Murder Al Fresco Read online

  "And if they do get worse, you've taught me that we should always eat our feelings," Jones quipped.

  "When you're right, Malcolm Jones, you are so right. Let's eat. We'll figure the rest out later."

  "That's the best plan I've heard all day," Jones said.

  Nightshade-Free Designer Pizza

  You'll need:

  1 pizza crust (See Rosemary Focaccia recipe)

  2 cups basil

  ¼ cup pine nuts

  1 clove of garlic

  1 ounce grated Parmesan cheese

  2 tablespoons basil-infused olive oil

  1 ball fresh mozzarella, shredded

  ½ cup baby spinach, washed and dried

  ½ sweet onion, chopped

  ½ pound pork sausage

  Par bake dough on pizza stone at 400°F until outer layer starts to brown. Combine basil, pine nuts, garlic, Parmesan, and oil in a food processor, blend till smooth to make pesto. Set aside. Crumble and cook sausage in a pan until no longer pink. Drain excess grease. Add onion, cooking until translucent and then spinach to wilt. Remove crust from oven and top with pesto, shredded cheese, and meat mixture. Return to oven, and bake until bubbly.

  **Andy's note: You can mix and match any toppings you desire on this pizza. One of my favorites is the leftover meatballs from the awesome meatball recipe! Just make sure you read ingredient labels so that you know what you're getting.

  EPILOGUE

  Four Months Later…

  "Andiamo!" Aunt Cecily clapped at me from her position next to the stove. "It is time to get ready, and you are still fooling with the menu. The man will think you don't want him."

  "Jones would never think that," I said as I stuck the last bin in the brand-new prep fridge.

  "I will have everything ready for later, Andy." Mimi put a hand on my arm. "Do not worry."

  "Thanks, Mimi." I took one final glance into the new front room of the Bowtie Angel, still enchanted with it. A real Italian restaurant, right here in Beaverton. The gold walls, the thick, red drapes, the candlelight. It was enchanting, and I wasn't the only one who thought so.

  Jacob's re-launch had been a tremendous success. The dinner crowd came from all over the state, wanting to meet the infamous Death Chef. We'd even started taking reservations, and I was sure I'd be able to repay Jacob's loan within the year he'd given me interest free. I checked to make sure the Closed for Private Event sign was in the window.

  "Hurry up," Aunt Cecily poked me in the ribs. "I am old. I might die before I see this."

  Shaking my head at her theatrics, I scurried to the backroom and then checked my hair and makeup one last time in the mirror. The bathrooms were elegant, so much better than the utilitarian setup we'd had before. Though I wouldn't say it out loud, Stu and Rob had actually done me a big favor because I never would have upgraded the place otherwise.

  Still in my jeans, with the garment bag in one hand and being towed by a small, Sicilian freight train by the other, I was loaded into the waiting vehicle.

  "All set, ladies?" Jacob asked from the front seat.

  "You, drive or I will put The Eye on you," Aunt Cecily ordered.

  "It wouldn't be a weekday if she didn't threaten that," Lacey said from beside Jacob. I was stunned that they were still together, even after all of her secrets had been revealed. I'd asked Jacob how he could still love her even after she'd lied to him.

  "Is there anything Jones could do to make you stop loving him?"

  "No," I'd responded but then tagged on, "Though if he cheats on me I might mutilate him a little. I have a lot of knives."

  Jacob had laughed, probably because he didn't think I was serious. "Not that I think you have to worry overmuch about it. The man is more in love with you than ever."

  Remembering that conversation made me smile all the way to the Catholic church. Aunt Cecily barely gave me time to say thank you to Jacob for the ride before shooing me up the stairs and into the room where I was to dress. Pops was already in place.

  "Andy girl, where you been? You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago."

  "Well, it's not like they can start without me," I said.

  "You, out," Aunt Cecily snapped. "This is no place for a man. Escort me to my seat."

