Murder Al Fresco Page 16

  Jones nodded slowly. "To keep you distracted."

  "Right. And why bother keeping me distracted unless there's something someone doesn't want me to do."

  "You think it's the blogger protecting her identity?"

  "I don't know. I wish I knew where Kyle was. I could really use his help."

  Jones looked at the clock on the wall, trapped in a custom metal cage. "You should go get ready for the press conference." He appeared sad but was trying to hide it, not wanting to burden me with worry for him.

  I squeezed his hands. "Hang in there."

  "Not like I can go anywhere." His expression shifted. "Andrea, I—"

  But I held up a hand, not wanting to hear another apology. "We'll fix it, all of it. I promise."

  * * *

  "Donna, what are we doing here?" I looked at the house on Grove Street, the Victorian where I'd grown up, that Pops and Aunt Cecily had sold last winter. "I thought you were going to show me a house?"

  "I am," she said, smiling. "And I believe my exact words were 'the perfect house for you.'"

  "I don't understand," I frowned, glancing at the pristine flower beds, the fresh coat of white paint on the front porch, the gleaming windows of the bump-out bay in the front room. "This house sold. Pops and Aunt Cecily used the money to buy their space in the senior citizen center."

  "Right, but the new owner is moving. Technically the family has already moved, to Wilmington. He was going to hold onto it until the market turns around, but he just called me yesterday saying that the property manager I'd suggested isn't working out. I was going to advise him to rent, but if the right buyer came along…" She did a palms up.

  "I can't afford this house," I whispered, even as a lump formed in my throat. I'd been imagining a little two-bedroom modular down by the lake. "Not with the fate of the pasta shop so up in the air."

  "Just come in and take a look," Donna urged. "You told me yourself that no place has felt like home since you moved out of here last winter. Maybe there's a reason it hasn't and a reason this place is available. Don't think about the money, think about the possibilities."

  "Oh, you're good," I whispered as she unlocked the front door. "But I know what you're doing."

  She pushed open the door and indicated that I should go first. "What can I say? I'm motivated to have my best friend as a neighbor again."

  Against my better judgment, I stepped over the threshold and into my childhood home. Memories assaulted me, and the first thing I noticed was the smell. Lemon floor wax instead of basil, garlic, and oregano. My mind took a minute to adjust to the house as it stood, as I kept imaging Pops' battered old armchair in the corner facing the rabbit-eared television set. There were several oil paintings in the hallway leading to the kitchen instead of the family photographs, and the banister had been replaced on the stairs.

  Donna remained silent as I wandered into the kitchen. She gave me time to process the changes, and here there were many. A new, white dishwasher had been installed, and the fridge had been seriously upgraded, the cabinets freshly painted and stenciled with climbing grape leaves. The kitchen was the beating heart of any home, and the numerous changes only underscored the love I'd always experienced in this one.

  "It's beautiful," I whispered, running my hands along the light soapstone countertops. "I had no idea they'd done all this."

  "Come see the upstairs," she urged like a drug pusher smelling an easy mark.

  The three large bedrooms were completely empty, showcasing the freshly stained wood trim and the opulent space. The two bathrooms still held cast-iron tubs, but one had been moved under the window, and a tiled-in shower with sliding glass doors stood in its old spot. The final effect was Old World meets modern convenience and suited the house perfectly.

  I whistled low. This had not been a cheap remodel by any means.

  "They also replaced the ancient water heater." Donna looked just like her twins when she bounced on her toes. "It's move-in ready. Tell me you wouldn't love to bring Jones and Clayton home here. You remember how much Jones enjoyed Christmas here."

  I did, and if he wasn't currently incarcerated, he would probably be pushing me to take it. "I would, you know I would. But how much are they asking?"

  She named a sum, much more reasonable than I thought, but still way off my mark. "Donna, I can't swing that."

  "You know, you could move Pops and Aunt Cecily in downstairs. If you aren't paying for the A-frame anymore, you could get a halfway-decent mortgage rate. They could even help you out with the down payment, since they got that settlement from the senior citizen's center. We could have you all moved in by Labor Day weekend."

