Zukie's Alibi: Zukie Merlino Mysteries, #5

ZUKIE’S ALIBI

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Cynthia E. Hurst

Zukie Merlino Mystery 5

Copyright © 2015  Cynthia E. Hurst

All Rights Reserved

Plane View Books

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Author’s note:

The characters and situations in this work are entirely 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

Now I know why they call it jet lag, Zukie muttered. I feel like I left half my brain on the plane.

She gripped the handle of the coffee pot like a toddler clutching a security blanket, and filled her cup. Her eyes felt like someone had welded them half way shut and it was with a real effort that she opened them wide enough to focus on her companion, who was sitting across from her, yawning widely.

He stopped yawning long enough to say, Guess that’s what we get for being jet setters.

What? Having breakfast at three in the morning? Zukie looked at the kitchen clock. Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten up.

Go back to bed then, he grumbled. I was asleep until you started crashing around in here.

I wasn’t crashing and I didn’t see you turning down the coffee.

They sat in silence, listening to the clock tick. As Zukie had observed, it was the middle of the night and still dark outside the small wooden house they shared. The immediate problem was that she and Lou had landed at the airport the previous afternoon following thirteen hours of travel, and after fighting a losing battle to stay awake, they had both retired at about eight. For Zukie, used to deciding for herself when she would sleep or wake, it was supremely irritating to find herself wide awake again at two-thirty in the morning.

She hoisted herself out of the chair and went to the fridge. Normally this was packed to bursting with a wide variety of food, but in their two-week absence, Zukie’s daughter had cleaned it out and re-stocked it with what she considered necessary items. It wasn’t that Zukie was ungrateful for Carol’s efforts, but as she stared at the neatly arranged contents, she wondered how she had raised a daughter who considered low-fat cheddar cheese preferable to good Italian mozzarella.

Still, at least Carol had provided eggs and bread – whole wheat, with added fiber – so Zukie decided she could rustle up an edible breakfast, even at this ungodly hour. It would take more than jet lag to dent her cooking ability.

Want some scrambled eggs and toast?

Lou debated. It’s kind of early, isn’t it?

Take it or leave it.

Yeah, OK.

Zukie smiled as she removed the necessary items from the fridge and dug out a frying pan from the cupboard. She was well aware of her many shortcomings, but when she and her second cousin had decided to join forces after they had both been widowed, her culinary skills had been the deal breaker. Lou could, and frequently did, point out many areas in which she could stand improvement, but cooking was not one of them.

She broke the eggs into a bowl, using the one-handed technique her Ma had taught her, and gave them a good beating before adding a little milk – one percent semi-skimmed, naturally – and pouring them into the frying pan.

Bread went into the toaster while Zukie searched in vain for butter. She found a low-fat spread instead and grimaced. She glanced at Lou, who had folded his arms on the table to use as a pillow and rested his head on them.

Wake up, she commanded. I’m not doing this just to have you go to sleep on me.

I’m awake. Just because my eyes are shut doesn’t mean I’m asleep.

You better not be.

Zukie stirred the eggs in the pan as noisily as she could, and took two plates out of the cupboard. The toast popped up and she buttered it with the low-fat spread, wondering if Lou would notice the difference. She divided the scrambled eggs between the two plates, giving Lou the larger share, and sat down again, shoving his plate under his nose.

Thanks, he mumbled.

They ate their food in near silence and then Zukie put the dishes in the sink. Normally Lou washed them as soon as a meal ended, but this was clearly not a normal meal.

I’ll do them later, he said. I’m going back to bed.

OK. I think I’ll stay up for a little while.

See ya.

Lou lumbered off to his bedroom and Zukie remained at the table, wondering when the sun would be up. Her little house on Seattle’s Beacon Hill was not exactly a show home, but it did boast a east-facing kitchen window. If she stretched her neck, Zukie could observe the sun rising over the Cascade Mountains, and on clear days, painting them and the sky with brilliant shades of pink and purple.

But the sun was still well below the horizon, forcing her to examine her own thoughts instead. This wasn’t something Zukie did very often, finding it more rewarding to observe other people. However, the past two weeks had been both unusual and exciting, and now that she was back home, she was aware of a distinct feeling of anti-climax, as if nothing would ever match up to this again.

She and Lou had intended to spend a few days in Las Vegas, the result of Zukie having been a finalist in a slogan-writing contest earlier in the summer. Although she hadn’t been the overall winner, the winner had graciously split the $10,000 prize money with the other finalists as a sort of compensation for the disastrous way the competition had ended.

So Zukie had wound up with more than $4,000 in all, which would have been enough for a good vacation in Las Vegas. But after paying off the repair bill on Lou’s Buick – rear-ended by a distracted driver – and slipping some money to her neighbor whose magazine had kick-started the whole business, the pot had dwindled to about half the original amount.

