Death of the Family Recipe (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 3) (27 page)

Jennifer raised her head and seemed confused. "Foster home?"

"Yes, surely you’ve heard of them."

She blinked. "You weren’t adopted?"

I gawked at her. "Was I supposed to be adopted?"

Jennifer put her hand to her mouth and shook her head. "No, I assumed that…" Her eyes met mine. "I don’t know what I assumed."

Disgusted and sick to my stomach, I wanted to flee but my anger held me there. She had secrets and I wanted them. "Look lady, you can stare at your shoes all you like, but you’re going to tell me about Rose. Maybe not today, but someday — soon." I opened the door. "I’ll be back."

Jennifer went pale and shook her head. "No, please don’t do that."

I spun on her. "I will. I’ll be back. Again and again."

Jennifer raised her voice. "That’s not a good idea, Kristine."

I reared back. "Who’s Kristine?"

Jennifer put her hand to her mouth as though she could take the words back. "You are. That’s your name. Was your name."

I glared at her as I backed out the door. "My name is Scotti. Scotti Fitzgerald. Remember it."

And I turned away and ran down the walk so she wouldn’t see me cry.

<<>>

When Ted got home from work, I was putting the final batch of cookies in the oven. The closer we got to the holidays, the later he got home. Business was hopping, and I worried I’d be celebrating New Year’s solo. Ted bent and kissed my cheek. "Still baking cookies?"

I wiped my hands on my apron. "The last batch is in the oven."

Ted eyed the back counter, silently counting the stacked cookie tins. "This is your idea of taking the month off?" He turned to me. "And why isn’t Matt helping?"

I flipped back my hair. "I’m not going to Melinda’s empty handed for Christmas. And maybe you could stop ruining my fun."

Ted leaned against the kitchen counter, one leg crossed over the other. "How many damn cookies did you make?"

My gaze flitted around the kitchen — cookies everywhere. On the back and side counters, on the butcher-block, and the eight dozen I’d just pulled out of the oven — not including the tins that were already filled. "I don’t know, about fifty tins, maybe more?"

Ted’s eyes bugged out. "Fifty tins of cookies? Who makes fifty tins of cookies?"

I shrugged and used a spatula to transfer the fresh cookies to cooling racks. "I’ve been doing it for years, honey. Every Christmas." I waved the spatula at him. "Granted a few more tins this year because of your family but yeah, no biggie."

Looking around the room, Ted laughed. "Tell me this, my little baking superhero, who’s going to eat all these cookies?" His eyes lit up suddenly. "Are those oatmeal raisin?"

I pulled a list out of my pocket. "The mail man, Foothill station house, Joe, Dr. Val’s office, Zelda and Eric, Franky the Copy King, the fire house, the family Christmas dinner, and us." I frowned at him. "Maybe I should make a few dozen more. Your family will go through five tins by themselves."

Ted bit into an oatmeal raisin cookie then reached for another. "More?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Well honey, you’re into your second cookie in five seconds. What do you think?" I snapped my fingers. "Oh damn, I think Ginny said the girls had a bake sale…"

Ted took me by the shoulders and backed me onto a stool. He gave me a glass of milk and my baby vitamins then rubbed my shoulders for a few minutes. "Need any help?"

We filled the cookie tins, packed them in boxes and loaded them into my car. Then I filled the dishwasher to capacity and whatever was left over, we washed by hand. "So, you’re all done baking until the new year?"

I shrugged and gave him the large mixing bowl to dry. "You’re acting like baking is some death defying act — it’s what I do, honey." I pinched his butt. "It’s like you breathing. I bake." I chuckled and hip-bumped him. "And what’s Christmas without cookies?"

Ted squinted at me. "You’re going to turn our kids into kitchen bitches, aren’t you?"

"You say that like it’s a bad thing. Cooking is an important skill."

Ted snapped a paper towel off the roll and dampened it. "Is that right?" He wiped flour and sugar off my cheeks. "An important skill?"

