He grimaced. "All of it. Mostly for how I acted at the pasta shop. I'm not sure what came over me. I just saw that cretin with his hands all over you, and I snapped."
My teeth sank into my lower lip.
He looked me up and down, his sharp blue gaze assessing. "You're pleased that I was jealous."
"No," I fibbed.
He gave me a get real look.
"Maybe," I said. "Okay, but you have to understand that no one's ever been jealous over me before."
He blew out a breath. "Well, you better get used to it."
God, what was wrong with me that I loved his possessive streak? Jealousy was so not sexy. Except on Malcolm Jones.
"Seriously though, you have to trust that I can handle myself at work. I've known most of those guys since they were in diapers. A little flirting is normal, but they won't take it too far, if not for my crazy jealous boyfriend, then because they're scared witless that Aunt Cecily will put The Eye on them."
"Boyfriend?" he asked, hope lighting his face. "Does that mean we're back together?"
What woman could resist him? One stronger than me. "Well, I certainly can't leave you unattended now, can I? Look at the mess you got yourself into in less than twenty-four hours."
He kissed me again, a long, lingering kiss full of thanksgiving. "Will you move back in with me?"
"To Lizzy's place?" That would just plop us back into the hot water where we'd started.
His brows drew down as he studied my face. "What's wrong? I thought you loved that house."
Now that we were no longer pressed skin to skin, I'd grown chilled. Needing both heat and distance, I scrambled back to the driver's side and turned over the engine. "I do."
His brows drew down. "I don't see the problem, Andrea."
"It's not about the house. Malcolm, we haven't solved anything. We're sort of drifting back together, but there's no real plan here."
"A plan?" His countenance turned darker, almost foreboding. "Where's this coming from? A month ago you were half-hysterical because you thought I was going to ask you marry me."
Not my finest moment. "I know. I'm commitment-phobic. But that's the thing—I'm not talking about commitment here. I'm talking about stability."
"What's the difference?"
Only a man would ask that question. "Stability is knowing you're not going to yank the rug out from under me at a moment's notice, like you did yesterday. It's knowing that you're not going to bury yourself in work at every opportunity and leave me to my own neurotic devices. It's understanding that while I may not be in a place where I want commitment now, I won't ever get there if you keep these huge secrets from me."
I was shouting by the end of it, my hands flailing in grandiose gestures that, if left unchecked, could very well put an eye out. Jones grabbed both my hands in his and brought them to his lips. He kissed them softly. "Are you done?"
"You know very well that I can't talk without using my hands."
He grinned. "All right. So if you're not going to move back in with me, then can we look for a place together?"
A week ago I would have jumped at the chance. But I liked my little A-frame, and having Pops and Aunt Cecily under the same roof with me helped remind me of who I was, a Buckland. "I think we should live apart for a little while."
He looked ready to protest but then shook it off. "I suppose I deserve this." His accent, usually so crisp, sort of drawled the words, adding an air of defeat.
I patted his cheek. "It's not a punishment, love. I will miss you. But everything just sort of happened over this last year, what with Pops selling the Victorian. I should have been looking for my own place then, but you made it so easy to just fit me into your life. It was convenient for both of us. And that scares me a little. I don't want us to get to the point where we're taking each other for granted."
He nodded and then let out a breath. "If that's what you want. Will you invite me to your new house? Maybe for dinner tonight?"
"Shoot, I can't tonight. I've got a date with your ex."
Jones blinked. "Come again?"
"Rochelle wanted to talk to me."
"What about?" Jones looked wary.
I blinked, surprised he would have to ask. "You, of course. What else do you think we have in common?"
He grimaced as though in pain. "Andrea—"
I held up a hand. "Believe it or not, I like her."
His jaw dropped. "You like her? Are you serious? I ask you to like my sister, but you don't, and now you're making friends with my ex, the bigamist?"
"Making friends is overstating it a little. And actually, Lizzy and I are making progress."