  I checked the time on my cell phone. "Speaking of the A-frame, I need to get going if I want a chance to get everything prepared for that social worker."

  "Don't worry, I'll lock up. Just think about it, okay?"

  Think about asking my two aging relatives, who currently were not speaking to me, if they wanted to move back into our old house together. My friend had lost her mind.

  But even as I drove I imagined turning the second largest bedroom into a nursery for Clayton, giving Kaylee the third room in case she wanted to stay with us, and transforming the old root cellar into a darkroom for Jones. And it would be nice to have a place for Pops and Aunt Cecily.

  If I won the Diced Showdown, I could do it. Originally I'd been thinking of using that money for a wedding, but it's not like Jones or I were big partiers. I didn't need the princess dress or the perfect flowers. I needed my family.

  But winning was still a big, fat, juicy if. Deep breath. I could do this. I just had to take it one step at a time.

  And try not to trip over my own feet.

  The nicest part about living with Pops and Aunt Cecily was that the house was always immaculate. There was a place for everything, and everything was in its place. I let myself in, glad they weren't here to disrupt the interview with more family squabbling. Donna had loaded me down with those plastic thingies people put in electric sockets to keep kids from electrocuting themselves, and I scurried around, plugging up the outlets and moving the cleansing liquid to the top shelves. I'd just stuck the laminated list of emergency contacts to the fridge when the doorbell rang.

  Pasting a smile on my face, I opened it, only to see Lizzy, struggling under massive amounts of Clayton's stuff. "What the hell are you doing here? The social worker will be here any minute," I hissed.

  "I thought you might need this stuff. You want to make it look like the house is ready for Clay, yeah?"

  "We don't have time to set it all up." I took an armload from her and stumbled back to let her in. "And you were an accomplice to the kidnapping. Having you hanging around here is not going to help."

  "I'll be gone in a jiff," she gasped.

  Tires crunched under gravel. I cussed and shoved Lizzy toward the hall closet. "Get in there, and don't make any noise."

  "I'm not going in there," she huffed. "It smells like mildew and old socks."

  "Just breathe through your mouth. You dated Kyle, you ought to know how to do that."

  She made a pissy sound, which I ignored and shoved her in face-first just as the new arrival tapped on the door.

  Well, so much for my impress-the-social-worker neat and tidy home. The place was now covered in kiddie paraphernalia, and I had an accessory to kidnapping stashed in the hall closet.

  This was going to go over like a fart in church.

  Trying not to trip on the heap of stuff, I scurried to the door. The social worker was a massively overweight woman with lank brown hair streaked with gray spilling from a haphazard ponytail and squinty eyes that held a hint of suspicion. "Hi, you must be Mrs. Griggs."

  "It's Ms," she corrected me.

  "Sorry, please come in. Excuse the mess, I just got back from picking up a few things for Clayton in town and haven't had a chance to put them away yet. "I nudged a pack of diapers aside with the toe of my sneaker.

  She frowned at the heap of stu
ff, the car seat, the playpen, the baby gate, but didn't comment. She had a note pad, and she wrote something on it. Though I squinted, there was no way for me to read what she wrote.

  "Does anyone else live here?" she asked.

  "My grandfather and great aunt," I responded quickly.

  "And are they here?" One penciled eyebrow went up.

  "No," I willed myself not to shift under her scrutiny. "They're in town visiting with friends."

  "I saw two cars out front."

  The old battle-ax didn't miss a trick. "It's an extra."

  "I see." She moved into the kitchen, opening random cabinets and taking more notes.

  There was a noise from the closet, and Ms. Griggs frowned. "What was that?"

  "Just the dog." Sweat had popped out on my forehead. "He has gas."

  Roofus hadn't moved on his spot on the couch. He wasn't the world's best watchdog, but he was a good scapegoat.

  "Which room will be Clayton's?"

  "This way." I ushered her down the hall toward my bedroom.

  She scowled at the space. "Someone's already living here?"

  "Oh, I am. He'll be sharing with me. But it's only temporary."

