Murder Love on the Menu

by Dyann Love Barr

  Once, he’d thought he was making newbie chefs better off for their experience with him, but the frown on Tilly’s face when she watched the programs said otherwise. She’d give him a sidelong oh, really glance that made him antsy. Now the format grew staler with each show. He’d worked hard to tame the demons pushing and prodding him toward fame, but every so often the temptation to punch his fist through a wall reared up out of nowhere.

  The cab pulled up in front of her building. He helped her out and paid the fare before following her up to the second floor. She stopped in front of her door and glanced up at him with a small frown puckering her forehead. “You don’t have to stay here with me.”

  “Yes, I do. Don’t argue with Satan’s Chef.”

  “I’m arguing with Jordan Kelly, who can be a—”

  “We already know the answer to that.” He made a move to unbutton his jeans but stopped before the deed was done. “Do you want me to drop trou right here?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “No.” She shook her head and let out a soft laugh. “Come on in. No need to end up in lockup. Hank might be your friend, but I doubt he’d bail you out over indecent exposure.”

  She opened the door and motioned him inside. He relaxed for the first time since last night. They’d made love after the lemon debacle, and he was sure he would be able to make his case about moving in together. But once again, he’d rushed things, and she’d run back to her bolt-hole.

  He glanced around her apartment. It was nice. He’d been here several times, usually to hustle her out the door for a date or to pick her up for work, but this was the first time he’d really taken a good long look.

  Warm and comforting. He could swear he smelled her famous strawberry-rhubarb pie scenting the air.

  A variety of brightly colored area rugs covered the highly polished wood floors, and a fireplace dominated one living room wall. She’d repurposed an old door with cracked, light blue paint and a glass knob as a coffee table. A cheerful afghan was carelessly thrown over the back of a worn tan leather couch. Two chairs, one in red, the other in bright green, and the rest of the odds and ends should have looked like junk thrown together. Instead, it worked. He could almost be at home here. However, it wasn’t his place, and he’d always envisioned them living there, enjoying the view he’d grown to love.

  “Have a seat. I need to call Sarah and let her know I won’t be there Monday.” She tossed her keys into a wooden bowl with a six-inch sculpted Hawaiian hula dancer rising from the middle. The thing was hideous, coconut bra and all, yet looked in its proper place. “There’s beer in the fridge and some wine in the cooler.”

  “Maybe later.” He sank into the sofa and waved his phone in the air. “I need to let Hank know to stop by here instead of my place. I’ll call in Chinese.”

  “Good. I’m sure your conversation will be a lot easier than mine.”

  It didn’t take long for him to make his calls. He could hear hushed tones as she talked to her kid. Restlessness filled him. He stood and went to her sound system. Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood CDs were stacked with a selection of opera and classical. It hit him that he’d never asked what she liked to listen to. He assumed the country music was a given, but the classical and opera threw him for a loop.

  She came back into the room and sighed. “It went about as well as I expected.” She plopped down next to him. “I think she’s right. Mark Guthrie is a turd.”

  “What happened?”

  “From what I can understand, he and a couple of the mean girls at school thought it would be funny for him to ask her to the dance and then publicly dump her. She asked him why. He proceeded to blast her in front of everyone—told her it was because she won’t sleep with him.” Her eyes glowed with a fire that made him uneasy. Bad things happened when she got this way. “On top of that, he said she was ugly.” The Mona Lisa smile touched the corners of her mouth, but not in a good way. Mark Guthrie was in the line of sight for double bad mojo.

  “She cried her eyes out.” Tilly leaned back with her arms over her chest and a militant set to her face. “It was awful.” Her foot tapped on the area rug in front of the couch. “He might be a kid, but that doesn’t keep him from being a hateful, hurtful little shit.” She turned to face Jordan. “Did I tell you that I finally arranged for Chad Carlisle to take her to the dance? That was the other day, even before this mess.” She jumped up and paced in front of the couch. “There’s got to be a way to make the twerp pay without killin’ him.”

