Biscotti

The sun set early in winter. Street lamps glowed on the pavement long before the office workers began their pilgrimage home. The Antarctic wind whipped down the town bringing with it a gusting, biting rain. It promised to not be a night for going out and about. A night where everyone should be tucked away by a fire, warm and dry. Here and there beacons of light spilled out of the shops onto the roadway. Highlighting the puddles in the potholes. The shop attendants focused on watches, on clocks on the wall. Waiting for that moment they could flip the sign in the doorway, lock up and get home quickly. Evelyn switched off her computer, sliding a few of the files she was working on into her briefcase so she could continue to work over a glass of wine at home. Trying to get that promotion in the law office on Bolton street meant many extra hours at home. But she was determined, focused and worked hard on her dreams.

Just up from the Rock Shop, on Hunter street was Mara’s cafe. A long, narrow cafe. Piercing a line deep into the nest of buildings that was the Pacific Dreams surfboard shop complex. An ancient place, bought by her parents when they migrated from Sicily after World War Two, it was far more than bricks and mortar to her. It was home. Utterly infused with smells and memories of her parents, of long summer days as a child working the mop and cleaning the storeroom. It was safe. Comfortable. Mosaics on the floor, brought out from the homeland before she was born. Framed pictures of her family, stern faced, dressed in black as they stood arranged according to height with the sweeping Sicilian wineries in the background. There were framed news articles, posters of significant events. Places her father had taken her. Events of significance. A tiny radio warbled away on some opera. Tinny and hollow sounding, but she didn’t care. She hummed along with the tune, singing the words when she could remember them. Happy and content as she wiped the counter down in the same looping patterns she always did. Polishing a groove into the formica.

Evelyn sat in her regular booth, sipping at her espresso. A creature of habit. Always the same seat. Always the same order. Espresso with Mara’s home-made Biscotti. The warm, slightly sweet espresso with more sugar than Mara thought necessary. Complimented by the bitter Biscotti. Evelyn sat, watching the world hurry by outside. Watching people dashing, trying to avoid the rain. Watching the gusting rain blast down Hunter street. She wasn’t looking forward to going back out there, she was steeling her nerves in preparation. She knew the forecast, this rain was going to set in all night. So an extra espresso wouldn’t hurt. It’d warm her from the inside. A quick dash across the street, half a block down and she’d be at Civic station to catch her train back up the valley. But there was no rush. Not just yet anyway.

The Biscotti jar by the cash register was nearly empty. Mara was famous for it. Homemade. A recipe handed down from mother to daughter, dating back generations. She’d never divulged the secret, never let anyone watch her as she made them. The only thing anyone knew was the added spice of a little ground apricot kernel. Poisonous if you used too much. But it added a much needed, much revered bitterness when it was done properly. Evelyn watched as Mara examined the jar, and offered her one o the few remaining pieces.

“On the house, love. I’ll be making a fresh batch in the morning” she said, smiling warmly as Evelyn gratefully accepted. Mara loved all her regulars like they were family, and she often thought of Evelyn as the daughter she never had. More than once she’d contemplated handing the family Biscotti recipe to her, in the hopes that she might continue on the tradition.

Theo burst into the cafe, shaking off the water from his back, sending droplets all over the entrance. Mara tutted to herself, watching as her son had just wet the floor she’d mopped only a few moments ago. She looked at him steadily, then turned to reach for the mop and bucket, leaving her cloth resting in the sink behind the counter.

“Sorry, mum” mumbled Theo. He kissed Mara on the cheek, then took the mop from her hands to clean the step. His face tense, clearly upset over something. Evelyn nodded gently as Mara watched her son chase down the water.

“I thought I taught that boy better” said Mara. “What he needs is a good strong woman to take him on, sort him out, I’ve done all I can do” she added under her breath. Evelyn smiled inwardly, ignoring the only slightly veiled suggestion. The interplay was all too familiar. Mara and Theo began niggling at each other, tormenting each other. But she knew that deep down they both adored and respeted each other immensely. There was nothing Theo wouldn’t do for his mother. And Theo was the apple of Mara’s eye. Watching the play was part of the charm of the Empire Cafe. Part of the reason it had always remained so popular with the locals. It was a slice of home. While Theo mopped the floor, rewashing the entranceway, Mara busied herself behind the counter. Refilling jars, restocking the shelves. Theo’s jaw tightened as she refilled the ground apricot kernal jar.

“You really should label your jars, Mum” said Theo, watching as she replaced the jar on the shelf.

“I don’t forget what my ingredients are my boy” Mara laughed as she continued to refill each jar in turn, returning them to their rightful places.

His mopping finished, Theo made himself an espresso, biting into a piece of the Biscotti. His face wrinkling slightly against the taste.

“Why do you always have to make them so bitter, Mum?”

