Maybe he did know, and he just didn't want to deal with me. That thought enraged me, and before I was aware of it, I'd pushed myself up off the couch and had taken several steps toward the cellar stairs. Luckily, reason kicked in. The man was working, just like I should be doing. Take a freaking chill pill, Andy, you nut. Yes, distraction was what was called for here, not an out-and-out confrontation. I could tear into him later if I was still in the mood.
Grabbing my laptop, I plugged it in beside the pub table and turned it on. The recipe book I'd been transitioning to digital backup was in the bedroom. The task seemed even more crucial since the fire yesterday. No time like the present, and the distraction would do me good. I snagged the book and my glass of wine and settled in to work.
I'd gotten three recipes entered and uploaded to the cloud and was working on the fourth when my phone vibrated.
"Hello?" I asked, not looking at the number.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Donna asked.
Other than fighting not to feel sorry for myself? "Not a heck of a lot. Why?"
"I have a rental house for you to look at."
I glanced at the clock. "Now? It's after eight."
"Afraid you'll miss Diced?" Donna quipped, naming my favorite cooking competition show. "What are you, ninety? DVR it."
No, but I was comfy. If we went out, I'd have to change into real people clothes. Unless we were going to Walmart, then anything would do. "What about your kids?"
"Got a sitter. Come on. I'll be there in ten minutes. Get your ass into some jeans and a shirt that doesn't have permanent spaghetti sauce stains."
I looked down at myself and grimaced. "All the mystery has gone out of our relationship."
"Good thing I'm in it for the secondhand sex details," Donna said and hung up.
I really didn't want to go out, but if Donna had arranged for a sitter and was already on her way… My gaze slid to the cellar door. Should I tell Jones where I was going? Would he even care? I shook my head, sick of being an insecure idiot.
I went into the bedroom and snagged a black scoop-neck top that was slimming at the same time as it revealed my cleavage, and a clean pair of jeans. My hair was beyond help, so I did a quick French braid and tied it off with a small red silk scarf and a dangly pair of earrings that I hoped detracted from the flyaway curls. It was too cold for the killer heels that would have made the outfit unbeatable, so I settled for motorcycle boots that were surprisingly comfortable.
I coaxed Roofus to go out and do his business in the frigid winter night and then descended into Jones's photography lair. The red light was off, and the door to the darkroom stood open, so I knew he wasn't working with raw film. Clothesline was strung across the room with black-and-white photos pinned up to dry. After a quick peek, I knew those were art focused and not evidence in one of his cases. Good thing. I really didn't want to see portly Mr. Figgs in the raw with his equally stocky secretary. I had to look these people in the eye when they came into the pasta shop, and there was no coming back from that mental picture.
Jones sat at his desk, messing around with one of his photography programs.
"Hey," I said. "Donna's on her way over, so I'll be going out."
He didn't turn away from the screen as he murmured, "Have fun."
That was it? He didn't want to know where we were going or if he could tag along? I'd expected mild curiosity at the very least. The grown-up response would be to tell him I was going out to look at a house and ask if he wanted to come with us. But this was the first real adult relationship I'd ever been in, and let's face facts—I was still immature. Not to mention afraid of being rejected. So I didn't call him on it, on any of it, even though I was hurting inside.
"See ya." I forced a light tone and tromped upstairs to wait for Donna.
"Jones didn't want to come?" she asked when I'd climbed into the car. She still wore her hideous green jacket but had changed into jeans and a red turtleneck sweater.
"He's busy with work," I answered.
Donna's gray eyes narrowed. "You didn't tell him where you were going."
My chin went up. "He didn't ask."
She threw up her hands. "Andy, for crying out loud, you're worse than a teenager. And I have one, so I know what I'm talking about."
"Yeah well, Jones is not my parent, and I can't force him to pay attention to me if he doesn't want to." No, that didn't sound bitter at all. I grimaced but didn't retract my statement.
Donna shook her head but thankfully turned out of the driveway. "You can hear yourself, right? I just want to be sure you're aware that you've hit a new level of neurotic that only insanity-detecting dogs can hear."
