Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé (22 page)

I gave another vicious yank, driven by desperation. The refrigerator budged. Gripping the handle, I yanked again with all my strength.

The fridge groaned and then toppled forward. I yelped and tried to get out of the way, but it crashed down onto my tethered arm. Pain exploded, pain unlike any I'd ever known.

I was stuck with one arm pinned under the monstrous appliance. Worse, the metal workstation had been knocked over, and the key was nowhere in sight. The air was only slightly cleaner down below, and I sucked in as much oxygen as I could.

"Help!" I shrieked, then coughed again. The pain had darkness wavering in my periphery, but I mustered enough strength to shout again. "Help me! Somebody!"

There was no answer. I could hear the fire now, see the flames licking through the closed door as the blaze consumed it. I tried to shift, to struggle, but the pain in my arm almost made me pass out.

Maybe unconsciousness would be a mercy. But that would mean I'd given up. And I couldn't—I could
not
—give up, no matter what.

"Anybody!" I screamed again, coughing, gagging on the acrid tang of smoke. "Help me!"

The swing door to the kitchen burst open, and a man's shape stood silhouetted by the lights from the other room. At first I thought it was Eli Randal, come back to stuff a gag in my mouth. But the shape was too tall to be the mayor.

"Andrea," the man said. "Where are you?"

"Jones?" I gasped.

But as he drew nearer, I saw that it wasn't Jones, but the only other man who used my full name.

"Dear God," Jacob Griffin said. "Andrea, what—"

"Handcuffed. Key fell. Over there." I pointed to where the workstation had gone down.

Griffin immediately crawled to where I indicated. There was a clanging, barely audible over the roar of the fire. Then he was back, key in hand. "We've got to get this off you."

I tried to tell him that I was handcuffed to the fridge, but could manage nothing but a cough. Griffin put his shoulder into the side of the massive appliance and shoved.

White hot pain, so intense I was sure a part of me had caught fire, enveloped me, robbing me of consciousness. The last thing I heard was my father's voice. "Don't worry. I'm going to get you out of here."

"Please," I gasped, struggling not to lose consciousness, afraid I'd never wake again.

Another male voice came from somewhere nearby. "Andrea!"

Jones. I couldn't call to him. I was coughing almost nonstop, every jarring making my arm ache even worse. Unable to look at it, I turned my face into Griffin's jacket.

"I've got her." Griffin was huffing for breath. Between carrying me and the smoke, his lungs must've been burning, but he still managed to call out. "There's a fire. We're coming out!"

Then cold January night air licked my skin, and familiar hands touched my face. "Andrea, what happened?"

Between coughs, I managed to gasp, "Mayor."

"We need to get her to the hospital." Jones's hands moved over me as he assessed the damage. "She might need surgery on that arm."

"There's an ambulance on the way." I recognized Kyle's voice. "Did she say the mayor did this?"

I gave a weak nod, but it was too much. Relief filled me as I sank into the blackness

once more.

Vegetarian Lasagna

You'll need:

8 lasagna noodles

1 14 oz can tomatoes

1 cup celery, chopped

1 cup green pepper, chopped

2 bay leaves

1 egg, beaten

1/4 cup Parmesan cheese

1 10 oz package frozen chopped broccoli

1 15 oz can tomato sauce

1 cup of red onion, chopped

1 1/2 teaspoon dried basil

1 clove garlic, minced

2 cups low-fat ricotta cheese or cottage cheese

1 cup mozzarella cheese, shredded

Cook lasagna noodles and broccoli separately according to their package directions; drain well, and set aside.

For sauce, cut up canned tomatoes. In a large saucepan, stir together chopped, undrained tomatoes, tomato sauce, celery, onion, green pepper, basil, bay leaf, and garlic. Bring to boil. Reduce heat, and simmer uncovered for 20 to 25 minutes, or until sauce is thick. Stir occasionally. Remove bay leaf.

Meanwhile, in a bowl stir together egg, ricotta cheese, Parmesan cheese, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Stir in broccoli. Spread 1/2 cup sauce in the bottom of a 9 x 13 pan. Top with half of the noodles, half of the cheese-broccoli mixture, and half of the remaining sauce. Repeat layers, ending with sauce.

Bake uncovered at 350 for 25 minutes. Sprinkle with mozzarella and bake 5 minutes more or until cheese melts. Let stand 10 minutes.

**Andy's note: Perfect for freezing and reheating for those crazy-busy days.

Every part of me hurt. From my head to my mangled arm and down to my smoke-damaged lungs, there wasn't much left of me that was undamaged.

