On the Lamb Read online

  The Kitchen Kebab Mystery Series

  by Tina Kashian

  Hummus and Homicide

  Stabbed in the Baklava

  One Feta in the Grave

  On the Lamb

  ON THE LAMB

  Tina Kashian

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Author’s Note

  RECIPES

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Teaser chapter

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 by Tina Sickler

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

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

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-2605-6

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2606-3 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2606-5 (ebook)

  For my darling Gabrielle,

  May you always follow your dreams,

  have the courage to believe in them, and may

  your star always shine bright.

  I love you.

  Chapter One

  Ocean Crest, New Jersey

  “Saturday night is going to be one killer night out.”

  Lucy Berberian had just finished stacking menus on the hostess stand when Sally, a long-time waitress, bounded over. “It has been a while since our last beach bonfire,” Lucy said.

  Sally pulled her waitress pad from her apron pocket and set it on one of the tables. “It’s been longer than a while. This winter seemed endless, and you’ve put long hours into learning the ropes here. You deserve to have some fun.”

  It was true. Since the summer, Lucy had worked overtime as the manager of Kebab Kitchen, her family’s Mediterranean restaurant in Ocean Crest, a small Jersey shore town. But it was now early April. Winter had come and gone, along with numerous holiday festivities at the beach. A warmer breeze blew from the Atlantic Ocean, one of the first signs of spring at the shore. It was a long-awaited and delightful change. Soon Easter would arrive, along with town-wide egg hunts, church services, and family celebrations.

  The swinging kitchen doors opened and Lucy’s sister, Emma, carrying a tray of empty salt and pepper shakers, stepped into the dining room. “Are you two talking about our night out?” She eyed them as she set the tray on the waitress station.

  “You bet,” Sally said. “I’ve been telling Lucy she needs a break from work.”

  Emma slipped on a red waitress apron emblazoned with the Kebab Kitchen logo in black letters and tied it behind her. “Well, it was nice of your friend, Michael, to invite us to join his motorcycle-riding friends at their beach bonfire, Lucy. I know I’m tired of being cooped up inside. It’s perfect timing, too, before the season starts and it becomes crazy busy in town.”

  Lucy knew what her sister meant. In a little over two months, Memorial Day would arrive, summer would officially start, and the small shore town would triple in size. A parking spot would be hard to find, even a metered one. But before then, one more townwide event would seize Ocean Crest—Bikers on the Beach.

  Motorcycles from all over New Jersey and neighboring states would ride to the beach to raise money for injured veterans. It was a worthy annual cause, albeit a loud one. Her parents, Angela and Raffi Berberian, often complained about the noise of too many Harley-Davidsons roaring down Ocean Avenue.

  Lucy didn’t mind the noise or the additional business for the town. The restaurant’s neighbor and Lucy’s friend, Michael Citteroni, ran the bicycle rental shop next door to Kebab Kitchen. He also owned a black-and-chrome Harley. Michael had invited Lucy and her girlfriends to a celebratory beach bonfire—the night out that Lucy was looking forward to just as much as her sister and Sally were.

  Sally and Emma began filling the salt and pepper shakers and placing them on trays to deliver to the tables. It was the lull between the lunch and dinner shifts, and the family-friendly restaurant was quiet. Each table was perfectly set with a white linen tablecloth, sparkling glasses, a votive candle, and a vase of freshly cut flowers. Several maple booths situated in the corners were perfect for a couple’s date night out. Cherry wainscoting added additional charm to the dining room. A low wall separated a waitress station from the dining area, and a pair of swinging doors led into the kitchen.

  But it was the large bay windows that drew the eye and revealed the gem of the town—the spectacular ocean view. Seagulls soared above the water and a pristine beach stretched on for miles to the next Jersey shore town and beyond. In the distance was the boardwalk and the pier with an old-fashioned wooden roller coaster and Ferris wheel.

  “Should I wear a bathing suit under my clothes at the bonfire?” Sally asked as she moved a vase aside to make room for the salt and pepper shakers.

  Lucy shook her head. “I wouldn’t. The ocean’s too cold to swim and no one plans on braving a cold dip at night.”

  “Too bad. You mean no skinny-dipping like we all did way back in high school?” Sally teased.

  “Good grief. Those days are over,” Emma said. “But do you think Michael’s friends are as good-looking as he is?”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “What kind of question is that?” Her sister was married to Max, a real estate guru in Ocean Crest, and they had a ten-year-old daughter, Niari.

  “I know I’m a married lady. But I’m not blind,” Emma insisted. Small-boned and rail-thin, with brown hair, at thirty-seven, Emma was five years older than Lucy.