Okay, so I was being a bit of a brat, but I had good reason for it. I told her about the conversations I'd overheard with Mr. Tillman and Lizzy and finished with, "What if he's still in love with his ex, and she wants him back, and he's looking for a way out of the situation with me?"
Donna made a face. "Promise me that from now on you'll call me before you go completely off the deep end. Friends don't let friends think alone."
"I'm serious, Donna. He didn't even look at me or kiss me when I said I was going out. I'm telling you, something's off with him."
"Honey, you two just hit that comfortable stage in your relationship. When men get comfortable, they get lazy. If you think this is bad, wait until you two are married. Then it's all about the three S's—sex, sandwiches, sports, not necessarily in that order."
I shivered in revulsion. "That sounds horrible. Why would any sane woman want to get married if that's all there is to it?"
"That's only if you let the man get away with it, which is exactly what you're letting Jones do right now. It's the woman's job to keep the man from being too comfortable and letting it get to that point. You need to light a fire under them periodically. Shake things up. Keep them on edge."
"And how exactly should I do that?"
Donna grinned. "By moving into this rental house, of course."
"No, that's not self-serving at all." My tone was dry.
"What can I say? I'm a problem solver."
* * *
"Wow," I said as I looked at the A-frame structure nestled under the pines.
"See, I knew you'd love it. Wait until you get a load of the kitchen. It even makes me want to cook." Donna swung her legs out of the car door and slid to the ground, neon bubble jacket seeming to glow under the floodlights. I followed her up the steps to the small porch where a split-log bench sat overlooking what my ears told me was a small creek.
"You can't see it right now," Donna said as she punched in her Realtor code, "but there's a small arched bridge back there over the water. Very tranquil."
"Why are the owners renting?" I asked as I got my first look at the great room. It was typical A-frame style, with a row of ceiling fans suspended from exposed beams overhead. A massive river-stone fireplace sat front and center between two built-in bookshelves. The L-shaped couch was a deep chocolate color, with oversized ottomans on either end and accented with cream-colored pillows artistically arranged. A Native American woven rug covered the oak floor, giving the grand space a homey feel.
"Death in the family. The mother had cancer, and this was her dream home. Her husband built it for her with his own two hands. He doesn't want to live here anymore but couldn't bear parting with it either, so I suggested renting. Their kids grew up here, and they all want someone who'll take care of it."
The sad story tugged at my heartstrings. This house had known love and loss, just like me. The kitchen was even more glorious. I ran my hand over soapstone countertops, the cherry stained cabinets, the gas stove, and wall oven. It wasn't a Viking like the stove at Lizzy's house, but what it lacked in modern upgrades, it more than made up for in charm. The country-style sink was a chef's fondest dream, with a basin large enough to fill the largest pot with water and a side section for peeling vegetables.
We walked through the master bedroom done up with rich burgundy fabrics.
Handwoven rag rugs lay in front of the mirrored dresser and in front of each nightstand. The master bath had a pedestal sink and separate vanity and came equipped with a claw-footed tub and a more modern shower stall, perfect for both lingering and efficiency, depending on one's mood.
The two smaller bedrooms were unfurnished and painted more neutral colors, a light chicory and a sage green. Either would work well for an office, but the green room also had a built-in window seat. Another full bath fit in a tiny nook in between the two.
I went back into the main room and took it all in, trying to smell Italian scents coming from the kitchen with Dean Martin crooning from my iPod and Roofus snoring in front of the fireplace. The vision came all too easily. What I couldn't see here was Jones.
"It's not officially on the market until next week, but it'll get snapped up quick." Donna prodded. "And once the market turns around, they might let it go for a bargain price to the right person."
"I have to talk to Jones about it first." It was one thing to stalk out in a snit, quite another to move out without a real conversation. "Can I bring him back to see it, maybe tomorrow in the daylight?"
"Of course. You're all dolled up, and I've got a sitter. We should go out. You want to head to Judy's? It's karaoke night with dollar shots. I can always call Steve to drive us home later."