I snatched the paper towel and finished wiping my face "Yes it is. But you can stop fretting because I make the cookie deliveries tomorrow, and that’s the end of it." I crossed my eyes. "Then all I have to do is Christmas shopping for your enormous family."

We finished the dishes and had milk and cookies for dinner. Ted tweaked my nose. "What happened to eating right?"

"This is a special occasion."

"And what special occasion might that be?"

"The night we’re too tired to cook or call out for food?" I pushed the hair off his forehead. "I should run you a bath then put you to bed." I kissed him softly. "You look so tired."

Ted dropped the cookie he was eating on the plate and pulled out his cell phone.

I rolled my eyes at him, but he held up a finger then called in an order for Chinese takeout. "Thirty minutes." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Just enough time for a husband and wife bath."

I wasn’t talking to Joe, and he wasn’t talking to me, so I was now officially the sole investigator on Rose’s case. But as each day brought us closer to Christmas, it was hard to focus on anything other than the holidays. To complicate matters further, Ted’s work schedule was so unpredictable, I never knew when he’d be home, so I had to cut back on my secret field trips.

So I baked more cookies, Christmas shopped online and ruminated on Rose’s fate — and mine. After the holidays were over, I had a long list of people to see and places to go. And tops on my list were Father Fran and Kathy Morrissey.

Ted took Monday off, but he slept in and after a quick brunch, ducked out for a game of b-ball with the bros — which was code for Christmas shopping. So my afternoon was spent addressing Christmas cards, with old Christmas movies playing in the background. Rain pattered against the windows, and if we hadn’t had a scheduled family dinner, I would’ve started a fire and put on a pot of soup. Instead, I pulled on a sweater and turned up the thermostat. When the cards were finished, I stuffed them into my bag, tossed on a raincoat and suited up Boomer for a walk. With both of us slickered up, we faced the elements together.

We walked and shivered our way to the mailbox, deposited the cards and walked and shivered our way home. The rain and the season brought nightfall early, and as we turned the corner my Christmas lights came on. Holding Boomer under my coat, I stood in the rain, admiring the lights. There was something so magically Christmas about the moment — the soft rain, the night sky and the twinkling lights. It filled me up with the season but even more with gratitude for my life. Ted, my miracle babies, a business l loved, friends and a family. It didn’t get much better than that.

My only regret was I couldn’t share it with Rose. For a moment, I felt her standing next to me. Felt her arm around my shoulder and heard her gentle laugh. Maybe I imagined it, but it felt so real. "Merry Christmas, Mom," I whispered and went up the walk.

As I unlocked the door, I felt eyes on me. I turned but didn’t see anyone. The street was empty and quiet except for the patter of rain on the pavement and trees. I set Boomer down inside, then turned to face the street again. No tall willowy figure in the shadows, no flashes of long silvered hair — I felt her, but I couldn’t see her. She was everywhere but nowhere. I hurried inside and locked the door.

<<>>

The Monday night family dinner was the first time I’d seen everybody in the same room since Thanksgiving. Steve looked as beat as Ted, but they were in good spirits because business was booming. All the better to pay off the kitchen remodel and the nursery and baby gear we’d need.

After dinner, the dishes were cleared, and I fetched the applesauce spice cake with cream cheese frosting I’d brought for dessert. When I set the cake on the table in front of Ted, I felt a jab in my belly. "Ouch."

Ted looked up concerned. "What happened?"

Another jab and I rubbed my belly. "Ouch. I don’t know. Indigestion?" I frowned. "I guess I should have passed on that second helping of pot roast."

Melinda jumped out of her chair and put her hand on my belly. It happened again and she giggled. "That’s not indigestion, darling. Those are your babies kicking."

I gasped and laughed. "Really? Already? Is that what it feels like?"

Ted pulled me closer and put his hand to my belly, and the babies kicked again. His green eyes brightened with happy tears. I combed my fingers through his hair and laughed. "Did you feel that?"

Ted put his head to my belly and said, "Say hello to Daddy." The babies kicked again, and Ted laughed. "Damn, feisty."

