Foodie Files Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Christine Zane Thomas

  The cornbread finished a few minutes early. The chili still simmered on the stove. I ate a few slices, waiting for the real deal.

  While I rested idly with my back on the counter, my eyes found the crime board. I studied it like a high schooler might study for an exam. Then I added the information about Mara and moved Blake to the top suspect—just as I’d learned the police had done.

  I heard footsteps on the porch and the screen door creak open.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Just use your key!” I called to the one-and-only person I knew would show up unannounced this early in the afternoon. I had just enough time to hide the board as my mother fiddled with her keys.

  She shuffled inside, slid off her shoes, and scowled at me. “One day I hope it’s a man out there—one without a key.”

  “You’re hoping I get burglarized?”

  “No. I’m hoping you get a date!”

  “Then you’re in luck,” I told her. “I have a date, tomorrow night, as a matter of fact.”

  “Really?” she said, gushing. “Who’s this fellow, and why haven’t I met him?”

  “His name is Luke. He’s a pharmaceutical sales rep. And you haven’t met him because this will only be our second date.”

  “I like the name Luke,” Mom said. “It’s biblical. You should invite him over to Sunday supper.”

  “Second date,” I said again, rolling my eyes. “I’m not inviting him to meet the whole family until I’m good and ready.” A few years sounded about the right amount of time.

  “Jack’s been coming with Melanie since around their second or third date. We haven’t scared him away yet.”

  “With comments like the one you made last week, you’re bound to,” I told her.

  “Hogswallop. He knows it’s come time to put a ring on that finger. A little light ribbing will do them both some good.”

  “And that’s the reason you’re not going to meet Luke.”

  “Oh, Allie.” Mom made her way to the kitchen. She peeked into the large pot on the stove and stirred it around. “It smells like you didn’t use enough cumin.”

  “I used the perfect amount of cumin. That’s an overpowering flavor. Taste it if you don’t believe me.”

  Mom didn’t taste it with the spoon, but instead, she dipped herself a bowl. Then she cut a thin slice of cornbread.

  “Do you want cheese or sour cream?” I asked her, opening the fridge.

  “Only cheese. I’m trying to watch my girlish figure.”

  I laughed. Like me and my grandmother, my mom was graced with bird-like legs and thin arms. I was pretty sure the numbers on her scale hadn’t changed in at least twenty years, from right around the time my father left us.

  She took a seat on a stool at the butcher block counter.

  “Well, how’s work going today?” she asked.

  “You’re looking at it,” I said, but my heart skipped a beat. I checked the time. “Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. I still have an article to write.”

  When it became apparent the piece on George just wasn’t going to get done on time, I called Kinsey at the Gazette. Like always, she was understanding. She told me there were some other things they could run with, but that I had to have something for the Wednesday paper, which I assured her I would.

  With the extension, I did feel tempted to call it quits for the night. But I continued to trudge on anyway, pecking away at the keyboard late into the night. With tired eyes but a wound-up brain, I called Mister Netflix, and he rushed right over.

  The next morning, I was greeted with a puddle of drool on my pillow and the black screen of a dead laptop. I went to the living room to plug in the computer, flipped on the TV, and was greeted with the sound of Kate’s voice.

  I listened as I brewed a full pot of coffee. After all, today was a writing day. Not only did I have to finish the piece about George, but I also had to write up the chili post for The Foodie Files.

  This morning, Kate was in the studio. She sat to the side of the two morning anchors before the camera panned over, and she took over the screen. On a good day, there was no way I could ever manage to look as gorgeous as Kate, but sometimes what she was able to accomplish so early in the morning turned my envy to full-on resentment. Today was one of those days. Her straight blonde hair was parted crisply to the left. Her makeup highlighted the natural blush of her upper cheeks. It wasn’t globbed on like the female news anchor. Her pale eyes looked directly into the camera.

  “Thanks, Toni,” Kate said. “I have more news this morning on the murder of George Wilson in Lanai. The coroner’s office has released a preliminary toxicology report. It states that Mr. Wilson died of nicotine poisoning.

