broke into Watson's Choice Market at three thirty AM. Nothing was stolen so far as could be determined.

Chapter one

Lt. Nathaniel Storie, better known as Nick, poured a cup of hot black coffee, took a sip and made a wry face. It was from last night. It was bitter.

He looked out the window at the dripping eaves and shook his head. The rain was now only a drizzle that would leave the yard soggy so he couldn't cut it – besides, he knew it would start raining again soon. The TV last night said it would clear up and they hadn't been right in two months. It had been a sloppy year, so far.

He glanced at his barely six foot reflection in the big mirror behind the kitchen counter, noted the slight stubble shadow on the square jaw and the shock of dirty blond hair hanging down the middle of his forehead and decided he needed a haircut.

Well, I have nice blue eyes and keep myself in shape so I do all right, despite the fact I look like a reject from a beer ad, he mumbled.

He flipped on the set to get the eight o'clock news. He wanted to see if anything new came up about the grocery clerk who had a stroke or something driving home the night before. He'd been sent out on the routine.

The guy didn't look like a stroke case. None of the signs were there. Something was definitely not quite right about that one.

"...nd the second victim. Police are not releasing any further information before notification of his next of kin, but channel eleven investigation reveals that both the victims worked for Watson's Choice Market at Brad Street Mall, both had worked the night shift and both were on their way home when they died. The two died only minutes apart, both while driving their cars and in different parts of the county.

"Channel eleven will bring regular updates as soon as more information is released.

The local weather scene has once again contrived to foil our intrepid meteorological department. Dave's report after these words.

Nick grabbed for the counter phone and pushed autodial for the police department's number. Marsha put him straight through to Jim Hill, his day shift co-worker.

Nick here, Jim, he greeted. Run down what the hell's going on! Second victim? Watson's?

Hi, Nick. Yeah, Jim replied. "You said Masakis didn't look right and this one's even a lot worse. Name of Fred Lek-YOU-fl. Meat cutter at Watson's. Pulled off the side of the road and laid back to croak, exactly like Masakis.

"Burglary reports Watson's was broken into last night. After three. Three to three forty five. Lloyd's there now.

I've got two more calls I was going out on. I was gonna call you to take one. It's crazy down here!

Two? Nick asked.

Yeah. Some Hispanic woman's boyfriend found her dead in bed this morning, he answered. "A Sylvia Maria Gonzalez. Lived over in Golden Gate. I'll take that one. The other is an Allison McEvers, over near your place. Beachview Condos off Beach Road. Apartment six