“I told you he was here.” Hank raised his beer, grinning at her before taking a long guzzle. He set his glass on the table with a satisfied sigh. “This matchmaking gig is thirsty work.”
She laughed. This was the second time this evening that Hank had managed to bring her out of her funk. He’d be a great catch for some lucky woman. Too bad her heart was set on a cranky chef with a great body and a sizzling touch. She picked up her menu, realizing she’d forgotten her glasses again. Before she had time to ponder her dilemma, Steve appeared with a folding stand and a large tray. He sat the tray on the stand and lifted a plate laden with food.
“Management understands you usually are without your reading glasses, so has taken the liberty of ordering for you.” He placed a dish of vegetable lasagna in front of her. It was her favorite dish in Jordan’s restaurant. A small Caesar salad and slender metal container filled with tall, crispy bread sticks followed. A shepherd’s pie was Hank’s meal. Both smelled divine, with basil and thyme mingling into a perfume that invited them to dig in. “Again, compliments of the house.”
Hank chuckled and lost no time sinking his fork through the mashed potato crust to the beefy goodness below. “Got to give it to Jordan. This should be an interesting evening.”
She took a bite of her lasagna and rolled her eyes heavenward. She was right—it was divine. Too bad her appetite was nonexistent after her trip to Rikers. “Why won’t he join us?”
“You know Jordan. He has to make a point.”
She shrugged and took another bite—even if she didn’t want it. “It’s silly. Childish.”
“Choose your battles. This is one that’s not worth the fight. Save your energy.” He drank another sip of beer and made a circular motion with his fork. “Just be glad this is on the house and not out of your pocket. I’m not a cheap date.”
A young waiter in a long white apron dashed over and scraped the table for crumbs. His smile lit up his face. “Have a good evening.”
“Thank you.” She laid her fork on top of her plate and sat back. “I went to see Lena today. I can’t put my finger on it, but something isn’t right.”
“Don’t tell me—your mojo is acting up.”
“Yes.” She went into detail about her conversation with Lena. “I asked her if she’d told the police about their conversation when they questioned her. She hadn’t.”
“It’s interesting, but I don’t think it will change anyone’s mind about Lena’s guilt.”
She toyed with her salad and tried to explain what bothered her. “The blood spatter evidence isn’t right. I don’t care what Detective Crespo thought.”
“I agree. It’s a little hinky.” He frowned and threw his napkin on the table. “Crespo’s theory was that Lena showered and changed clothes at Hirschberg’s apartment after she bashed in his brains. The bathroom was scrubbed clean with bleach.”
“You didn’t mention that when we were at your office.” She frowned and stabbed at her lasagna but didn’t bother taking a bite. Her stomach did a slow, nasty roll. “So the prosecutor’s office thinks she cleaned up, changed clothes, and set the scene to look like she just got there.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
Their conversation was interrupted once again by the crumb guy. He glanced from one to the other, and then proceeded to give the table another going-over. It would’ve been great service, except neither she nor Hank had eaten any bread sticks. He nodded and jogged away.
“David had a lot of enemies,” she continued. “It could be anyone.”
Hank shook his head while he finished up a bite of his shepherd’s pie. “This was a person filled with a lot of anger.”
“We keep running around in circles.” She racked her brain trying to think of anyone who held such hatred for David. Lena was the obvious choice, but Tilly had learned from past experience that things weren’t always as they seemed. No one else came to mind, yet she couldn’t get rid of a niggling at the back of her brain. There was a clue, a hint to the killer’s identity in some foggy portion of her mind. But her issues with Jordan filled every waking minute. The pieces of the puzzle were there but refused to come into focus.
“What’s wrong?”
She smiled and took a bite to give herself time to come up with response that made sense—even to her. The words were hard to say, but she had to be honest with Hank. “As Ruby would say, I really screwed the pooch this time. What if Jordan won’t have anything to do with me?”