  “Of course, most of us are aware of the harmful effects of tobacco and nicotine over the course of years, but our viewers might not know that when ingested or even touched, nicotine can act quickly.”

  “I’ve heard of similar stories.” They cut to Jim and Toni, the anchors, who shook their heads grimly.

  “What makes this case different?” Jim asked.

  “Most deaths involving nicotine are accidental,” Kate said. “The police don’t believe that’s the case this time. Yesterday afternoon, Mr. Wilson’s son, Blake, was served a warrant. His apartment and car were searched, and then Blake was taken into custody. That’s all the news we have at this time.”

  In the background, while Kate spoke, they showed Javier and a crime scene unit inspecting the same old black Honda civic I’d seen at Bentley’s Estate.

  I wondered if they found anything inside it. They’d had to have found something on Blake, otherwise, why would they take him into custody?

  I texted Kate to ask her if she knew anything more—anything she couldn’t tell the public at large. She replied thirty minutes later.

  They found a bottle of orange flavored nicotine. Ya know, the kind used for vaping?… Well, Blake doesn’t smoke or vape…

  14

  By five o’clock, I’d managed to write almost a thousand words in total. I was just getting ready to hit send on an email to Kinsey when her face appeared on the screen of my phone. Her assigned ringtone, Money by Pink Floyd, ka-chinged twice before I answered.

  “Kinsey. Hey. I was just about to email you the article.” I was afraid she may’ve worked herself into a tizzy wondering if I’d make her deadline.

  “Allie, you answered,” she said, surprised. “I was just calling to tell you not to worry about the article. I’m extending your deadline. The thing is, I’ll need another five or six hundred more words. Get some quotes from his friends or relatives, if you can. We’re going to run a report on the murder investigation tomorrow. I just had a chat with your friend Kate. I got all the scoop.”

  “But she reported that this morning,” I said. “Won’t that be old news?”

  “It’s a developing story. Plus, she told me what they found in Blake Wilson’s car. Tomorrow’s paper is going to fly off the rack!”

  “That’s good.” I was getting a little flustered. I wanted to hit send and start getting ready for my date. Luke had texted earlier that he might be running late. He wanted to meet at Piggies. Having spent the entirety of the day in my pajamas without showering, this conversation needed to end soon to ensure I didn’t show up there smelling like a pig.

  “I’ll let you go,” Kinsey said. “Just make sure you have the finished piece to me by Friday evening at the latest. Kisses.”

  “Buh-bye.” Kinsey’s usual unusual farewell always sent a shiver down my back.

  Thirty minutes later, I was rushing out of the house with my hair still wet and my makeup applied about as well as Toni, the morning news anchor. I stepped on the gas, skidding to a halt in the dirt lot outside Piggies only ten minutes late.

  Being late was one of those things that made my skin crawl. I tried not to make a habit of it. The saying “If you’re on time you’re late” was something so engrained into me by my mother that a part of me wanted to cancel on those grounds alone. I didn�
��t want to give Luke that impression of me.

  So, I rushed inside the dilapidated pink shack that was Piggies. It was the type of place that only passed a health inspection by knowing the inspector was coming weeks ahead of time. They were probably tipped off by the man himself, Albert Grundy, who I knew ate at Piggies on a weekly basis. It didn’t hurt that they’d catered both of his daughters’ weddings.

  But the truth of the matter was Piggies served the best pulled pork in a two-hour radius of Lanai. And the ribs tended to sell out before their dinner service. In fact, a paper sign reading as much blocked my view of inside. So when I opened the door, it bumped right into the man standing beside it.

  “Sorry,” I apologized.

  “Hi.” Luke smiled, rubbing his bulky shoulder where the door had hit him.

  “Oh… Hi.” My face and neck flushed.

  “Are you all right? What were you doing out there? Running?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “I was late.”

