Murder Love on the Menu

by Dyann Love Barr

  …

  Jordan sighed in frustration and stepped back to give her some space. “I know you have to take Sarah and Ruby into consideration. Trust me, I’ve run this over and over in my head and found out that I have a selfish streak.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side. “Do say?”

  “Yes, but I’d never ask you to choose between me and Sarah.” He didn’t have to see her in the semidarkness to know she didn’t believe him. “Okay, the selfish me wants you all to myself.”

  “And the nice, loving, rational you?”

  “Is selfish as well.” He shrugged. “Not as bad as he used to be, but he still has a long way to go.”

  “Okay. That’s truthful.” She glanced up at him, pursing her lips into a moue. “I want to take the time to make sure I’m not makin’ a mistake again.”

  “Ouch. That puts me right up there with Jake4Ever.”

  “No. He lied to me.” She sat on the sofa and pulled a pillow into her lap. “It’s funny.”

  “What is?”

  “I’ve had two serious relationships in the past—both of them complete liars. My bad-mojo meter was way off, but I have faith in you. You’d never lie to me.” She plucked at the pillow’s fringe. “It’s my own judgment I don’t trust.”

  The faint ghost of Juliette’s voice sliced through his mind with agonizing precision. See? You lied to her about me. Didn’t I tell you the truth? You’re a loser. You’ll never be good enough for her.

  Chapter Eleven

  A rattling noise jerked Tilly out of much needed sleep. Her exhausted brain took longer to register the sound of someone at her front door, trying to get in. A slither of fear ran over her skin, leaving a clammy chill in its wake. She lay there, half afraid to move, with her heart shuddering at the thought of an intruder.

  She gave Jordan’s shoulder a push. He didn’t respond. Another, much harder shake finally got his attention.

  “What is it?” He rolled over to face her. His fingers rubbed his eyes, and he turned to check the alarm clock on the night table next to her bed. “It’s three in the morning.”

  She leaned closer and hissed, “Someone is trying to break into the apartment.”

  He sat up and listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

  A faint scuffling at the door, and the rattle of the chain lock sounded again.

  “There! Do you hear it?” she whispered and scooted up until she was sitting with the duvet clutched in her hands.

  “Yeah.” Jordan got out of bed and tugged on his jeans. “You stay here.”

  “What?” Her words were a muted squeak. “I’m not staying here by myself.” She slipped on her purple Hello Kitty robe and grabbed hold of his arm. Panic surged through her. She didn’t want to run into danger, but she didn’t want him to get hurt, either. If she were there beside him, it would be two against one.

  She hoped.

  He held his hand up for her to halt. “I told you to stay put. I’m the one with military training.”

  His condescending tone made her hackles rise. “And I’ve got a big-ass rolling pin.”

  She followed him down the hall to the living room. Once there, he snatched the poker by her fireplace. “Stay behind me.”

  “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” She didn’t bother to answer his urgent whisper.

  It only took a few seconds for her to sprint into the kitchen and quickly slip her trusty nineteen-by-two-inch maple dowel from her gear bag. She raced back to the living room, holding it like a baseball bat. “Let’s do this.”

  He nodded. Together they approached the apartment’s door. She watched in horrified fascination as the knob turned and the door was shoved opened as far as the chain lock allowed.

  She shrieked and did a little jig of fear, clutching her rolling pin so hard her knuckles ached. It galled her to have Jordan’s assessment that she was a wimp confirmed. I took out Miranda Franklin with this rolling pin, for goodness’ sakes.

  “Mama!” a familiar voice called from the other side of the door.

  The rolling pin fell to the floor, and she pushed Jordan out of the way. Her hands shook as she slid the security chain from the lock. She opened the door to the sight of her daughter’s pale, tearstained face.

  Jordan let out a sigh of relief and dropped the poker to his side. “Jesus, kid.”

  “Sarah, baby.” Tilly opened her arms, and Sarah flew into her embrace. It had been a long time since she’d been able to hold her child like this. She wasn’t about to waste a moment asking a lot of questions—just yet. The honeysuckle and jasmine scent of Juicy Couture was as precious as diamonds. She ran her hand over her long, red curls.

