The kielbasa killer, p.1
The Kielbasa Killer, page 1
Contents
Cover
Also by Geri Krotow
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
About the Author
Acknowledgements
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
Traditional Polish Placek (Yeast Coffee Cake)
Aunt Dot’s Cheesecake
Also by Geri Krotow
Silver Valley P.D. series
HER CHRISTMAS PROTECTOR
WEDDING TAKEDOWN
HER SECRET CHRISTMAS AGENT
SECRET AGENT UNDER FIRE
THE FUGITIVE’S SECRET CHILD
REUNION UNDER FIRE
SNOWBOUND WITH THE SECRET AGENT
INCOGNITO EX
STALKED IN SILVER VALLEY
Mountain Rescue series
STRANDED IN THE MOUNTAINS
Shop ’Round the World
A SANTA STABBING
A MID-SUMMER MURDER
Bayou Bachelors
FULLY DRESSED
BARE DEVOTION
BAYOU VOWS
THE KIELBASA KILLER
Geri Krotow
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First world edition published in Great Britain and the USA in 2023
by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd,
14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE.
This eBook edition first published in 2023 by Severn House,
an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd.
severnhouse.com
Copyright © Geri Krotow, 2023
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The right of Geri Krotow to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-1118-7 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-1119-4 (e-book)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
This eBook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland
To Stephen–
It’s time to polka, my love
About the author
Geri Krotow is an award-winning author of over thirty novels, including the Whidbey Island contemporary romance series and the Silver Valley, PD romantic suspense series. A US Naval Academy graduate and former Naval Intelligence Officer, Geri left her Navy career after nine years to follow her heart and focus on her dream of becoming an author. When not writing or reading, Geri loves to knit and go on long walks with her beloved dogs. A native of Buffalo, New York, she relishes frequent return visits.
www.gerikrotow.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book and series is a love letter to my native city of Buffalo, NY, and the town I was raised in, Cheektowaga, NY. I am indebted to so many, as listed here and more. This is a work of fiction, of course, and all the characters products of my imagination, but I hope you can sense the love I have for Buffalo. You can take the girl out of Buffalo but you’ll never take my hometown out of my heart. A story becomes an enjoyable read thanks to an entire community of professionals, and if you’re as lucky as I’ve been, they become your friends, too.
For particulars with this book and the Kielbasa Queen series, thanks to Michael Graczyk and Lori Petruno Gorski (no relation to Stanley).
I am blessed with the world’s best agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, who forever has my deepest gratitude for always demanding my utmost effort, and never shying away from pushing me to dig deeper until I discover the whole story. Emily, you are a trusted anchor in this often choppy business. To Sara Porter at Severn House, whose support of the Kielbasa Queen Mystery Series has never been anything but total and enthusiastic. It’s a dream to work with you and the entire SH team! To Michelle Haring, owner of Cupboard Maker Books in Pennsylvania, thank you for expertly handselling all of my novels to the most excellent readers. To Cathy M., for the faithful accountability. For my writing support group of Heidi, Hope and Cathy; may all of our writing dreams come true. To Mary K. who saw me through one of the most painful yet joyful transitions of my life. For Mary F. B. and Patti M., your steadfast love and support got me here. Aunt Margie, my forever champion, I love you. For my brother Paul, who survived the Blizzard of ’77 with me, and helped with the 1982 playlist. For Dad; you inspire me to get it done each and every day. To Alexander and Ellen, my life’s most precious gifts. And to my soulmate Stephen—your support is everything.
ONE
April, 1982
Good Friday
The clang of her Baby Ben alarm clock woke Lydia Wienewski from deep layers of precious slumber. She reached her hand through the garage apartment’s chilly air and switched it off, forcing herself to sit up. It was too tempting to curl back under her blankets for a few more minutes. She’d slept like the dead for the short time she’d been able to, and it had to be enough this morning. Besides, her exhaustion was nothing a couple of mugs of hot coffee couldn’t handle. The mere thought of fresh brew once she was in the shop kept her up and moving.
Tiptoeing so as to not wake Grandma Mary, she went to the opposite end of their flat and entered the bathroom, softly closing the door behind her. She paused to stare out the top half of the window, the part that wasn’t covered with opaque, sticky, diamond-patterned window film. At four-thirty in the morning the stars glittered across the indigo sky, visible through the bare branches of the humongous maple tree between her parents’ house and the garage. Lydia saw more than the predawn sky. She saw hope, a promise that her stint as the family butcher would end soon, that Lydia’s Lakeside Café and Bakery would be her full-time gig. For as long as she’d lived at 10 Pulaski Place in Cheektowaga, New York, Lydia had wanted to own both a restaurant and bakery. This equated to twenty-five of her twenty-nine years, as she’d been four years old when Pop found the house only two blocks from the family store. Her dream was about to come true, as she owned the building for her business and was in the final preparations before its grand opening at the end of May.