  “That brings a whole new meaning to running late,” he punned. “Didn’t I say I was going to be a few minutes late? I only just got here.”

  “Right,” I mumbled, “you did say that.”

  “It was cute. Just like you.” He wrapped me awkwardly in a side hug. Like his muscular shoulders, his physique had a firmness to it. “You ready to eat?”

  “Sure am.” My stomach growled in anticipation. It was quite possible that I’d forgotten to eat lunch—a common problem when I worked from home.

  The atmosphere at Piggies never changed. Pigs, pigs everywhere. I imagined every pig knickknack ever made had found its way somewhere on the walls. We had to order from the counter where the familiar face of Doris Hutchins greeted the two of us with a smile. Her bright pink shirt was adorned with the words “I Kissed a Pig, and I Liked It.”

  “Good evenin’, you two. What can I getcha tonight?”

  “Let’s see.” Luke studied the menu behind her. “I’ll have the Piggie Platter with coleslaw and corn. And just a water to drink. You?” He gave me a wink.

  “A sweet tea and a small Piggie Sandwich, please.”

  “Order 210.” Dorris gave us a ticket. Then she disappeared off to the back to put in our order. At a place like this, waitresses never needed to write anything down. We heard her yell the order to the kitchen. She made our drinks, and we got seated, waiting for our order number to be called.

  “Why don’t they just let us order at the kitchen?” Luke asked jokingly.

  “Right?” I exclaimed. “We could cut out the middle man, or woman.”

  Luke sipped his water. His smile hadn’t faltered since the moment I bumped him with the door.

  In the meantime, two orders were called. Business was booming for a Tuesday night. Delicious barbecue at the right price was a good recipe for success in any Southern town. Scratch that—in any town.

  After the water left his lips, his smile did falter. “Can I ask you a question?”

  His tone had changed from joking to almost serious.

  “Shoot,” I said, not pointing out that, in fact, he’d just asked me a question.

  “I hope it’s not too forward for me to ask something like this. But what’s up with you and the detective?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The way he asked questions to me was kind of, I don’t know—pointed. He came off protective of you.”

  “Did he?” I asked. I was more interested than I probably should’ve been.

  “Yeah,” Luke said. “Did y'all date or something?”

  “No. Never,” I said quickly. “We’re just kind of friends.”

  “Kind of friends?” He scrunched his forehead and raised his eyebrows.

  “Just friends. I kind of got a little over-involved in one of his investigations a few months ago.”

  “O-K,” Luke said slowly. “And he gave you a ride from the hospital?”

  “Right.” I nodded. “As friends.” The conversation had taken a turn I didn’t expect. On my end, Javier was nothing more than a little crush. And we’d barely spoken in months. Even calling him a friend seemed like pushing it.

  The bell at the counter dinged. “Order 210,” the cook called out. Saved by the bell.

  Luke stood up and retrieved our two trays. But what resided on them didn’t quite resemble our orders.

  “That’s not what you ordered, is it?” Luke said, eyeing my sandwich.

  My small Piggie sandwich had received an upgrade to the Whole Hog sandwich. It was dripping with two times the amount of pork of even the large Piggie version. There was a layer of coleslaw under the top bun and a stack of pickles and jalapeños above the bottom.

  “Nope, not even close.” I giggled. “Does your Piggie Platter normally look like that?”

  Luke’s eyes grew as he peered down at his platter. There was an extra scoop of pulled pork and a half rack of supposedly sold out ribs. On the side were two mounds of coleslaw and an added bonus of fried pickles.

  “No,” he said in shock, “what happened? Do you think we got someone else’s order?”

  I shook my head. I looked over to counter where the cook waved and smiled at me. “This is what Kate and I call the five-forks-treatment. You know I do restaurant reviews. Well, sometimes I get recognized.”

  “Does this happen often?” Luke wasn’t complaining. His grin grew to match the size of the plate.

  I shrugged. “Well, it’s not unusual. I don’t expect it, and I never ask for it. It just happens.”