  Finally, she released Sarah and stepped back. “What on earth are you doin’ here? Where’s Ruby?” She glanced out into the hallway in anticipation of seeing her seventy-four-year-old foster mother. No Ruby.

  “She’s back home.” Sarah pulled in a shaky breath. “Can I sit down, Mama? It was a long trip here. I thought I’d never make it.”

  An awful premonition seized Tilly. Surely Sarah hadn’t made the trip from Tennessee by herself? A thousand prods from the what if demon set off scenarios that could have happened to her child, all alone, on the trip to New York.

  “Sure. Sure.” She led Sarah to the couch, where they sat. “Now tell me what’s goin’ on.”

  “Umm.” Her daughter’s gaze looked everywhere, but not at her. This meant that Sarah knew she was in for a world of hurt—mama style. “Umm…ah.”

  “I don’t hold a lot of truck in words like ‘umm’ and ‘ah.’” Once Tilly had determined Sarah was okay, it was time find out why her daughter had made such a dangerous trip by herself. “Now tell me what’s goin’ on. Why isn’t Ruby with you?”

  Sarah shot her a hot look of anger, and her expression turned mulish.

  Jordan stood by the fireplace and replaced the poker in the stand. “You better answer your mother. She’s been worried sick about you.”

  “Not enough to come home.” Sarah’s perfect nose went in the air with a sniff, and she cast a look of disdain in his direction. Tears ruined the effect.

  Guilt ran like a river of lava through Tilly’s chest. “We talked about this on the phone, sweet pea, but you were so upset. The network is in a mess right now, and they wanted a few extra shows.” She reached for Sarah’s hand. “I know this has been hard, but it’s—well—this been an awful week. One of the chefs at the Culinary Channel died.”

  Sarah wiped at the tears. “Ruby and I heard about it on the news.”

  “Our boss was murdered as well.” Jordan glanced from Sarah to her. “We just found out earlier this evening.

  “Oh, no.” Her daughter’s eyes widened with horror. “Really?”

  Jordan gave her a curt nod of confirmation. “The NYPD has tapped us as consultants, and the Culinary Channel has piled work on top of that.”

  “Why? It’s not like you two are real detectives or anything.” Sarah’s lower lip stuck out.

  The expression on her daughter’s face was familiar and alarming. Fireworks were about to explode if she didn’t negotiate the troubled waters between her daughter and the man she loved.

  Jordan stood in his normal combative stance, arms over his chest, eyes narrowed, and feet planted apart. “Your mother has been stressed about you all week, so cut her some slack.”

  Tilly barged in before Sarah could respond to his command. “I guess they think we can help because we’re chefs, and we did a good job in Kansas City.” She kept her tone light and conversational. Maybe, just maybe we can get through this night without more ruckus.

  Sarah shot Jordan a shocked glare. “You’re going to let her? She almost died the last time.”

  He sat in the red chair, gave Sarah a slow, incredulous shake of his head, and raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever known anyone to let your mother do anything?”

  “Don’t do it, Mama.” Her daughter s
queezed Tilly’s hands until the bones crunched under the pressure of Sarah’s distress.

  “I’ve got to.” Tilly couldn’t hold back a sigh. “I gave my word.”

  “I need you more than any old dead guy does.” Sarah thrust her hand away. “You say yes to everyone but me. I took matters into my own hands this time because you’re too busy playing chef and shacking up with him.” She began to roll her eyes, but that’s where Tilly’s patience ended.

  “Don’t even start with that, young lady.” She stood and paced with her arms wound tight over her chest. “You didn’t answer my questions.”

  Sarah hung her head. “Ruby came home early because she had a fight with Mabel Yoder over at the VFW. It was the Ladies of the Purple Hat Brigade day. She got back around seven. I think she must’ve hit the cash bar more than once, because all she kept sayin’ was Mabel Yoder would get hers one of these days.” Rural Tennessee filtered through the new prep school accent.

