Murder Al Fresco Read online

  Mommy. I had to swallow around the lump in my throat. Jacob couldn't know how his word choice affected me. I wasn't Clayton's mother, no matter how much I might wish it otherwise. And the only actual parent the poor kid did have wanted nothing to do with him.

  As if summoned, Jones strode into the room, followed by Lizzy. He tried to hold my gaze, but I pointedly turned my back on him. Though I'd once found his man-of-mystery vibe alluring, now it felt darker and more treacherous. Keeping your distance was one thing with a girlfriend but something else with a fiancée and a child. Frankly, I was sick of his mystique.

  Snagging the food from the microwave, I tested the temperature and then thrust it into Jones's hands. "Here, I'm going to help Lacey."

  He blinked, gripping the bowl by reflex. I moved past him to the open patio doors and out into the twilight.

  Tiki torches had been lit, bathing the cobblestone patio with a flickering light. The sun had dipped below the rolling hilltops while we'd been inside, but the pool was backlit, as was the summer kitchen where Lacey worked, still in her ridiculous bathing suit.

  "Hey," I said, unable to believe that out of all the people in the house, she was the one I'd sought out.

  "Andee." She tilted her head at me.

  Her outdoor setup was almost as impressive as the kitchen inside. An overhang jutted off the back of the house, covering her work area and creating a lanai space alongside the kidney-shaped pool. She had a massive grill along with a built-in wet bar and several drawers beneath the stone countertop. Oversized, white wicker chairs with plush tropical print cushions sat at odd angles around a raised fire pit.

  "Would you care for a martini?" She flipped something on the grill and then closed the lid.

  "Why the hell not?" It wasn't as though I had to get up for work in the morning.

  "Gin or vodka?"

  I shrugged. "I can't tell the difference."

  "With your palate?" Lacey sauntered over to the bar and started assembling bottles with surprising efficiency. Since I'd always thought her a mediocre chef at best, her ability to mix a cocktail surprised me. "Gin is made from ze botanicals and has a more aromatic fragrance while vodka tends to disappear when mixed with ze stronger elements. Of course, you need quality gin to know ze difference."

  "You know quite a bit about this," I remarked as she laid a pink cocktail napkin down before placing my martini atop it.

  "My family owned ze ristorante in the village where I grew up, much like yours. I worked behind ze bar when I was Kaylee's age."

  "Really?" I sipped the martini and was pleasantly surprised to pick up on the herbal notes she'd mentioned. Guess I'd been drinking subpar gin.

  Lacey nodded and took her own drink back over to the grill. "Dinner will be ready in a few."

  "Aren't we waiting for Kyle?"

  The sound of chimes echoed through the built-in sound system, and Lacey smiled. "That should be ze good sheriff now. Kaylee has told you of our plans for him and Mizz Lizzy, yes?"

  "Your plans?" I raised a brow. "As in you and my daughter. Have plans. Together."

  "Well, I am her step-grandmother. We are bonding."

  And how freaking odd did that sound? Tired, I rubbed a hand over my eyes. My life required more grit and fortitude than I had left. "Look, I'll tell you the same thing I told Kaylee. Kyle and Lizzy will either work it out on their own, or they won't. All the scheming in the world won't change that."

  "I am French," Lacey said, as if that had anything to do with the price of eggs.

  "Your point?"

  Lacey gave me a withering stare. "Because I am French I am more…fluent in the affairs of ze heart. Sometimes a suitor needs a little push, yes? Like you and your Mr. Jones. You are not happy together."

  I opened my mouth to shut her down before she could stick her French foot further into it, but the scrape of the patio door warned me that we were no longer alone. And this was not a conversation I wanted to have in front of witnesses.

  All the color leeched from Lacey's face, and her eyes went round.

  "What?" I asked, pivoting toward the door. "What's the—"

  Pops and Aunt Cecily stood just inside the door, both glowering right at me.

  Loaded Italian Cauliflower

  You'll need:

  1 large head of cauliflower cut into bite size pieces (approx. 6 cups)

  1 teaspoon extra-virgin olive oil

  ¼ pound pancetta, chopped.