Jones opened his mouth, a retort at the ready, and then paused as though something had occurred to him. I'd promised Lizzy that I wouldn't tell Jones why she felt the need to involve herself in the arson investigation. I wasn't about to lie to him either.
I took a deep breath and cringed a little as I spoke. "Okay, you're not going to like this, and it's going to sound hypocritical as all get-out, but…I can't tell you."
He stared at me for a full minute. "So I'm just supposed to sit around and do nothing?"
Silly man, I'd never endorse doing nothing. "Of course not. I want you to keep tailing Rochelle. Oh, and get a freaking annulment already, because a Facebook status of 'It's complicated' is just not going to fly anymore. Kyle's serious, Malcolm. He wants you behind bars or run out of town. Don't give him an excuse."
My phone rang, and though I was tempted to let it go to voice mail, I needed to let Mimi know where I was. I'd abandoned her too much lately, and with Lacey L'Amour mincing about, the Bowtie Angel needed all hands on deck.
Unfortunately, it wasn't Mimi on the other end of the phone. It was Donna.
"Andy, oh my god. Where are you?"
"I'm on my way back to the pasta shop. What's going on?"
"Kaylee's missing."
Braciole
You'll need:
1/2 cup dried Italian-seasoned bread crumbs
1 garlic clove, minced
2/3 cup grated Pecorino Romano
1/3 cup grated provolone
2 tablespoons chopped fresh Italian parsley leaves
4 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 (1 1/2-pound) flank steak
1 cup dry white wine
3 1/4 cups Tasty Tomato Sauce (recipe below)
2 tablespoons extra light olive oil
1 large onion, sliced
1 carton mushrooms, sliced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 8 oz cans salt-free tomato sauce
1 6 oz can salt-free tomato paste
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon dried basil
Half-and-half, as needed
Sauté onion, garlic, and mushrooms in oil until brown. Stir in tomato and herbs. Cover and simmer at least 1 hour, stirring occasionally. If sauce tastes too acidic, add half-and-half, 1 tablespoon at a time, to round out the flavor.
Pour half the tomato sauce into the bowl of a food processor. Process until smooth. Continue with remaining tomato sauce.
If not using all the sauce, allow it to cool completely and then pour 1- to 2-cup portions into plastic freezer bags. Freeze for up to 6 months.
Lay the flank steak flat on the work surface. Sprinkle the bread crumb mixture over the steak to cover the top evenly. Starting at 1 short end, roll up the steak as for a jelly roll, to enclose the filling completely. Using butcher's twine, tie the steak roll to secure. Sprinkle the braciole with salt and pepper.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Heat the remaining 2 tablespoons of oil in a heavy large ovenproof skillet over medium heat. Add the braciole, and cook until browned on all sides, about 8 minutes. Add the wine to the pan, and bring to a boil. Stir in the marinara sauce. Cover partially with foil, and bake until the meat is almost tender, turning the braciole and basting with the sauce every 30 minutes. After 1 hour, uncover and continue bak
ing until the meat is tender, about 30 minutes longer. The total cooking time should be about 1 1/2 hours.
Remove the braciole from the sauce. Using a large sharp knife, cut the braciole crosswise and diagonally into 1/2-inch-thick slices. Transfer the slices to plates. Spoon the sauce over, and serve with pasta cooked al dente.
**Andy's note: Braciole takes some work, but it's one of those make it and then leave it dishes. You have plenty of time to clean up before your dinner guests arrive. Your house will smell divine, so pour yourself a glass of wine to visit with your guests before serving them a stupendous meal.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"What do you mean, missing?" Jones asked as we sped back into town. His knuckles had turned white where they grasped the overhead handle. "Andrea, slow down. A tank corners better than this car."
My foot stayed firmly planted on the accelerator. Senior citizens in motorized carts passed Jones when he was behind the wheel. No way was I about to take driving advice from him. "According to Donna, Kaylee's mom called the pasta shop looking for her. She never came home after school, and she had a dentist appointment. But when Mimi said Kaylee was a no-show, her mom got really worried."