“You put him through a meat grinder.” Hank didn’t bother to sugarcoat his words. “You took a good cut of steak and turned it into hamburger. It could take some time.”
“I know. I know.” She sighed and pushed her plate away. “I think he hates me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go—” Hank’s words were cut short by crumb guy. He and his gizmo were at it again. Hank glanced up at the waiter. “You’ve put a lot of energy into scraping a perfectly clean table.” This time Hank picked up two long bread sticks from the container and broke them into tiny bits. His eyes bored into the young man’s. “Let me give you some actual work. And tell Chef Kelly he’s welcome to join us.”
Fine beads of sweat popped out on crumb guy’s upper lip. He stammered an apology and frantically worked the scraper before hightailing it back to the kitchen.
“Jordan probably sent him over on a recon mission.” A half smile touched the corner of Hank’s mouth. His eyes were glued on the fast-retreating crumb guy. “Poor kid. I’m going to have to give him a big tip. Do you think I ought to have the health department come down on Jordan? He is harassing an officer of the law.”
“No.” Tilly found it hard to hold back a laugh. “That’s an abuse of power.”
“You take the fun out of life.” He heaved a mock sigh. “I guess that leaves me with one last trick to get the joker over here.”
“What’s that?”
Before she knew what was happening, Hank reached over, picked up her hand, and kissed it. His warm mouth brushed over her knuckles in a slow, leisurely salute. She put her other hand over her heart to stop the unexpected flutters. Hank might not be Jordan, but it was hard not to respond to his romantic gesture.
He glanced up at her and winked.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Son of a bitch!” Jordan growled under his breath and made a beeline to Tilly’s table. Hank’s lingering kiss on her hand made all of Jordan’s promises fly out the window. He witnessed the flush on her cheeks. She was turned on by his friend’s—make that ex-friend’s—smooth moves. He could tell the instant her hand went to her heart.
It was time to end this charade.
Germaine trotted past him. “Sorry, boss.”
The kid had taken the brunt of the Hank Tapper treatment. He was lucky he came away only slightly singed. Jordan had seen bigger men quelled by Hank’s cop stare.
Hot knives of jealousy stabbed at his sanity. He didn’t care if it were the Archangel Gabriel kissing Tilly’s hand—there’d be one angel with a lot of feathers missing and a trumpet stuck up his ass.
Hank had a death wish.
Jordan stopped at the table and glared down at them. “Am I interrupting?”
Tilly jerked her hand away. “What do you think?” She bit her lower lip—a sure sign of guilt, or worry. He opted for guilt.
She looked great from a distance, but up close and personal, she made his mouth water. The diamond pendant he’d given her for Christmas lay in the lush valley of her breasts. It twinkled with a dare to touch. His first instinct was to haul her back to his office and bend her over his desk, taking her until she screamed out his name. On second thought, it would be better to kiss her until she begged him to take her to his office for a mind-blowing quickie.
“Is there a problem with the service?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The food must be bad if Hank has to resort to eating your hand.”
Hank released her hand and settled back in his chair. “None whatsoever, except your waiter is o
verenthusiastic with the crumb scraper.” He pointed to his empty dish. “Great chow.”
“Chow!” Jordan ground out.
A dainty snort followed by a giggle came from Tilly’s side of the table. Her chin went up. Her soft red curls bounced around her face.
His insides twisted into a knot of anger and frustration. “So what brings you here?” He glowered at his friend. “Don’t you usually go to that burger joint down the street from your apartment?”
“We’re discussin’ the case,” Tilly chimed in. “I invited him here because it’s quieter than my place.”
“It looks like more than talking.” He turned to the table across from them and put his hand on the back of an empty chair. The group of older women recognized from the way they stared at him in stunned silence. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”
“It’s Chef Kelly,” one of them squealed. “Oh, Joanie. The girls back home won’t believe this.” She patted her ample bosom, gazing up at him with wide eyes. “Can I get an autograph? Maggie won’t believe this.” She scooted around in her chair. “Maybe a selfie?” She dug in her purse until she brought out a small notebook. Her friends begged her for paper.
