Zukie's Evidence: Zukie Merlino Mysteries, #6

By Cynthia E. Hurst

A young woman falls to her death in a crowded shopping mall during the Black Friday sales frenzy. Her family think it must have been a tragic accident. The police suspect it was suicide. But Zukie Merlino thinks Mimi Carr was murdered, and she sets out to prove it, with the reluctant assistance of her cousin Lou. Will some leftover turkey, a parking ticket and a pair of high-heeled boots  be convincing enough evidence?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Plane View Books
• Release date: Feb 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524226503

Cynthia E. Hurst

Cynthia E. Hurst is the author of two mystery series set in present-day Seattle, the R&P Labs Mysteries and the Zukie Merlino Mysteries, and the Silver and Simm and Milestone agency series, which both take place in Victorian England. Like her characters, Cynthia grew up in Seattle, then earned a degree in journalism and worked on several newspapers and magazines in the US and UK. The R&P books are based on her time spent in the small research lab where her parents both worked, and many of the R&P staff's projects are ones actually undertaken by the lab. The Zukie books were inspired by her Italian relatives. She now lives in Oxfordshire, the setting for the two Victorian series. She is also the author of the Time Traveller trilogy, which visits various bits of English history, and which stemmed from an unfortunate incident.

Book preview

ZUKIE’S EVIDENCE

Cynthia E. Hurst

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Zukie Merlino Mystery 6

Copyright © 2016  Cynthia E. Hurst

All Rights Reserved

Plane View Books

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Cover photograph by Tünde from Pixabay

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Author’s Note:

The characters and situations in this work are wholly fictional and do not portray any actual persons, businesses or organizations.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

Zukie Merlino cast an eye over the loaded table in front of her and licked her lips in anticipation.

Never mind that she was wedged between her brother Leo and her nephew Joey, neither of whom could be described as slender, or that the table designed to seat eight people currently held a dozen, plus two high chairs. The array of food in front of her, from the golden brown turkey to the artistically arranged relish tray, was enough to distract her from any temporary discomfort.

She flexed her elbows in a move calculated to get a little more room as her sister Angela – the hostess and main chef – surveyed the spread to make sure nothing was missing and then signaled to her husband Ray to say grace.

Heads were bowed, everyone chorused, Amen, and then a wave of noise enveloped the table as the diners all began offering their opinion on the feast and filling their plates. Ray picked up the carving knife and fork and made the first incision in the turkey.

Zukie had her own reasons to be thankful, so she added a silent Amen and then worked her hands free, joining the others in reaching for the nearest serving dish.

Thanksgiving had always appealed to Zukie, being a holiday basically dedicated to gluttony. No presents to buy and wrap, no cards to write and mail, no decorations to put up and take down, not even any religious overtones to make her feel vaguely guilty about her hit and miss church attendance.

It was true that the women in the family got stuck with the bulk of the preparation and the subsequent clean-up, but since she loved cooking and had little interest in televised parades or endless football games, she didn’t even mind that part.

She held her plate out so Ray could deposit a large slice of turkey on it, then added sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, sage and onion stuffing, glazed carrots, green beans with toasted almonds and mushrooms, a few olives and a dinner roll. She spooned some gravy over the turkey and stuffing and surveyed the result critically, reminding herself that there were several pies and at least two cakes waiting in the kitchen for dessert.

Sure you got enough there? Leo asked. They’re not predicting a world-wide famine any time soon, you know.

You should talk. Zukie indicated her brother’s loaded plate. Besides, I’ll be moving around later helping Ange and the girls with the cleaning up. You’ll just be parked in front of the TV watching football.

She picked up her knife and fork and began to eat. As she did, she lifted her gaze from her plate occasionally to appraise the table’s other occupants.

Zukie was aware she wouldn’t even have been at Angela’s house if events hadn’t overtaken her. Originally, she had planned to spend Thanksgiving at home with her second cousin and housemate Lou Romano, but he had accepted an invitation from one of his married daughters, and Zukie’s own daughter Carol had been invited to dinner with her boyfriend’s family.

Zukie had approved this arrangement, especially Carol’s absence, since she hoped this meant Jim was edging closer to a marriage proposal. As for Lou, she fed him the rest of the year, so she didn’t begrudge his daughters the chance to step in occasionally.