"Do we know if she was at school today?" I could tell Jones was making a mental list of whom we needed to call.
"Donna didn't know. Usually the school calls when kids are missing during attendance. It's not as easy to ditch as it used to be, back in my day."
I'd been heading to the pasta shop but changed my mind, driving back to the sheriff's office. Thoughts of skipping school had made me think of Kyle. With luck, Kaylee would be with him. If not, at least he had more resources to tap that would help us get a bead on her.
"Stay in the car," I told Jones as we took the sharp left into visitor parking.
"You're not going to make it." Jones gripped the handle as if his perfectly good seat belt wouldn't keep him in place. I loved the man, but he could be such a wuss.
I curb-checked a wee bit but otherwise pulled into the parking lot with nary a scratch.
"Stay in the car," I repeated, giving him my best no nonsense will be tolerated look. "I mean it, Jones. Waving you under Kyle's nose is not a good plan, especially if I have to tell him his daughter is missing."
He glowered at me "I've never seen a town car balance on two wheels before."
I looked at him. "You didn't see it this time either."
"The sensation is unforgettable." He unbuckled his seat belt. "Give me the keys. I'm driving from here on out."
It seemed a minor concession, so I handed them over. "Just don't go anywhere without me. The last thing we need is you getting arrested for grand theft auto."
The dispatcher today was Millie Barnes, and she waved when she saw me. She'd been a few years behind me in high school, a quiet girl with a lisp and really bad acne. In the years since I'd left Beaverton, she'd taken speech lessons and had invested in a skin care regime though, because now she was a knockout. "Back again so soon, Andy?"
"You know me, Millie. Can't get enough of this place. Must be the fluorescent lighting. Is Kyle still here?"
She shook her head. "He had to head over to the courthouse. Alfred Hennessey is being arraigned for a DUI. Again. Ran over Nelly Bateman's prized cherry blossom tree. They know it was him too, because he ripped his gas tank open in the collision. Deputies followed the gas leak all the way back to his house like a trail of bread crumbs and found him passed out in the front seat with a bottle of Johnny Walker in his lap. I'm keeping my fingers crossed he loses his license for good this time."
"It's amazing Al hasn't killed anyone yet." It was a long shot, mostly because Kyle would have insisted that Kaylee call her mom or me and tell us about her change of plans, but I shifted my weight and asked anyway. "I don't suppose you saw the girl who works at my pasta shop with him, did you? Maybe following him for a school project or something? She's short, about five three, with short dark hair and blue eyes. Usually wearing pink and black?"
As expected, Millie shook her head. "Can't say that I did. Want me to text him to make sure?"
I waved her off, even as my worry increased. "It's not a big deal. I'll track her down myself. But I'd appreciate a heads up if she does show up here, okay?"
"No problem, Andy. Say hi to your granddad for me. And Cecily too, o-of course." She tagged on the last bit with the faintest hint of her old stutter.
I smiled to myself. She'd said my aunt's name with the same trepidation that people used for the IRS. As though mentioning the name would bring the wrath of an audit to their very doorstep.
I returned to the car and faced Jones. "Home, Jeeves." My heart wasn't really in the joke. The last twenty-four hours had been an emotional roller coaster, and I was hitting the end of my badly frayed rope.
He ignored my pithy remark but did start the engine. "Do you want to stop by the school? Or perhaps go to see Kaylee's mother?"
I shook my head and dug my phone out, pulling up Kyle's contact info. I typed in a quick text. Call me the second you get out of court. –A
With that done, I turned to face Jones. "I want to keep looking for her, but I've abandoned Mimi for too many days in a row. What should I do?"
"Finding people is my job, Andrea. Trust me to do it. It's better you go to work. Be where she expects you to be, and call me if you get any word from her. Do you have anything else for me to go on? Does she have a boyfriend?"