Secretly, I was glad for the pain. It meant I was still alive. Though it made it a bear to get any rest that wasn't hopped up on whatever clear liquid was running through my IV.

Jones sat asleep in the chair next to me. He was scruffy as hell, having refused to leave my side since my surgery in case I needed anything. I was dying for a drink of water but loathe to wake him. Maybe I could reach the cup myself. I glanced at the plaster cast on my arm—it went from shoulder to palm, with only my fingers peeking out—and decided not to chance it. The giant refrigerator had all but crushed the bone, and I didn't want to undo the orthopedist's careful reconstruction.

A familiar face peered around the corner. I smiled at Donna and gritted my teeth as I tried to sit up a little.

In an instant, Jones was awake and by my side. "What do you need?"

"Help me sit up. And some water would be great."

He adjusted the bed and then aimed the straw at my lips. I sucked gratefully until the cup was empty, but waved away his offer for more.

Donna put her hand on Jones's shoulder. "Malcolm, go home."

His gaze slid to me, and he started to shake his head, but in typical Donna fashion, she steamrolled him. "I'm saying this as a friend. You stink, literally. The hospital staff has considered a health and comfort quarantine. Go have a shower and a hot meal. I've got the day shift, and Eugene and Cecily will stop in for lunch. Andy will be fine for a few hours. Go."

His smile was rueful. "I am rather ripe, aren't I? All right. But I'll be back later on." Reaching down, he stroked my face. His anxiety at the thought of having me out of his sight was palpable. He'd told me how afraid he's been when he'd discovered I was gone, vanished without a trace. He'd called Kyle directly, and the entire sheriff's office had been out hunting. But it wasn't until Lacey L'Amour's security monitoring company had reported the fire that anyone had thought to look there. If not for Jacob Griffin arriving in town in the dead of night, I might not have made it out.

"I'll be fine," I reassured him. "Go on, stinky man. I'll see you in a bit."

He caressed my cheek tenderly, then gave me a soul-shattering kiss before turning to go.

Donna took Jones's chair. She wore a black workout outfit with hot pink and electric-blue stripes, and her face was sans makeup.

"Going casual today?"

She shrugged. "No sense getting all dolled up and making you feel worse about the hospital stay than you already do. Besides, I figured you'd need a chance to vent, as every time you complain, Jones hops up like he needs to do something about it ASAP. So go ahead—let loose."

"The food here is the pits," I grumbled. "And the wardrobe leaves much to be desired."

Donna raised an eyebrow. "That's the best you've got?"

I settled back as best I could against the pillows. "Give me time to warm up at least. I might pull something if I go into full-throttle bitchfest."

Donna's lips quirked. "We wouldn't want that. Okay, so what do you know, and what can I fill you in on from the outside?"

"I know the mayor's been arrested." A shiver racked me, which in turn only made my broken arm throb. "Detective Brown stopped by yesterday. He said they found the handgun that had killed Rochelle and the burner phone Randal used to call me in his potting shed. There was also DNA evidence that Rochelle had been in his SUV. No jury in the world will let him walk."

Donna nodded. "And Kyle said that the mayor's nephew admitted that Eli had suggested the initiation ritual and had pointed out which buildings they should torch. Since Joey was supposed to be the leader, none of the others knew about the mayor's involvement or his intentions. That might get a few of the older kids a reduced sentence at least. And Kaylee is just getting community service. And her juvenile file will be sealed."

I sagged in relief. "Good. I was worried. Any news on the pasta shop?"

Donna grinned. "Cecily is handling it. You could almost feel sorry for the board of health."

I smiled back, but then had to ask, "What about Lacey's restaurant?"

She shook her head. "I haven't heard a word about it. The fire and damage was extensive though, at least according to Steve. She won't be able to reopen anytime soon."

"This may sound nuts, but I feel sort of bad for her."

A knock sounded on the door, and I looked up to see Jacob Griffin standing in the doorway. He looked from me to Donna and back again. "If this is a bad time, I can come back."

I wasn't sure what to say to him. The man had saved my life. Hell, he'd given me life. Yet he was a total stranger. I opened my mouth, but Donna rose smoothly. "Actually, I was on my way to go grab a cup of coffee. You want anything?"

Griffin pulled a face. "Not from here."

My friend laughed, then turned to face me. Soundlessly, she mouthed, "Be nice
,
" and then slipped past him.

Griffin moved further into the room but didn't sit down. I shifted, though considering the catheter and the IV, I couldn't go far. An awkward pause ensued.

He went with the obvious. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, all things considered."

"When do you get out of the hospital?"

"I don't know. A few more days." Any longer than that and I very well might chew my own arm off.

"Good. That's…good."

More uncomfortable pauses.

