Murder Love on the Menu

by Dyann Love Barr

  “I want to do it for David’s family. He wasn’t the nicest guy in the world, but I don’t like to think of him like that.” She shook her head and hugged herself. “His family will be devastated.” She looked up at Jordan with pleading eyes. “I don’t think Mr. Hirschberg will be making a documentary about murder this time.”

  He reached out to rub her shoulder and back in soft, comforting circles. “Me either.”

  She leaned into his hands, and he couldn’t resist planting a kiss on top of her head. He wouldn’t let the matter rest, but for now, for this brief space of time, he wanted nothing more than to touch her.

  “Let’s talk about it later.” Jordan was sure he could talk her out of working with the police. “We’ve got pizza to eat.”

  …

  After Hank left, Tilly watched Jordan pace around the room with a scowl on his face. “What’s got your tail in a knot?”

  “I’m surprised you even have to ask.”

  She hadn’t expected such an angry and hot response. Jordan stomped into his sleek gray and white kitchen. She followed on his heels. He jerked a canister of coffee beans toward him.

  She sat on a bar stool made from a dark charcoal wave of plastic stuck on a steel pole. Getting comfortable in the seat was an exercise in futility, but she finally perched on the edge. “Yes, I do.”

  Her words came out a bit harsher than she intended. She picked a lemon from the large red bowl and held it to her nose. The fresh, bitter-tart scent was a pleasing contrast to the hideous kitchen. A bloodred stand mixer and espresso machine sat on the stainless countertops, and shiny, white-enameled Italian cabinets lined the wall. It had all the appeal of a space station. Hell, his entire apartment was straight lines, grays, blacks, and chrome. Cold and sterile.

  “You really want to do this, don’t you?” His question held a large dash of accusation.

  “What? Help Hank?” Excitement bubbled inside her chest until she grew giddy at the prospect of doing more detective work. She had no illusions of being a Miss Marple or Jessica Fletcher. However, the Etheridge murder in Kansas City had given her a taste of detective work. She wanted more. “Of course. I need to do something, no matter how small, for the Hirschbergs. They lost their son.”

  “All I see is how broken and bruised you were the last time we played detective.” He gave the top of the canister holding the beans a vicious twist. The dark, earthy scent filled the air.

  “We found the killers,” she insisted and put the lemon back in the bowl.

  “When it was almost too late.” He measured whole beans into the grinder. “I won’t have you risking your life.”

  Panic seized her. He had no right to order her around. She’d worked hard, made sacrifices, and done her best to support Sarah. Her judgment in men left a lot to be desired—she hoped Jordan was the one. Her heart told her so, but her head questioned everything. And now this need to control her—just like Jake. Would the lies come next? “Don’t you dare tell me what to do!”

  His precise motions belied the fury in his eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Matilda.” A quick flick of his finger on the grinder’s switch drowned out any possible comment from her.

  She knew that control game all too well. If he thought he could silence her, he was dead wrong. She wasn’t about to let a cup of cappuccino, or whatever fancy drink he decided he had to make, sidetrack their conversation. She waited while he tamped the grounds, brewed his espresso, and then took the first sip.

  He raised one dark brow, glaring at her over the rim of his teeny-weeny cup. “Well?”

  “As Ruby would say, that’s a deep subject.” The trite, snide remark slipped out before she could stop herself. Why couldn’t he see her side of the situation?

  “Corny.” He shrugged and took another sip.

  “But true.”

  “You do what you want.” His eyes flashed, and he unceremoniously slammed the small cup on the counter. “But I’m not going to enable your madness.”

  She decided she’d had enough. Between smoothing out Sarah’s teen angst and Jordan’s passive-aggressive bullshit, she was on the ragged edge of tears. She’d go back to her tiny apartment, where everything was warm and inviting, instead of Jordan’s sterile hell. As much as she loved the guy, she had to leave, or he’d be the next chef to buy the farm.

  She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

  “Tilly!” His roar held a hint of a plea, but she didn’t plan to stick around to be lectured. “Damn it. Stop.”

