Too Many Women in the Room

By Joanne Guidoccio

When Gilda Greco invites her closest friends to a VIP dinner, she plans to share David Korba’s signature dishes and launch their joint venture—Xenia, an innovative Greek restaurant near Sudbury, Ontario. Unknown to Gilda, David has also invited Michael Taylor, a lecherous photographer who has throughout the past three decades managed to annoy all the women in the room. One woman follows Michael to a deserted field for his midnight run and stabs him in the jugular. Gilda’s life is awash with complications as she wrestles with a certain detective’s commitment issues and growing doubts about her risky investment in Xenia. Frustrated, Gilda launches her own investigation and uncovers decades-old secrets and resentments that have festered until they explode into untimely death. Can Gilda outwit a killer bent on killing again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: May 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781509214556

Book preview

Inc.

He couldn’t believe he was following

his wife’s advice. After fourteen years of paying lip service to deep yoga breaths, mindfulness, and all the other New Age crap she espoused, he had finally found a use for it. His midnight run often sorted out the stress, but tonight was different. He still couldn’t shake the venom that had been directed his way.

To make matters worse, it had come from eight women, eight very different and very annoying women. He had bedded four, but right now he couldn’t imagine having sex with any of them. As for the untouched four, well, only one interested him, and it had nothing to do with her feminine wiles and everything to do with her healthy bank account.

He would have to take something to get through the night, something a lot stronger than his wife’s herbal teas. The remnants of an old Percocet prescription came to mind. Two capsules might do the trick. Hope of a panacea, albeit a chemical one, calmed his racing thoughts. A good night’s sleep would make a world of difference. And tomorrow, he would sort it out.

The light patter of feet distracted him. Definitely a woman’s gait. Her breath was even, neither shallow nor panting. Younger, maybe in her thirties. His pulse quickened, and a smile spread over his features. A welcome distraction. Just what he needed to erase the built-up stress. To hell with deep breathing, affirmations, and Percocet.

Praise for Joanne Guidoccio’s

A SEASON FOR KILLING BLONDES

A well-written, character-driven murder mystery that genuinely had me scratching my head until the very end wondering who dun it!?

~The Romance Reviews

~*~

Guidoccio creates her latest mystery with stylish yet easy to follow writing and a plot that keeps you on your toes, without becoming convoluted. The sense of community that runs alongside the mystery of the novel was quite engaging.

~Pure Jonel

~*~

Character-driven and suspenseful enough to keep readers on the edge of their seats without an undue gore factor, this read is well-thought out and delightfully conceived.

~InD’Tale Magazine

~*~

The story builds slowly, letting you know many of the characters and leading you on a merry chase. It’s good entertainment and thoroughly enjoyable.

~The Reading Café

Too Many Women in the Room

by

Joanne Guidoccio

A Gilda Greco Mystery

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Too Many Women in the Room

COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Joanne Guidoccio

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Crimson Rose Edition, 2017

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1454-9

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1455-6

A Gilda Greco Mystery

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To Nonno Antonio…

Thank you for sharing your love of the written word

Acknowledgements

To my family—Tony, Augy, Ernie, Judy, Lilly, Joan, Christina, Deanna, Olivia and Ava. I appreciate your ongoing support and encouragement.

To the wonderful companions on my journey, especially Patricia Anderson, Carla Barnes, Fil Derewianko, Dennis Fitter, Luke Hill, Sandy and Jim Hill, Brenda McGinnis, Magda Viehover, Cathy Whyte, and Carla Wiese.

To my fellow Guelph Partners in Crime: Alison Bruce, Gloria Ferris, and Donna Wagner. I enjoy our meetups and traveling show.

To Editor Ramona DeFelice Long. I appreciate your professionalism and wonderful insights. Molte grazie!

To graphic designer Erynn Hayden. I’m thrilled with the promotional items you have created for my novels.

To the librarians and support staff at the Guelph Public Library, especially Karen Cafarella, Lisa Cunningham, Andrea Curtis, Susan Ratcliffe, Deb Quaile, and Gwynne Tucker.

To Robin Harding of the Brantford Public Library. I appreciate the invitations and support.

To Kinan Werdski, Rhonda Penders, and the dedicated people at The Wild Rose Press. Thank you for making this book possible.

Prologue

He couldn’t believe he was following his wife’s advice. After fourteen years of paying lip service to deep yoga breaths, mindfulness, and all the other New Age crap she espoused, he had finally found a use for it. His midnight run often sorted out the stress, but tonight was different. He still couldn’t shake the venom that had been directed his way.

To make matters worse, it had come from eight women, eight very different and very annoying women. He had bedded four, but right now he couldn’t imagine having sex with any of them. As for the untouched four, well, only one interested him, and it had nothing to do with her feminine wiles and everything to do with her healthy bank account.