"Thanks," I said to him finally. "For saving me, I mean."

He frowned. "You shouldn't have to thank me for that. It's what any decent person would do."

"Not the guy who put me there."

"I said decent," he growled. "How the hell did that maniac get elected in the first place?"

I tried to shrug and instantly regretted the motion, hissing in pain, shutting my eyes reflexively. It was kind of a stupid reflex, because without any sight, all I could focus on was the searing agony.

Griffin moved by my side and put his hand on my good arm. "Are you all right? Do you need me to call someone?"

The wave of nausea abated, and I cracked an eyelid. "No, I just need to be still for a bit."

His hand was warm and comforting where it rested on my arm. I wasn't sure if it was right for me to accept his comfort, but at the moment I'd take all I could get.

"Why are you here?" I whispered. "In Beaverton. After all this time, why come here now?"

He stared down at me a moment. "Well, the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. You knew about me. And I didn't like the idea of just letting things stay the way they were between us. I figure you have questions, and I have answers. I'd like to get to know you, Andy. Directly this time, not through third parties. And I want you to know me. I'm not asking you to like me, just to be open."

I stared up at him. Damn, that was a reasonable request, and I'd feel like a total shrew if I denied it. I cleared my throat and asked, "Does that mean you're staying in town?"

"For a while at least. Anyway, my wife is already settled here. I don't think she'd like to be uprooted right now."

"You're married?" I squeaked. It had never occurred to me that he'd be married. Hell, he could have a whole passel of kids for all I knew.

Griffin looked surprised. "Recently, actually. I thought the two of you were already acquainted."

"Oh, zat we are, dahling." Lacey L'Amour minced into my room and put an arm around my father's shoulders. The diamond-encrusted wedding band on her left ring finger caught the horrible fluorescent lights. "Isn't zat right, Andee?"

My eyes slid shut again. "I think I'm going to be sick."

*   *   *

It took a week before I was cleared to leave the hospital. On my request, Jones had held up Rochelle's burial until I could attend. I felt I owed it to the other woman to be there to honor her memory.

The small graveside service took place on a blustery February morning. Kaylee and her mom were there along with Donna and her husband, Pops and Aunt Cecily, Mimi, Lizzy, and Jones. Jacob Griffin had offered to pay for Rochelle's funeral, since she'd been in town on his errand, but Lizzy had turned him down. I was grateful to her, since that meant Mr. and Mrs. Griffin had no reason to attend. That was one situation I didn't want to think about. Kyle showed up in his sheriff's uniform, but he spent more time casting longing looks at Lizzy. Eventually Aunt Cecily shooed him off.

Since he was the only one who'd known her, Jones spoke to honor his ex. It was brief but heartfelt, and I think it gave him a sense of closure to honor her memory and help put her to rest. Everyone was gathering at the Bowtie Angel afterward, but Jones insisted on driving me home to rest.

"Where is home?" I asked him as we drove. "I don't really know anymore."

"Well, in this case, it's the A-frame, since I promised to let Roofus out." He turned up the road toward my rental. "For me though, home is wherever you are, Andrea."

My eyes, which were already red rimmed, filled with tears. "Don't make me cry again. I feel as though I'm half drowned already."

I'd expected him to smile and make some glib comment. Bantering was our way. Instead, his knuckles turned white where they gripped the steering wheel. Suddenly, he pulled over to the side of the road and turned to face me.

"What?" I asked, concerned. "Malcolm, what's the matter?"

He huffed out a breath and cast me a sidelong look. "Marry me?"

I blinked. "Say what now?"

He sighed. "Andrea, I know this isn't the right time or place. This isn't how I wanted to propose to you. When I proposed to Rochelle, I did everything right, the way it was supposed to be done. And look how that turned out."

I couldn't contain a grimace.

"But that isn't us. Our relationship has never been tidy. It has never made any sort of sense. We're chaos personified, and I wouldn't want it any other way. I don't have a ring for you, but that doesn't change the fact that this feels right to me, right now. I know I want you to be my wife. Marry me?"
I sat there, unable to blink, to move, to breathe. I felt as if I were floating somewhere far distant and watching the two of us, wondering what would happen next.

"Okay," I breathed and then slammed back to full awareness.

His lips twitched. "Is that a yes?"

"Technically, I think it's more of a why the hell not, but that's what you get when you propose on the way home from your ex's funeral." I slapped him on the arm. "Idiot, you are an idiot, and I love you, Malcolm Jones."

He leaned over and claimed my lips, careful of my casted arm. "Let's go home and eat something exceptionally bad for us."

One thing was for sure, the man with the smoking-hot accent knew the quickest route to my heart.