Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé

by Jennifer L. Hart

  Jones took his filthy coat off and set it by the door before lowering himself onto the couch. "Tea, please. I'd like to get a little sleep tonight before I have to talk to the police."

  I filled the kettle, set it on the stove, and turned the gas on. Though I was dying to pepper him with questions, I waited until the two cups of hot liquid were ready before joining him on the couch. "I'm glad to hear you aren't planning to dodge the law forever."

  He held the warm mug in his hands but didn't make a move to drink from it. "Dodging the police investigation was never my intention. I was out of town most of the day."

  "So how did you find out about Rochelle?"

  "From Lizzy. I'd called her earlier to ask about the evidence she'd found linking our father to the arson case, so she knew I had your cell phone. Speaking of which—" He handed me his mug, then dug in his front pocket. He extracted my cell phone and set it on the coffee table.

  "Did your friend manage to trace the call?" Now that I knew Rochelle had been killed, thinking about the phone call in which I'd heard it happen was even more unsettling.

  Jones nodded. "He did pinpoint the location. There's a defunct lumber mill on the edge of town. I found a discarded burner phone there. It was obviously the crime scene."

  "Oh god." I closed my eyes, and it was all too easy for me to envision the scene he described. Poor Rochelle, she must have been terrified. Then another thought pushed the vision out of the way. "The police need to know—"

  Jones had anticipated my reaction. "I already called in an anonymous tip to the police, but I wasn't comfortable turning myself in for questioning unless you're with me."

  "That must have been what caused the flurry of activity at the sheriff's office the day before. You sure know how to stir the pot, Malcolm."

  Jones didn't smile as he studied me. "Whoever is behind all this has put a target on you, Andrea."

  Shoot, I should have just had the coffee. It was unlikely I'd ever sleep again. "Why though? All because I told Lizzy to hire Rochelle? Why is the killer coming after me and not your sister? I mean, she was the one who hired Rochelle."

  Jones shook his head. "I don't know. But it's a safe bet that it isn't my father, even though he's been arrested for the arsons."

  I took my hand in his and squeezed. "I'm so sorry."

  "Don't worry about him. He has a high-priced law firm to help get him out of it. God only knows what he was doing with all that gasoline. It looked as if he were anticipating an apocalyptic disaster."

  "I didn't just mean your dad," I spoke softly. The guilt that had been looming over me all day had expanded, growing and morphing until I was afraid it would swallow me whole. It wasn't just about Rochelle either. Jones was a person of interest in a murder investigation, had been to the crime scene. What if he left evidence there? Hair, blood, a boot print, tire tracks. People had been convicted on less, and he'd been dodging the police. He could be charged with his ex-wife's murder, and no jury in the world would believe he was innocent.

  My voice shook, and I fought hard to bury my fear. "I meant all of it. Rochelle and Lizzy. Me keeping you in the dark. I feel like I've set you up for this huge fall."

  He stared off into space for a long moment. "As far as Rochelle goes, I'm sorry too. I'm glad you insisted I let her have her say, so there was nothing left unfinished between us. And Lizzy would have told me something eventually. As for you…" He turned so he faced me directly, blue gaze boring into me, seeing all the fear I'd tried to hide.

  Though I wanted to look away, I couldn't. His gaze was mesmerizing. "I know I'm nothing but trouble—"

  He interrupted me with a searing kiss. The contact stole my breath and scattered my thoughts, reducing me to a witless, panting creature.

  Jones pulled back long enough to murmur, "You're worth all the trouble." Then he kissed me again.

  And really, what more needed to be said?

  * * *

  "Lacey L'Amour is behind all this," I said to Jones as we drove into town. "It's too much of a coincidence that she just shows up, and then all of a sudden buildings start going up in flames all over town."

  Jones was behind the wheel. For once his slower than molasses in January driving was a bonus, since neither of us was in a hurry to reach the police station. He cut his gaze to me, then refocused on the road. "Do you have any actual evidence to prove your theory, or are you just saying that because you don't like her?"

