Hot Dish Heaven: A Murder Mystery With Recipes (26 page)

He located what he was searching for—his keys—and said, “Well, I suppose I better go.”

I restlessly shuffled my feet, glanced at him, and just as quickly looked away. And that’s when it happened. He clasped my shoulders and lightly kissed my cheek. Not exactly the passionate embrace I’d imagined but better than a handshake.

“Margie said you’re leaving in the morning.” He spoke softly, his eyes mirroring his tone. “I get down to the Cities every once in a while. Sometimes for work. Sometimes to see my folks and my brother. Can I call you? Maybe we could grab some dinner or a drink.”

“I’d like that.”

He let go of me. “Good. And in the meantime, stay away from Buddy and Buford. They’re trouble. And since you aren’t writing about the case, quit asking so damn many questions. Don’t forget, we still have killers on the loose.”

“Killers? Plural? As in the twins?”

He heaved another heavy sigh.

As suspected, those sighs were beginning to bug me.

“This isn’t a game, Emerald. It’s an unsolved murder. You need to keep out of it. It could be dangerous.”

I wasn’t sure how he could go from intoxicating to exasperating so effortlessly, but he managed. “I can take care of myself. I’ve done it most of my life.” I showed him my best tough-girl face.

He didn’t seem all that impressed. “Tell you what. Leave the investigation to the police, and as soon as the case is resolved, I’ll give you a heads-up. Then you can get a jump on the story, if that’s what you really want to do.”

I sighed. Now he had me doing it! “I already told you I’m not professionally interested in the case.”

He studied my face. “I’d like to believe that, but I have the distinct impression you aren’t going to let it be. Somehow, you’re going to end up mixed up in it.”

“Well, maybe your instincts aren’t as good as you think they are.” I then added under my breath, “After all, you didn’t solve the murder now did you?”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I was just clearing my throat.”

He shifted his feet. “Emerald, I like you. And I don’t want to see you get hurt. I’d hate for that to happen.”

“Me too. Getting hurt is one of my least favorite things.”

The deputy closed his eyes, yet his lips kept moving. I think he was silently counting to ten. He opened one eye—just barely—and peeked out at me. “You need to back off, okay? Don’t forget, movement doesn’t always mean progress.”

Who did this guy think he was? Well, he certainly wasn’t the boss of me. And what in the hell did he mean, “Movement doesn’t always mean progress”? That didn’t even make sense.

Here I’d been having a good time, but now I was ticked off all over again, and it was all his fault. I had absolutely no intention of writing about the murder, but I decided right then and there that if he believed otherwise, that was his problem. And if the thought of me asking more questions bothered him, so much the better. Let him stew.

Still, I couldn’t help but question why he seemed more concerned about my welfare now than he had earlier in the day. Had he come to care about me? Or was he was simply nervous about my renewed interest in the case.

I suppose it didn’t really matter. After this night, I’d be back in the Cities, and he’d be up here in Kennedy. I’d be writing introductions to recipe features, and he’d be doing his police thing. And someday, he’d solve Samantha Burg’s murder, or he never would.

Sure, he might call. Perhaps we’d even go out a time or two. But nothing more would come of it. The distance between us would see to that.

I gazed at his lips. He had great-looking lips. It would be a shame to miss out on those lips. To go through life wondering …
Oh, what the hell!

I took to my tip-toes and kissed him squarely on the mouth. “Mmm,” I hummed in response to his stunned expression, “you taste good.” I then slid my business card, complete with phone number and e-mail address, into his shirt pocket and walked away, having absolutely no idea what had gotten into me.

The muffled sound of music accompanied me as I strolled to the garden. I rounded the tool shed and literally ran into Barbie. “Ouch!” I grabbed my nose.

She scrambled to regain her footing. “They told me what you lacked in experience and skill you more than made up for in persistence. Boy, they were right about that.”

I frowned. “You were eavesdropping?”

She waved away my annoyance. “You would have done the same. We’re reporters. That’s what we do.”

I maintained the frown. “That conversation had nothing to do with news.”

“Yes, it did. It confirmed that I was right to invite you to come and work for me at the newspaper. That is, if you ever need a change of scenery. And from what I saw, I think you like the scenery up here just fine.”

I rolled my eyes. “Barbie, you’re too much.”

“No, I’m just right.” She flung her ample hips from side to side.

Certain there was no point in arguing, I settled for seeking her opinion. “Since you were listening and most likely heard everything we said, give me your take on Randy’s theory that the Johnson twins were responsible for Samantha’s death.” So I still might have been somewhat intrigued by the case. So what?

She linked her fingers, stretched her arms out in front of her, and cracked her knuckles. “They had an alibi.” She shook her hands out. “The way I see it, Randy’s focus on them was misplaced. Most likely because of their sister, Rosa.”

I wrinkled my forehead so tightly I saw my eyebrows.

“See, Deputy Ryden and Rosa began dating shortly after he moved here. Even when she went off to college, she’d come home every weekend just to be with him. Everyone assumed they’d end up married. They were really happy.”

Another pang of jealousy, but I tried to brush it off. “What happened? Why’d they break up?” I kept brushing. My jealousy, it seemed, was stuck to me like cat hair.

“I guess the strain of her mom’s death proved too much for the relationship. Well, that and the fact that Randy didn’t intercede on her behalf after Samantha was murdered.”

We made our way to a garden bench and sat down. “When Rosa and her brothers were repeatedly questioned by law enforcement, the relationship fell apart,” Barbie said. “Or, more precisely, Rosa dumped him.”

I was developing a strong dislike for Rosa Johnson and was proud that it wasn’t entirely based on her incredible looks and sultry voice. “He was only doing his job. Couldn’t she see that?”

