Which she had, but only after she'd submarined my restaurant. I wondered if she'd known about the health inspection. Probably. Theo was a gossipmonger who thought way too much of his own importance, and if he'd been in town to inspect her froufrou place, he'd have mentioned he was going to pop in to the Bowtie Angel next.
I pushed up my sleeves and squared my shoulders. "This," I told Mimi, "means war."
* * *
Kaylee arrived again after school. "Hey, I heard about your bar brawl. Pretty boss there."
I was in the middle of a pan of meatballs I'd been preparing for a football party order, but I turned away for a split second to look at her. She looked so much like a younger version of me, though there was a good bit of Kyle in her too. "It wasn't exactly a brawl."
She shrugged as though she didn't give a fig one way or the other. "What can I do?"
I put the pan of meatballs in the oven to keep warm and then turned to face her. "Want to learn my crowd-pleasing Sweet 'N Tangy meatball recipe?"
She made a derisive noise. "Whatever."
Every time she said that word was like someone took a meat skewer to my left ventricle. Still, I wasn't about to quit on her yet. Teenagers were tough, and I had yet to find a gap that couldn't be bridged by quality food.
I clapped my hands and rubbed them together. "Okay, here's what we'll need."
She made an incredulous face as I rattled off the ingredients for my secret sauce, but went to the pantry and collected the assorted items. Soon I had her whisking a bubbling pot of gook on the stovetop while I retrieved the meatballs.
"The meatballs are actually the most time-consuming part, so if you want to make this without all the work, use the frozen kind."
One pierced eyebrow lifted. "You're a professional chef, and you're telling me to use prepackaged food?"
I shrugged. "Not always. Obviously, I wouldn't do that for the business, but if you want to make a fast hot dish and don't have the time, it's an option. Jones loves them either way."
"He's hot." Kaylee grinned at me.
I grinned back. "Yeah, he is. And the accent just makes him hotter."
She looked away, and I saw her frown. I touched her shoulder and asked, "What's wrong?"
She shrugged me off. "Nothing."
Damn, and I thought we'd been bonding over my boyfriend's supersexiness. "Kaylee—"
Before I could continue, she slammed her whisk down and stomped off to the bathroom. Mimi looked up from where she was preparing tortellini and offered me a faint smile.
"What did I say?" I asked her.
Mimi shrugged. "I do not know."
"Was she like this yesterday?" I asked, half afraid of the answer.
Mimi spooned more cheese mixture into the dough. "No, she was quite helpful."
So it was me. I took the sauce off the heat and covered it. The meatballs could wait. My daughter shouldn't have to.
I followed her into the restroom. The first two stalls were open, but I saw her pink-and-black high-tops under the third. "Kaylee, what's wrong?"
"Go away," she sniffled.
I leaned against the wall. "Not happening, kid."
"I'm not your kid," she mumbled in a resentful tone.
She was, but telling her so didn't seem wise. I had a sudden thought—was this how Jones felt with me, worried that every little thing would set me off? I hoped not, because the habit was getting old, fast. "Fine, you're not my kid, but you're still a kid. Let's pretend I'm just an average part-time employer, and then you can tell me why you stormed out of my kitchen when we were in the middle of something."
There was silence, followed by a sniffle. Then the squeal of the stall door as she poked her head out and glared at me. "I don't like you."
I gave her a tight smile, ignoring the pain in my heart. "Noted."
She let out a puff of air. "How can you just take that? I'm mean to you, so why would you want to be around me?"
Because I'm a glutton for punishment. Thankfully, I didn't say that out loud. "Believe it or not, we have a lot in common."
She gave me a condescending look that only a teenage girl could pull off. It was a perfect blend of "Yeah right" and "You wish, loser."
"We do," I insisted. "We have lots of people in common. Aunt Cecily, Pops, Kyle, Lizzy, Jones, Mimi. Even Roofus. That's all common ground."
She appeared to grudgingly give in to my logic and mumbled, "What else?"