“Because that’s how your mother, your grandmother, your great-grandmother and all of your ancestors liked it. Tradition. It’s important Theo,” said Mara.

Theo took a draught of his coffee, washing down the taste and walked to the back room to make a phone call. As Evelyn was finishing up her espresso, she couldn’t help but overhear him. Phrases like “I just need more time,” and “Yes, I know what’s at stake” tend to stand out. Even when they’re whispered. They weren’t the kind of phrases you’d use when talking to a loved one. More like the phrases you’d use when talking to a loan shark or a bookie you owed money to.

Still, Evelyn didn’t want to pry. If Theo was in trouble, that wasn’t her concern. If Mara asked her for help she’d gladly give it. But until that moment, Evelyn decided to stay well out of it. She stood on the step, her overcoat back in place, drawing deep on the cigarette she held in her palm, bracing herself for her battle with the elements. Theo and Mara were arguing again. This time, not playfully. She hesitated for a moment, but Mara waved her away. “You’d better get going and catch your train, love” she said. Evelyn stepped out into the wind and rain as Theo and Mara continued to argue. He was trying to convince her to sell the cafe. Again. That it was time. That she deserved her rest. Trying to convince her that she and her boyfriend Frank should both sell up and go tour the old country instead. But Mara was adamant. She’d never sell. She couldn’t imagine life without the cafe. Nor could she imagine Frank anywhere but behind the counter of his corner shop. And to be honest, she didn’t want to imagine it either. The traffic light changed and Evelyn hurried across the street, leaving Theo and Mara to their argument.

After a long, wet and dreary weekend, Monday morning saw the sun finally come out to chase the clouds away. For the time being at least. Evelyn got off at Civic station to walk to her office on the top end of Bolton Street. Her breath caught in her throat as she approached the Empire cafe. Out the front was an ambulance and police cars. Lights were flashing on the still wet pavement. Tape cordoning off the footpath. A surge of panic rushed through her and Evelyn hurried across the street. She stood at the tape, trying to get the attention of the police. But they were busy inside. Photographing. Noting. Measuring. Eventually one of them noticed her standing there, the worried look on her face.

“I’m sorry Miss, you’ll have to go around” said the policeman.

“What’s happened?” asked Evelyn.

“Don’t know much at this stage. But Mara was found dead this morning. At her cash register. No idea how or why. We’re trying to locate Theo, so if you know anything”

“I’m sorry, no, I don’t. I don’t think so at least. Last time I saw either of them was Thursday evening.”

“Well, if you come across him, call us so we can speak to him.” said the policeman. He took out a business card, and scrawled a name and number on the back of it. “If you come across him, or you think of anything, call this number. Ask for Detective Greene. He’s running this” said the policeman.

“Oh, of course, I’m so sorry to have wasted your time” said Evelyn. Her hands shook as she took the card and slipped it into her pocket.

“Not at all. Hopefully we can get to the bottom of this one quickly” said the policeman, before going back inside the Empire cafe.

Evelyn walked to work, stunned about what had happened. Trying to process it. Mara seemed so full of life when she saw her on thursday night. Bright and vibrant. It just didn’t seem right. But, what did seem right was that Mara was found at her cash register. Still working at the cafe she loved so much. Evelyn climbed the stairs to the office where she worked, her briefcase settled on the floor at her desk, beside her feet. She tried to work, but she found herself constantly distracted. Unable to focus. Her mind kept coming back to the argument between Theo and Mara. Something about that argument just seemed odd. The one about selling the cafe. Obviously Theo wanted to and Mara didn’t. But she couldn’t imagine Theo ever wanting to actually harm Mara. Those two were a Newcastle institution, known for how much they doted on each other. She kept trying to focus, kept trying to put it from her mind. As soon as the clock said it was time for the morning break, Evelyn was up and out of her chair like a shot. Distraction. Several of her co-workers were already crowding around the coffee machine.

“Did you hear the news? Mara! Who would’ve believed it?” said Jenny.

“Yeah, it’s insane. But I’m not surprised she was found at her cash register. That woman never knew when to quit working” said Damien, one of the lawyers.

“I heard that there was something about the Biscotti” said Jenny, eager to share her gossip. “Apparently a few people got really sick on that last batch. Some even ended up in hospital.”

“You don’t think they were tampered with?” asked Evelyn.

“Nobody knows. All we know is that a lot of people got sick over the weekend. People that visited that cafe.” said Jenny.

“How on earth could you know that, Jenny? You’re making this up” said Damien.

“I’m not, truthful. My sister-in-law told me” said Jenny

“What, and somehow she knows all about a case of wide-spread food poisoning that didn’t make the papers?” asked Damien.

“I heard it from my sister-in-law. She’s a nurse over at the Mater Hospital, in emergency. She said they had heaps of people coming through over the weekend.” said Jenny.

