Murder Al Fresco (15 page)

His expression looked tormented. "I know."

I began stacking pillows between Clayton and me so that he wouldn't roll out of bed. "That being said, you didn't lie to me. More than anything else, that tells me how much everything has changed for us as a couple. It gives me hope that we'll keep getting better as we go along."

"I can't lose you," he whispered. "My life would be nothing but an empty landscape without you."

Easing myself out of bed, I made my way over to where he sat and knelt on the floor in front of him. "Why are you so worried you'll lose me?"

He shook his head, but I caught it between my hands.

"Malcolm, look at me. Tell me what's going on in that complicated head of yours."

His gaze roved over my face as though he was memorizing every detail. "I changed the game on you. Clayton's changed it for both of us."

I nodded but didn't speak, unwilling to interrupt him.

"I don't know how to be a father," he whispered. "He's so little and I just…I can't… What if I let him down?"

"Breathe," I told him. "Malcolm, it's okay."

Blue eyes wild, he stared past me to where his son lay sleeping. "I don't know if I can do this, Andrea. You want him to stay. I can see it in your eyes. But what if I can't be what he needs? What if I send him back to live with his grandparents? Will you leave me?"

It was on the tip of my tongue to deny that anything would ever make me leave him, but then I thought about it, really thought it through. Jones knew I'd become attached to Clayton in such a short time, knew I'd been bonding with him, had let it happen. The thought that he'd take that little boy away from me because he couldn't bring himself to open up stole the breath from my lungs.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. "Malcolm, you can do this. I believe in you. It's only been a few days. Just try. Will you do that, for my sake as well as Clayton's?"

His throat bobbed. "I am trying. Believe me, love."

"Try harder." Maybe it was unfair, and maybe I was asking too much from him, but Clayton was his son, and Jones was an honorable man. It shouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for me to insist that Jones give the little boy his all. I knew in time Clayton could win him over, if Jones only let his guard down. "We'll have plenty of time to spend together since the Bowtie Angel and the
Diced
competition won't be a distraction anymore."

Jones frowned. "Why not?"

I snorted. "Like anyone will eat my cooking ever again."

He leaned back in the chair. "So that's it? You're just going to give up?"

"You make it sound like there's a way to fix this when you know it's not up to me. Think about it from a neutral perspective. If you didn't know me personally and you heard about the food poisoning, would you roll the dice by eating something I prepared?"

"If I found out that someone else had set you up for the fall, then yes, I would."

Stubborn, sexy man. "I don't know…"
"Andrea." His hands cupped my shoulders as he caressed my name in that accent I had loved from the first moment I heard it. "Do you still want redemption? Tell me you can live a long and happy life not knowing what went wrong."

I couldn't. We both knew it. "But where do we even start looking?"

"I was thinking about it this morning, and I want you to make a list of anyone who would deliberately want to sabotage you. Then we'll cross-reference it with anyone who benefits from Chad Tobey's death."

"But we don't even know if the cases are related for sure," I argued. "Then there's the mysterious blogger. We have no idea who she is, if she's the one who sent Chad the threats."

"True," Jones agreed. "But it's a place to start. You should get ready for work—you have a competition to prepare for. I want to get ahold of the sheriff. He never showed up last night. Think about that list and text me when you get it."

"You make it sound so easy." My gaze shifted to the bed where Clayton stirred, on the verge of waking. A thought occurred, and I turned back to Jones. "Okay, here's the deal. You need to spend the day with your son, and leave the investigating up to me."

"Andrea," he began, as I knew he would, but I didn't let him finish.

"No, Malcolm, this is what I need. I'll pick your brain, you can point me in the right direction, but you have to let me do the work. Now, suspects who would have known about Chad Tobey's marshmallow allergy. Where do I start?"

He looked at me for a minute. I lifted my chin, unwilling to back down.

"The ex-wife," Jones finally admitted. "She has the most to gain from his death, and nine times out of ten, it's the significant other. If you can tie her to the blogger, it'll be the smoking gun."

"But you said she was still back in Texas, right?" Clayton made another sound, and I moved to pick him up before he could roll out of bed, but Jones caught my arm.