That was where Carol had stepped in. Generally, she and her mother kept a tactful distance from each other, both aware that prolonged contact would result in friction. But Carol was astute enough to realize that as much as Zukie longed to go to Las Vegas, her original dream had been to win enough money to take her and Lou to see the country their grandparents had emigrated from in the 1920s.

As an accountant who was used to evaluating things in terms of loss and gain, Carol had weighed up the potential problems her mother could cause in Las Vegas against what she might do in Italy, and then had contributed enough money to enable the two of them to spend two weeks in Europe, traveling in relative comfort.

Zukie, who loved visiting the local tribal casino, had long harbored a desire to spend a few days in the gambling capital of America, but then logic set in. She wasn’t getting any younger and Las Vegas was much closer and easier to navigate. If Carol wanted to help send her and Lou to the Old Country, who was she to quibble?

So they’d applied for passports, booked airline tickets and hotels, and were on their way. Carol had driven them to the airport, and if she had heaved a silent sigh of relief as the plane took off, she hadn’t let on.

And now they were back again, and it almost seemed as if that two weeks had never happened. The house was the same – except for a few souvenirs, a pile of unopened mail and a mountain of dirty laundry – and Zukie suspected life would flow on as if they’d never been away.

Had it been worth the time and expense? Yes, she answered herself defiantly. There was a big difference between looking at a photograph of Pompeii, for example, or watching a television program about it, and actually walking down its dusty lanes. She felt she was a different person than she had been before her trip, with a wider outlook on life. Travel was broadening, they said, and thinking about the delicious meals she’d eaten in Italy, she could only agree.

That made her smile, and she pushed her chair back and headed for her bedroom. Lou was already asleep in his room; she could hear him snoring through the wall. She pulled her sheet and quilted bedspread over her and promptly dozed off.

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ZUKIE’S second morning, as it were, came at about seven o’clock, near to her usual rising time, and she hit the ground running. She swung her legs out from under the bedspread, thrust her feet into her fluffy pink slippers and headed for the bathroom. By the time she had washed, dressed and tried to whip her wild salt and pepper hair into shape, she was wide awake.

She went into the kitchen, and for a moment stared at the dirty dishes in the sink, wondering if a pair of hungry burglars had broken in during the night. Then memory kicked in and she re-filled the coffeemaker and made herself a piece of toast. As the water ran through the coffeemaker, she started looking through the pile of mail Carol had left on the table.

Bill, junk, junk, bank statement, she muttered. What the heck is this?

The letter in question was in a white business envelope, but addressed by hand to Susanna DeMaio Merlino. Zukie wasn’t dumb enough to fall for fake handwriting on sales pitches, even one containing her full name, and she realized this was authentic. She slid her finger under the flap and opened it.

A sheet of pale blue paper fell out. Zukie unfolded it and read: It’s the big Four-Oh! We’re celebrating our 40th class reunion, and invite you to come along. Food, drink, music, memories – we’ve got it all!

Information on the date, time and venue were further down the page, along with a contact phone number and e-mail address in small print at the bottom.

Zukie’s first reaction was to do the math – had it really been forty years since she’d graduated from high school? A quick calculation confirmed it.

Holy mackerel, I feel old, she said out loud. She put her head on one side and considered. Of course, so is everybody else who was in my class. We’re all pushing sixty.

Why’re you talking to yourself? asked Lou. He was standing in the arch that separated the kitchen from the living room, wearing his pajamas and slippers, and still looked shell-shocked.

Zukie waved the invitation. It’s my high school class’s fortieth reunion. Next week.

Yeah, my class just had our forty-fifth. You going?

I might.

If you do, you can brag to everybody about going to Italy.

Zukie hadn’t thought of that, but it sounded like an excellent idea. People in her working class neighborhood tended to take more modest vacations – to the Oregon coast or down to California, perhaps, or north across the border to British Columbia. A few adventurous souls had been to Hawaii or Florida. Zukie’s own sister Angela and her husband Ray had taken a cruise up the coast to Alaska that had left Zukie green with envy, but that was still America. It wasn’t Europe, with its built-in glamour factor.

Yeah, I think I just might go, she said. You want some more breakfast?

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ZUKIE managed to locate enough ingredients to make pancakes for Lou’s second breakfast, which he ate while she sat and composed a shopping list. This contained more of what she considered to be real food, and less of the low-fat, sugar-free, high-fiber variety. It would involve stops at several different stores, but that would give her more opportunities to tell people about her trip. And if Angela had done her usual competent job as the family gossip, most people would already know. Zukie hadn’t sent her a series of postcards for nothing.