I grimaced at the mention of karaoke, but a few shots wouldn't go amiss. I gave one last look to the sweet little house that might soon be my home. I needed a place like this, the security it represented. Maybe Kaylee would like to come visit me here. "That sounds like the best plan I've heard all day."
Classic Greek Chicken Salad With Blue Cheese Dressing
You'll need:
10 oz assorted salad greens
1 cup ripe Greek olives
3 plum tomatoes, cut into wedges
1/2 cup thinly sliced red onion
1/2 medium cucumber, peeled, cut into wedges
1 cooked boneless, skinless chicken breast, cut into strips
Dressing:
1 pint mayonnaise (start with 1/2 and add as needed)
1/4 cup blue cheese, crumbled
1/4 cup white vinegar
2 cloves garlic, minced
Dash of cayenne pepper and Worcestershire
1 cup sour cream
2 teaspoons sugar
Dice veggies and chicken. In separate bowl, mix the dressing until it reaches desired consistency. Toss into salad until all ingredients are evenly coated.
**Andy's note: Blue cheese adds a rich element to any salad, and the tartness combined with the creaminess of the dressing is just dynamite. Salad greens have never been so much fun!
CHAPTER FIVE
Judy's Bar and Grill was technically situated outside of the town limits. Located on top of a hill, the bar didn't look like much from the outside. Just another run-of-the-mill, weather-beaten barn, really. But the inside had been completely revamped with colored lights, a gleaming dance floor, and a horseshoe-shaped bar that served the best cocktails this side of Miami Beach, at half the price. When the owner, Judy DuBois, had bought the place a few years back, no one had thought she could make such a modern hot spot a stone's throw from Beaverton, but she'd proven them all wrong. I'd been to the bar a few times and really liked the Cajun woman, both because she was a successful businesswoman and because much like me, the citizens of our small southern town didn't know what to make of her.
"Oh crap," I groused when I spotted the red convertible in the parking lot. It stood out among the dusty pickups and battered sedans driven by the rest of the bar's patrons. And the vanity plate reading Hotstuf demolished any hope I had that it belonged to someone other than Lacey L'Amour. "How did she hear about this place already?"
"She must be plugged in to the town gossip. I know she's all buddy-buddy with Mayor Randal. The two of them were seated together at the chamber of commerce meeting."
Donna had been striding for the door, but I pulled her to a quick stop. "Lacey was at the chamber of commerce meeting? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I just did," Donna pointed out. "She's a new businesswoman after all. Of course she'd be at the meeting. And I didn't know you knew her until just now. What gives?"
"We have an ugly history. She was sleeping with some of the instructors, both male and female, when we were in school together. She never could cook worth spit, so I don't know why she got into the program to begin with. But everyone knew how she always scored top grades. She's all flash and little substance."
Donna whistled low. "Damn, no wonder you're so bitter about her being here."
That wasn't all of it, but I didn't feel like hashing it all out. "Ancient history, but I'd like to steer clear of her, if at all possible."
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Seeking out the spotlight was Lacey's forte, and it didn't surprise me to see the French tart up on stage belting out The Divinyls "I Touch Myself." Of course the male population was riveted to her classless performance.
"What'll it be, yous?" Judy, as always, was dressed impeccably in a long-sleeved black dress and a brightly patterned scarf wrapped around her slim waist as a belt. Her perfect white teeth flashed against her flawless ebony skin and ruby-painted lips. Her gold jewelry caught the light as she moved gracefully from table to table. When she reached for an empty glass, I noticed she had little white bird silhouettes painted on her long purple-polished nails.
When Donna had first mentioned coming here, I'd been leaning to the more feminine drinks, something mixed with fruit juice or chocolate and topped with whipped cream, more dessert than drink. My gaze slid to Lacey, and my mouth uttered, "Tequila shooters."
Judy raised an elegant eyebrow as she expertly cut a lemon into wedges. "Rough day, no?"
"And it's not over yet." I nodded and then licked the back of my hand and poured salt on it.