  6 tablespoons chives, chopped

  ½ cup mayonnaise

  ½ cup sour cream

  2 cups mozzarella, shredded (or mozzarella/provolone mix)

  Directions:

  Preheat oven to 425°F. In a large pot, boil water and cook cauliflower for 8-10 minutes, drain, and let cool. Add olive oil to pan, and turn heat to medium. When oil is hot, add pancetta, cook until browned then drain on paper towels. In a large bowl, combine sour cream, mayonnaise, half of crumbled pancetta, 3 tablespoons chives, 1 cup of cheese, and cauliflower. Mix well and place in 9x9 baking dish. Cover with remaining 1 cup of cheese and pancetta crumbles. Bake for 15-20 minutes until cheese is melted. Top with remaining chives and serve hot.

  **Andy's Note: When it comes to mayonnaise, it's best to make your own, but if you're pinched for time, use Hellmann's since Miracle Whip and other mayonnaise substitutes include paprika, another nightshade.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "I can explain—" I began, but Aunt Cecily held up one small, gnarled hand in warning and spoke three soft words.

  "We talk later."

  I looked from her to Pops, which was a mistake. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen his expression so cold, his features pinched. Even his skin looked a little sallow, as if coming here had physically drained the life from him. He didn't say a word. Eugene Buckland might be as tough as an old boot, but even my stalwart grandfather had a breaking point. Being in Jacob Griffin's house to collect his wayward granddaughter might just be it.

  Behind them Kaylee, Jones, Lizzy, and Jacob gathered, clogging up the doorway to watch the spectacle. I met Jones's electrified gaze, hoping he would step forward and take my hand, show a little support. But he held back, Clayton in his arms.

  My gaze shifted back to my relatives. "I can't. The paparazzi are everywhere, and they'll keep hounding you if they see me with you."

  "You belong with your family." Pops' voice was low and tight, as if the words pinched his throat. "Andy girl, come home so we can discuss this."

  This being my epic failure of a career? Or this as in my going to Jacob Griffin behind their backs? I knew the reckoning would happen on both fronts, but I'd been hoping for a little more time to compose myself. Part of me wanted to crawl off somewhere to lick my wounds, hiding my shame from prying eyes, like I had after my first major screw-up.

  But then Clayton made a sound, and my gaze went to him. Then I glanced at my fiancé, who looked so lost and unsure. Kaylee's eyes were the size of dinner plates since she'd never seen the wrathful side of Aunt Cecily or Pops before.

  They needed me.

  "You're right," I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. I wasn't in high school anymore, to be drug off like some curfew-breaking, teenage menace. I hadn't done anything wrong, damn it, and I was sick of being shamed into retreat. It was time to go on the offensive.

  "I do belong with my family, and they are here."

  No one moved so much as an inch. Clayton made a sound like a motorboat, breaking the tense atmosphere.

  I took a step closer to my grandfather—the absolute last person on the planet that I would ever choose to hurt—and drove the knife in deeper. "I have to think about more than myself, Pops. Please try to understand."

  "So you'd go running to him and his big fancy house instead of comin' to your own family, who drop everything to help you?"

  "It's not like that. We're safe here." The second the words came out, I knew they were the wrong ones. Pops wasn't the sort of man to take the accusation that he couldn't protect his f
amily in anything but the worst way.

  He turned and walked away without saying a word.

  "Pops," I called out, but he didn't slow his steady march to the door.

  "Andy," Aunt Cecily said.

  I looked down at the diminutive figure beside me and held my breath, bracing for impact. I expected rage, disgust, or any number of dramatic scenes to play out. Instead, she cut me to the quick.

  "Your Nana would be so disappointed."

  All the starch went out of me as she shuffled off. I felt like a strand of linguini left too long in the boiling water, limp and utterly flavorless.

  The remaining crowd gathered around me, but I'd been gutted on the patio and needed a minute to compose myself. "Just give me a few," I muttered and pushed my way back inside. Part of me wanted to chase after Pops and Aunt Cecily and tell them that I hadn't chosen Jacob or all his material wealth over them. But explaining it further wouldn't erase the hurt in my grandfather's face or the condemnation in Aunt Cecily's eyes as she spoke those awful words, and the truth behind them seeped in through every pore.