  I made an indignant noise. "I don't like her because she's been hitting on my boyfriend and because I am an excellent judge of character. Lacey stands the most to gain if the Bowtie Angel goes out of business for good. That's motive."

  Jones nodded slowly. "All right, I'll give you that. But if she was the arsonist, why wouldn't she just burn the pasta shop down?"

  Perish the thought. Instinctively, I crossed myself before saying, "The fire would destroy the building, but that wouldn't be enough to drive the Buckland-Rossetti clan out of business. We'd rebuild and come back stronger than before with the support of the entire town. Linking the pasta shop to a murder though, that's different. She's out to ruin our reputation, so rebuilding isn't an option. She's already tried to hire Mimi away, and she sabotaged our first health inspection. In fact, I wouldn't put it past her to specifically hire your ex-wife and bring her to town to make trouble. If Rochelle dug up dirt on me, Lacey would use it, but even if she didn't, having your ex here was sure to cause trouble for me, to take my eye off the prize. But when Lizzy hired Rochelle to unmask the arsonist, Lacey knew it was only a matter of time until Rochelle put it all together. Don't you see? She's behind all of it."

  "There are two problems with your theory," Jones said. We'd reached the traffic light at the edge of town, and he turned to face me fully. "One, why would Lacey burn down both the florist and the assisted living if she was targeting you? And two, if you're right and she was the one to hire Rochelle to investigate you, she must know about Kaylee. But if she does, why has she been keeping it to herself?"

  "I don't know," I admitted. I liked my hypothesis too much to just let it go without a fight. "Maybe because of Kyle. The two of them have been spending time together. She might not want to hurt him by revealing the truth."

  Jones shook his head. "You can't have it both ways, Andrea. You can't say she's a sociopath who'll burn down half the town to get at you, and claim she cares too much about the engaged man who has been using her to make his fiancée jealous to ruin his reputation. Now I'm not saying she isn't involved at all," he continued when I'd opened my mouth to protest. "But I don't think she's the mastermind behind the arsons."

  We were only a few minutes out from the police station. My knee bounced nervously as our destination drew closer. "What if the crimes aren't related? We've been assuming that Rochelle's death is because of her involvement with the arson case. But you work more than one case at a time, right? What if there's something else going on?"

  Jones nodded thoughtfully. "It's not impossible. If the killer was clever, perhaps he or she isn't really coming after you. Instead, he's using the two of us as a distraction to get the police off their trail."

  "Right. The police are so busy investigating us, and the real killer literally gets away with murder."

  He cleared his throat and murmured, "That sounds like something my father would do."

  I sucked in a sharp breath. "But he was with us at the time of the first arson."

  "Andrea, my father isn't the sort of man who soils his hands. He has underlings who do the dirty work for him." His tone was filled with bitterness as he added, "Like the lawyer who checked on my welfare twice a year and sent my mother money to provide for me. He didn't even write his own checks."

  We'd arrived at the police station. Jones parked at the far end of the lot, but neither of us moved.

  "Whatever happens," I told him softly. "We'll deal with it. Together, okay?"

  He looked at me and smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." />
  I blinked. "Why?" If he handed me another bunch of roses, I was going to beat him with them.

  He shook his head. "Because my life is a mess, and it's spilling over onto you. My father, Rochelle, Lizzy, all of it. I really wanted us to be a normal couple, but all of this refuse from my past keeps coming up, interfering with our relationship, your business. I feel like it's all my fault and you'd be better off if you had nothing to do with me."

  "Malcolm, I'm the one with a long-lost daughter and a crazy stalker here. Don't take so much on yourself. You can't control other people's actions, especially not those of people who lie to you. And for what it's worth, I think you're worth it." I repeated his words from the night before back to him.

  A real smile cracked his stony countenance. "All right, let's just hope neither of us gets arrested today."

  I made a face, mumbling "You aren't kidding" before popping the car door. We walked hand in hand into the police station.