She’d explained this turn of events to Angela, who promptly said, Of course you’re welcome to eat with us. I don’t want you sitting all on your own with a microwaved turkey TV dinner.

As if, Zukie had snorted, but she was secretly grateful for the invitation.

So now she was eating the holiday meal with Angela and Ray, Leo and his partner, two of Angela’s children, their spouses and four young grandchildren. The last person at the table was a stranger to her, or at least not a relative. She was a young woman called Mimi, an acquaintance of Angela’s. It seemed odd to Zukie that Mimi lacked family members or friends with whom to spend the holiday, but in her current mellow mood, she decided not to pry.

Instead, she pretended that she’d been asked to describe Mimi to a stern police detective, just to see how accurate a picture she could paint.

Probably in her early or mid-twenties, slim, almost skinny, long black hair, brown eyes, maybe Mexican or Filipina? Darkish skin, anyway, but not black and not oriental; I mean not Chinese or Japanese or anything like that.

Zukie could never keep up with the current politically correct designations for ethnic backgrounds and nationalities, but she knew what she meant.

Thin face, high cheekbones, nice smile when she makes the effort. Pretty girl, but she looks worried. No, more like nervous. Maybe she’s not used to loud Italian families. Wearing ... let’s see. A fuchsia colored turtle-necked sweater, black skirt, high-heeled black ankle boots. A little overdressed for the occasion, but that’s probably because she’s a guest and trying to make an impression.

She made a mental note to ask Angela where she had met Mimi and reached for another slice of turkey.

Mimi wasn’t eating much, and as an Italian and an accomplished cook, Zukie took this as something of an insult. In her family, turning down food was almost the equivalent of slapping someone in the face. She was sure Angela had noticed, too, since she kept darting sharp glances at her guest. She wasn’t surprised when Angela said, There’s plenty of everything, Mimi, if you want some more.

Oh, no thank you, Angela, Mimi said quickly. It’s delicious, but I’m just not a big eater.

Everyone within earshot turned to look at her, and Mimi turned pink under her cinnamon-colored complexion.

That’s all right, Angela said. I just didn’t want you to think you had to hold back at all. And there’s cake and pie for dessert.

That sounds good, Mimi said, and the crisis was averted.

Zukie returned to her second helping of turkey and stuffing. Leo and Ray were discussing the Seahawks’ chances of a repeat victory in the next Super Bowl and the small children’s mothers were coaxing them to eat their vegetables. A toddler screamed at being deprived of the opportunity to stick a spoon in his sister’s ear. Angela and Zukie exchanged a meaningful glance.

Anybody want more of anything? Angela asked over the din, as the plates began to empty.

A general chorus of No, thanks, I couldn’t eat another bite greeted the question.

I’ll help you clear, Ange, Zukie said. She wriggled out of her chair and picked up several plates and bowls  to take to the kitchen, balancing them adroitly on her forearms. Angela followed, carrying the turkey platter.

The kitchen door closed behind them and Zukie put the dishes  down.

I always knew waiting tables at the Plane View would come in handy, she said. Ange, what’s up with that Mimi?

Angela knew immediately what she meant. I don’t know. I guess she just wasn’t very hungry.

Heck, if somebody invited me over and sat me down in front of a meal like that, I’d be grabbing everything I could.

I noticed.

Oh, button it. And remember, I’m not just scarfing up your free food. I’m the one who brought the big dish of glazed carrots and a pumpkin pie. Where’d you find her, anyway?

It’s kind of a long story.

I got time.

Yes, but it’s not very private here, Angela said, and I don’t think ... She stopped as her daughter came in, a dribbling toddler balanced on her hip.

Have you got some paper towels, Mom?

Sure, over there.

The toddler was mopped off and removed. Angela said, I’ll tell you in a minute, Zuke.

OK. I’ll get some more plates.

She went back into the dining room and swept up another armload of dirty dishes, carrying them into the kitchen. Angela looked up from loading the dishwasher.

The clinic.

Huh?

You asked where I met Mimi.

Oh. What clinic?

The mother and baby one, where I do volunteer work.

