Chapter 8
Carlita clenched her fist, her nails digging into the palm of her hand. “Please tell me Yvonne is okay.”
“Physically she’s fine. Emotionally? Not so much,” Elvira said. “She claims she’s stressed. Her exact words were emotional distress and severe anxiety. The bottom line is she’s afraid to eat.”
“Great,” Carlita groaned. “Emotional distress sounds like code words for a lawsuit.”
“Yep. I hate to speak ill of my employee, but she’s that kind of person.”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t sued you for something if she’s sue-happy.”
“Good point.” Elvira made a snipping sound. “Maybe it’s time for me to cut her loose.”
“Does she know about Sonny’s death?”
“She asked about him. I figured she would find out soon enough, so I told her.”
“This situation keeps getting worse and worse.”
“I wouldn’t panic, at least not yet. Yvonne might settle down. Besides, if she contacts an attorney, I don’t think they’ll take the case unless she can prove beyond a doubt Ravello’s food poisoned her.”
Carlita thanked her for the update and slid her phone into her jacket pocket. “I think I’m ready to call it a day before something else happens.”
“I’m sorry, Ma.”
“Me too.”
Exiting the apartment, Pete and Carlita discovered Bubba and his truck were long gone.
“I need to figure out what to do with the leftovers from the party.”
“I’m not sure I trust eating them.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Carlita grew quiet, mulling over the day’s events during the walk home.
Reaching the apartment, Pete hung his jacket on the hook by the door. “I know it’s getting late, but we haven’t eaten in hours. Let me fix us a sandwich.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Starving yourself won’t bring Sonny back.”
“True. I’m still shocked that what was supposed to be a celebration has turned into a tragedy.” After washing her hands in the sink, Carlita worked alongside her husband, fixing a sandwich and adding chips and a pickle to their plates. “You wanna eat in here?”
“I was thinking we could dine al fresco.” Pete grabbed their plates and carried them out onto the balcony.
Rambo tromped behind them, circling the table while they settled in.
“You can have a slice of my turkey.” Carlita tore off a chunk of her deli meat and fed it to the pup. She took a big bite of her sandwich. “I guess I was hungry after all.”
“Me too. You make a mean turkey on rye.” Pete patted her hand. “I know the situation looks bleak right now, but after a good night’s sleep you’ll feel better.”
“I still can’t believe Sonny is dead.”
“You mentioned there were other visitors at the hospital.”
“Several. In fact, we had to wait our turn to go in and see him.”
“Were they from their motorcycle club?”
“I don’t know. To be honest, I never saw anyone leave his room. I was too busy trying to find the bathroom.”
Pete changed the subject, talking about the holidays.
The upcoming Christmas season meant busy businesses—at the pawn shop, the pirate ship, and the restaurants.
Holiday office parties, family gatherings.
If the season shaped up to be anything like the previous year, she would be adding a tidy sum to the restaurant’s bottom line.
Easy conversation and quiet time with the man she loved. Carlita had it all. A husband she adored. Thriving businesses, although she and Pete often discussed slowing down and making a concerted effort to take more time off.
Tony and Mercedes could handle more of the day-to-day operations. In fact, her son had already done so some time ago, managing almost every aspect of the pawn shop.
Mercedes knew Ravello’s inside and out and could easily step into her mother’s shoes.
By the time the couple finished eating, Carlita felt much better. She had no proof Sonny and Yvonne fell ill from eating Ravello’s food. Although the chances of them having similar symptoms at almost the same time seemed suspicious.
Digging into what had transpired would have to wait for another day. Her weary mind was too tired to sort it out.
Little did Carlita know the situation was going to get worse, much worse, almost as soon as her feet touched the ground the next morning.