"This place." I waved a hand around.
"A bathroom?" she sneered.
"No, smartass, the Bowtie Angel. Cooking is in our blood. Why else would you have come here yesterday to do dishes when no one was making you?"
"Because I want to get paid."
I didn't buy it for a minute. "Admit it—you like being here."
Slowly, she nodded. "I do."
"I always did too. It's part of our family legacy. Lot of calories came out of that kitchen, and with any luck, there will be truckloads more for years to come. Then there's our taste in men."
She actually blushed at that, and I grinned. "Yeah, admit it. I've got great taste in men. First your dad and then Jones. Man, I bagged the two hottest bachelors in the county." I mock-buffed my nails on my apron.
She wrinkled her pert little nose. I sent up a silent prayer that she would never be moved to pierce it. "Ew, don't say things like that about my dad."
I wondered what took Kyle off limits but made Jones fair game. Probably the whole blood-relation thing. This was North Carolina, but still…ick. "You have to admit I have stellar taste in men."
She bit her lip and looked down.
I felt as though were on the verge of something and thought maybe a heaping dose of honesty might add to our connection. "I know I have no right to call myself your mother, because I wasn't there for you the way your mom was. I'm not looking to replace her. But I think with time you'll realize you have room in your life for both of us. She knows that. That's why she moved here, for you to get to know your roots. We both want what's best for you, and that isn't going to change. It's fine if you're mad at me, if you don't like me. Because I'll like you, no matter what. Got it?"
She nodded, and I turned to leave her alone to digest my words for a few. Eventually she'd come out, attitude firmly in place, distain oozing from every pore. I'd been the same way at her age. My disdain had been for Beaverton and my own mother, who'd been a total letdown and had eventually taken the coward's way out, ending her own pain and leaving me to cope. At least Kaylee wouldn't have to deal with that.
I returned to the kitchen and washed my hands, thinking about my daughter. Her extra-crunchy exterior hid her soft and tender heart, an organ that was already badly bruised. It was scary how much we had in common. Lord, was she my daughter or my clone?
After finishing the meatballs, I headed out into the dining area. The midafternoon lull had settled, and I took the time to wipe down tables and chairs as well as remove the lukewarm pasta dishes from the display case. I made the mistake of looking out the big plate-glass window and seeing Lacey L'Amour strolling arm in arm with none other than the good sheriff. She'd attached herself to him like a burr, holding on to his arm as he escorted her to her car. Man, if Lizzy saw that, I wouldn't know who to root for in the knock-down drag-out kerfuffle that would ensue.
I frowned. Speaking of Lizzy, where the heck was she? Considering the bomb she'd dropped on me the night before, I would have thought she'd actually show up at the pasta shop to talk.
Unless I'd imagined the entire thing. Did concussions cause hallucinations?
I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and had dialed Jones to ask him if he'd seen his sister the night before, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
"Speak of the devil," I said as I stood on tiptoe to kiss the handsome man who was offering me a bouquet of red roses. "I was just about to call you. What are these for?"
He handed me the flowers, thirteen in all. "You told me that one rose means I love you, and a dozen means I screwed up
. I thought it was fitting that I get you thirteen so they say both at once."
I grinned up at him. "You really do listen to me. That's so cool. Most of the time I don't even listen to me. But we discussed this yesterday. You have nothing to be sorry for, right?"
I expected him to agree, and a wave of dizziness hit me when he didn't.
Jones's expression was grim when he murmured, "We need to talk."
I set the flowers down on a nearby table. "About what?"
"My ex."
I sat down.
Sweet 'N Tangy Meatballs
You'll need:
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 small red onion, diced
1 small red bell pepper, cut into chunks
1 10 oz jar marinara sauce
1 8 oz can pineapple chunks
2 tablespoons apricot jam
1 package 20 oz frozen, fully-cooked, cocktail-sized meatballs, thawed
Heat olive oil. Cook onion and red pepper, stirring occasionally, 4 minutes. Remove from pan and set aside. Stir marinara, jam, and 1 tablespoon of reserved pineapple juice together. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Add meatballs. Reduce and simmer for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally so sauce doesn't stick. Stir in pineapple, and heat through. Add cooked veggies, and serve.