  The sisters had similar petite builds, but Lucy had deep brown eyes and shoulder-length, curly brown hair. The heat from the kitchen and the summer humidity made it even curlier. She would never call herself rai
l thin, and working with food all day—combined with her love of lemon meringue pie from Cutie’s Cupcakes—were reasons she jogged the Ocean Crest boardwalk three times a week to stay trim.

  Sally jokingly pushed Emma aside. “Well, I’m not married or blind.” Sally was tall and willowy, with dark, pixie-style hair.

  Lucy chuckled. How she loved these two. They made working at the restaurant fun.

  “I invited Melanie Haven to join us,” Lucy said.

  Sally glanced at Emma. “Can you convince Melanie to bring along some candy?”

  “Are you kidding? I already asked her,” Lucy said.

  Melanie owned Haven Candies on the boardwalk. When Lucy jogged the boardwalk, she longingly passed the candy store on her route. The saltwater taffy was a favorite with locals and tourists alike. As a kid, Lucy used to gaze wide-eyed in the window of the candy store as the candy maker stretched the taffy or made huge batches of fudge in big copper pots. Whenever fudge samples were handed out outside the shop, Lucy would sprint to snatch one.

  The swinging kitchen doors opened and Azad Zakarian, the head chef of Kebab Kitchen, approached carrying a tray loaded with plates. “Ladies, I have tonight’s specials for tasting. Mediterranean couscous salad and falafel as appetizers. Filet kebab and grilled grouper as main dishes. For the hummus bar, we have pine nut hummus, olive hummus, and traditional hummus.”

  Lucy’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of both the food and the man. Tall, dark, and handsome, Azad cut an imposing figure in his crisp, white chef’s coat. She’d recently taken a leap and started dating him again. According to Madame Vega, the tarot card reader on the boardwalk, it was either a wise decision or a dangerous one.

  Lucy still wasn’t sure.

  The three women wasted no time in grabbing forks and tasting. The Mediterranean couscous salad was bursting with flavor from kalamata olives, cucumbers, and tomatoes in a lemon and olive oil dressing, and the falafel’s fried chickpeas had just the right crunch. The filet kebab was perfectly seasoned and melted in their mouth, and the grouper was light and flaky.

  “Yum. It’s all delicious.” She looked up to catch Azad’s grin, and her gaze was drawn to the sexy dimple in his cheek. She cleared her throat and forced herself to look at the food. “Perfect timing. The hummus bar is almost empty.”

  “I’ll do it,” Emma said as she took the bins from the tray, then headed to the corner of the dining room where the hummus bar was located. It was one of the most popular features of the restaurant, and the varieties of hummus changed daily. There were vegetables for dipping, and fresh pita bread could be ordered from the kitchen.

  Azad pointed to the other plates on the tray. Lines of concentration deepened along his brows, and Lucy knew he took his position as head chef seriously. “The grouper is fresh, straight from the fish market,” he said. “I only hope we have enough for—”

  A loud crash sounded from the kitchen.

  Lucy started. “What the heck was that?”

  * * *

  Lucy pushed through the swinging doors and burst into the kitchen. Picking her way past the griddle, the commercial dishwasher, and the prep station, she passed through the kitchen and stopped short at the entrance to the storage room. Rows of metal shelving were packed with the essentials of Mediterranean cuisine—bags of bulgur, rice, spices, and jars of tahini and grape leaves.

  In the corner, she spotted the orange and black cat, Gadoo, sprawled on his back, legs up. Her mother, Angela Berberian, was wielding a broom, her lips drawn in a tight line. A glass jar of tahini had shattered across the terra-cotta floor, leaving a sticky mess of sesame seed paste.

  “Shoo!” Angela shouted as she shook the broom. “Out!”

  If her mother wasn’t clearly upset, Lucy would have burst out laughing. Angela was only five feet tall including her signature beehive hairdo. But Lucy knew not to make a sound. Her mother was like a marine sergeant in the kitchen—talented and disciplined. She liked the outdoor cat and always left him fresh water and kibbles outside the back storage room door, but Angela was a stickler for cleanliness and never permitted the feline inside.

  “What’s the cat doing in the kitchen?” Sally asked from behind Lucy’s shoulder. Almost a foot taller, Sally had a good view.

  “He snuck inside again. This time, he knocked over a jar and made a mess,” Angela said.

  “Is he dead?” Sally asked.

  “No. He’s faking,” Lucy said.

  “How can you tell?” Sally asked.

  Lucy stepped into the room. “I’ve seen Gadoo do this before when he’s scared. His chest is rising and falling. He’s breathing.”

  “If you say so.” Sally looked skeptical.

