Cooking Up Trouble (6 page)

“Take a deep breath,” Running Spirit said. “Now hold. One, two, three.”

If anyone had told Angie she’d be spending her first morning with Paavo this way, she would have called him insane. She’d gone to the kitchen, where she learned from Moira that Paavo and Running Spirit had moved Miss Greer down to the cellar. It had rained all night, and because it was still raining hard, everyone expected that Quint and the sheriff would be delayed even further. It was a little heartening for Angie to learn that Running Spirit had been there with them last night—part of the time, at least.

Instead of cooking right then, Moira invited Angie to take part in the morning exercises. “We never eat until about eight o’clock. The early morning is for exercising—best done on an empty stomach, of course.”

“Of course,” Angie had replied. Not eating breakfast until eight
A.M.
was one of the sanest things she’d heard from this crowd. Now she could get another hour’s sleep. Normally, her day never began before eight anyway.

Moira went on to explain that Finley had always directed his own special blend of tai chi chuan and yoga, saying they helped a person awaken spiritually as well as physically. Usually, the exercises were held outdoors, no matter how cold, but the rain made that impossible.

Running Spirit volunteered to direct the morning exercises. He planned to create an energizing force to draw Finley back home. “Whatever it takes,” Angie said, as they walked toward the drawing room. All she wanted to do was go back up to bed. Staying up all night confused about some man hadn’t exactly left her feeling great this morning.

Angie was about to tell Moira she’d exercise some other time when she spotted Paavo among the group of exercisers. The man looked disgustingly awake.

Moira then removed her bulky sweats to reveal skin-hugging spandex leggings and a tummy-baring sports bra. She moved in a slow, trancelike walk to Paavo’s side and smiled. It was a wan, typically Moira smile, but a smile nonetheless. Paavo didn’t smile back. Angie would have passed out if he had. But he didn’t give Moira one of his usual icy, cut-to-the-quick glances, either.
f
S

Angie went to his other side. Even though her eyes never left Running Spirit’s half-clothed form at the head of the group, she noticed that Paavo’s brows rose in surprise at seeing her there. Archly, she nodded in
acknowledgment. What was so difficult about a little predawn yoga, anyway?

Now, after a half hour of exercising, her ability to stay upright on one leg seemed about as shaky as her relationship with Paavo. Her whole sense of which end was up went haywire. She put her foot down before she fell over—ready to put her foot down in more ways than one. Visions filled her head of going back to her room to crawl under a toasty-warm electric blanket and thaw out. From there, she could contemplate which was worse about this place: the cold, her hunger, the dead woman in the cellar—or Paavo and Moira making goo-goo eyes at each other. This was surely the vacation from hell. Finley or no. Inspector Paavo Smith could decide if he was leaving with her.

She turned to tell Paavo she was going back to the room when Running Spirit handed out blankets to spread on the floor.

This was more to her liking. She spread her blanket beside Paavo’s, then stretched out on her back. Her eyes closed and she yawned. At home she’d never attempt anything strenuous before having at least one cup of coffee. But the thought of the crushed and boiled seeds that had passed for coffee last night made her mouth pucker.

She tried hard to pull her thoughts and taste buds away from dreaming of a cup of rich, dark, fresh-brewed, eye-opening, caffeine-laden coffee and back to Running Spirit’s instruction.

When she opened her eyes she saw she’d missed something crucial. The man sat on the ground, coiled into a ball, his back twisted, and his arms circling his knees…backward. Angie sat up quickly, then stared at the jumble of limbs. She couldn’t begin to fathom how to do that to herself. Or if she even wanted to.

Paavo was making a valiant attempt; he kept in good physical form because of his police work. A form she should be snuggling against.

On the other side of him, Moira’s supple body was so long and thin, she looked as if she could wrap her arms around herself twice over if she wanted to. Nothing about Angie was long, not even her hair, and thin was only attained by vigilant, continuous dieting.

Reginald Vane simply sat with his hands on his knees and his eyes shut. He wore a white shirt. At least he’d left off his bow tie.

Patsy wasn’t there. But then, even when Patsy
was
there, she wasn’t.

Also absent were Martin and Bethel. Martin was probably sleeping off last night’s bout of drinking. Bethel? Who knew? Maybe channelers didn’t need to do all this mundane physical stuff. But where were the two of them last night during all the noise? It had been loud enough to get through even to Patsy.