He would have to take something to get through the night, something a lot stronger than his wife’s herbal teas. The remnants of an old Percocet prescription came to mind. Two capsules might do the trick. Hope of a panacea, albeit a chemical one, calmed his racing thoughts. A good night’s sleep would make a world of difference. And tomorrow, he would sort it out.

The light patter of feet distracted him. Definitely a woman’s gait. Her breath was even, neither shallow nor panting. Younger, maybe in her thirties. His pulse quickened, and a smile spread over his features. A welcome distraction. Just what he needed to erase the built-up stress. To hell with deep breathing, affirmations, and Percocet.

He forced himself to slow down and hoped she would catch up, maybe even overtake him. Before making a move, he wanted to get a lay of the land. No point putting on the moves if she didn’t measure up. Though lately, he’d been less discerning.

Twenty years ago—heck, even ten years ago—women in their twenties and thirties returned his winks and smiles, with no qualms about what followed. But turning fifty-five had brought those encounters to a virtual standstill, and he had tired of the chase. Was this a harbinger of what old age would look like?

Within seconds, a flash of black appeared at his side. He counted to ten and then gave her a sideways glance. A frown replaced the smile.

Definitely in shape, but she had always taken care of herself, not allowing an extra morsel of food to cross her lips and sticking to a daily exercise regimen. Her face…well, her face showed the passages of time. And tonight, without a trace of makeup, she appeared older than her years. Forty-five. No, fifty. More than fifty. He struggled with the math and gave up.

Head-to-toe black did nothing for her. Once upon a time he would have volunteered that information, but tonight he hesitated. He couldn’t be sure how she would react, especially after the debacle at dinner. He tried to recall what she had said, but nothing came to mind. Perhaps she had said nothing at all. It would be like her to hide behind her passive-aggressiveness.

He forced a smile. I didn’t expect to see you.

No response, just a constant gaze and an expressionless face that was starting to worry him. He tried to look away but couldn’t escape those odd-colored eyes. A muddy green with hints of amber. Had she worn contacts in her younger days?

He cleared his throat. That was some dinner conversation. In the end, he hadn’t even sat at the table. The collective venom had driven him away.

They continued running, saying nothing. His heart beat faster and his mouth went dry. His senses were on full alert. There was danger here. And he needed to get away. He could turn around and race toward his car. But what if she followed? This was ridiculous. He was allowing himself to be rattled by a middle-aged woman who meant nothing to him. A woman he would steer clear of in the future.

It would be a good idea to get away for a while. Check out conferences and take an extended holiday. Escape from those unrelenting March winds and below-normal temperatures and bask in some sunlight. Georgia or Florida and maybe a Caribbean island. He’d have to borrow on his Visa, but it would be worth it. One month. That’s all he would need, and this animosity would blow over.

He slowed his pace, and she matched his speed. He circled and turned around. She followed. Anger rose in his throat. What the hell do you want?

No words. Only a fixed gaze and a flash of silver at her side. The faint smell of onions and garlic assaulted his senses. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, all the while watching her every movement. His eyes traveled around the deserted field. Not a soul. And that was the appeal of running close to the midnight hour.

This is not how he had planned his demise, not by a long shot. Despite the age gap between them, he had hoped to survive his wife and take on a full-time paramour, maybe even two. If only he had known. If only he could go back six hours.

Fascinated, he stood still, hypnotized as she approached and raised the knife.

Chapter 1

Six Hours Earlier

Xenia—the Greek word for hospitality. I had loved the name from the start and didn’t hesitate to write a check, covering all the costs of opening David Korba’s first restaurant in northern Ontario. One meal. That’s all it had taken to win my approval and my endorsement. But what a meal—hot lemony soup, succulent lamb, roasted potatoes, mouth-watering vegetables, and three tantalizing dessert choices. He had planned it well—maybe too well.

David could cook, and he could charm. While his age was still a mystery, he was younger than my fifty-two years. The eternal Peter Pan who seemed to never age, he could pass for late thirties, but I suspected he was closer to fifty. I enjoyed flirting with him and loved sitting at his table, but I didn’t envy his wife, Susan.

The first week of November, she had shown up at my ReCareering office for a free counseling session. Hesitant and unsure of herself, she had shivered in a three-sizes-too-big man’s parka while babbling about lost opportunities and living hand-to-mouth in a small rental. Throughout the session, all she could talk about was her Greek husband’s extraordinary chef skills and his misfortunes in Toronto. Her eyes narrowed as she spoke of the deceitful brother-in-law who had bankrupted them and forced them to flee north to Sudbury. When I offered to counsel David, she shook her head. No way, Gilda. He’ll never come here. He’s too fidgety for all this sit-down talk. All he wants to do is cook. She snapped her fingers. Why don’t you come to our place for dinner this Friday? Maybe you could counsel him between courses.