Of course, Pop had to be back on his feet by then, which her mother prayed about nightly to the Blessed Mother. Lydia tried to keep her angst hidden, but the thought of having to manage Pop’s job while working at her new full-time gig overwhelmed her.
Shouldering two businesses was going mean she’d be working ‘round the clock’ for a bit. She could do it. Anything for her Pop. He’d been knocked down by a stroke on Christmas, right when they were getting ready to go to Midnight Mass. Never had Lydia seen her mother look so helpless, so frightened, as when Pop was loaded into the ambulance. She blinked back tears.
It’s OK. Pop was getting stronger, and the shop was going to make it. Her emotions were on the surface today, and she blamed it on the anticipation of this weekend’s sales. It was Good Friday, only two days before the Polish Easter holiday celebrated with smoked ham, kielbasa, and placek, the rich yeast coffee cake that Madame Delphine would lift her nose at.
Ugh. She shoved the memory of her time at Madame Delphine’s pastry school in Ottawa last year back where it belonged, in her distant past. She’d been mistaken to believe that she needed a diploma to be able to call herself a baker or cook, especially the Polish-American baked goods and savory meals she excelled at. A spark of pride warmed her heart in the cold room. Last night, while waiting for her extra batch of kielbasa to smoke, she’d made several dozen chrusciki, or angel wings, as the locals referred to them. Mounds of thin cookies doused with powdered sugar awaited wrapping and stacking for sale in the shop. Customers were in buying mood as they prepared for Easter and, being the businesswoman she was, Lydia relished the opportunity to increase their bottom line.
Lucky for her, Lydia had discovered a better dream than becoming Western New York’s best pastry chef. From authentic Polish-American baked goods, to pierogi, to golabki – cabbage rolls – she was plowing her own path with the café and bakery, her own career, apart from Wienewski’s Wiene rs & Meats. Lydia’s Lakeside Café and Bakery would showcase the best of her skills, managing a business and making everything on the menu. She was a good enough cook, but planned to hire a more seasoned chef so she could focus on the books and baking.
All she needed to do first was to get the family butcher shop out of the red. Toward that singular goal she’d worked long into last night, hanging extra kielbasa in the family’s backyard smoker and deep frying chrusciki in a huge cast-iron pan atop a hot plate on her parent’s patio until right before midnight. Just in case. Just in case her prayers for a sell-out Easter weekend were answered.
She turned from the window, pulled the string switch for the lightbulb over the sink, and took care of getting ready for work. Her clothes were on the back of the toilet tank where she’d put them, anticipating the early wake-up. Her bed was separated from Grandma’s by a beautiful but thin macrame curtain. Grandma liked to stay up late, crocheting or doing macrame, watching her beloved police shows on the TV in the main house or sometimes here in front of their tiny television. Lydia was usually asleep by the time Grandma came back to their pad, and woke up a couple of hours earlier. They’d fallen into a routine of sorts since Lydia came back almost five months ago.
Once dressed, she hung her nightgown on the hook and slowly opened the door. A specter emerged from the dark. Lydia sucked in a breath to scream, her hands instinctively crossing over her chest.
‘Morning, my Polish princess. How did you sleep?’ Mary Romano Wienewski, aka Grandma, greeted her.
‘Grandma!’ Not a spooky Easter Bunny. She dropped her arms. ‘I thought you were asleep.’ She flipped the light switch, chasing away the shadows.
‘Sleep’s for the dead. I’m going in with you.’ Grandma Mary’s eyes blazed with determination, her cheeks rosy with warmth despite the cold morning. Both features stood out against the wild nest of bleached blonde hair she religiously tamed into a French knot each morning. Grandma held her battered blue jeans, navy wool cardigan, and pale blue turtleneck in her arms. And the denture case she insisted on keeping bedside ‘so that I don’t clutter up the bathroom sink.’
‘No, Grandma. Go back to bed. I’ll get more done on my own, at least to start with.’
‘But you need the help …’ Judging from her distracted appearance, Grandma Mary’s thoughts were already at the store, wrapping Easter orders. At sixty-five, Grandma was young compared to her friends’ grandparents, but her thin frame sagged with the long hours they’d both been putting in. Plus Grandma helped Mom and Pop out a lot, from preparing meals to doing laundry. Getting Pop back at the chopping block was a family affair.
‘Please, Grandma. You were up late watching that rerun of Police Woman. It won’t help any of us if you get sick. If you come in later, it’ll give me a chance to take a nap this afternoon.’ Lydia had no intention of resting, not today, but Grandma wouldn’t budge without incentive. And nothing moved Grandma’s heart more than a plea from her granddaughter.