Chelsea was probably sitting in her room hoping that Jack Sempler would materialize.

With that thought, Angie realized that if she were to stay at this inn any length of time—which wasn’t in the least bit likely—she’d need to come up with a transcendental excuse of her own to duck Hill Haven Inn’s activities.

“Breathe deeply,” Running Spirit said, as Angie tried in vain to get her arms and legs into a position that had some semblance of his. “Now hold it, one, two…”

Finally the session ended, with everyone in a lotus position. Angie tried a modified one, sitting upright, legs crossed, knees outward, bracing a hand on each knee with her thumbs and middle fingers touching. Angie listened to Running Spirit’s deep voice grow surprisingly soft and soothing, telling the group over and over to
breathe deeply and to clear their minds of wordly worries and thoughts….

A short while later, for the second time that same morning, Paavo woke her up and told her it was time to help Moira cook breakfast.

Paavo opened his eyes
, then turned quickly toward the alarm clock. Ten o’clock. He sat up. After exercising he’d lain on the bed for a minute and must have dozed off. Where was Angie?

He stood and went to the windows to see if Quint’s truck was out there. Instead, he saw Chelsea and Angie climbing into the back of Finley’s old van. What the hell?

He ran down the stairs two at a time and out the door. Rain was falling lightly. “Angie, where are you going?”

In the van with her and Chelsea were Running Spirit, at the wheel, and Moira, beside him.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she said.

“We’re going to the sheriff, since the sheriff won’t come to us,” Chelsea said.

Paavo turned to Moira. “I thought you said it was almost impossible to get through with a four-wheel drive; how do you expect this old van to make it?”

“Running Spirit said he could do it,” she said.

“Get in or get out of the way, Smith,” Running Spirit said.

Paavo climbed in beside Angie. He guessed it was worth a try. But if this old van could get through, why weren’t Quint and the sheriff here already?

Running Spirit drove slowly, with all the caution he could muster. It was difficult to even see the road, so much mud and water had puddled on the ground. The road began a sharp descent winding along the side of the steep cliff, and the van nosed downward. Angie’s heart was in her throat.

The van began to slip on the mud and Running Spirit hit the brakes, causing it to fishtail for what felt like forever.

“I thought you knew how to drive in these conditions,” Chelsea said accusingly.

“Shut up!” Running Spirit said, his knuckles white.

“Maybe we should turn around,” Angie said. “So what if it takes another day or two for the sheriff to make it up to the inn. It’s not as if Miss Greer is going anywhere.”

“I can do it.” Running Spirit’s voice didn’t sound nearly as convincing as he might have hoped.

“You’re doing fine, Greg,” Moira said. “Let’s go on.”

Paavo leaned forward. He saw Angie shut her eyes each time the road made a sharp turn along the edge of the cliff. She was turning paler by the minute. He could sense the tires becoming clogged with the wet, sandy earth and losing traction. “Time to stop,” he said.

“What?” Running Spirit did as he was told. “Why?”

Paavo pointed at a spot ahead. What had once been the roadway, cut into the side of a cliff, was now covered by a thick mudslide.

“Oh, my God.” Angie leaned over Chelsea to peer out the window at the cliff beside them. “If that much mud could slide down and cover the road up there, is it possible that a slide could happen here as well?”

No one wanted to answer that.

“What in the hell’s going on?” Running Spirit demanded. “Your brother never said anything about the inn being cut off whenever there’s a little rain. Did you know about this?”

“Apparently there was a fire last fall,” Moira said weakly, “that stripped the area of the trees and foliage that held the earth in place. The loss in value that fire caused was one of the reasons Finley was able to afford the property.”

“Well, that’s just bloody great!” Running Spirit leaned back in his seat, drumming his fingers rapidly on the seat. “He could afford the place because no one would be able to come here half the year! How am I supposed to run an ashram like that?”

“The trees will grow back,” Moira said softly.

Running Spirit sulked.

But soon they had a bigger problem. There was no room to turn the van around. Running Spirit would have to back out of there.

Paavo got out of the van to direct him. The rain was falling in heavy sheets now. Running Spirit put the stick shift in reverse and gave it some gas, easing off the clutch. The tires spun, but the van didn’t move.