“I’d love to.” Even after the last few years in the public eye, he still found his lack of privacy unsettling. He glanced over his shoulder at Tilly and mouthed, don’t move.
She smiled up at him and tapped her table with her middle finger.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle her. The little minx had flipped him off.
It took him a couple of minutes to finish signing the scraps of paper and take photographs. Once done, he took the chair and swung it around to jockey in position at a table meant for two. “Now, we were discussing the case.”
“Hank and I were goin’ over a few things.” Tilly ran her finger, index this time, around the rim of her soda glass. “If you recall, I tried to talk to you earlier this afternoon. I distinctly remember a text tellin’ me to contact Hank instead.”
She had him dead to rights there. He’d pushed her into his best friend’s company.
He frowned at her. “You made it clear you didn’t want to be contacted except in a professional capacity.”
“We’re still investigatin’ the case together, or so I thought.”
“Okay. You’re right. That’s what I told you in Gretchen’s office.”
“Have you changed your mind?”
“No.” He scooted his chair forward until his knee touched her thigh.
She jerked away.
He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “I think you’re using Hank to make me jealous.” His gaze drifted to her cleavage that showed above the neckline of her dress. The diamond gave him a playful wink. He reached over to tug the top of her dress back over her shoulder.
The action earned him a slap on the hand.
“Ouch!”
She adjusted the fabric back to where she originally had it. “I don’t have any control over what you think.” She stood and snatched up her shawl, along with her purse. “And if I want to strut my stuff naked as a jaybird, I’ll do it.”
The angle of her chin and fire glinting in her eyes made him backpedal. He’d been a fool to think he could change. Intellectually, he was all for it, but the caveman jumping up and down in his lizard brain went along with Hank’s bag-’em-and-tag-’em suggestion. “Matilda—”
“Don’t you Matilda me, you—you—horse’s ass,” she gritted out between clenched teeth. “Hank can fill you in on anything you missed.”
She turned to leave but didn’t get far. The group at the table where he’d liberated the chair saw her.
They swarmed.
The southern charm came out in force. She patiently signed autographs and took a picture with each of the ladies. The look she shot him in-between photographs said to back off.
No way, Matilda. I thought I could let you go, but I can’t. I’ll have to find a work-around.
The ladies filed out the door, looking at their prizes and chattering like a flock of birds. Tilly joined them, much to the delight of the women.
He went outside to intercept her. She stood at the curb, hailing a cab. Before he could get to her, one pulled up like magic, and she slid into the passenger seat.
At least she isn’t standing around by herself. She’s so hot in that dress. Someone might mistake her for…
He imagined making love to her in the back of the cab. He’d slide the fabric of her little black dress down to expose her white breasts with their coral tips. The taste of her would drive him insane as he feasted on her nipples and skated his fingers over the slope of her thighs to her damp curls between her legs. The fantasy withered and died as he envisioned other people with the same idea. No telling what’s on the seat.
The night air cooled his heated thoughts. She should be beside him, instead of driving away in a cab with a skanky backseat.
He went back inside to find Hank finishing up his beer. Jordan slumped into Tilly’s vacant chair. “I think there must be some truth in the saying about leopards not being able to change their spots.” He rubbed his forehead and winced when his hand brushed against his still tender stitches. “You better arrest me now. I’ll probably end up as a stalker.”
“Don’t overthink things. You’re doing fine. Just give her a little space.”
“What happened to the caveman approach?”
Hank rolled the empty beer bottle between his hands. “You’re on the winning end of the deal, whether you believe it or not.”
“I don’t think she’ll ever come around.” Resignation battled with the need to go after her. “This is killing me.”
“Don’t spook her.”