  He was fast. He braced his hands against the door on either side of her, capturing her before she could turn around. The warmth of his body radiated into hers. His breath brushed the back of her neck, and she closed her eyes, fighting against the onslaught of anger mixed with desire.

  She placed the heel of her foot atop his running shoe and bore down. “You better back off if you want to keep your toes.” She pressed harder and nudged him with her elbow. It angered her to hear the beginnings of tears in her voice.

  His hands dropped, and he backed away. “You play rough.”

  “That’s right.” She snugged her purse strap over one shoulder. “And I still intend to go home.” She gave a quick, surreptitious swipe under her eyes and turned around.

  “Please stay.”

  “I can’t relax here.” The floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the room with a wonderful panorama of the New York City skyline. Yet in spite of the spacious rooms she felt boxed in.

  “Why not?” Confusion puckered his face.

  “I…ah…well.” How could she tell Jordan she didn’t like his apartment after they’d been together for three months? Suddenly she knew why his place bothered her and pointed at the red bowl of lemons. “Why do you have those on your counter?”

  He frowned and glanced over at the red bowl. “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you like your home?”

  “I suppose. It’s a place to sleep, eat, and entertain.” He shook his head in puzzlement. “Why are you so concerned about the damned lemons?”

  She pointed at the fridge. “They belong in the refrigerator, not on the counter.” Her voice caught and shuddered. “Just like me. Maybe I don’t belong here, either. All this chrome and black and white gives me the heebie-jeebies. It’s like the waiting room at a doctor’s office. I’m more at home with wood floors and rockin’ chairs—not this.”

  He captured her face with his hands, his eyes intent and filled with confusion. “All I know is that I loved the view when I first saw the apartment, but the Pepto-Bismol pink paint job had to go. I gave the decorator carte blanche. The lemons were there the day I took possession of the apartment, so I kept replacing them every week.” His mouth found hers. He nibbled at her lips as if his kisses would take away the fears in her heart.

  She pushed against his chest and stared at him, searching his face. “I don’t want to be a lemon.”

  “I’ll throw the damn lemons away.” He leaned down to kiss her again, but she stopped him before he could drag her down into heat.

  “They don’t need to be thrown away—just put in their rightful place.” She heaved a sigh of frustration. More at herself for not being able to take the confusion from his face. A couple of kisses couldn’t slap a Band-Aid over her doubts. “Am I a part of your life, or someone you’ll find is too much work once life gets real? I love you. I want to be with you, but not if you insist on calling all the shots and making decisions for me.”

  “We’ve already had some real moments over the last three months.” His breath whispered against the sensitive spot behind her ear. “I didn’t leave then, and I don’t plan to now. Don’t you know I’d rip out the walls with my bare hands if it would make you feel better?” He pulled her closer, his mouth tasting the edges of her lips.

  She ached and trembled with desire. His hand snaked around her waist to draw her closer until the hard lines of his body imprinted on hers. She gripped his arms to steady herself against the onslaught of emotions. His tongue graz
ed the sensitive line of her lips, demanding entrance. She opened for him, unable to stop, even if she’d wanted to. He held her head and angled his mouth to begin a journey that left her reeling and wanting more.

  How could he take her to this level of need with nothing more than a kiss? She tiptoed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She could give as well as get. Her tongue stroked his, sliding and tasting the dark headiness of his mouth. His fingers worked the buttons of her chef’s jacket free, slid it from her shoulders, and yanked the white T-shirt over her head.

  “You are so beautiful. You belong to me.” His growl of passion fueled the driving need for him.

  “Yes. I’m yours, and you’re mine,” she groaned at the fingers caressing her neck. “Fifty-fifty, slick.”

  The intensity of his gaze burned as surely as if he’d branded her with fire.

  “You’re going to do this, right?”

  “Yes,” she breathed into his mouth.

  “I’m personally going to strangle Hank for mentioning working with the police department, but we’ll do it—together.”