Matt snapped a picture with his phone. Then everybody whipped out their phones and snapped pictures. They surrounded me to feel the kicking babies, who were happy to oblige their audience. Then all of them were talking to my belly and jockeying for position. After a few minutes, the babies got tired and stopped kicking, and the show was over. The clan pouted until somebody remembered there was dessert, and everything returned to normal. And a seven layer cake disappeared like magic.

Afterwards, Matt and I yakked in the kitchen about resuming his baking lessons, and we agreed after New Year’s we’d start again. "Oh and I want you to send me all the pictures you took of the baby kicking moments."

"All of them?"

I took his phone and scrolled through them — the one with Ted feeling the first kick was perfect, and I knew exactly what I’d do with it too. "Yes, every single one."

Ted appeared in the kitchen with my coat and bag in his hands. "Okay, little mama, time to go home."

When we pulled into the drive and parked, I felt her again and craned my neck looking for Ingrid. But again, nothing stirred but my imagination. Ted frowned and followed my gaze. "What are you looking for?"

I opened my door and said, "Nothing."

We went inside and straight to bed. Ted spooned me with his hand on my belly, and Boomer snuggled at my feet, under the covers. "Hoping for a repeat performance?"

Ted kissed my neck. "That was amazing."

I put my hand over his. "Now we know for sure that something is growing in there." I snuggled against him. "Before we know it, they’ll be here. The two little human beings that we made."

Ted pulled me closer. "Are you scared?"

"Are you?"

"Hell, yeah."

I turned and faced him. "You, the hotshot special forces guy, afraid of two tiny little babies?"

"I don’t want to fuck it up."

I stroked his cheek and kissed him softly. "You’ll be a great daddy."

"I hope you’re right."

I put his hand on my belly. "Is Mommy right, babies?" They kicked, one-two. I laughed. "See? They know who their daddy is."

Ted smiled and smoothed back my hair. "You’re not scared?"

I shook my head. "I probably should be, but I’m not. I don’t know how to explain it, but ever since I found out I was pregnant I’ve had this feeling. Like I’m wrapped in some kind of protective cocoon. Like nothing can hurt me." I laughed. "I know, sounds crazy, right? But I swear it’s there, it’s real."

Ted rubbed my belly. "You think it’s them? Protecting you?"

"I don’t know. But they say there’s a special connection women feel when they’re pregnant. And they’re right. So, yeah maybe it is them."

Ted slid down and put his head to my belly. "Are you taking care of Mommy, kids? Good job. We can’t wait to meet you."

Our babies kicked, one-two.

There’s a point at which Christmas takes over, and it’s impossible to think about or do anything else. People dropped by continually. Ted worked weird hours, and I never knew when he’d be home. Shopping. Errands. I finally accepted that my investigation into Rose’s death would have to wait until after the holidays.

Two days before Christmas, Matt, Ginny and the girls came over to help me make my special Christmas cake — red and green layers, encased in gold butter cream frosting, topped with edible ornaments, then wrapped in a web of spun sugar. A little something I invented for Zelda years ago. Since my family had expanded tenfold, we were making three cakes – one for Zelda, and two for the family Christmas dinner. I’d leave Zelda’s at her house as a surprise for her return home. The other two would stay locked in the pantry until Christmas Day.

Teaching my little nieces, Katy and Chelsea how to bake gave me a preview of what it would be like to have my own kids help me in the kitchen. We all got a kick out of their dedication to the process. With serious concentrated faces, they stood on stools at the butcher-block and put gold and silver sugar balls on the candy ornaments. When I let them decorate Zelda’s cake with the ornaments, they squealed with excitement. The presentation was a little more freestyle than usual, but their arrangement had a kind of beauty that only a child can create. Their big blue eyes widened as Matt and I spun sugar into a lacy ribbons around each cake. I was so proud of them, and they were such good little bakers that I made a miniature cake for them and let them go wild decorating it. And they were enraptured as their Uncle Matt wrapped it in spun sugar.