Zukie nodded. Angela hadn’t worked at a paying job since high school, but she was an enthusiastic volunteer. Church, library, schools, and in this case, a clinic for low-income mothers, had all benefitted from her efforts. In exchange, this meant Angela was securely plugged into the local gossip network. Not much happened in the parish or in the entire south end of Seattle, it seemed, that she didn’t know about.

She’s not a mother, is she?

No, no; she’s a nursing aide. Weighs and measures the babies, takes their temperatures, things like that. I think she wants to train to be a fully qualified nurse some day.

So how come she doesn’t have anywhere to go at Thanksgiving? Does her family live somewhere else?

It was unthinkable to Zukie that someone wouldn’t have a family, perhaps because her own was so large and invasive. Even if Angela hadn’t stepped in, there would have been other options. Besides Leo, she had two other brothers whose wives had undoubtedly cooked themselves into a frenzy, and in a pinch, she could have joined Lou and his daughters, although she was aware they thought she was a bad influence on him. Zukie couldn’t imagine why.

No, but I think ...

Angela stopped again as her daughter reappeared, this time carrying several dishes.

Put them over there, Zukie said, pointing. Jeez, Ange, you’ll be eating these leftovers for a week. That turkey was a whopper.

Angela recognized this as a broad hint for a bag of food to take home. Zukie lowered her voice and said, Mimi’s family – what’s wrong with them?

She doesn’t get along very well with them, I guess. Her mom’s dead and her dad wants her to get married instead of working at the clinic. She didn’t actually say that, but I got the general idea. You remember what our folks used to be like; girls don’t need to go to college or get jobs, just find a decent husband and have kids.

Zukie nodded in agreement. Poor kid. Doesn’t her dad realize times have changed?

Guess not. She says he’s very ... traditional.

Sounds like it. What is she – Mexican?

I’m not sure. Angela sounded disappointed that she hadn’t uncovered this basic information. She could be. Her last name’s Carr, but it could have been something else originally. You know, like Pa used to be Paolo before he decided Paul sounded more American.

Does she go to St Augustine’s?

I don’t think so. I’ve never seen her there. And she might not be Catholic. Anyway, I felt sorry for her, so I invited her to eat with us.

Angela paused again as a small grandchild appeared in the doorway.

Grandma, can we have some pumpkin pie?

Yes, of course you can, sweetheart. Aunt Zukie and I are just getting it ready.

I’ll whip the cream, Zukie said, recognizing defeat when she saw it. If you know anything else, tell me another time.

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SHE KEPT watching Mimi discreetly as the assembled diners tackled their dessert. Besides the pie Zukie had contributed, there was another pumpkin pie, an apple pie, a chocolate cake and a carrot cake. Bowls of whipped cream and a carton of vanilla ice cream were available for anyone who felt they hadn’t already consumed enough calories.

Zukie helped herself to a slice of pumpkin pie with a dollop of whipped cream on top. She offered the bowl to Leo, who shook his head.

No, thanks.

Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.

No, it’s just that I want to still be able to fit behind the steering wheel when I drive home.

Little late to be worrying about that, isn’t it?

Mimi was directly across from them, nibbling at a small piece of carrot cake.

You want some whipped cream to go with your cake, Mimi? Zukie asked. Or ice cream?

Oh, no, thank you.

Zukie replaced the bowl on the table and dug into her pie. She noticed that Mimi was pushing the cake around on her plate, crumbling it into small pieces but not actually eating much. Something definitely wrong there, she thought, and wondered why Mimi had accepted the invitation to dinner – and not just any dinner, but a Thanksgiving feast – if she hadn’t intended to eat the meal.

It could have been that she was just overwhelmed by the noise and quantity of Angela’s family, but Zukie felt there was more to it than that. Maybe Mimi was suffering from some kind of eating disorder, not that she understood those. She was concerned, but at a loss to know how to pursue the matter, if indeed she should. She turned back to her pie.

In the general confusion of everyone polishing off their pie or cake and then the table being cleared a second time, Zukie more or less forgot about Mimi. It wasn’t until the men were settled in front of the television and the dishwasher had been started that she looked around and failed to locate her.

Where’s Mimi? she asked Angela.

Oh, she left a little while ago. Fifteen or twenty minutes, I think.