  Her heart lifted. “I’ve been overthinking things.” She ran her fingers over the rough stubble of his face, delighting in the zinging sensations. “You’re not Jake, or John. I’m worried over nothing. I know you’d never lie to me.”

  He jerked back with a stunned expression on his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, it’s—well—I’ll hire a decorator to redo this place.”

  “Jordan, I—” Her phone rang. She glanced down at the caller ID and glanced up at him in surprise. “It’s Gretchen.” She hit the call button. “Hi, Gretchen. I’m so sorry to hear about David.”

  “Thank you. Father is out of his mind with grief.” Her voice thickened with tears. “My mother is under sedation. That leaves me to talk to the board of directors and make sure everything continues to run smoothly. If I don’t work, I’ll go crazy.”

  “I understand.”

  “Anyway, we’re expanding into several new markets, and David was in the middle of the negotiations. Salt Lake City, Los Angeles, and Denver were tough markets to crack. We have to keep up the momentum for our shareholders. This is almost more than I can bear.” Gretchen sniffled and sucked in a deep, shaky breath, but tears were evident. “I wanted to know if you and Jordan would do me a huge favor.”

  “I can’t speak for him, but I’ll help you and your family any way I can.”

  “Would it be possible to stay one more week and tape a new format? We need something fresh and exciting to present to those markets. I had planned to talk to Father about giving Lena the pilot.” This time Gretchen gave up the battle. “But now that’s impossible. Oh, God, I can’t do this,” she sobbed.

  Tilly bit her lower lip. Everything pulled her in a different direction at once. She’d promised to be home by Monday to spend time with Sarah. She glanced over at Jordan, who gave her a quizzical look that said, what? Gretchen’s soft cries pierced her heart. “Yes, you can. The Culinary Channel has an excellent staff, and I know they’ll stand behind you. Jordan’s with me. Why don’t you talk to him? I’ll give you an answer tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  She handed her phone to Jordan and sat in a black leather club chair. She couldn’t let Gretchen or the Culinary Channel down. Then there would be the funeral. She’d be obligated to attend. The junior high dance was a month away, but she’d wanted to be with her daughter this weekend. An avalanche of guilt slid toward her at alarming speed, and she didn’t know how to ski. Throw Jordan in the mix, and she’d be buried alive. Why was she even thinking of helping NYPD? She’d figure that out tomorrow. Right now she wanted nothing more than to get comfortable and be alone with Jordan for a few hours before the lunacy started.

  He ended the call and handed her the phone with a resigned sigh. The cushion of the white leather couch let out a little whoosh of protest the moment he dropped into it. “The next few days are going to be insane.”

  “I think bat-shit crazy is more like it.” She bent down to untie her mint-green sneakers.

  “No, I think that’s what happens to a person after the insane week.” He settled back on the couch and glanced at her over his steepled his fingers. “Weren’t you going to Tennessee this weekend?”

  She kicked off her sneakers and curled up in the chair. “I can’t. You know what it’s going to be like. I wanted to be with Sarah and help her pick out her dress for the junior high dance.” She made little circles with her fingertip against the arm of the chair. “One thing I can do is the make a call to Chad Carlisle and then one to Sarah to break the news about this weekend.”

  “What we need is a good night’s sleep.” He got to his feet and held out his hand.

  She glanced over at the ultramodern clock that was nothing more than a pair of fat, propeller-like hands on the wall. “What time is it? I can never tell with that thing.”

  “It’s a little after nine. Why?”

  “As Ruby would say, you got your ass burned when you bought that…thing.” She pointed at the dark gray atrocity with her thumb.

  He cocked his head to one side and smiled. “You know, Matilda, you attribute a lot of colorful sayings to Ruby. I think it’s your way of swearing without taking the blame.”

  “So you say.”

  “I do.” He waggled his fingers at her to take his hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. We can read, watch TV—anything except the news. How about rolling around under the covers like a couple of teenagers?”

  She placed her hand in his, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head. “I know how teenagers make love. If you can’t do any better than that, I’d rather watch Vampire Housewives of New York.”