  Tears pricked my eyes, but I wiped them away as I dashed up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom Jones and I were supposed to share and threw myself across the bed. He hadn't said anything, not one single word in my defense. Was he really that angry with me? I'd been emotionally eviscerated in public twice in one day. Was it too much to expect that he'd stand by me instead of watching, like my total humiliation was a spectator sport?

  Someone knocked softly on the door. I turned my head to see Kaylee there.

  "Hey," she said softly. "You okay?"

  No, but I didn't want to admit that. "I will be."

  She nodded, though her eyes told me she didn't believe me. "Do you want to be alone?"

  I thought I did, but seeing her standing there, still looking so unsure, as if I didn't want to be with her every second of the day. Hadn't I spent enough of my life alone already? Holding up a hand, I gestured her closer. "Maybe we can be alone together for a spell."

  Kaylee kicked off her shoes and climbed into the bed next to me. She didn't speak, and I closed my eyes, relieved to let it all go for a little while.

  "Why were they so upset?" Kaylee asked softly.

  How to explain it to her? Kaylee hadn't grown up with the old-guard Buckland-Rosetti clan, didn't understand the sin I'd committed in their eyes. "When you wanted to come find Kyle and me, was your mom happy about it?"

  "No," she said, her words soft. "But she understood."

  "That's kind of the difference. Pops and Aunt Cecily don't understand why I'd ever come here. In their eyes, Jacob abandoned my mom and me. By choosing to stay here, they see it like I'm picking Jacob over them. It hurt them, especially Pops."

  "But that's not right," my brilliant daughter argued. "You're staying here for me and for Jones and Clayton. They could have stayed too."

  "Never gonna happen, kid. Have you ever heard the expression you can't teach an old dog new tricks? Well, Pops and Aunt Cecily are very old dogs who are very set in their ways. They're disappointed in me because of what happened at the pasta shop and hurt that I would go behind their backs and come here, regardless of the reason."

  Kaylee took that in for a minute before she asked, "If things had been different at the pasta shop, would you have ever come here?"

  "No," my answer came out like a gunshot.

  There was a sharp intake of breath from over by the door. I opened my eyes to see Jacob standing there, looking as gut-punched as I'd been.

  "No," I repeated, holding his gaze. Maybe it was petty, but he was at the root of my hurt. Anger seethed deep inside me because I'd trusted his help with the pasta shop, going against my family's wishes. If not for his actions years before, abandoning my mother and me, I wouldn't have had to choose between my new family and my old one. There was no bridging the gap he'd created, and my suffering was his fault. "Not in a million years."

  He nodded once, indicating my message had been received, then turned and walked away.

  * * *

  It was a restless night. Kaylee left around nine, and Jones kept Clayton downstairs until well after ten. The little guy didn't take to another new place well. Though my body was exhausted, my mind kept churning over the events of the day as we walked the darkened hallways, me humming to him. He finally fell asleep, and I brought him to bed, placing him between Jones and me.

  I woke to find Jones sitting in a chair by the bed, staring at the two of us. His eyes were red-rimmed, causing his bright eyes to look even bluer. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead.

  We hadn't spoken the night before, at least not to each other. I was hesitant to say anything now, as though my words would end the calm before the storm. Jones opened his mouth then shook his head, his eyes closing in frustration. Apparently he had the same problem.

  Clayton rolled onto his back, his diaper sagging beneath his onesie. I should probably get him changed and bring him downstairs for breakfast, but the idea of facing the day a second before I absolutely had to held zero appeal. Putting off the inevitable seemed like a workable plan.

  But some things wouldn't wait.

  "I'm sorry," Jones finally got out. "I haven't been handling this well."

  "No," I agreed. "You haven't."

  "But you have." He gave me a soft smile. "Andrea, you always manage to surprise me."

  "Back atcha'," I replied, shivering the way I usually did when he spoke my name. My anger at him had died away sometime during the night.