**Andy's note: I know, I know. A real chef doesn't use frozen meatballs. You don't have to for this recipe. But let's face it, sometimes speed trumps hours slaving over a hot stove prepping meatballs that are going to get smothered in sauce—and I swear, your guests won't know the difference. Especially if you serve them up over some tri-colored linguini!
CHAPTER EIGHT
"What about her?" I asked, wishing I hadn't stirred this particular pot. Dread coiled in my gut. Why oh why could I never just leave things alone?
Jones sat across from me, his hands flat on the table between us. We were far enough away that Francine O'Reilly and Tommy Gibbons, the only current customers, couldn't overhear us. "You know that my marriage was never legally binding."
I nodded, not taking my eyes off him. "So you said."
"Which I didn't know at the time. I was completely naïve. Even though I followed cheating spouses for a living, it never once occurred to me that Rochelle had an entire life separate from me. I was her dirty little secret." His tone was bitter
My throat went dry. Jones had said the same thing about his mother, how she'd been just another mistress in a long line of them for his father. How it must have devastated him to find out that the woman he loved viewed him in the same dismissive light as his father had perceived his mother. "I'm sure that must have hurt."
"It did. The thing that I didn't mention was that before we got…involved, Rochelle was also my business partner, the other PI in my business."
"Okay." I drew the word out. "Not sure where you're going with this."
He took a deep breath and looked me square in the eye. "She's here investigating you."
My eyes went round, and I squeaked, "Me?"
"Flavor TV hired her to dig into your background after I quit."
I sucked in a sharp breath. "I can't believe they're still coming after me."
Jones shook his head. "They aren't. After the network declared bankruptcy, they had to get rid of her."
"But you said she was here investigating me. If not Flavor TV, then who is she working for?"
Jones shook his head. "She wouldn't tell me. Whoever it is has to have money though. Rochelle doesn't come cheap."
Frickin' chicken fricassee. "I thought this was all over."
Jones's intense blue eyes were steady, his expression grim as he murmured, "There's more."
I didn't like the sound of that. "She found something?" I guessed.
Jones didn't say anything, but his gaze moved to the pasta bar, where Kaylee was stacking plates.
I swore long and low under my breath. "Oh no. Please tell me this is a joke."
"I'm sorry," he said, putting a hand over mine.
I snatched my hand away, setting it back. "How long have you known?"
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "A week."
"A week?" My heart shriveled up and descended down to the vicinity of my naval. "And you didn't bother to tell me what was going on?"
His gaze pleaded with me for understanding. "Andrea, I was trying to stop it."
My gaze landed on the roses. He did indeed screw up. Epically, colossally, monumentally. There weren't enough adverbs in the English language to weigh how badly he'd screwed up. If it had been just about me, I could have taken it.
But Kaylee…
A fierce wave of protectiveness washed through me, powerful and all-consuming. "I finally had a moment with her, Jones. A solid bonding moment. But if news gets spread around town about who she is and what she's doing here, it will ruin everything. I can't let that happen, not now, not to her." My head swam as all the possible ramifications hit me one on top of the other, like a badly plated dish ready to topple.
As far as the town of Beaverton knew, Kaylee and her mom were just newcomers to the area. Only a handful of people knew she was my daughter. "Oh god, have you told Kyle about this yet? Or Lizzy? Their relationship is already hanging by a thread."
"I wanted to speak with you first. So we could decide what to do."
"Why now?" I said coldly. "Why all of a sudden, when you've been sitting on this for over a week?"
"I tried to talk Rochelle out of it," he pleaded. "I tried to buy her off."
"Buy her off? With what?"
He looked down, seemingly unable to meet my gaze.