  She moved back out to the main room, taking it all in. "You say you're a chef. How much time will you really have to spend with Clayton?"

  "Well, my restaurant is closed for the time being," I hedged, praying she wouldn't ask why.

  "So you're currently without income." She paused before continuing. "I'll be honest, Ms. Buckland. It's unusual for a single woman living with two elderly relatives to be granted custody, even temporarily."

  "Well, this isn't permanent," I assured her. "I was actually out looking at houses earlier and—"

  "That doesn't change the fact that he would be moving into a single parent household, where that parent isn't able to provide for him."

  "But I'm engaged," I showed her the ring. "See. So he won't be in a single parent family for long."

  She narrowed her eyes at me. "And who, may I ask, is your fiancé?"

  "I am," a male voice said from behind me. "Sorry I'm late, sweetie pumpkin."

  I blinked, stunned at the new arrival standing in the doorway, his uniform tailored to fit his tall frame. "Kyle?"

  Before I could utter another syllable, the sheriff hauled me into his arms for a massive kiss

  Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice Gelato

  You'll need:

  1 cup heavy cream

  1 cup whole milk

  ¾ cup sugar

  1 cinnamon stick

  ¼ teaspoon nutmeg

  ¼ teaspoon cloves

  ¼ teaspoon ginger

  ½ ounce Goldschläger

  Pinch salt

  Directions:

  Combine cream and milk in a saucepan, add sugar and spices. Bring to a boil then continue to cook on low heat until cinnamon stick breaks apart. Chill in refrigerator for 1 hour before adding Goldschlägers and salt. Put through ice cream maker, following manufacturer's directions.

  **Andy's note: This recipe originally called for 1 ounce cinnamon vodka, which is made from potatoes (i.e. nightshades). The alcohol and starch acts as a thickening agent to bring your gelato to the right consistency and avoids ice crystals, so if you don't have trouble with nightshades, I'd say use that instead.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Kyle kissed me the same way he had when we were sixteen. My hands went to his chest to push him away, but he held firm. I wasn't sure if I was more stunned that he'd slithered out from whatever rock he'd been hiding under or that he'd decided to snag me in a lip-lock for no good reason.

  But then his words registered, and I realized that he did have a reason. Kyle had told the social worker that we were engaged, and this stupid kiss was just part of the ruse. Being engaged to the sheriff was infinitely better than being engaged to the man sitting in jail on kidnapping charges, phony though they might be.

  It was stupid to lie, to risk that the adoption wouldn't go through when the truth came out, but I had a feeling Ms. Griggs was on the verge of denying my claim for temporary custody. And once Jones was cleared, all this insanity wouldn't matter.

  When he finally pulled away, I saw the flash of warning in his eyes and decided to play along.

  "Snookums," I said, just to needle him. "I wasn't expecting you. Have you met Ms. Griggs?"

  "Ma'am." Kyle offered his hand and even winked at the frumpy social worker. "It's a pleasure."

  "You're engaged to the sheriff?" Ms. Griggs blushed a little as he held her hand.

  "We were high school sweethearts," Kyle told her with a wink. "Took us a while to find each other again, but now that we have, we're ready to start a family."

  I let him work his magic. Kyle had that good ol' boy charm down to a science, and he was laying it on thick. The social worker ate it up like a meal.

  "Did my Andy tell you that she's going to be on a televised cooking competition? Grand prize is fifty thousand dollars, right, sweet cheeks? Not that we need the money. My folks are loaded."

  "That's right, butter bean," I cooed, making myself a little sick, though I hid it behind a saccharine smile. "I'm mostly doing it for the free advertising for my grand reopening."

  "The whole town's buzzing about it." Kyle turned back to Ms. Griggs. Thankfully she wasn't from Beaverton, or she would have known exactly how off the mark our story was. I had no doubt that Kyle had lost his last marble, but I was in too deep to back out now.

  "Yup, and as soon as we find the perfect house, we'll be moving right in," Kyle said. "Under normal circumstances we'd wait until everything was settled, but as soon as Andy saw Clayton, she fell in love with the little guy."