  Beaverton was barely large enough to have its own police department. In fact, it hadn't when I was growing up. All matters of law enforcement had fallen on the overworked sheriff's department. The slow but steady population increase over the past decade had brought in enough citizens to justify the expense of forming both a fire department and a city police force. There were four detectives, including Darryl Brown, a handful of sergeants, and a baker's dozen collection of officers, all under the supervision of Chief Leroy Fontaine, who answered directly to the city council and Mayor Eli Randal II.

  Donna had mentioned that there were quite a few homes on the market for winter, more than there had been at the same time a year earlier and even more in the week since the arsonist came to town. I wondered what would happen if the population of Beaverton fell below the necessary number for city status. Would the brave men and women who'd been trained as police officers, like Donna's husband, Steve, lose their jobs? That would perpetuate the cycle because the area lacked any major employment opportunities. More people would pull up stakes, which would hurt the whole town.

  I'd have fewer customers, who I now had to share with Lacey L'Amour, if I ever managed to open again. Theo and the health department might shut the pasta shop down for good.

  Shoving all my worries aside, I sat by Jones's side while we waited for Detective Brown to come fetch him. It wasn't until Jones put his hand over my knee that I realized it had been bouncing like mad.

  "It'll be all right, love. I didn't do anything wrong."

  My teeth sank into my lower lip. Maybe it was my own jaded point of view, but knowing that Jones hadn't done anything wrong didn't change the fact that Kyle had it out for him. And even though the murder investigation wasn't Kyle's case, he still had a lot of pull.

  "Mr. Jones." Detective Brown made his way toward us. "I see you got my messages."

  "I'm happy to help however I can." Jones rose and offered his hand to Darryl. The two men shook, but it wasn't a friendly gesture, more like something you'd see between army-navy rivals before the big game.

  "If you'll come with me."

  I jumped up, but Brown shook his head. "Wait here please, Andy."

  "But—" I began.

  Jones tilted my chin to meet his gaze. "I'll be all right. See you in a bit?"

  The last thing I wanted was to spend time by myself ruminating on all that had happened and fretting over whether the detective would arrest my man. But Jones was right. He was innocent, and he hadn't done anything illegal. Besides, it didn't look like I'd been given much of a choice.

  After resettling myself in the hard plastic chair, I fidgeted uncomfortably. Steve Muller stopped by and handed me a cup of coffee. It was bitter and had that nasty mineral essence, like when the pot hasn't been washed in a while, but it helped warm my chilly and aching hands.

  A commotion from the front of the building caught my attention. Male voices raised in agitation, and a woman screeched indignantly. Curious and in need of a distraction, I set my paper cup down on the floor and went to investigate.

  Several teenagers were being led into the station house, followed by older men and women who were doing the majority of the shouting. The kids looked scared, eyes big as they took in the bustle around them. There was nothing especially unique or vicious looking about them. I wondered if they'd been caught skipping school or maybe shoplifting. I recognized Joey Randal, the mayor's nephew, in the mix. The entire Randal family was about as complicated as plain white bread. It couldn't be too bad with Joey in the mix, probably just normal teenager stuff.

  Then my blood flash froze as I recognized a familiar pink-and-black backpack.

  Kaylee stood in the middle of the pack of miscreants, wide eyed and looking on the verge of a breakdown.

  "What is this?" I demanded of a nearby officer. "What did she do?"

  "She's under arrest. They all are." The officer gave me a matter-of-fact glance, obviously believing I was one of the irate parents.

  "On what charge?" I snapped, eyes darting to Kaylee.

  The guy scowled down at me. "Who are you?"

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say "Her mother," but I bit it back. Where was Barbara? She should be here demanding answers, not me.

  A hand landed on my shoulder.

  I whirled and was actually relieved to see the sheriff's uniform. "What's going on here?"

  Kaylee called his name, and I was stunned to see Kyle turn away from her as he pulled me aside. "It seems Beaverton has its first gang."

  "Gang? You can't be serious. It's a bunch of kids. Besides, Kaylee wouldn't join a gang."

  "I'm afraid it's the truth." His expression had gone stony. "It seems part of their initiation is to burn down a building. And our daughter was found with them."