I gritted my teeth. "I'm imagining the worst here, Jones. You better tell me all of it."
"I offered her money."
"What money?" As far as I knew, Jones was living hand to mouth.
"Not cash. But I owned my co-op in New York. I offered to sign it over to her."
"I take it she didn't agree?"
He snorted. "She said it wasn't about the money—it was about her business integrity."
I bit back a slew of curses. No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk about moving in with me. He'd been scurrying around to rebury the dirt his ex had dug up. My hands shook, and I clenched them into fists. In the back, someone had turned on the radio. I could hear Mimi and Kaylee chattering away happily.
The kid had been through too much already. I couldn't let this ghost from my boyfriend's past do further damage.
"Okay, then. I want to hire you. To find out who Rochelle is working for. If I find out who, I can maybe figure something else out. Some way to encourage them to keep her findings under wraps."
Jones frowned. "You don't need to hire me. I'll do whatever I can to help."
He reached for me again, but I bolted from the table. "No, I want to keep this strictly professional. And I'm moving out."
He blanched. "Andrea—"
"It's the right thing to do." I said it with as much conviction as I could muster. "Aunt Cecily and Pops need a place to stay, and I don't need the distraction of a relationship right now."
"Don't do this," he said quietly. "Don't shut me out."
I almost sniped that I was only following his example. That he'd shut me out first, and Kaylee was the one who'd pay for it if we couldn't fix this. But I couldn't get involved in an emotional public spat for the second time in a week, especially not in my place of business. My reputation was already a disaster—I didn't mean to give the town gossips any more fat to chew. "I'll be by after work to get my stuff and pick up Roofus."
"So that's it then?" Jones stared at me for a full minute. He didn't telegraph his emotions at all, but I knew him well. He'd been afraid that this was a deal breaker, which was why he'd kept the information from me for as long as he could. I understood the why of it, but if I couldn't trust him, I couldn't hope to have any kind of a future with him.
"I won't accept this." He said it quietly but firmly. His stubble-covered chin was set in a stubborn angle. "I will find out who hired Rochelle, and I'll fix this
. Fix us."
I wanted to believe him, badly. He'd been my emotional crutch for months, and I didn't know what I'd do without him. That was the trouble with crutches though—you fell when they got yanked away. My head shook back and forth. "I can't trust you."
"You can," he insisted as he rose from his seat and towered over me. "And you will again. I won't lose you."
He pulled me close, and though I tried to push away, his grip remained firm. My back arched, and he slanted his lips over mine, stealing the kiss I refused to give.
I held out for all of ten seconds before I melted against him, leaning on him, into him. His heat seeped into me the way it always did, warming my cold places, thawing the permafrost that settled on my heart.
Outside there was a wolf whistle and a few jeers from passersby. I pushed him away, eyes bulging.
"This isn't over." He let go and turned away, exiting through the gathered crowd. Applause followed him to his SUV.
My body swayed, and I felt as though someone had scooped all my insides out, sautéed them in garlic butter, and stuffed them back in willy-nilly. Nothing fit the way it had before. Everything had turned all shriveled and gooey.
I dug out my cell phone and called Donna. "I want the A-frame. And I want to move in as soon as possible."
Being the stellar friend that she was, she asked, "How does tonight sound?"
"Perfect," I said, picking up my roses and bringing them outside to the Dumpster.
* * *
"It will do," Aunt Cecily said as she set her purse down on the kitchen counter. "Plenty of room to make the pasta."
Pops was busy poking through the fully furnished living room. "This is a bit much for the two of us."
"The three of us," I corrected as I set down the box I was carrying. "Don't forget—I'm living here too."
Pops eyeballed me. "That all you got?"
I nodded. Sadly, my worldly possessions fit in the backseat of Mustang Sally, which had barely made it up the icy driveway. Four boxes marked Kitchen and one marked Clothes, plus one smelly old hound dog. My life had turned into a bad country song.
Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé Page 7