  "I'll be waiting out front." In a show of graciousness I'd never have imagined, Pops had offered Jacob the chance to walk me down the aisle. Jacob had diplomatically declined, insisting he never had me and was, therefore, in no position to give me away.

  I stepped behind the divider and unzipped the garment bag. "Oh no. I got marinara on my dress!"

  Donna, Lizzy, and Kaylee, my respective bridesmaids dressed in sun-gold gowns leapt on me like a trio of hyenas on a fallen wildebeest. "What? Where?"

  "Oh, Andy, I told you not to take your dress to the pasta shop!"

  I grinned at them all. "Gotcha."

  Lizzy had a hand to her chest, but Donna and Kaylee laughed.

  I stripped down to my satin undergarments.

  Lizzy still looked a little put off from my joke, and I couldn't resist teasing her a little more. "Are you sure I couldn't have just worn my white cotton panties?"

  "No," she snapped, her back going straight.

  "Not even if it's a thong?"

  Lizzy looked like she was choking on something, and Donna shook her head at me. "Andy, quit baiting her. You're already holding up this affair."

  "It's not like they can start without her," Kaylee quipped.

  "So my child." I slithered into the dress, and Donna zipped me up. I turned to face my bridesmaids. "So—am I acceptable?"

  Lizzy had tears in her eyes. Of course her eye makeup was waterproof, so there was no blotchiness as she wiped daintily with a hankie. "Oh, Andy, you look almost as lovely as I did at my wedding."

  Andy and Kyle had actually eloped, flying to Vegas for the weekend. Kyle had claimed Lizzy had had enough of wedding planning, and they were both just ready to be married already, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Lizzy didn't want to upstage her brother and me.

  "Thanks," I said at the backhanded compliment. "I think."

  Kaylee handed me a bouquet of autumn-hued flowers, and I slipped my feet into low-heeled, white satin pumps.

  "Let's do this thing." I gestured, and they lined up. Lizzy in front, paired with Kyle, Donna with Steven next, and then mini-me walking alone because Clayton was too little.

  Pops took my arm. "You're a vision, Andy girl. Your nana would be so proud."

  My eyes filled, but I'd promised myself that I wouldn't cry, so I squared my shoulders. "Are you sure you and Aunt Cecily don't want to move into the Victorian with us? There's plenty of room."

  "We're good where we are. Your aunt cleans out those bingo ladies every week."

  The new assisted-living home had opened up a few weeks before Jones and I had closed on the Grove Street house. It would have been nice, if insane, to have all my family under that roof, but I understood that my older relatives were ready for something a little different.

  Then it was our turn, and Pops stood a little straighter, his arthritis milder since he'd gone off nightshades. As we walked, I smiled at the crowded church, but I didn't notice flowers or individual faces. A feeling of rightness washed over me as I locked eyes with Malcolm Jones.

  It was good to be home at last.

  Shrimp Scampi and Angel Hair

  You'll need:

  1 pound large raw shrimp (31–35 count)

  12 ounces angel hair pasta

  ½ cup extra virgin olive oil

  ¼ cup finely chopped onion

  2 garlic cloves, finely chopped

  ¼ cup fresh Parmesan cheese, grated

  1 cup dry white wine

  1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley

  Directions:

  Peel and devein shrimp. Prepare angel hair pasta until al dente.

  Meanwhile, melt butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion and garlic and sauté 3-5 minutes or until tender. Reduce heat to m
edium, and add wine. Add shrimp and cook, stirring occasionally, 3-5 minutes or just until shrimp turn pink. Toss shrimp mixture with pasta, and sprinkle with cheese and parsley. Serve immediately.

  * * * * *

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Former navy wife turned author Jennifer L. Hart loves a good mystery as well as a good laugh, and a happily ever after is a must. When she's not playing with her imaginary friends or losing countless hours on social media, she spends her free time experimenting with both food and drink recipes and wishing someone else would clean up. Since she lives with three guys and a beagle, that's usually not the case. Her works include The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag series and the Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries.