Moira, Angie, and Chelsea also got out, and they all tried pushing. Angie stopped to spit out a mouthful of rainwater and mud that had splattered up from the spinning tires of the van. Could it get any worse than this?

It did, when they realized they’d have to push the van a long way up the narrow road before they could find a spot to turn it. The heavy rains made the danger of another mud slide even greater. They had no choice but to walk as fast as they could back to the inn.

“At least we learned one thing,” Angie said as they trudged along, Paavo holding her hand and helping her
up the hill. “Even if Finley was out there somewhere and was trying to come back to Hill Haven Inn, there’s no way he could do it.”

Back at the inn, the phones still weren’t working. Angie vowed to get a cellular phone for her car the instant she got away from here. She never wanted to be stranded this way again.

Like the others, she spent the rest of the day watching the rain and wishing she were anywhere else but here. Paavo, Reginald Vane, Moira, and Running Spirit decided to go out in the rain to look around some more for Finley. While Moira told them he’d probably left the hilltop and was somewhere else alive and well, there was enough of a nagging doubt in all their minds that searching a bit would help put them at ease. Moira went along to show them some of Finley’s favorite nature walk areas.

Angie decided not to go. She’d had enough of walking around in the rain on the trek back from the van to last her all the way to next winter. Instead, she went into the kitchen and made a list of all the ingredients that were already there and the quantities, so that she could figure out what kinds of meals she could cook with them.

There were so many sacks of soybeans that if they ever got wet and the beans began to swell, they’d all be in danger of smothering—if the house didn’t explode first.

Patsy Jeffers stepped into the kitchen. Her face was pale, her hands shook, and her eyes were red-rimmed.

“Are you all right?” Angie asked.

She nodded, her eyes darting nervously. “Have you seen Greg? I mean, Running Spirit?”

“He’s gone off to look for Finley, in case Finley’s out there hurt or something. I’m not sure which direction he went in.”

“I suppose Moira Tay’s out there, too.” She tugged at her lower lip as she gazed out the window to the forest.

“I believe so,” Angie replied. Running Spirit’s interest in Moira hadn’t been lost on any of them, and particularly not on his wife. “Have you and the Tays been friends for long?”

“Greg—I mean, Running Spirit—apparently met them years ago while they were all living in San Francisco, in the Haight-Ashbury. He’s been friends with…with Finley…ever since.”

“Oh, how nice.” Angie needed to change the subject. “How long have you two been married?” She found herself more and more interested in the concept of marriage with every passing day, despite the last twenty-four hours’ slight reversal.

“Six months.”

“Really? You’re practically newlyweds.”

“I still can’t believe he’s my husband.” Patsy chewed on her thumbnail as she spoke. “I’d do anything at all for him. I think that’s what love is all about. Do you agree, Angie?”

“It’s nice the two of you share an interest in this inn. Sometimes it’s hard to find something to be in agreement about, no matter how attracted you might be to each other.” Just like me and Paavo, she felt like adding.

“This is the only place in the world where everything is natural and fresh and alive,” Patsy said.

Tell that to Miss Greer, Angie thought. “I didn’t realize how special this inn is,” she said.

“Oh, yes,” Patsy exclaimed. “Finley explained it to me and Running Spirit before we invested. Growing their own food is part of Finley’s food philosophy, you know, along with the value of the soya bean.” Patsy took an apple from the refrigerator and picked up a paring knife.
Angie watched the knife in Patsy’s shaking hands with apprehension.

“No. I had no idea.”

Patsy hacked the apple in two. “He told us he used to have two milk cows and gave them all the best care and the best food, but despite that, they became sick and died. He figured if his cows could get diseased, any cow could, so he won’t use milk or butter.” She cut the apple halves into fourths. “He also used to raise chickens, but then they became diseased, so he stopped using eggs. After he learned that some fish get worms, he stopped eating fish or having anything to do with products from the ocean.” She cut the apple into even smaller pieces. “Everything he prepares here is absolutely fresh, clean and natural.”

As much as Angie enjoyed cooking, she couldn’t imagine being that preoccupied with the state of her food. “How does he keep birds from flying over his garden?”