As if reading her thoughts, the phone rang and Zukie reached for it.

Hey, Zuke. Welcome back. How was your trip?

Fantastic. Listen, Ange, I want to tell you all about it.

Not now – I’ve got to fix breakfast for Ray.

So why’d you call me?

Just wanted to make sure you got back OK.

Gosh, it’s nice of you to check, Zukie said, but the sarcasm went over her sister’s head.

I’ll talk to you later, all right?

Sure.

She nearly slammed the phone down, causing Lou to look up curiously.

What’s up?

You’d think we went to Tacoma instead of all the way to Italy. Ange doesn’t even want to hear about it, and to think of all the time I spent listening to her gab on and on about glaciers and orcas and the buffet dinners on their cruise.

Zukie, Lou said, you can’t expect people to drop everything and listen to you. Or me. I bet Angela will want to hear all about it when she’s got more time. You brought her back a souvenir, didn’t you?

Yeah, one of those little Nativity scenes from Naples.

So that’s a good excuse to go over later. Take the present and tell her all about the trip. Right now, we got other things to do.

"You mean I’ve got things to do, like washing two weeks’ worth of dirty clothes and shopping for real food instead of that healthy stuff Carol left us."

Exactly. Lou observed his cousin’s rebellious expression and added, I’ll help you with the laundry if you want. I bet you want to do your own shopping.

Zukie started to snap back a reply before she saw the twinkle in Lou’s eyes.

Yeah, I do, she said. I need to rehearse my travel stories before the reunion. 

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HALF AN hour later, she was behind the wheel of her car, still feeling only partly awake, but ready for adventure. The fact that she was only going to a few places within a five-mile radius of her house made no difference.

She found a parking place on the street in front of Colonna’s Bakery and Delicatessen, one of her favorite destinations. Colonna’s had managed to ignore most innovations of the past fifty years and still had staff who measured out olives and sun-dried tomatoes and sliced meat and cheese to order, as well as offering advice on ingredients and cooking techniques and disseminating local gossip.

Customers browsed the fragrant aisles armed with rustic shopping baskets while the old wooden floors creaked gently underfoot. The atmosphere was so firmly rooted in the past that it came as a surprise to some customers that the deli actually accepted credit and debit cards.

In the back, the bakery turned out bread, rolls, cakes and pastries so mouth-watering that shoppers had been known to drive for miles to purchase them, and there was always a line outside when Colonna’s opened its doors in the morning.

Zukie swept through the door, expecting a warm welcome, both as a long-time customer and a returning traveler. But the only comment she got was from owner Nico Colonna, who said, Hey, Zukie, have you been sick or something? Haven’t seen you for a while.

Lou and me have been to Italy, she said, irked that he hadn’t heard. Angela had clearly failed in her role as family gossip spreader.

Really? I didn’t know that. Did you have a good time?

Yeah, it was real interesting. We saw Rome and Naples and Pompeii. Course I knew something about them, but it’s different when you see it for yourself.

Find any dead bodies?

Zukie wrinkled her nose at him. Just because she’d once discovered a body behind the deli’s dumpster didn’t mean she tripped over them on a regular basis.

Only in Pompeii, and they’d been there a while.

Nico nodded solemnly. Sounds like a good trip. Now, you want to try a couple of these olives? They’re the kind you like.

Miffed at his lack of interest in her travels, Zukie took a generous handful of olives and shoved them in her mouth, making her look momentarily like a large hamster. Nico watched, wide-eyed. When she’d finally managed to chew and swallow them, he said, You OK, Zukie?

Yeah. I’ll have a quarter pound of them. Her voice was slightly muffled.

You probably ate that much already, Nico muttered, but he weighed out the olives and handed her the carton. Anything else?

You got a napkin or something?

Nico silently indicated a pile of small paper napkins he kept beside the free olive samples, and she spit out the pits.

Thanks. Next time, I’ll get the pitted ones.

She threw the napkin into the waiting wastepaper basket and stalked off to the cash register. Nico watched her go, shaking his head.

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IT WAS a similar scenario at the bank, where the manager had been thanking his lucky stars she hadn’t been in for a while. Although Zukie was sharp enough where finances were concerned, she still blamed the branch manager for the low interest rates, insisting he could raise them if he tried.

She had also thrown a small tantrum a month earlier when she discovered that the local branch didn’t carry euros, and that she’d have to purchase them somewhere else further away. The manager had been so busy avoiding her wrath that he hadn’t stopped to wonder why she needed euros in the first place.

She stepped up to the window. The teller smiled, a little nervously.

Morning, Mrs Merlino. What can I do for you?

Zukie dug into her purse. I got a load of change here. Twelve dollars worth.

She plonked the rolls of change onto the counter. The teller silently took them and handed her a