  “What was it this time?” It could be any number of things when it came to Mabel Yoder and Ruby. They’d once gone out with the same guy back in the late fifties, and ill will had followed them for the last sixty years. It didn’t matter. Tilly planned to have a long talk with her foster mother. She couldn’t leave Sarah in her care if Ruby couldn’t keep track of her.

  “Pie recipes.”

  “Of course.” Ruby had won the state fair this year with the recipe they’d developed for white chocolate–peppermint cream pie. Mabel, a longtime competitor of Ruby’s, had vowed revenge. “So Ruby was tipsy, upset, and…”

  “She went to bed around eight. I knew she’d be sleepin’ it off until her alarm goes off. I got on the internet. It was easy to access my banking account and get tickets. I managed to find a seat on the milk-run bus and caught a plane in Nashville.”

  “I know how much money you had in your account.” A riot of questions hammered away in Tilly’s brain. First things first. “How did you purchase the ticket for the plane?”

  This time, her daughter’s face turned red enough to match her hair. “I went on the internet and used your credit card.”

  “You what?”

  “Used your credit card.” Sarah let out an aggrieved huff. “It’s not like I don’t know the numbers and PIN.”

  A hard knot of hurt at her daughter’s subterfuge lodged in Tilly’s chest. “That’s only for emergencies.”

  Blue eyes burned into her. “I thought it was an emergency.”

  Jordan looked ready to lay into her daughter. She shook her head for him to keep quiet. It was important to pick her battles. Tilly decided to let the credit card issue ride for a while. “They let you on the plane without any adult supervision?”

  “It’s not like I’m a baby.” Her daughter’s chin rose a bit more. “Yes. They allowed it as long as I had identification.”

  “Your birth certificate and passport are in my deposit box.” Tilly’s patience was at an end, and Sarah knew it, but she refused to say anything.

  “Sarah. Answer your mother.” Jordan’s deep even tones made her daughter’s face flame.

  Sarah lowered her lashes, but not before Tilly caught the spark of defiance. “Everyone thought I was over twenty-one, and I had my fake ID.”

  “Fake ID?” She wanted to yank Sarah over her knee, but it was too late for that. Worry ate Tilly alive. She knew that look and the emotions behind them. It was the same rebelliousness that had gotten her pregnant and tossed out of her parents’ house at fourteen. “Let me see.” She held out her hand.

  Sarah dug into her purse and pulled out her wallet. She passed the bit of plastic to Tilly.

  “I have to admit this driver’s license looks convincing enough to allow for all sorts of mayhem.” The photo did made her child look twenty-one, or older.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t yes, ma’am me. How did you get this?” She slapped it against her palm. Each pop made Sarah wince.

  “I paid one of the geeks in the computer lab at school twenty dollars to make it for me.” Sarah shrank into herself. “All the kids have one.”

  Tilly couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why do you need this?” She held out the phony ID.

  “So I can buy beer and stuff.” Her voice grew softer with each word, and she hung her head.

  The world tilted under Tilly’s feet—her insides clenched as all her fears were realized. The beer was bad enough, but it was the stuff that turned her insides to water. “Are you having sex?”

  “No!” Shock brought Sarah’s head back up with a vengeance, and her pale face grew red with embarrassment. A sob shuddered in her throat, and tears ran down her cheeks. “I wanted you to come home, but you didn’t. So I came here. I had to see you.”

  Jordan jumped into the conversation. “Do you know how dangerous this stunt of yours was?” He wrapped his arm around Tilly’s shoulder. His voice held a mixture of compassion and censure. “You could’ve been hurt—or worse. How did you get in without buzzing?”

  Tilly was thankful for the show of support, but she wasn’t used to anyone dealing with her daughter besides herself. Uncertain what to do or say, she watched the exchange guardedly. Both of them had identical mulish expressions on their faces. Now she knew what it was like to be the rope in a tug-of-war.

  “I did fine.” Sarah sniffed and straightened her spine before tossing her long curls over her shoulder with a flourish. “All I had to do was to wait for someone to go through the front door and follow them. I saw that on television.” The confidence in her voice wavered. “I had a key but didn’t expect to have a chain lock on the door.”