“How does he what?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s only one thing that would make this place even better,” Patsy said. The apple was quickly approaching apple sauce.

“What’s that?” Angie asked.

Patsy scooped up the apple pieces and threw them in the trash. “If it belonged to Running Spirit. Then, along with physical cleanliness, he could lead all the guests to a spiritual cleanliness as well.”

“Maybe he could add a lesson called Waste Not, Want Not.”

Patsy Jeffers wandered off and soon Moira came into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Angie stood to the side and watched. It gave her something to do, took her mind off
Finley and Miss Greer, and let her see what Finley’s cooking style was all about. No matter what the investors wanted, she knew Finley wouldn’t back off completely from his food philosophy, and she needed to know as much about it as possible so that she could incorporate it into food that was tasty.

After a few minutes, she decided she knew enough. Moira whipped up what should have been a delicious barley casserole baked with almonds, mushrooms, and onions, and then covered it with a layer of soy cottage cheese. She also cooked cabbage and bread crumbs covered with soy milk and made to resemble, but not taste like, scalloped potatoes; soy patties; cream of eggplant soup (made with soy milk, what else?); and a spinach salad with an oil-free dressing. If Finley insisted on sticking very closely to this style of cooking, the investors should demand their money back.

Moira had Angie follow, on her own, the recipe for soy patties:

Angie would add it to her recipes-to-never-use file.

They talked as they cooked. Angie found it bizarre that Moira seemed so sure Finley would show up at the inn
once the road was open again, as if nothing had happened to him.

From all she’d learned of Finley Tay, and after her one day with him, she believed Tay to be a man obsessed with his own importance and power. He wasn’t the type to walk away from a place he’d planned for so long, or the type to go riding off with a bunch of hot tub installers, no matter what Running Spirit said.

Something must have happened to Finley right on this property. As far as Angie was concerned, the chances of his still being alive dwindled with each passing hour. She was pretty sure Paavo would feel the same way—if she could have the time with him to discuss it.

On the other hand, she also realized that Finley had to be angry at the investors’ challenge to his mastery of the kitchen when they insisted he hire her to make his menu more palatable.

Maybe his disappearance had, in fact, been based on no more than a mammoth-sized snit.

Someone in the inn probably knew. But no one was saying.

Angie stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in the big terry cloth towel, then stepped into the dressing room to figure out what to wear to dinner. The door to the bedroom was open and she saw Paavo in there unbuttoning his shirt.

His gaze slowly drifted over her. She need not have bothered drying herself earlier; she could feel steam rising off her skin like it was dry ice.

“I’m next,” he said.

Her heart leaped, until she realized he was just talking about the shower. “Okay, let me get out of your way.” She found a simple blue dress and carried it into the
bedroom, holding the dress with one hand and the towel closed with her other.

“Wait.” He caught her arm. “I’m sorry I was busy all last night. If the sheriff had shown up, things would have been different.”

“It’s all right,” she said, freeing her arm. “I understand.”

“Good.” He looked relieved.

“At least you had company to keep your vigil.”

His gaze followed her as she returned to the dressing room to find nylons and underwear, and stayed with her as she carried them back into the bedroom. “You little snoop,” he said finally.

“What’s the matter, Inspector, surprised that others around here know how to investigate?”

“So that’s what’s wrong.” He walked to her side and turned her around to face him. She spun away and walked to the vanity, picked up her hairbrush and brushed her wet hair back off her face.

He stepped up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. “You know there was nothing to Moira’s visit last night.” Her skin was creamy smooth. He loved the feel of it. He moved closer, bending over to kiss her neck, but she again walked away.

“I know. You explained to me how you needed to be alone. I didn’t understand that there’s alone, and alone-with-Moira. Silly me.”

He followed her. She stopped near the fireplace and looked at the dead embers. “I was asking her questions,” he said.

“I’m sure she had lots of answers.”

“She did.”

He stepped up behind her and cupped her elbow. When she didn’t run, he moved closer and ran his hand lightly along her arm, barely touching her, up to her wrist,
to the hand that held the towel together above her breasts. He slid his hand to the edge of the towel, to her skin.

She could feel his breath against her ear. Heavier now, deeper, fuller as his finger began to dip under the terry cloth.

“Excuse me,” she said, walking away. “I’ve got to help Moira serve dinner.”