  His grin vanished all too soon, and he murmured, "Not in a good way."

  I couldn't deny it—some of his surprises made my hair stand on end. Choosing my words carefully, I said, "I know your heart is in the right place. But telling me you considered lying to me at this point in our relationship, no matter the reason, is unacceptable."

  His expression looked tormented. "I know."

  I began stacking pillows between Clayton and me so that he wouldn't roll out of bed. "That being said, you didn't lie to me. More than anything else, that tells me how much everything has changed for us as a couple. It gives me hope that we'll keep getting better as we go along."

  "I can't lose you," he whispered. "My life would be nothing but an empty landscape without you."

  Easing myself out of bed, I made my way over to where he sat and knelt on the floor in front of him. "Why are you so worried you'll lose me?"

  He shook his head, but I caught it between my hands.

  "Malcolm, look at me. Tell me what's going on in that complicated head of yours."

  His gaze roved over my face as though he was memorizing every detail. "I changed the game on you. Clayton's changed it for both of us."

  I nodded but didn't speak, unwilling to interrupt him.

  "I don't know how to be a father," he whispered. "He's so little and I just…I can't… What if I let him down?"

  "Breathe," I told him. "Malcolm, it's okay."

  Blue eyes wild, he stared past me to where his son lay sleeping. "I don't know if I can do this, Andrea. You want him to stay. I can see it in your eyes. But what if I can't be what he needs? What if I send him back to live with his grandparents? Will you leave me?"

  It was on the tip of my tongue to deny that anything would ever make me leave him, but then I thought about it, really thought it through. Jones knew I'd become attached to Clayton in such a short time, knew I'd been bonding with him, had let it happen. The thought that he'd take that little boy away from me because he couldn't bring himself to open up stole the breath from my lungs.

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. "Malcolm, you can do this. I believe in you. It's only been a few days. Just try. Will you do that, for my sake as well as Clayton's?"

  His throat bobbed. "I am trying. Believe me, love."

  "Try harder." Maybe it was unfair, and maybe I was asking too much from him, but Clayton was his son, and Jones was an honorable man. It shouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for me to insist
that Jones give the little boy his all. I knew in time Clayton could win him over, if Jones only let his guard down. "We'll have plenty of time to spend together since the Bowtie Angel and the Diced competition won't be a distraction anymore."

  Jones frowned. "Why not?"

  I snorted. "Like anyone will eat my cooking ever again."

  He leaned back in the chair. "So that's it? You're just going to give up?"

  "You make it sound like there's a way to fix this when you know it's not up to me. Think about it from a neutral perspective. If you didn't know me personally and you heard about the food poisoning, would you roll the dice by eating something I prepared?"

  "If I found out that someone else had set you up for the fall, then yes, I would."

  Stubborn, sexy man. "I don't know…"

  "Andrea." His hands cupped my shoulders as he caressed my name in that accent I had loved from the first moment I heard it. "Do you still want redemption? Tell me you can live a long and happy life not knowing what went wrong."

  I couldn't. We both knew it. "But where do we even start looking?"

  "I was thinking about it this morning, and I want you to make a list of anyone who would deliberately want to sabotage you. Then we'll cross-reference it with anyone who benefits from Chad Tobey's death."

  "But we don't even know if the cases are related for sure," I argued. "Then there's the mysterious blogger. We have no idea who she is, if she's the one who sent Chad the threats."

  "True," Jones agreed. "But it's a place to start. You should get ready for work—you have a competition to prepare for. I want to get ahold of the sheriff. He never showed up last night. Think about that list and text me when you get it."

  "You make it sound so easy." My gaze shifted to the bed where Clayton stirred, on the verge of waking. A thought occurred, and I turned back to Jones. "Okay, here's the deal. You need to spend the day with your son, and leave the investigating up to me."

  "Andrea," he began, as I knew he would, but I didn't let him finish.

  "No, Malcolm, this is what I need. I'll pick your brain, you can point me in the right direction, but you have to let me do the work. Now, suspects who would have known about Chad Tobey's marshmallow allergy. Where do I start?"