I shook my head. "Not that she told me about. We're not exactly besties."
"I'll check with her mother, as well as Eugene and Cecily."
"I'll grill Mimi too and get in touch with Donna again. She can get you a listing of vacant properties, just in case she's being a teenaged idiot and breaking in to drink and get high." The thought enraged me, but not as much as the one that came in on its heels.
Kaylee with some older kids taking advantage of her. Or an actual vagrant, like Pops always claimed were passing through the area. A serial killer, or a pedophile. There were so many bad things that could happen to kids.
I worried my lower lip. "Are you going to check with Rochelle?"
He nodded once. "It's a reasonable place to start, since we know she was digging into Kaylee's background."
"God help her if she'd turned information about my daughter over to some child-molesting scumbag with a grudge against me. I'll have her guts for garters."
"Speaking of grudges…" Jones said as he backed into a free space in front of the pasta shop. He wasn't looking at the Bowtie Angel though. He was staring across the street at Lacey's hideous banner.
I frowned. "You think she's in there? Why would she go to Lacey's place?"
"You said it yourself—you're not exactly besties." The word delivered in his crisp accent made me snort, but I sobered immediately when he continued. "Put yourself in her shoes. You're trying to irritate your long-lost biological mother. What better way than to go hang out with her hated competition?"
Damn, that made sense, if the word could be used for a petty, self-absorbed teenager's actions.
I got out of the car and was halfway across the street when Jones grabbed my arm. "Andy, you can't go in there."
I stared at him. "Give me one good reason why not."
"I'll give you two. One, it's what Lacey wants, for you to storm into her place and make a big scene. It'll look as though you're threatened by her restaurant. And two, because it's what Kaylee doesn't want, for you to call attention to your relationship with her."
"I hate it when you're right," I grumped.
He kissed me quickly. "Good thing it doesn't happen often. I'll go in, check around, and report back on the double."
It took every ounce of willpower I could muster to go inside the Bowtie Angel. Once there, I washed my hands, poked my head out front to let Mimi know I was there, and then attacked the sink full of dishes with a vengeance. The warm water made my cold hands hurt worse, the joints stiff and slow to respond. I knew I'd pay for it later with chapped and cracked skin too,
but I didn't care.
A timer went off, and I shut off the water to check the oven just as Jones entered through the back door. I barely stopped myself from snagging the lasagna out bare handed as I asked, "Well?"
He handed me two potholders and wisely waited for me to set the dish down before saying, "She's there."
I cursed long and loud, even as I let out a breath of relief. "What are they doing?"
Jones watched my face carefully. "Cooking."
I staggered as though someone had skewered me. It felt as though they had, right through the heart. "She's cooking with that no-talent hack instead of me. Did you get pictures?"
He shot me an incredulous look. "Of course I didn't take any photographs. I was only there for two minutes."
"What was your cover story then?"
"That Kaylee's mother was looking for her,"
I sucked in a sharp breath, the skewer moving to pierce both my lungs.
"And that she'd called here, wondering where she was. That's it."
"Oh," I said and then sagged onto a nearby stool. That mother, right.
Jones, good man that he was, put his arms around me. "It'll be all right, Andrea."
How I wished I could believe that.
* * *
To make up for all the time I'd taken off that day, I let Mimi go early. I filled the yawning space inside myself the way I always did, with food. I cooked and cleaned, scoured and scrubbed, swept and mopped. And I made plans, mental lists of all the things I needed to get done to launch the new menu. It was nearly six when I remembered the dinner plans I'd made with Rochelle. Since I thought it would be a tad awkward to call Jones and ask for his ex's number, I called Lizzy instead.
Of course, Lizzy being Lizzy, she did nothing to make the task easier. "Why do you want Rochelle's number?"
"Um…" I was too emotionally and physically drained to make up a plausible excuse. "Well, you see we were going to meet up for dinner—"
Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé Page 10