"Allow me." The man never looked sexier than he did holding his son. My teeth sank into my lower lip as I watched him lift Clayton off the mattress. The little guy fussed before blinking open his big blue eyes.

Jones tensed visibly. I held my breath, praying Clayton wouldn't freak out.

"Diggy diggy," Clayton mumbled sleepily, eyelids drifting down.

I let out a breath and then turned toward my bag. Now as long as Jones didn't freak out, we'd be in good shape. "The wife?" I prompted.

"From what I can tell, she was home at the time of the murder, though she flew in after his death was made public to talk to the police. I'm not saying she did the deed herself, but she had motive. Have you ever met her?"

I plucked out a pair of gray capri pants and a blue, boat neck top and began dressing. "No. And before you ask, she would have no reason to ruin my reputation either. I was still in culinary school when Chad Tobey last worked for Flavor TV. There's no connection there."

"What about your other friend?" Jones fished a fresh diaper from Clayton's bag but seemed to be averting his gaze. "The bloke with the accent."

"Other friend?" Picking up my brush, I pretended to be focused on twisting my hair into a bun, but I was really studying him from the mirror. "You mean Rodrigo?"

He finished changing Clayton and set the little guy on the floor. "Do you think he had anything to do with the food poisoning?"

Hair secured, I set the brush down. "What would he possibly have to gain from that?"

Jones rubbed the back of his neck. "You're his competition, Andrea. The prize money alone might be worth discrediting you."

"Rodrigo makes more than that in a month in endorsements alone. He has his own line of marinades, for the love of Pete." I stepped into the adjoining bathroom and picked up my toothbrush.

"So maybe it's the title he's after." Jones was like a dog with a bone, unwilling to shake his wild theory. He moved to the bathroom door and turned sideways, keeping one eye on Clayton, the other on my back. "You said he wanted to cook for you tonight."

"Is there any particular reason you're looking to blame Rodrigo?" I took time to rinse my mouth before turning to face him. "Other than your jealousy, that is."

"Jealous? I'm not—"

"Malcolm," I stepped closer to him, caressing his stubbly cheek. "Don't lie to me. Or to yourself. Steam comes out your ears every time I talk to the man."

He sighed just as Clayton made a play for the nearest electrical outlet. Jones dashed across the room and scooped him up. "He's interested in you, Andrea."

I moved to his side and put a hand on his arm. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about. There's only one bloke with an accent in my life, and that's the way I want it. Now let me take the little guy downstairs for breakfast so that you can get dressed."

 Jones handed his squirming armful over, though his eyes were locked on my face. "Maybe I am jealous."

That admission shouldn't have excited me, yet it did. This was still new territory for me, having a man who thought of me as his. I couldn't help the small feminine thrill, but I knew better than to let it go too far. "You trust me, right?"

He nodded slowly but didn't say anything, and if not for Clayton's frantic struggling, I would have stayed there staring into his eyes for the rest of the day. Maybe the rest of my life.

Finally Jones turned away. "Go on. I'll meet you downstairs."

Hefting Clayton in one arm and his diaper bag of doom over the other, I made my way to the glorious kitchen. Jacob was nowhere in sight, thank God, but Lacey was scrambling eggs over by the stove.

"Andee," she greeted me. "Would you care for some eggs?"

"Maybe after Clay eats." There was no way to sit through a peaceful breakfast with a hungry toddler on the loose.

Lacey nodded and dished out two plates of eggs. "Jacob and I usually eat in ze dining room. We'd be glad to have you join us."

Maybe it was just me, but her offer sounded forced. Did she resent having me in her home? Or had Jacob told her about the not-so-subtle message I'd given him last night.

"Thanks, but I'm good here," I said, shifting Clayton to my other hip so that I could use my right hand to dig out his cereal. "Clay can be a messy eater. Wouldn't want the little terror to ruin your rugs."

She gave me a small smile, but I didn't miss the flash of relief. "See you later then?"

I nodded, pressing my lips together to keep from saying anything stupid. My cell phone rang, but between juggling Clayton and mixing up his cereal, I had no way to answer it.