  “Give me the broom, Mom,” Lucy said.

  When Angela didn’t move, Lucy snatched it from her hands. “You’re frightening him.” She set the broom against the wall, then squatted down to pet Gadoo. He cracked open his yellow eyes. “Hey, Gadoo. You want a treat?”

  The cat’s ears perked up and he rolled over. He leisurely stretched, his razor-sharp claws spreading like mini spears, then sat up. Lucy grabbed a bag of cat treats from a nearby shelf and shook it. Gadoo switched his tail, then sashayed over. Lucy wasted no time in pouring some chicken-leg-shaped treats into her palm and held them out for him.

  “Not inside. Lure him out back,” Angela ordered as she planted her hands on her bony hips.

  Lucy opened the back storage room door and the cat followed. He ate from her hand and Lucy scratched under his chin when he was finished. His satisfied purring made her smile. Gadoo translated simply as “cat” in Armenian. Her mother had named him, and when Lucy had questioned her about it, Angela had responded, “A simple name is best. Why complicate it?” Perhaps she was right. The name Gadoo suited the feisty feline.

  Lucy shook her finger at Gadoo. “You know better than to sneak inside while my mom is still here.” She immediately stroked behind his ears to take away any sting in her voice.

  Meowww. He looked up, his yellow eyes flashing in protest.

  “Okay. At least wait until Mom leaves for the day before sneaking inside,” Lucy warned.

  The storage room door opened and Azad stepped outside.

  Lucy stood. “Hey, Azad. Gadoo snuck inside. Mom had a fit.”

  Azad shrugged, and the outline of his broad shoulders strained against the fabric of his chef’s coat. “He’s been doing it more and more lately. He’s looking for you.”

  Lucy glanced down at the cat, who began to wind a figure eight around her feet, then she looked at Azad. “I want to take Gadoo with me when I move out of Katie’s house.”

  Lucy had been living with Katie Watson, Lucy’s best friend since grade school. Katie was married to Bill, an Ocean Crest beat cop, and Lucy had been staying in the guest bedroom of their cozy rancher.

  “Any prospects?”

  “Max has a place for me to look at today.” She’d been looking for a while and had almost given up hope of finding something within her salary range when her brother-in-law called to tell her he had a place to show her this afternoon.

  Azad shoved his hands into his pockets. “I hear you and the ladies are going out Saturday night. Michael Citteroni invited you.”

  “You’re not jealous, are you?” It was no secret that the two men never had seen eye to eye. Being business neighbors hadn’t helped matters either.

  He nodded, and a swath of dark, wavy hair fell casually on his forehead. Lucy’s fingers itched to brush it back.

  “Always. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” he said.

  “No need. Michael and I are just friends, remember?” Lucy said.

  She’d come to an understanding with Azad. Whatever male rivalry was between him and Michael, Lucy wasn’t giving up a friend. Besides, it was clear where her heart lay.

  She watched the play of emotions on Azad’s face and was relieved when the corners of his lips tilted in a smile.

  “I remember. Go have fun. But not too much fun.�
��

  Chapter Two

  Max pulled up to the curb and put his sedan in Park. “This is it.”

  Lucy sat in her brother-in-law’s car and stared out the passenger window at a two-story, tan building with white shutters. Well-tended hedgerows and blooming yellow daffodils and pink and white tulips added splashes of spring color. A two-car driveway and garage would make for convenient parking during the busy summer season.

  “You never said it was this close to the beach. It must cost a fortune,” Lucy said.

  “Don’t worry. This upstairs apartment comes with certain conditions. The rent is within your budget.”

  Something in Max’s tone caught her attention, and she eyed him. He was dressed in a navy business suit and a striped navy-and-pink tie. Emma’s husband was handsome, with brown hair and blue eyes, but he was also a born salesman, and she had a feeling he was keeping something from her. Of course, she’d been asking him to find her an affordable apartment in town—a difficult feat based on her salary. She’d almost been resigned to the fact that she’d live with Katie and Bill forever until Max had called. The location was ideal—only a two-block walk to Kebab Kitchen.

  “What do you mean by ‘conditions?’” Lucy asked.

  “I told you the owner, Eloisa Lubinski, is in her eighties and a longtime widow.”

  “So?”

  “Well, she’s not moving out. She lives on the first floor and is looking for a tenant for the second floor.”

  Lucy’s eyes never left his for an instant. “Okay. But what aren’t you telling me? I get the feeling you’re holding out.”

  “Mrs. Lubinski is in a bind. She’s also a bit eccentric. Her nephew wants to put her in an assisted living facility and sell the house for a tidy profit. You’re her last-ditch attempt.”