  Jordan pulled her back to sit beside him on her third pass in front of the couch. “She isn’t ugly. I don’t know where that’s coming from.” He frowned as he thought. Her anger and hurt worked its way under his skin until he was ready to flay the unknown Mark Guthrie for her. An idea popped up from nowhere, and he decided to run with it. “Why don’t you get Patty to come with you to Tennessee?” The Culinary Channel’s makeup artist was one of the best in the business and could transform anyone into runway model perfection.

  “Do you think she would?” Tilly’s eyes brightened. She turned to face him. “Really?”

  “Ask her. Slip her a dozen cream puffs and you’re golden.” He warmed to the notion and stood. It helped him to think. “What about some big designer name for a dress? Tap Orlando Collier. He’s friends with all of them. Tell him what that asshat did to your daughter.”

  She squealed, jumped up, and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Have I told you that I love you lately?”

  He let out a little oomph at the impact. “Maybe. I can’t remember. Tell me again.” His heart pumped harder, faster, until it pounded against his ribs. He would convince her to move in. Now was the time. “Tilly, I—”

  She laid a finger against his mouth to hush him. “I love you.”

  He couldn’t resist the lush lips only a breath away. He meant the kiss as more of celebration, but she deepened it until he was lost in a maze of desire. They ended up on the couch, necking like a couple of high school kids.

  She pulled back with the light of excitement in her eyes. “Oh, this will be so great. I know someone who can get a stretch limo. Chad and Sarah can arrive at the dance just like in my favorite movie, Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion. Can’t you just see it?”

  The doorbell rang before he could say anything. She scrambled up to answer it.

  “Hank. Come on in.” She led him into the living room. “Jordan came up with the perfect plan to take down a teenage rat.”

  Jordan decided it was time for the beer. He went to her refrigerator and pulled out a couple of imported brews along with her ever-present Diet Coke.

  His friend took the offered beer and twisted off the cap. “Anything I should know about?”

  “No. We have it planned out.” She gave Hank a feral smile and held her hand out for her soda. “Everything is legal and safe, but Mark Guthrie will be eatin’ so much crow he’ll wish he’d never messed with my girl. I plan on tellin’ the whole world what he and those little bitches did.”

  “Are you going mama grizzly on us?”

  “And then some.” Jordan took a swig from his bottle and pointed at her. “Don’t ever piss her off.”

  Hank chuckled and winked at her. “I’m glad she’s on our side.”

  The doorbell rang again. He paid the delivery guy and took the fragrant-smelling bag into her small kitchen. Garlic, ginger, and five-spice powder made his stomach growl in anticipation. Tilly joined him and retrieved plates and napkins. It felt right to work side by side in the confined space. How could she not feel it, too? The first thing he planned on doing tomorrow was to hire another decorator.

  No chrome. No glass. No lemons. Then, maybe, he could convince her into moving in.

  …

  Tilly brushed against Jordan, and the giddiness she always felt with him rose to tickle her heart. This was so right. Every accidental touch of their fingers, the way he fit into her tiny kitchen threw her worries aside. He’d even come to her daughter’s aid�
��which was big, since he was convinced Sarah didn’t like him. Was she being too obsessive about her past bad judgment with her relationships? Every man she hooked up with a J in his name meant bad news, but watching Jordan, knowing he could be so fierce one minute and yet gentle the next thrilled her. If she’d been a true southern belle from the antebellum days, she’d have swooned right then and there. Instead, she handed him a stack of napkins with a smile that meant he’d get lucky tonight.

  The various dishes were plated, and everyone sat in the living room to eat.

  Hank held up his beer. “Wait. I want to share some news.” He sat his plate on the coffee table and sat back with a smile. “I’ve been approached by a production company to purchase the rights to make a movie out of Death by Design.”

  “You’re kiddin’ me?” She was excited for him. “This isn’t a wannabe movie company?”

  “My agent assures me this is the real deal.”

  Jordan lifted his beer in a salute. “That’s great, man. About time.”