  “That’s amazing! I’ll have to take you out to dinner more often. I mean, if you want to…”

  Thank goodness, I thought. All the cool points I lost with Javier had been earned back with a simple meal—and at Piggies, no less.

  We ate as much as we could, which for Luke was a lot of food, but we were still both leaving with a Piggie Bag. I weirdly enjoyed watching him attempt to shovel it all in. After a valiant effort, he pushed his tray toward the middle of the table.

  “That’s good, but I can’t finish it all.”

  “Me either,” I said, starring down at more than half a sandwich left on my plate.

  “You barely even tried,” he scoffed, grinning. “After a whole day of hospital food, this was exactly what I needed.”

  “A whole day?” I asked him.

  “They were overly cautious. I mean, I appreciate it. Don’t get me wrong. But I’m fine. And I’m glad to know what it was. I’ll never look at someone vaping the same way again.”

  “I’m guessing you heard about Blake, then?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I hope he rots in jail. How messed up is it to kill your own father?”

  “Pretty messed up,” I agreed.

  “But let’s not talk about that.” Luke reached across the table where I was absentmindedly playing with the paper straw wrapper on the table. He brushed his fingers across my hand. His touch was gentle and soothing. “Tell me more about your blog. What dish are you serving this week?”

  We chatted about the chili I’d made. His hand never left mine. Then, hand in hand, we meandered to the parking lot. He escorted me to my car. Like a true gentleman, he opened my door for me.

  Before getting in the car, I turned to give him a hug. I only meant for it to be a hug. But he went in for the kiss. There was no denying him that. His face was so cute all puckered up, his eyes already closed.

  We shared a few sweet kisses before we finally said goodnight. He gently closed my door and watched me leave before returning to his truck.

  Tonight had been a success. Never in a million years would I have thought that a dinner date at Piggies would have me on cloud nine. But there I was anyway.

  15

  The next morning, I literally sang in the shower. A morning shower in and of itself typically indicated I was starting the day off right, but singing, well, it meant Allie was still high on good date vibrations.

  My day was all planned out. First, I would stop by the Java Hutt to meet Kate for coffee. I kne
w she had ulterior motives, hoping for me to gush about my date with Luke. Since she was the one who’d set us up, she deserved at least a few details.

  After coffee, I needed to work out the additions to the article. I thought speaking to Suzi would probably get me where I needed to go since she and George had been family friends.

  Then finally, I’d have my usual dinner with Mom. It wasn’t actually a planned thing. I’d just started coming over on Wednesdays. And now it was sort of expected. I got in trouble if I didn’t show. Mom liked to cook. I liked to eat. So, that’s what we did. Every Wednesday. Then after dinner, we’d usually watch a movie or a couple of shows on Netflix.

  I dried off, cinched the towel around my torso, and started to wash my face when a noise from the front of the house sent cold shivers down my back.

  Is someone in my house?

  More noises. The sound of footsteps down the hall had me petrified. I slowly reached down and grabbed my phone. Now most people in this situation would probably dial 9-1-1. And that’s probably what I should’ve done. But my instincts went for the first number on my favorites contact list.

  I dialed my mom.

  A buzzing ringer sounded outside the bathroom door. Then she answered. “Allie? Why are you calling me?”

  I sighed in relief at the sound of her double voices, one in my ear, and the other just outside the door.

  “I thought I had an intruder,” I admitted, hanging up the phone.

  “So you called me?” she asked with a chuckle. I opened the bathroom door. She gave me a skeptical roll of her eyes. Then she brushed the small wisp of graying brown hair out of her face.

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “Who else would I call?”

  “For starters, that detective friend of yours. Besides, aren’t you the one who always tells me to use my key? And the one time I do, I scare you half to death. From now on, I’m just going to wait for you to let me in.”

  “That’s fine.” I admitted defeat. She waited outside my room as I got dressed. “So, why are you here?” I tried to sound as un-putout as was possible. But she was making me late for coffee.