  “It’s New York, sweet pea.” Tilly placed a hand over her unsettled heart. “There’s no tellin’ what could’ve happened to you.” Guilt squeezed Tilly’s lungs until she could barely breathe. Sarah was right; she had to be her first priority. But there had to be a way to make her daughter understand she had an obligation to both the Culinary Channel and the NYPD.

  Tilly decided to change the subject. “I think I’ve come up with a great solution to the junior high dance.”

  Sarah cast her a suspicious look. “I don’t care. I’m not going. Nobody believed me about Chad Carlisle taking me to the dance, and that jerk Mark ruined my life. I can never go back to school.” Sarah turned to her. “Please, Mama, let me come to New York to live with you.”

  Tilly cast a quick glance at Jordan. His set face and quietness made her uneasy. Answering Sarah’s question to everyone’s satisfaction wouldn’t be easy. Sarah belonged back home—not in New York. And yet, it was difficult to ignore her plea.

  “Why don’t we talk about this later this morning?” She smiled and gave Sarah’s hand a pat before she got to her feet. “I’ll pull out the sleeper sofa and get sheets and a blanket. It can still get a bit cool in the evenings.”

  Jordan’s mouth twitched at the mention of Sarah’s sleeping arrangements. Heat stole over her cheeks, their argument still fresh in her mind.

  Sarah remained sitting on the couch. “What about him?” She nodded in his direction.

  “Jordan?”

  “Yes.” Sarah’s attitude skirted on the edge of rudeness. She gave him a smug look. “Where are you sleeping tonight?”

  “Young lady, I swear, you’ve just about lost your chance to go to the dance.” Tilly stood and put her hands on her hips. It was time her daughter learned some home truths.

  “I told you before. I don’t want to go.” She pouted and slouched on the couch, casting angry glances in Jordan’s direction.

  “I love you, but I’m going to call Ruby and tell her to come get you. You know better than to talk to an adult that way. I brought you up better than that.”

  “But Mama!”

  “And I love Jordan, too.” She pointed at him and patted her heart with each word for emphasis. How do I explain to a teenager about the depths of love? All Sarah understood was her own hurt and pain. Children were selfish, it was in their nature, a survival mechanism, but she had t
o understand Jordan’s place in both of their lives. “There’s more than enough of me to go around. Now apologize to him.”

  Jordan got to his feet with resignation on his face. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be out of your hair in less than five minutes.”

  She wanted him to stay, to help her make Sarah see that going back home was the right thing to do. Her daughter might only be fourteen, but she wasn’t stupid—hopefully not as stupid as her mother had been at that age. Deep down she knew it would be hypocritical to ask Jordan to help her out of this sticky situation, but she wasn’t even sure he wanted to get involved. “Okay. I guess it’s for the best.”

  “No problem.” His dark eyes were filled with a combination of worry and understanding that he would be in the way. He stood and headed toward the bedroom. “I’m out of here.”

  Sarah’s face took on a mulish expression. “Good. I’m glad he’s going. We don’t need him here. He’s no better than my dad or John. I’ll bet he’s after—I don’t know—something.” For a moment the child returned. Her voice cracked with emotion, and she placed her hand over her heart. “I need you—not him. Everything is about this job or Jordan. What about me? Don’t I count anymore?” The superior, snooty tone returned. She glared in the direction of Tilly’s bedroom. “Mark and everyone at school said I should’ve put out because I was just like you. Now I know they were telling the truth—you’re actually fucking him.”

  Tilly did the one thing she’d never done before. She slapped Sarah and cried inwardly at her child’s stunned expression.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jordan leaned on Hank’s doorbell. It was too early for a visit, but he hadn’t been able to sleep once he got back to his apartment. He’d picked up his things and hustled out of Tilly’s place, leaving behind a scene that would win a Tony award. He hadn’t stayed long enough to find out what caused the horrific caterwauling. Tilly had told him to go—he went. A part of his conscience told him it might have been better to stay. He pushed it away and jabbed the doorbell again.