Greek food was my weakness. And I wanted to meet the chef who had fallen on hard times. I agreed and showed up on Friday at their small bungalow. From the start, David focused on me. He complimented my appearance and flirted throughout the dinner. I blushed and stammered at each compliment, but Susan didn’t seem to mind. She joined in and encouraged me to try all the food on the table. I helped myself to all three desserts—date and almond tart, walnut cake, and honey-baked figs with hazelnut ice cream—and couldn’t believe how wonderful everything tasted. When I suggested they open up a restaurant, David hemmed and hawed about the worsening economy and his newness to Sudbury.

He had applied to over twenty restaurants and had yet to receive an offer of full-time employment. I was tempted to suggest he consider the part-time options but didn’t want to appear too judgmental. Susan had signed up with a temporary placement agency, but the income was sporadic and not enough to meet their expenses.

I’m a nobody here, he said, glancing down at his plate. And with my credit rating, none of the banks would endorse a loan. I’m screwed.

What if I backed you? I couldn’t believe I was speaking so calmly while my heart beat at an alarming rate.

David rubbed a hand over his chin and flashed a grin at me. Gilda, darling, you’re sweet to offer, but I don’t think you know what’s involved here.

Susan nodded in agreement.

Were they playing me? Since winning nineteen million dollars in Lotto649, I had encountered many sharks who hoped to prey on my easy-going nature. A quick Google search would have revealed my three-year-old lottery win. Old news, but still there on the second and third pages.

Would one hundred thousand dollars be enough? I asked. In case you don’t know, I won a major lottery several years ago. I had received many proposals from across the province and had backed three local ventures. In each case, I had chosen to remain a silent partner.

David’s right hand trembled as he poured himself another glass of wine. Susan’s mouth dropped open, and she gave a little gasp.

I take it that’s a yes, I said.

More mild protests followed, and another bottle of wine disappeared. We were all a bit tipsy when we shook on the agreement. And so Xenia was born.

I have no regrets. None at all. It’s my money and I love helping people reach their dreams. I had only one condition. I wanted to remain a silent partner until the actual launch date. Susan and David agreed, and I kept the investment news to myself.

I might have confided in my mother, but she was spending the winter in Italy. I didn’t want to deliver the news via Skype. Mama had embraced the new technology and loved showing off to all the relatives, who would gather around and all manage to speak at once. Very little was said, but Mama was happy to see and hear from me. Tomorrow, she’d be stunned to find out I’d invested in a Greek restaurant.

First, we had to get through tonight’s dress rehearsal for Monday’s grand opening. David and Susan would prepare a special meal for five of my closest friends and me. Tomorrow, David and I would make the announcement we also planned to share with the media.

As I approached the restaurant, my heart swelled with pride at the tasteful blue-and-white Xenia sign that hung in front of the unassuming brick building. David had rejected my suggestions to revamp the exterior. His only concession was the copper door he had ordered from an American supplier. The shipping and exchange rate brought the cost close to the ten thousand mark in Canadian dollars.

David assured me the door could weather all forms of abuse. Having spent the first two decades of his life in sunny Greece, he still dreaded Canadian winters. This past winter had been mild, but David wanted to be prepared for future snowstorms and pummeling winds. Moving to Sudbury had been Susan’s idea, not his.

The door was his only extravagance. While researching, David and Susan discovered a family restaurant for sale in Lively, a small town about sixteen kilometers from the downtown core. When I recommended more central locations, David pointed out the many positives. The owners had renovated the interior and purchased new appliances two years ago. The unexpected death of their first-born daughter had forced the sexagenarians to reassess their lives. They were thrilled when David put in an offer. Had I been advising the grieving couple, I might have suggested waiting at least a year before making major life changes.

I got out of the car and walked toward the entrance. I had visited many times over the four months but honored David’s request and stayed away these past two weeks. He wanted me to experience the full impact of the reveal.

As soon as I entered, I gasped. While the original interior would have sufficed, the makeover had succeeded in transforming the family restaurant into an oasis of Greek culture. I took in all the details, from the fresh coats of light aqua paint, a perfect backdrop for eight Grecian seascapes that had crossed the ocean with David decades earlier, to the strategically placed statues of gods and goddesses.

Part museum. Part restaurant.

Earlier, Susan had confided that her mother-in-law studied art in her youth and spent several years dabbling in oils and watercolors but was unable to attract any buyers. I could imagine patrons examining each of the paintings before sitting down to order from a menu chock full of David’s signature dishes. And then continuing the tours after their meals. I wouldn’t be too surprised if patrons offered to buy the seascapes.

Are you going to stand there all night? Susan teased as she hugged me.

Once she let go, I took in her appearance. Susan had come a long way since our first encounter at the ReCareering office, where she looked every day of her fifty-four years. Dressed in a form-fitting cobalt blue dress and stiletto heels, now she could pass for a confident, self-assured woman in her mid-forties. Her gold bracelets clinked as she sipped a martini and waited for me to speak.

You’ve outdone yourselves, I said. Not even a magic genie willing to grant a multitude of wishes could have matched this splendor.

David stood at the back near the kitchen, deep in conversation