She served me the first drink, and I saluted her with the shot glass. I tipped the glass back and drained it dry.
Dollar shots meant it wasn't the best tequila in the world, but it would take my mind off my multitude of troubles. I winced as I sucked on a lemon wedge.
"I've got the tab." Donna opted for a Barbie shot, which looked like a Creamsicle in a glass.
"No, I can pay my own way." I patted my pockets, checking for cash.
She insisted. "Since I dragged you out tonight."
It was probably a good thing to remember that I was still young and shouldn't be tucked away at five every evening. I wondered if Jones missed me yet. Or if he even remembered I'd left.
"I really liked that little house," I confessed two shots later.
"But?" Donna quirked an eyebrow.
"No buts. It was perfect." I turned my fourth shot glass upside down on the tray Judy provided. "Lizzy's house is perfect too."
"Except that it's Lizzy's house," Donna murmured.
"Exactly." I blinked at her. "No one understands me like you do, you know?"
"If you tell me you love me, I'm going to cut your inebriated hide off."
I giggled at her word choice. "You're funny."
She just rolled her eyes.
Since Donna didn't seem interested in my newfound insight, I swiveled in my chair to survey the rest of the room. Lacey's song had ended, and someone new had taken her place onstage, singing some god-awful auto-tuned piece of garbage. I scanned the room and spotted my nemesis seated at a nearby table, surrounded by men.
Including my man.
"Is that Jones?" Donna asked. "What the hell is he doing with the French tart?"
Good damn question.
Lacey laughed and flirted as though she didn't have a care in the world, until her eyes met mine. Then a smug satisfaction slid over her congenial mask. Jones hadn't spotted me yet, the rat.
"So let me get this straight. He can't leave the damn darkroom to talk to me, yet here he is hanging out with my bitter rival. Does that seem right to you?" I was impressed with how calmly I was taking this.
"There has t
o be an explanation for this," Donna said a minute too late.
I slid off my stool and made for my mark like a trollop-seeking missile.
"Andy?" Donna sounded panicked. "Where are you going?"
But my target was locked. Lacey's phony smile slid back into place as I approached.
"Andrea?" Jones looked up and caught sight of me. To his credit, he didn't appear guilty of doing anything more than talking to Lacey. "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? This is my town. I live here. The better question is, what is she doing here, with you?" I didn't sound drunk, just belligerent. Good, Lacey needed to understand that I wasn't going to go down without a fight.
She dipped her chin and fluttered her eyelashes for her bevy of admirers. "It's a free country, is it, no?"
"No, I mean yes, it is. But that's not my question. Why are you here, in Beaverton?"
"Settle down, Little Bit," Rudy Flannigan grumbled. He was one of Kyle's high school chums. "No need to go gettin' your bloomers in a bunch."
I narrowed my eyes at the hated high school nickname, which always came out sounding like the guys called me "Little Shit." "Mind your own business, Rudy, before I go call your wife and tell her you're out drinking and carousing. Where does she think you are right now anyhow? Working late at the office?" The last part I tagged on for my boyfriend's benefit.
A chair scraped along the floor as Jones got to his feet. "Andrea, let's talk about this outside." He reached for me, but I stepped back, stumbling on an uneven floorboard.
"I am in the middle of a conversation, Malcolm."
Lacey rolled her eyes. "Come now, Andee. Let's, how you say, bury the ax?"
"It's hatchet," Winston Marsh corrected helpfully. He had the worst case of halitosis I'd ever encountered, and Lacey actually coughed as he breathed on her.
"Maybe we should go." Donna tugged at my other elbow, trying to pry me away from the gathering throng.
"There's no hatchet. I just want to know what you're doing here in my hometown." Jerking my arm out of Donna's grip, I leaned down to get in Lacey's face. I guess I didn't know my own strength though, because Donna stumbled and would have gone down, except she fell against the back of a nearby patron. He, in turn, dropped his drink over the head of the man sitting behind Lacey, who came up swinging.
Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé Page 4