  “Damn straight.” Hank responded in kind and took a sip. “I plan on—” His phone rang. He sat his beer on the table next to his plate and pulled the phone from his shorts pocket. “Detective Tapper.”

  The expression on his face ranged from curious to stone cold. He ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket. “They’re bringing Lena McCoy in for questioning. It seems her prints were all over the murder weapon.”

  “What?” Shock wound her stomach into sick knots. She shot a glance at Jordan. “I can’t believe it.” His only reaction to Hank’s news was a twitchy jaw muscle and a frown.

  Hank stood and gave the still warm plate of beef and broccoli a longing look. “I’ve got to go to the ME’s office.” He stopped at the threshold of the door. “By the way, Hirschberg convinced the commissioner to approve the two of you to act as consultants on the DuPres murder. If Crespo is smart, the department will ask you to work on the Hirschberg case as well.”

  Tilly’s heart sank after Hank’s departure. There were so many questions swarming through her mind that she didn’t know what to believe. Lena might be a loose cannon, but Tilly couldn’t see her killing anyone—however, David might have pushed the wrong button.

  Jordan shoved his cashew chicken away and settled back into the couch. Concern, questions, and fiery anger swirled in his eyes. “I told Hank I didn’t want us to get involved, but Hirschberg has already put things in motion. Damn it. I’d tell him to shove it if I didn’t think you’d try to figure this thing out on your own. We’re in this together, or not at all.”

  “Don’t get your briefs in a bunch. We don’t know what’s happening yet.” She tried for a light tone to defuse the ticking time bomb. “Lena’s only being questioned.”

  Now wasn’t the time to get into a yelling match because he thought this case would be like Kansas City. She held her breath, waiting for the explosion.

  “I can’t believe Lena would kill David.” Jordan scrubbed at his face and let out an exasperated sigh. “No, to be honest, I can. David was a colossal pain in the rear, but that’s no reason to off someone.”

  “I don’t think she did it, either. As mad as Lena was the other day, it didn’t fit her personality. She was soft and gooey on the inside, when she didn’t let her mouth get in the way.” Tilly picked up the still full plates from the table. “Did you want this?” Her heart skipped, and she exhaled in relief, thankful he hadn’t gone down the you can’t do that, it’s too dangerous route.

  He shook his head. “It makes you wonder if a single killer did the job on both of them.” He stood and helped clear the coffee table. Then he went to the kitchen and rummaged around until he found the drawer where she kept her Ziploc bags and foil. With sure, practiced moves, he had everything wrapped and in the refrigerator in record time.

  “A serial killer?” She followed and started the dishwasher. “I think there has to be three or more murders to be considered a serial killer.”

  “It’s either two separate murders or we have one killer for both.” He leaned against the counter with a frown puckering his brow. “One scenario is just as bad as the other.”

  “I agree.” She took gave her kitchen counters one last swipe with cleaner and a paper towel. “We can do this, together—for the police department, but mostly for the families.” She stood in front of him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  He sighed, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I still don’t like being pushed into a corner by Hirschberg, but you’re right.” He pulled her closer. “We’ll be like Batman and Robin.”

  Heat flooded her body. “Do you have a secret life I should know about?”

  “Why don’t we head off to the bedroom and find out?”

  “Now I’m the one who’s worried.” She grinned and slid her hand under Jordan’s T-shirt. Her fingers took their time exploring the washboard perfection of his abs. Up they went until she found the soft dark hair that swirled down the center of his chest and lower. “The tabloids say you’re Satan in the kitchen and a hell of a lover.”

  He snorted in amused disgust. “That is so cheesy that I don’t know whether to be offended or not.” His mouth found the tender spot under her chin, next to her ear.

  She let her sigh of pleasure answer his question.

  “But I’ll have to give you a hands-on demonstration and let you decide for yourself.”

  “I’m all for hands-on.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and gave a tug. “We’ve always made love over at your place. Why is that?”