  No-Bake Ziti

  You'll need:

  3 oz prosciutto

  1 pound extra-lean ground beef

  1 large onion, chopped

  2 cloves garlic, minced

  2 fresh tomatoes, diced

  24 oz spaghetti sauce

  1 1/2 cups water

  3 cups ziti, uncooked

  1 cup mozzarella, shredded

  1/4 cup grated cheese for topping

  Brown prosciutto in large deep skillet until crisp; remove from skillet. Drain on paper towels. Add ground beef, onions, and garlic to skillet; cook until meat is browned, stirring occasionally.

  Crumble prosciutto. Add half to meat mixture in skillet with the tomatoes, spaghetti sauce, and water. Mix well. Cover, and bring to boil.

  Stir in pasta, and let simmer, covered, on medium-low heat 20 minutes or until pasta is tender, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat.

  Top with cheese and remaining prosciutto. Let stand, covered, 5 minutes or until cheese is melted. Top with grated cheese, and serve.

  **Andy's note: This is a quick, flavorful dish that won't heat up the house on a hot summer day.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A gang in Beaverton? That made as much sense as serving cheese with a fish course—the two concepts just didn't mix. And Kaylee as part of it? She was only sixteen. Of course kids sometimes got involved with gangs at a younger age than that, but she was new to town and had spent all her free time at the pasta shop. When would she have even come across this alleged gang?

  The whole idea was ludicrous. Too many things just didn't add up. I stood back and watched as the police and sheriff addressed the irate throng of parents.

  "My son ain't part of a gang, Kyle Landers," a woman called out in a two-pack-a-day voice. "You've known me and Lance since high school, for cryin' out loud! You reckon we'd let Dalton run wild like that?"

  I blinked, stunned. Holy macaroni, the woman was Dotty Roberts. I remembered Dotty and Lance from my time at Beaverton High. They'd been as tight in high school as Kyle and I had been. And their son was Kaylee's age, the older boy in the mix.

  The last sixteen years hadn't been kind to Dotty. She'd always been petite, but her small frame didn't seem to carry an ounce of extra weight anymore. Her skin s
agged over knobby bones, and she had dark circles under her eyes. The inch and a half of black-and-white roots that had grown only made her bad dye job worse. I barely stifled a shudder at my own narrow miss. I would probably have looked just as used up with a teenage kid driving me around the bend if Kyle and I had gotten married right out of high school.

  My gaze slid to Kaylee, and I realized maybe I hadn't escaped that fate entirely.

  The sheriff put his hands in the air, patting it in a classic simmer-down gesture. "Now you all know this isn't personal. We need to talk to the kids and to each of you, one at a time. A legal guardian must be present during each interview."

  Of course, neither Kyle nor I counted in Kaylee's case. We were her parents, but no one knew that, and we were not her legal guardians. I fished my phone out of my pocket, fully intending to call Barbara and half-surprised she wasn't present already, shouting down the injustice of it all. Then again, Barbara wasn't exactly a shouter. I did another scan of the room to be sure I hadn't overlooked her on the first pass.

  Kaylee's adoptive mother was a large-animal vet. They owned a horse farm, which they were trying to sell. Had she gone out of town to handle some real estate business? We'd talked a few times over the phone, and the demure but quiet woman got on better with animals than she did with people. After the week I had, I could understand the appeal.

  Someone touched my shoulder, and I turned to see Jones taking in the chaos. "What's happening out here?"

  "The usual. All hell breaking loose." Barbara's voice mail picked up, the prerecorded message telling me she was out on a medical emergency, and I hung up and sent her a text message with all the pertinent details.

  Kyle sent me a look as he escorted the first kid and his parents to the interrogation room.

  "Do you want to stay?" Jones asked.

  I was torn. As much as I wanted to be there for her, I wasn't her legal guardian, and my presence on top of Kyle's might only make things worse for her. As though she read my mind, Kaylee looked my way. I saw horror and then defiance flash across her face before she turned away. It was obvious she didn't want me there.