“I heard someone else died too” said one of the other girls.

“Seriously, girls. Stop this now. All we know is that our beloved Mara died at work. She was eighty if she was a day. It might’ve been a heart attack for all you know” said Damien.

“Or someone might’ve poisoned the Biscotti” said Jenny, winking conspiratorially.

Evelyn couldn’t be there any longer. She took her freshy filled coffee mug and headed back to her desk, eager to be away from the gossip and the theories as they grew wilder and wilder. The very idea that someone might want to kill Mara shocked her to her core. Such a beloved, sweet old lady. Always with a helping hand to anyone who needed it. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her, let alone kill her. Unbidden, the argument between Theo and Mara rose in her mind. She remembered how adamant Theo was about selling. But she also remembered the phone call. About how Theo just needed a little more time. Her amateur sleuthing brain grabbed onto that little nugget and wouldn’t let it go. What if Theo had killed Mara? For the inheritance? So he could sell the cafe and pay off whoever it was that was hounding him for money? Once that thought crossed her mind, Evelyn couldn’t shake it. She started to think of all the times Theo had complained about money to Mara. How he’d argue with her, beg her for more. The times he’d come into the cafe bursting with the joy of a win on the dogs. She knew Theo loved to bet, that he saw himself as a successful gambler. Did Theo killed Mara to pay off some gambling debt?

Evelyn sat. Very still. Staring absently into her coffee. Without even realising she was doing it, she reached into her pocked and plucked out the policeman’s card. She began to turn it over in her hands, examining every facet of it. Reading every word, over and over, while he mind kept focusing in on Theo and the gambling debt. She was torn. On one hand it was just an argument, probably meant nothing at all, not her business. But on the other, it might be an explanation as to why Mara died. Evelyn sat up with a start, her hand instinctively to her mouth. She realised just what her thoughts actually meant. The more she thought about it, the more certain she became. Mara was murdered because Theo was in some gambling debt. The more she thought about it, the stronger her conviction came. It wasn’t a heart attack, it wasn’t accidental, it was murder.

Evelyn picked up the phone on her desk, dialled the number and asked for Detective Greene. The moment he answered, the words came flying out of her mouth.

“Hello Detective Greene. I was in the Empire Cafe on thursday night and Theo was on the phone in the backroom. I don’t know who he was talking to, but it was definitely about a large gambling debt. He was begging them for more time to come with the money. After the phone call he started arguing with Mara about money and kept demanding that she sell the cafe. He also talked about her ingredients, about how she never labelled them.” said Evelyn, her words flying out in a rush.

“Hold on a minute there, Miss. Just getting all that down. Right, phone call about debt, argument about selling the cafe. Got it. What’s special about ingredients?” asked Detective Greene.

“The Biscotti” said Evelyn.

“What about it?”

“Mara had a special recipe. Handed down through the generations. Nobody knows what it was exactly, but it uses ground apricot kernels in it” said Evelyn.

“And why is that significant?” asked Greene.

“Apricot kernels look quite like almonds, especially when you grind them up. Mara used both in making her Biscotti, that much I know. Using apricot kernels gives it that bitter taste her Biscotti were famous for. Use too much and it’s like eating cyanide” said Evelyn.

“Wait, you mean people actually do this deliberately? Eat something that could be like cyanide?”

“Yes. It’s what makes them exquisite”

“Strange. Ok, so what does this all mean?” asked Greene.

“I think Theo switched the ground almond and ground apricot kernels around. The jars are really similar and Mara never labelled them” said Evelyn.

“And because she would normally use a lot of almond and only a little of apricot, that would make her latest batch become toxic?” asked Greene.

“That’s what I think. I heard there were several people that ended up at the emergency at the Mater hospital yesterday? Mara only made those Biscotti for her regulars. You knew you were in her good graces if she gave you one” said Evelyn.

“Thankyou, Miss. You’ve been most – Miss? Are you still there?” asked Greene.

Evelyn looked at her index finger, resting on the hook of the phone. She slid it back, releasing it, hearing the empty dial tone in her ear. Breathing shakily, the dropped the handset on her desk. The realisation hitting her. Right or wrong, she’d just set the bloodhounds on Theo. All well and good if he did kill Mara. But now she wasn’t so sure. He might be innocent. She might’ve simply made a mistake and let her imagination go wild. Evelyn knew she put his head firmly in the noose and pulled it tight. He was at the cafe as much as Mara was. His prints were everywhere. If she had died of poisoning from the Biscotti, there’d be no way he could prove his innocence. She’d given the police means, motive and opportunity. He could be on the other side of the country right now and it wouldn’t matter. The police could make the case that he made the switch before he left. In this town, it didn’t really matter how innocent you were. If it suited the powers that be, you took the fall.