  He chuckled and followed as she led the way. “I assumed your bed was Smurf sized.”

  “Oh, there’s enough space for your long legs.” She let a slow smile tease the corners of her mouth.

  “No Hello Kitty sheets?” One brow raised, he leaned forward to kiss her.

  She waved a finger in front of his face and danced backward. “Not so much as a whisker.”

  He nibbled at her lower lip before his eyes took in the huge four-poster bed. She’d loved the giant monstrosity from the first moment she found it in an antique store.

  A wicked glint filled his eyes. He ran his fingers over the intricate carving of one post, and her breath quickened. Those same hands had stroked her to madness last night. His index finger lingered over a fat little cupid. “This has all sorts of possibilities. Silk scarves—feathers. Matilda Jane Danes, this bed comes with you when you move in with me.”

  Chapter Ten

  Tilly stiffened next to Jordan. She blinked rapidly, and sucked in a deep breath. “Move in with you?” she croaked. They’d just had this discussion before coming to her place. He was bringing it up again? It was like he couldn’t hear her. Or chose not to. Unease filtered through her. She’d been down this road before.

  He knew she was gun-shy, and he’d just pushed a howitzer in her face.

  “I mean—whenever.” He flashed her his thousand-watt smile as if it would make everything peachy keen.

  She pushed past him and raced down her short hallway. “Whenever?”

  He followed after her and caught up with her in the kitchen.

  She jerked a bottle of aspirin from the bottle she kept stashed in one of the cabinets. “Whenever! I asked for space, and you’re moving me into your apartment?”

  “It’s been three days, and I didn’t even mention the m word. I want you, even without the wedding ring.”

  Her mouth pursed together, and she pointed her finger at him. “A few days and a couple of rolls in the hay isn’t my idea of some breathin’ room. I tried to make that clear, but you’re not listenin’.”

  “I thought—”

  “No, you didn’t.” She jerked a bottle of water from the refrigerator and unscrewed the cap with a quick, deadly snap. He was lucky it was the bottle top she’d twisted off and not his neck.

  She closed the door and chugged down a long drink of water to swallow the painkiller and give herself time to calm down.

  “No. You have it
all wrong. What I meant was—”

  “You’re makin’ me crazy. Do you know that?” She slammed the green bottle on the counter and turned on the lights above the sink. “Here’s an example. Suppose I move to your apartment. Where will Sarah sleep? Are you willing to turn your office into a spare bedroom for her? And then there’s Ruby.”

  “We can work around everything. Sarah is going to school in Tennessee. Why change that?” It was a logical solution. “We’ll buy new furniture, get a sleeper sofa for when she comes to visit.”

  “You’re not puttin’ my kid on a damned sofa.” She threw her arms up in exasperation. “Do you hear yourself? I have a tiny apartment. You could fit four of mine in your space.”

  “Where does she sleep when she’s here?”

  His aha tone made her curl her fingers into her palms to keep from smacking the pretty off his face. “She sleeps with me because Ruby takes the pullout couch. I don’t think you want either of them sharing a bed with us.”

  “It’s not like either of them will be living here in New York.”

  “Sarah needs her own space. Fourteen-year-old girls have privacy issues.” She threw up her hands. “She’s an impressionable young woman. I can’t sleep with you when she’s around. We’re not married. So no. I’m not movin’ in with you.”

  He smiled down at her. His hand slid around the back of her neck and bent down to kiss her. “You already do. So let’s do it—make it legal?”

  She pushed him away. “Do you hear yourself?” She headed to her living room with the faint smear of light from the kitchen illuminating the way.

  “Yes!” His voice went up a couple of decibels. “Because I’m the only one making sense.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “I can’t help it if you’re scared, but you’re going to have to make a decision. I love you, but is it wrong to—”

  “What? You want me to shove my daughter aside so you can play house whenever you want? It ain’t goin’ to happen, slick.” She moved her arm to throw off his hand. “I love you so much that it hurts, but I have to figure out what’s best for everyone—not just the two of us.”