  "It's the truth," I said, hoping my sincerity showed on this one essential point.

  "Well, it seems like your situation is different than my initial impression," Ms. Griggs admitted. "I will let you know later today."

  "Can't wait." I escorted her to the door, and Kyle came up beside me, wrapping an arm around my waist. We waved until her car disappeared then I shoved the sheriff away from me. "Kyle, what the hell were you thinking?"

  "Ow," he complained as I smacked his shoulder. "I was only trying to help. You were sinking fast there, and it wasn't pretty."

  I walloped him again for good measure. "Sweet cheeks? Really?"

  He gave a half-hearted shrug. "Figured I owed you one."

  I was contemplating hitting him again when the coat closet door was tossed open so hard that it rebounded against the wall, and Lizzy flew past me into Kyle's arms. "I thought you were dead!" she wailed.

  "Why?" Kyle looked clearly surprised.

  "Because you vanished without a trace, you big, stupid idiot!" She kissed him, grabbing him by the ears and hauling his mouth down to hers.

  Stunned, Kyle stood frozen, letting Lizzy have her way with him. I cleared my throat a couple of times and was just about to leave and give them a minute when she pulled back and slapped him across the face.

  "Ow," Kyle said again.

  "That's for scaring me half to death. Where were you?" Lizzy shrieked.

  Kyle glanced in my direction, but I put my hands on my hips. "Don't look at me like I'm gonna save your sorry behind. You left me high and dry with the food poisoning thing. So where were you?"

  "Undercover," Kyle said.

  "Undercover?" Lizzy asked. Her hands went to her hips.

  Kyle looked at me as if I could step in and save him. "I'm not sure where to start."

  "How about the day you disappeared," I prompted. "You took the prepped dishes from the Bowtie Angel, and then what?"

  "I took them to a lab I know." Kyle rubbed the back of his neck. "Not the county lab, but a private one."

  I folded my arms over my chest. "Why?"

  "Because your real fiancé asked me to."

  "Jones?" Lizzy and I exchanged glances, and I cleared my throat. "Why would he want you to do that?"

  "In case someone on the Diced staff hacked the data
base the way Jones hacked into the ME's report on Chad Tobey. When I found out it was those mushrooms, I knew I needed to let you know what had caused the massive food poisoning, but I was already undercover and couldn't risk being spotted around town."

  "I don't understand." Lizzy shook her head. "Undercover where?"

  "Atlanta," Kyle admitted. "That's all I can say for now."

  "Do you have a line on the killer?" I asked. "Do you know who wants to discredit me?"

  "Andy, there is no killer," the sheriff said. "Chad Tobey's death has been officially ruled as an accident."

  I sank down onto the couch. "So that's it? But doesn't his wife benefit from his death?"

  "Whether she does or not, she didn't kill him, and there's no reason to think she had anyone else kill him either. A burglary gone wrong is much easier to stage than an accidental food poisoning."

  "But the EpiPen. Tobey was found facedown in his dinner. Why didn't he go for his EpiPen?"

  "I can't explain it." Kyle shook his head. "Maybe it hit him too fast, maybe he was disoriented or too weak to get up."

  "So that's it then." I slumped in my chair, leaning my elbows on the dining room table. "And what about whoever is trying to discredit me? Any leads?"

  Kyle shook his head. "No. Although I think your culinary competition is the most logical place to start. The contest starts tomorrow, right?"

  "Yeah, I've been through the files a dozen times but can't come up with a viable suspect. And now I don't have time for it either." Speaking of time, I glanced at the clock. "Shoot, I have to go. Press conference."

  "Wait!" Lizzy gripped my arm. "Have you heard back from Rochelle's lawyer yet?"

  "No." The man picked a hell of a time to go on vacation. Then a thought occurred to me. "Kyle, Jones said he had the contact information for Clayton's grandparents stored in his phone and that it was taken into evidence. Any way you could get that for us?"

  Kyle groaned theatrically. "Andy, I just got back into town an hour ago, and already you have me wrapped up in some scheme?"