“He allowed his girlfriend and her brothers to be grilled over and over by FBI agents. That doesn’t make for a good romance.”

“Why? Did she have something to hide?”

Barbie meowed loudly and clawed at the air.

Okay, maybe I was being a little catty. Big deal.

“Rosa didn’t have anything to hide,” Barbie stated. “She just didn’t like that he refused to stand up for her and the twins. Margie didn’t like it either. After a while, Margie got over it, which was quite surprising actually. Rosa never did.”

She paused. “The breakup was really hard on Randy. He only recently started dating again. But he’s still awfully leery about any relationship that might have serious potential.”

“What about Rosa?”

The truth is I wanted to follow up on the whole “he’s leery of any relationship with serious potential” thing but refrained from doing so because I didn’t want to come across as desperate. Of course some might argue that train had already left the station, given the kiss I laid on him.

“Rosa became somewhat of a recluse,” Barbie went on to say. “If she’s not at school or in the garden, she’s at home. Tonight’s the first time I’ve seen her out in ages.”

“I meant what about her on the night of Samantha’s disappearance? Where was she? Did she have an alibi?”

Barbie stretched her arms across the back of the bench. “You’re itching for a fight, aren’t you?”

“Oh, shut up. I’m asking legitimate questions.”

She grinned as she took a deep breath. “Well, let’s see. For part of that night, Rosa was in the café. She knew Ole was filling in for Margie. She also knew that since it was the one-year anniversary of Lena’s death, he’d be having a tough go of it.” She clasped her hands behind her head and extended her legs out in front of her. “If I remember correctly, she got to the café around eight-thirty and parked in the alley, which the locals routinely do. She spotted Vern as he was leaving Samantha’s house, and they entered the café together.” Barbie spoke in a modulated tone, as if reading from a police report, something I suspected she’d done several times during the formal investigation. “They stayed until ten before going their separate ways.”

The music stopped inside the bar, and Barbie got to her feet. I remained seated. “The band’s taking a break,” she said. “I’m going in to spend some time with my honey. You coming?”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be. I’d really like you to meet him, especially since you’ll probably be working for me someday.” Again, that confident smile.

I let that go too. Even though I was just getting to know Barbie, I already understood it was pointless to correct her or try to change her. “No, you go on ahead. I’ll be along shortly.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll see you later then.” And with that, she was gone.

*

Alone, I leaned against the bench and reached back into my mind, fully intending to retrieve the questions I had regarding Deputy Ryden’s interest in keeping me safe or, in the alternative, keeping me from digging any deeper into the murder case. But somehow I instead latched onto those pertaining to his apparent desire to play the field.

Did I come across as easy? Was that why he asked me out? An “easy” date with no “serious potential”? I checked my blouse. Not too many buttons undone. Not much cleavage showing. No matter how badly I wanted it, not much cleavage would ever be showing.

I reviewed our conversations. Okay, I flirted a little, and I may have said a few embarrassing things. But easy? Well, there was the kiss. But that was at the end, when he was about to leave. And he kissed me first. And I had to kiss him. No woman with a pulse could have resisted. He had some great-looking lips. And it’d been a very long time.

With the band on break, people spilled out of the bar, making the garden less than ideal for reflection. So giving up another sigh, I packed my thoughts away, stood up, and started down the path, not at all sure where I was headed.

I angled behind the shed, stepping around the other side just in time to see Father Daley and Rosa. They’d entered the garden from the main sidewalk, their heads bowed. I watched them for two or three seconds. Then, not wanting them to notice me for some inexplicable reason, I ducked inside.

“Wait a minute.” My eyes made a sweep of the dark, cramped space. “What in the hell am I doing in here? What on earth possessed me to jump into the garden shed?”

I held the door latch and listened to the people milling about outside. What would I say if they discovered me? How would I explain hiding in the shed? I waited for an answer.

I expected the little voices in my head to speak up—to tell me what to do—but none of them uttered a word. Figures. The one time I was willing and even eager to listen to their advice, and they were out to lunch. Nope, I didn’t hear a thing. Absolutely nothing except for the talking and laughing outside and Deputy Ryden’s bumper-sticker wisdom, which echoed through the recesses of my mind.
Movement doesn’t always mean progress, Emerald. Movement doesn’t always mean progress.

“No shit,” I muttered. And then my stomach growled. Yes, despite my predicament—or perhaps because of it—my stomach wanted to remind me of its need for food. It always needed food in stressful situations. It growled again, this time making it clear it wouldn’t settle for just any food either. From the images that flooded my mind—images of rich, melt-in-your-mouth chocolate—I knew exactly what it was after—the Traditional Brownies I’d seen at the community dinner. Nothing else would do.

I held the door latch
with one hand while bracing the other against the adjoining wall. At the same time, I promised my stomach I’d give it whatever it desired when we got back to the café if it would simply agree to pipe down now. It didn’t respond, which I took as acquiesence.

The shed was dark, pretty much black on black, although I did spot the gray form of a small table in front of me. It was topped with empty flower pots and bags of dirt. And above it, a window tilted open just a smidge.

Again I reminded my stomach to remain still, at least until the priest and the musician had passed. But it didn’t happen. My stomach was quiet, yet even after several minutes went by, the pair never did.

I pushed onto my toes and leaned across the table to get a better view. I didn’t see them. Not to my right. Or to my left. No sign of them at all. Not until I glanced at the bench below me. The one outside, just beneath the window. There they were, settling in.

I lurched back and collected myself before creeping forward again. I craned over the potting table, the dense smell of moist soil filling my nose. I peered through the window and spotted the top of Father Daley’s graying head angled toward Rosa. She was seated right next to him.