Why?

Had enough of us, I guess. She thanked me for inviting her to dinner and disappeared. You want to take some turkey home?

Sure. I suppose I should be heading off anyway.

Zukie watched as Angela sliced a generous portion of turkey, wrapped it neatly in foil and placed it in a plastic shopping bag. She cut a slab of carrot cake, wrapped it in plastic and balanced it on top of the turkey.

That’s great. I was thinking of doing creamed turkey on rice tomorrow. Lou likes that.

Sounds good. Thanks for all your help.

No problem. It was a fantastic dinner, Ange. Zukie collected her coat and purse and headed for the door. Bye, everybody, she called. 

A ragged chorus of farewells followed her out the door to her old Chevrolet, parked in front of the house. She put her purse and the bag of food on the passenger seat and started the engine.

Her house, on Seattle’s Beacon Hill, was only a few miles from Angela’s, and since it was currently empty, Zukie was in no particular hurry to get home. She correctly predicted that Lou and his son-in-law would be watching football and he wouldn’t be back until evening. So she drove along at a moderate pace, using the opportunity to reflect how this part of the city had changed since she was a girl.

The drive-through burger stand she’d patronized as a teenager, for example, was now a Polynesian restaurant, and the Baptist church had been transformed into a Buddhist temple. Her own street, whose residents had been predominately white and European in origin, currently housed a rainbow of different races and ethnic backgrounds. And her church, St Augustine’s, now offered Mass in Spanish and Polish as well as English. It sometimes seemed to Zukie that nothing was permanent or secure any more and that unsettled her.

She shook her head and peered through the windshield, which was being spattered by a sudden rain squall. As she did, she saw a woman walking down the sidewalk ahead of her, as quickly as her high-heeled boots would allow. A heavy wool coat flapped loosely around her thin figure. Zukie’s eyebrows went up and she pulled the Chevrolet over to the curb.

Mimi, she called through the open window. You want a ride?

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MIMI TURNED sharply, as if frightened, and then relaxed slightly when she recognized Zukie.

Oh, she said. Hello, Zukie.

Zukie repeated her offer and added, It’s starting to rain. You’ll get soaked if you’re going very far. That coat doesn’t look very waterproof.

Well, all right. Thank you.

Zukie tossed her purse into the back seat and relocated the bag of leftovers to the foot well as Mimi opened the passenger door and slid in.

Careful, don’t step on the turkey, she said.

Mimi drew back, looking down as if she expected to see a large bird perched on the floor. Turkey?

In the bag. Angela gave me a load of leftovers. Almost enough for a second dinner.

Oh, I see.

Mimi fastened her seatbelt and Zukie asked, Don’t you have a car?

There was a flicker of hesitation before Mimi said, No, I don’t. I usually take the bus but they’re not running to schedule today because of the holiday.

Zukie wondered how she had arrived at Angela’s house but shelved that for the moment. You should have asked one of us for a ride. Where do you live?

In Columbia City. You can just drop me on Rainier Avenue.

Nonsense. I’ll take you to your house or your apartment, if you tell me where it is.

Please. Mimi sounded almost frightened and Zukie turned to look at her more closely. Aside from being rather damp from the drizzle and thinner than Zukie thought a young woman should be, there didn’t seem to be a major problem.

What on earth is wrong, Mimi? You can tell me. I promise, I won’t bite.

It’s not you, it’s just ... please just drop me on the corner.

Zukie sighed. Tact and patience were not her strong points, and having to drag information out of people always irritated her.

OK, if that’s what you want.

Yes, please.

They drove a little further. Zukie turned onto Rainier Avenue and a thought occurred to her.

Are you sick or something? she asked.

No, Mimi said, startled. Why?

I just wondered, ’cause you didn’t eat much at dinner and that was really good food.

I know, it was delicious, but I wasn’t very hungry. I hope Angela wasn’t mad at me.

Not mad, just puzzled. Seemed to both of us you might have a problem of some kind. But if you don’t want to open up about it, suit yourself.

She wondered if that trick, which she had often used on Carol during her teenage years, would work. Sure enough, Mimi appeared to be thinking deeply. They stopped for a red light and she said, "I don’t think there’s anything you can do, but