  Visit Jennifer L. Hart online at: www.jenniferlhart.com

  * * * * *

  BOOKS BY JENNIFER L. HART

  Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries:

  Murder Al Dente

  Christmas Al Dente (holiday short story)

  Murder À La Flambé

  Murder Al Fresco

  Misadventures of the Laundry Hag Mysteries:

  Skeletons in the Closet

  Swept Under the Rug

  All Washed Up

  Damaged Goods Mysteries

  Final Notice

  Other Works

  Who Needs a Hero?

  River Rats

  Stellar Timing

  Daisy Dominatrix

  Redeeming Characters

  * * * * *

  SNEAK PEEK

  If you enjoyed this Southern Pasta Shop Mystery, check out this sneak peek of another funny, romantic mystery from Gemma Halliday Publishing:

  BAKED TO DEATH

  by

  CATHERINE BRUNS

  CHAPTER ONE

  The compressed sand burned my bare feet as I ran toward the crystal clear blue water with brilliant sunlight cascading down upon it. I dog-paddled in, just enough so that the water came up to my shoulders when I stood and let myself sink into the delicious coolness around me. Ah, this is living. Only one thing missing.

  The well-built man who dove in and swam toward me was a nice touch. He drew closer and walked the last few steps. My mouth dropped open in surprise as recognition set in.

  "Nice bikini, babe." He winked at me.

  I stared at the smooth, muscular chest in front of me, skin golden in the sun, and the wet, black swim trunks that clung in all the right places. I fought to control my rapid breathing before I started panting like a dog. It can't be.

  "Aren't you Bradley Cooper?"

  Bradley smiled down at me with eyes the same color as the water. I turned around, sure this must be a mistake, looking for any other signs of life on the nearby shore. Nope. We were the only two around. Was he really talking to me?

  "Sally Muccio, have you been drinking again?" He wrapped his arms around my waist. "I was wondering where you were. It was getting lonely out here."

  Okay, so apparently he was talking to me. Had I been drinking? I couldn't remember. "Um—"

  "Don't worry. I'll take care of everything." Bradley lowered his face, and just as his lips were about to brush against mine, his phone pinged. He grinned and held up a finger then reached down into the pocket of his swim trunks. "Gotta take this, babe. Could be my agent."

  I stared at the phone, fascinated. "It works under water?"

  He studied the screen then flashed me another smile. "Of course. I bought it in Hollywood."

  Well, that explained everything.

  Bradley put the phone back in his pocket and sighed. "Gotta go, babe. New part. I'm flying to Australia tonight." He blew me a kiss and started swimming further away from the shore and me.

  "Wait!" I said. "Where are we?"

  He yelled over his shoulder. "Bahamas. Don't you remember anything? And it might be a good idea to start laying off your granny's cheesecake, too."

  "Hey, that's not nice!" I shouted after him.

  Bradley kept swimming, but I could still hear his voice perfectly. "Later."

  "You're going the wrong way!" His phone started ringing again, louder and more obnoxious than ever. "And could you please shut that thing off?"

  The ringing continued to grow louder until I was forced to cover my ears. I took a step forward and stumbled. Preparing for the water to cover me, I shouted, "Wait!"

  Thunk!

  I opened my eyes to find myself lying facedown on brown shag carpeting. The shower was running in the adjoining bathroom, and I could smell coffee brewing. I hoisted myself up on my elbows and looked around. The ringing of the cell phone was still going strong, but at least I knew where I was now. At my boyfriend's. Relief washed over me. Dang. What a dream. I really had to stop eating Mexican food before bedtime.

  The ringing finally came to an abrupt and merciful stop. I reached on top of the nightstand for my phone and stole a glance out the window. There was at least two feet of snow on the ground and another foot predicted for today. Lovely. No Bahamas here, but another B word came to mind. I was in the Buffalo region—Colwestern, New York, to be exact. In January, of all months. Yes, it didn't get much worse than this.