“She’s driving me nuts. One minute I think I risk letting her go, and the next I’m a raving lunatic.” The hot cinder of jealousy died. “I even thought you were making a move on her.”
“I wanted to get you to come over to the table. It worked, didn’t it?” Hank set the bottle down. “We really were talking about the murders. She went to see Lena at Rikers this morning.”
“What?” Jordan couldn’t believe she would do something like this without telling him. They were a team. They were…on the outs. A burn of hurt swelled in his chest. “Why?”
His friend shook his head. “Who knows what goes on inside her head?” He leaned back with a sigh. “That mojo meter of hers was clicking away, and she needed a sounding board. That’s why she called me.”
“And I blew her off.”
“Yeah, well, there is that.” Hank gave him a half grin. “She said she couldn’t put her finger on what was bothering her, but the vibes were bad. You know her thoughts on Lena.” He began scraping the damp label on the bottle with his thumbnail. It was Hank’s way of buying time. He always did that when he had something on his mind.
“Yeah.” Jordan remembered how hard she’d fought to clear Olivia Vargas’s name when everyone thought she’d killed Maxwell Etheridge. And Tilly had been right.
“She wants you back.”
Hank’s abrupt change in topic threw Jordan for a loop.
He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “She said that?” Jordan rose. “She went home. I’m going to talk to her.”
“No, you’re not.” Hank motioned for him to sit. “You pull some crazy-assed stunt like that, and you’re done.”
“I know. I know.” Jordan sank back into his chair in defeat. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“Should I be afraid?”
“You know how I feel about children.”
“They should be kept in zoos?”
“I can’t have Tilly without Sarah. Being a parent was never in my plans, but that smart-mouthed kid has kind of grown on me.” He sighed with amusement. “Hell, I’ll even sign up for the barnyard full of chickens and assorted animals Tilly has running wild at her farm. It’ll only be for a few months out of the year, but I’m taking every opportunity I can to hide from Ruby.”
“Good luck with
that.” Hank leaned forward, his face serious. “There’s just one other thing. I don’t know how to tell you this.”
Jordan’s heart dropped. “What? What is it?”
“Man, you’ve got to stop farting in bed.”
…
Tilly stood in the pouring rain, under a huge black umbrella supplied by the funeral home. Every so often, she’d have to fight with it when a gust of wind threatened to snatch it out of her hand. The gloom of the day was appropriate for David’s funeral. She wondered if Greg Hirschberg had put in an order for the miserable monsoon.
She hadn’t planned to attend the interment, but Greg Hirschberg had asked it as a favor.
Katherine Hirschberg sat, pale and without her normal carefully made-up face. She’d aged ten years, and rumors had been flying around the network that she’d started augmenting her sleeping pills with a touch of bourbon.
It broke Tilly’s heart to watch her sit under the canopy of the makeshift pavilion, hollow eyed and clutching her delicate white handkerchief to her heart.
Gretchen wrangled everyone like a pro. Even while sobbing quietly into a tissue, her dark eyes surveyed the crowd, making sure her parents were taken care of and the mourners greeted.
The pallbearers set the casket on the stand and stepped back. Tom Green, Jordan, and four family members Tilly didn’t know went over to the Hirschbergs to offer their condolences. Jordan leaned down to whisper into Katherine’s ear. He took her hands in his. Whatever he said earned him a trembling smile. Satan’s Chef had worked a miracle.
He jogged over to Tilly and ducked under her umbrella. “Here, let me have this black monstrosity.” He took it from her and adjusted the thing until it gave them adequate shelter. “It will take off with the slightest breeze,” he said in a hushed tone. “I don’t want to have to chase after you like a runaway balloon.”
“Thank you. A couple of times I wondered if I was goin’ to end up in the next county.”
“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable last night—you know—the dress thing.” His eyes were focused straight ahead at the funeral proceedings, not at her. “I keep forgetting we’re on a professional basis only.”
Murder Love on the Menu Page 24