Jones strode into the kitchen a few minutes later smelling shower fresh and sexy as all get-out. "I can take it from here."

"Wipe his hands and face first. I think he likes wearing his food better than eating it."

He wet a paper towel and cleaned some of the cereal from the little guy's flailing fists. We switched places, Jones taking over the feeding and me standing to dig out my cell phone.

The missed call came from the Bowtie Angel. Aside from myself and Aunt Cecily, there was only one other person with a set of keys to the building.

"Mimi's back," I said to Jones, waiting for my automated menu choices. It floored me that so much had happened in the three days since my sous chef had taken off. "Bright side about the whole no-customers thing—I'll have plenty of time to bring her up to speed."

"What happened to thinking positively?" Jones murmured.

"That was positive," I said but then broke off as the message began to play.

"Andy," Mimi's soft voice came on the line. "Someone broke into the pasta shop last night."

Awesome Meatballs

You'll need:

½ pound lean ground beef

½ pound ground pork

½ cup Italian bread crumbs

¼ cup milk

1 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon ground black pepper

2 teaspoons onion powder

1 egg, beaten

Directions:

Preheat oven to 400°F. Mix all ingredients in a bowl. Roll mixture into 18 meatballs. Cook time is 22-24 minutes or until nicely browned. However, if you make smaller meatballs, the cook time may be shorter.

**Andy's note: For gluten-free meatballs, substitute quick oats for the bread crumbs. Stuff the center of each with a ¼-inch cube of fresh mozzarella for an extra tasty surprise.

Jacob insisted on driving me into town, and since I wanted to be there as soon as humanly possible, I accepted. Riding with him in his sleek BMW, complete with leather seats and new-car smell, was awkward, and we kept the conversation to a minimum.

"Does Mimi have any idea who it was?" he asked as he stopped for a red light at the edge of town.

"No, but she said the front room has been vandalized." My tone was grim, imagining the worst. "And be warned, there's press out front. I'm news after yesterday."

"You'll get through it." Jacob glanced at me, my face reflected in his sunglasses. "You're tougher than you think."

"Thanks." I was surprised by how much the compliment bolstered me. It was exactly what I needed to hear.

He pulled into the municipal lot across the green and parked, then looked over at me. "Ready?"

From our vantage point I could see members of the press milling about. Squad cars from the Beaverton PD were parked directly in front of the Bowtie Angel, clearing a perimeter, and a crowd had gathered out front to keep tabs on the latest. Was our mysterious blogger here, waiting to go live with the latest disaster from the Death Chef?

"Go around back," I hissed to Jacob as we approached the crowd.

"Why?" He frowned at me.

"Because if they see us walking in together, they'll start speculating on a connection. Right now your house is a safe haven for Jones and Clayton. I don't want these vultures anywhere near it."

Jacob looked impressed. "You know, you'd have an excellent future in public relations, if you wanted one. You really consider all the angles."

"I've done this before." My tone was dry as stale bread. "See you inside."

Jacob veered toward the alley just as the first reporter caught sight of me. There was a flurry of activity, and I ducked and darted for the front door under a barrage of invasive questions. Mimi had been on the lookout, and she pushed it open to me and then locked it.

"Thanks." I pulled her into a hug. Over the past year Mimi had become like a member of the family, and having her back to face this with me gave me strength.

"Andy, I am so sorry." Mimi had a bad habit of apologizing for things that weren't her fault.

"I'm just glad you're all right. Were you here when the break in occurred?"

She nodded. "I was upstairs. I had a headache after the long drive, so I went to bed early. The sound of breaking glass woke me up."

The source of the noise was clear. My front window had been shattered. Pieces of it glinted on the ground outside.

"Excuse me." Donna's husband, Steven, came over to us. "Andy, Detective Brown wanted to ask you a few questions, if you're up to it?"

"Yeah," I said, still taking in the carnage. Besides the window, the booth seats had been ripped open and the stuffing strewn every which way. The shelf that held the clean dishes had been tipped over and though the display case we used for the pasta was still intact, someone had spray-painted a few nasty messages on the clear glass. "Sure."