Free Chicken Pesto Murder: Book 5 in The Darling Deli Series by Patti Benning Page B

she slid into the booth across from him. “The kitchen sink at the deli got clogged and flooded, and I had to stay late to make sure it got cleaned up.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” he said, offering her a grin. “I’ve just been looking at their new menus. Denise wanted to see what I thought. Well, she wanted your opinion on them, but since you weren’t here yet, she decided mine would do.”
    “I’m sure whoever she hired to design them did a great job,” Moira said. “That woman doesn’t cut corners.” She took a sip of her wine, pleased that David had thought to order a glass for her. “So, have you had any luck figuring out who that jerk sold the stolen dogs to?”
    “Not yet.” David grimaced. “From what I’ve heard, he’s not cooperating with the police. He’s refusing to say anything without his lawyer, so they’re holding him until his public defender arrives.”
    “Did you find out anything about why he was stealing the dogs? What’s his name, anyway?” she asked.
    “His name is Mikey Strauss, and from what I gathered he’s not admitting to anything right now. He said that the dogs in the truck were his, and that he had to find them new homes because his landlord said he had too many.” He sighed and took another sip of his wine. “He’s not making this easy for any of us, but if your friend Martha can pick him out of a lineup, then things should go more smoothly.”
    “She’ll be more than happy to do that, I’m sure. She was pretty upset that she bought a stolen dog.” Moira lowered her voice and glanced around to make sure no one was nearby listening in. “Has there been any more news about the other case?”
    She didn’t have to elaborate; he knew immediately what she was talking about. David’s expression darkened, and he put down his wine glass.
    “No,” he said. “Not that I’ve heard. But everyone at the Maple Creek police department seems to think that I did it. You should have seen some of the looks I got when I came in with Strauss.”
    “I’m sure they’ll find another lead eventually,” she told him. “And even if they don’t, they don’t have enough to arrest you on. The only evidence that they have that really points towards you being the murderer is the fact that your wallet was found in Fitzgerald’s house. I already told Detective Jefferson that you’d lost it the night we had dinner, and once they check with your credit card company and your bank, they’ll see that you reported it missing days before the murder. I just wonder how it ended up at the crime scene?”
    “I’ve got no idea. Most likely, I dropped it outside while I was arguing with Fitzgerald. Maybe he picked it up and meant to return it to me the next day, and then forgot about it,” David suggested.
    “What was that argument about, anyway?” Moira asked, still curious about what would have caused the normally calm private investigator to lose his temper, and with a police detective of all people.
    “It wasn’t anything important,” he said, looking away. “Do you know what you want to order?”
    Why won’t he just tell me? Moira wondered. What could be so bad that he won’t say it? Neither David nor the detective were unreasonable men, and she couldn’t imagine what would cause them to argue, especially in such a public setting.
    “I think I’m going to go with the mushroom-stuffed chicken breasts today,” she told him, deciding once again not to press the matter. “How about you?”
    They were only a couple of bites into the main course when David’s cell phone rang. He ignored it at first, muting the call and cutting a bite from the juicy steak on the plate in front of him. When it rang again, he sighed and gave in, shooting Moira an apologetic look as he answered it. She gave him a quick smile to let him know that it was okay—both of them were dedicated to their jobs, and that meant being available twenty-four hours a day. She took another bite of her chicken,