  I sighed and looked down at the screen of my neglected phone for the first time since last night when I'd arrived to spend the evening. Three missed calls from a private number. There was a text from my mother, asking if we were still coming for dinner tonight, and another from my best friend and business partner, Josie Sullivan, reminding me she was opening the bakery this morning.

  A third text was from my baby sister stating that she was about to have a nervous breakdown. She'd highlighted the word breakdown with about a dozen exclamation points. Gianna was a recent graduate of Harvard Law School and taking the bar exam next week. She'd already convinced herself she was going to choke. I knew it wouldn't happen. Gianna was the brains in my family. She'd ace it.

  Gianna had been assisting Josie and me in my cookie shop when we needed an extra hand. We'd been swamped with patrons the past couple of months, especially over the holidays. Now that it was January, we were convinced that the surge in business wasn't letting up anytime soon. Because of this, we were interviewing a woman for part-time help today.

  Last week Gianna had been waiting on customers when one asked her how the studying was going. She'd immediately burst into tears. Colwestern was a small town, and most people were aware she'd been going to prep classes and studying like a fiend since she'd graduated last year. Josie and I were starting to think it might be a good idea if Gianna stayed out of the shop for a while.

  I sent Gianna a quick text reminding her it would all be over soon and that she would do great. The phone rang as soon as I finished, startling me, and I nearly dropped it. "Hey."

  "Hey, yourself. I was wondering if you were planning on coming to work today," Josie said. "You know, that little bakery you own? The one that opened an hour ago?"

  I reached for my pink satin robe—a Christmas gift from my boyfriend—at the bottom of the bed. "Very funny. I'll be there. You knew I'd be late today. And I'm covering for you on Monday, remember?"

  My cookie shop had gotten off to a bit of a rocky start when I'd opened it last September, thanks to a patron dropping dead on my front porch. After Josie and I had discovered the murderer, business had returned to normal and now exceeded my expectations most days.

  "Better give yourself a little extra time to get to work," Josie said. "The roads are pretty nasty. Oh, and I've got some news when you get here."

  "What kind of news? Is everything okay?"

  "It's all good," Josie said. "I've been so busy with customers that I haven't been able to do much baking though. But the storm is supposed to pick up, and I'm guessing that will keep people from coming out. I know you want to spend a few hours with your man
, and it's rare that he finagles a morning off, but get here because I may burst something if I have to wait much longer to tell you."

  I glanced at my watch. Ten o'clock. "Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can."

  The shower had stopped, and I flopped back down on the bed for a minute. I was thrilled that things were going so well with my business, but sometimes wished my boyfriend and I could spend one uninterrupted day without real life crashing in around us. He'd hinted at that lately, too. He'd also brought up cohabitation as well, but I wasn't sure I was ready yet.

  A painful divorce last August had left me bruised and scarred. I'd been determined to swear off men for a while, but my grandmother had convinced me to go forward with my life and follow my heart this time. And I had done just that.

  Something I should have done ten years ago.

  The door to the bathroom opened, and I smiled at the man who stood in the doorway. He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and nothing else. His dark hair was damp and curled below the nape of his neck, and his midnight-blue eyes were fixed on me. When he smiled, my heart constricted inside my chest.

  Mike Donovan had always managed to have this effect on me ever since his family had moved to Colwestern when we'd both started high school. The first time those deep-set eyes found mine, I was lost. We'd dated for two years, and I'd been convinced he was the man I was destined to marry. Some unfortunate circumstances had torn us apart, and while on the rebound, I'd hooked up with the man who later became my husband, Colin Brown. Our shaky-from-the-start marriage ended abruptly when I found him in bed with someone else.

  It had taken ten years, but Mike and I had found our way back to each other.