  “Please tell me that’s not a real show?”

  “Take me to bed and find out.”

  He swung her up into his arms and nuzzled the side of her neck. A sizzle worked all the way from the sensitive spot behind her ear and traveled with the precision of a smart bomb to her core. She wanted him, in spite of the horror of this evening. One night of passion would push aside the heaviness of the day. “But you’d better make a bowl of popcorn before you get worked up.”

  Hank’s ringtone came from Jordan’s phone. It lay on the kitchen counter, and they stared at it as if it were a deadly snake about to strike. Prickles ran over her skin as a sensation of dread overtook her. Bad mojo. All-around bad mojo.

  “Don’t get that.” She tightened her arms around his neck and brushed her cheek against his. “Call him back later.”

  “I have to.” He gently set her on her feet and picked up his phone. “Kelly here.”

  She watched the expression on Jordan’s face go from impatience at being interrupted to disbelief.

  “Shit.” He scrubbed his face with his hand and turned away. His voice grew soft and serious. “You’re sure—absolutely sure? Yeah, right. I heard you. This sucks.” There was a pause, and he nodded as if Hank could see his response. “We’ll help any way we can. Just make sure Detective Crespo understands that Tilly didn’t kill Juliette. Good. That’s good. Okay, then. Keep me informed.”

  “The ME says Juliette had a reaction to the soup, but that’s not what killed her.” His eyes grew angry and hard. “She was murdered.”

  “What?” Her heart stammered and dropped to her stomach. She clasped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. First Juliette, and then David. Both murdered.

  Chapter Eight

  Jordan ended Hank’s call and glanced over at Tilly. Her shocked expression mirrored his chaotic emotions. He’d suspected there might be more to Juliette’s death than a simple allergic reaction, but to have it confirmed was still a blow to the gut.

  “Juliette was murdered?” She slumped into the couch and tucked her feet under her legs. Absentmindedly, she tugged a bright red lap robe from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. He sat next to her and pulled her into a hug.

  “Yes. It seems
the killer helped the anaphylactic shock along by smothering her.”

  She jerked back. “What?” Her eyes were huge pools of disbelief.

  “Yeah. Hank said there was bruising around her nose and mouth that was inconsistent with an allergic reaction.” He knew she’d want all the details but could feel her shuddering, even with the lap robe tucked around her. “The killer also applied pressure on her chest with their knee.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “He said the evidence collection team found a lipstick under the lower edge of the counter.” He rubbed her arms with his hands to comfort her as well as himself. “The killer missed it.”

  “So that’s why Detective Crespo was givin’ me the evil eye.” She glanced up at him with fire in her eyes. “It wasn’t just the glitter.”

  “I’ve never known you to wear anything remotely called purple passion berry.” He placed his hand against her cheek, loving the warmth and softness of her skin. She delighted him. He loved the fact her complexion needed nothing to enhance it, except the little row of freckles marching over the bridge of her nose. Her mink-brown lashes lowered under his scrutiny. “If you did, I’d wipe it off your mouth.”

  “I dropped my purse by the door. I’m positive nothing fell out.” She narrowed her eyes and pulled away. “And don’t get me wrong, I love purple but not on my face, but you’re makin’ it awful hard not to go down to the drugstore and buy every shade of purple I can find.”

  He couldn’t resist a smile. His thumb stroked the softness of her cheeks—her mouth begged to be kissed. It was so tempting to taste her and put the awfulness of Hank’s news behind them for a bit. He leaned down, his lips only a breath away.

  “Purple passion berry, hmm?” She scooted back with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “What brand?”

  “Hank didn’t say.” He gave up with a heavy sigh. He’d have to put his hormones into check until later on. Death had touched them more than once in the past, and now twice here in New York. All he wanted was to hold her—push back the dread surrounding him. “Juliette didn’t wear that shade, either. Her lipstick was in her purse, along with her EpiPen. The police found her purse in the kitchen pantry.”