‘Well, OK.’ Grandma nodded. ‘But only if you promise to call me if you need me sooner.’ Grandma gestured at their shared phone on the wall of the kitchen nook.
‘I promise.’ Lydia crossed her fingers behind her back.
‘Before I forget, honey, did you hear your sister roar in last night?’
Lydia grinned. ‘I did. Maybe around two-thirty?’ The sad state of Teri’s boyfriend’s muffler had broken through a delicious dream she’d been having about Stanley. From the times when she’d never doubted the strength of their bond. Before she’d left for Canada, and before he’d taken a rebound fiancée.
Grandma shook her head. ‘I don’t want to think of what she was doing until then. Nothing good happens after midnight, not when you’re eighteen. That boyfriend of hers needs to fix his car.’
‘I’ll mention it to her. She’s coming in early today, and so is Johnny. I even asked Vi to show up an hour early.’ She didn’t put any faith in their bookkeeper appearing before the shop opened, but she wanted to get Grandma back under her covers.
‘Oh, that reminds me!’ Grandma clutched Lydia’s upper arm as if she had life-shattering news to report. ‘Don’t mention getting rid of Vi to your father. Not yet. Yesterday he asked your mother if she’d made sure to include Vi for Easter dinner.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Lydia wished she’d fired Vi already. The woman was taking from the shop’s bottom line as far as she was concerned, and not doing her share of the workload. ‘I specifically told Mom to not invite her.’
‘I know, I know. Maybe she won’t show up. She’s skipped before, right?’
‘Only when she’s having a hard day, like the anniversary of Uncle Ray’s death, or their wedding anniversary.’ Vi was widowed when Pop’s older brother Ray died unexpectedly almost two decades earlier.
‘I hate to say it, because it was my son who died, but Vi needs to move on. Life is for the living, and my Ray wouldn’t ever want her to suffer like this.’ Grandma never hesitated to express her opinion.
‘Vi says she’ll never give her heart to another. At least, since her last divorce.’ Vi had remarried, and divorced, twice since Uncle Ray died. ‘She got her idea that she only had one true love from you, you know. You’ve never remarried since Grandpa passed.’ Lydia didn’t want to make Grandma sad, but figured it was unlikely as Grandma had had several beaus over the years, including a recent fiancé, who unfortunately took off to Florida right before their nuptials.
‘That’s because I don’t identify as a widow. Sure, when I first lost your grandfather, I grieved. We all did. But life is for the living. I moved on. Vi needs to stop thinking of herself as Ray’s widow – it’s why her other marriages didn’t work out, if you ask me. Then the men will appear.’
‘You’d know, Grandma. The men can’t keep away from you.’
‘Stop buttering me up, honey bunny.’ Grandma giggled. ‘Get out of here, then. I’ll see you soon.’ She waved her away.
‘We don’t need you until later, Grandma. Go back to bed. Please.’ Lydia kissed her cheek, inhaling her grandmother’s signature lilac bath powder scent.
Grandma kissed her back. ‘Be careful, honey child. It’s still dark out.’ She dropped her clothes on the tiny kitchen table and padded back to bed.
Lydia shoved into her coat, grabbed a container of raspberry yogurt from the ancient refrigerator to eat later in the morning, placed it in her pocket, and took the milk crate filled with sealed plastic bags of chrusciki she’d carefully stacked last night. She finished bundling herself up for the short but cold walk to work.
It was impossible to keep her snow boots from clomping down the steep stairwell, so she leapt from the third to last step and pushed open the garage side door. Cold air stung her cheeks, sucked at the hairs in her nostrils. She halted in the driveway, wondering if she should check on the kielbasa. Normally she prepared all of the smoked sausage in the commercial smoker adjacent the store’s building. Last night she needed more room so she had also used the large, ancient, brick structure her grandfather built decades ago. A quick glance over her shoulder reassured her that there wasn’t any smoke coming out of the smoker’s tiny chimney. It wasn’t predicted to get much above freezing today, meaning the cured meat had no chance of spoiling before noon. She’d come back for it later, after she opened the store and got things going.
Wasting no more time, she left the property and made for the shop, only a couple of blocks away. It was a good chance to sift through her already racing thoughts.
Grandma was right: Pop didn’t need to know about her plan to fire Vi. Not until right before she did it, and presented him with her reasons. Since coming back into the business Lydia noticed that the income didn’t match up with the payments, as in she was certain they were making decent enough earnings to support the overhead and at least two employees, including Vi. Since Vi did the books, it would be easy for her to do some quick skimming. But Lydia couldn’t accuse the once-relative of a crime without proof, and she hadn’t had a chance to examine the books herself. To be fair to Vi, it was more probable that the woman had made honest mistakes rather than stolen funds from her family-by-marriage’s business. Lydia had to check it out, either way. With Pop still on the mend, managing the entire load of the accounts fell on her shoulders.
