He caressed her cheeks with his thumbs, rubbing away the tears. "That's true, but I still want to know when my wife gets a death threat. It's different from not telling me about running into the trash can in the garage again."
Last year when he went to the Atlanta conference she had pulled her car too far forward and cracked the plastic garbage bin like an egg. There had been no reason to tell him about the incident when all she needed to do was buy a new can before he returned. No harm, to her car at least, so no reason to fess up to the minor destruction. The cover-up would've worked if she hadn't bought the wrong color. How was she supposed to know he noticed things like the color of their trash bins?
"It could just be a stupid way to keep me from competing in the pie contest. Somebody who really wants to win the pie contest thought they had taken care of their biggest rival by killing Mandy Jo. Then they went to the meeting and realized I was also competing in the contest. Tossing a note in my car was simpler than committing double homicide." She poured herself the fifth mug of coffee for the morning. "I took a lot of precautions. I triple-checked to make sure the security system was armed. Pogo slept in bed with me so he would let me know if anything moved within 100 feet of the house. The police said they would swing through the neighborhood a few extra times last night. I even kept my big can of hair spray on the nightstand. That stuff feels like pepper spray if it gets in your eyes."
He raised his eyebrows. "Mandy Jo is dead. So saying that you'll end up like her is a death threat, most likely written by someone who has already committed a murder. Or at least that's how I take it. Seems like a pretty stupid way to discourage you from entering a contest. I'm glad you did all of those things to stay safe last night, but please don't downplay the severity of the threat."
"I can't help it. Convincing myself that the killer just wants to scare me, to avoid the inconvenience of committing another murder, is about the only way I'll ever be able to get any sleep until the police arrest somebody."
* * *
The thump of the kitchen door woke Amy. She stretched her legs out, trying to chase away the sensation of spiders crawling on her feet. She had fallen asleep, curled into a ball in the corner of the couch. Half of her body was numb, and the other half was all prickly. Payback for pretending to be a contortionist in her sleep.
On her lap Pogo groaned. The poor pup looked as frazzled as she felt. He'd had a rough week, too. First he ate her pie and ended up with a St. Bernard-sized tummy ache. Then she freaked out about the murder and murderous note. Nights became a continuous cycle of tossing and turning in bed, getting up to stare out the windows while pacing a circuit through every room in the house. The poor doggy had taken to hiding in her walk-in closet instead of sleeping in his pint-sized four-poster bed in the corner of the bedroom. Now that Alex was home and keeping her in bed, using his patented spooning immobilization technique, she was back on better terms with her pup. Pogo actually did a little happy dance when she settled onto the couch and invited him onto her lap for a snuggly nap.
Now Alex had arrived with the gourmet take-out dinner he had promised to pick up on his way home after his first day back at work. The back door in the kitchen slammed. Pogo launched off the couch. His yippy barks echoed throughout the house, accompanied with the scritch of his nails on the hardwood floor.
"Amy? Dinner's here."
She tilted her head to the side and was rewarded with a gravely crunch from her neck joints. When she walked into the kitchen Alex already had an array of foil baking pans arranged on the breakfast nook table. Half a dozen cabinet doors were open. It wasn't like she rearranged the kitchen every other week, but he never seemed to be able to find anything. The white china plates clattered as he pulled a couple of them off of the stack.
"Sit down. I've got this," he said as he set the plates on the table and pulled a rattling bouquet of silverware out of his pants pocket.
"Smells wonderful." Amy popped the plastic lid off one of the containers. The aroma of tomatoes and cheese intensified. "I've found the lasagne. What other goodies did you get?"
Alex scooted onto the bench next to her. "There is beef lo mein, ham and green chile quiche, the three cheese lasagne, and a carne asada burrito casserole. I wasn't sure what you would want, so I got a bit of everything. It's from Columbo's, so it should all be good."
"It always is from there."
Columbo's was a gourmet market that Amy loved to shop at. Not only did they carry exotic ingredients from around the world that appealed to her, the deli was full of foods prepared by a team of chefs. The store was always packed in the evening with people carting home the delicacies for dinner. It was a mecca for cooking-averse people, like Carla. Her friend went there so often she confessed to knowing most of the workers on a first name basis. Carla could cook, but she didn't like to. She always said she had better things to do than chopping vegetables and boiling pasta, like going to the gym to burn off the calories from gourmet pre-packaged foods.
The tinkle of beer bottles rattling into each other brought Amy's attention back to the meal. Alex was pulling the alcoholic portion of the meal out of a cooler bag. He produced a mixed six-pack of beer and plunked what looked like a big juice box in front of her. "White peach sangria for you, my dear."
Wine from a box. Not her preferred way to imbibe, but any port in a storm. She could get a wine glass, but that was just too much work. She unscrewed the plastic cap, stuck in the straw Alex offered, and took a sip. Cold and fruity, surprisingly good. "Did you get any more of these?"
Alex grinned as he arranged boxes of red berry sangria, blackberry merlot, and strawberry moscato on the table. "The clerk in the wine area said they were really good, so I got one of each flavor."
"You're a good man, Alex Ridley," Amy said as she leaned over and kissed him. "You know me so well."
He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "I'm worried about you. Finding Mandy Jo was bad enough. I can't believe someone is threatening you now. For the life of me I can't think of what you and Mandy Jo have in common."
She had toasted an army of brain cells in the wee hours of the day trying to figure out the same thing. She and Mandy Jo were as far from being friends as cheap chocolate Easter bunnies were from fine truffles. "Other than competing in the Summer Festival cooking contests, I can't think of anything we have in common."
"You used to work together, and you both dated me."
"Two dates don't count as dating her. That wasn't even enough time to get a taste of her crazy cookie, was it?"
"Taste her crazy cookie? That sounds dirty. You know I didn't sleep with her." He nibbled on her ear lobe. "But I would be happy to sample your cookie tonight."
"I mean, taking her out for dinner once or twice wasn't enough to reveal her true nature to you back then." Amy spooned a mountain of lo mein onto her plate and tried to ignore the Alex-produced tingle that was exploding like fireworks all over her body. "After you and I were married she got as mean as a hungry raccoon that's spent a night digging through trash bins filled with shredded paper, but even before then she was prickly. Thank goodness you were smart enough not to do the horizontal mambo with her."
"Mmm, horizontal mambo…I think you need to demonstrate that for me."
His hand slipped up the back of her T-shirt and slid over her skin as he searched for her bra clasp which was, inconveniently for him, located in the front. A ferocious growl rumbled from her stomach. His hand stilled and then exited from her shirt. He pulled away and said, "I'm sorry. I was just trying to get your mind off of everything that is happening, but obviously you need some food. When did you eat last?"
Amy frowned. Good question. Figuring out the answer transported her back to 5th grade math with Mrs. Burrell lobbing story problems at dazed pupils like numeral-filled grenades. "I had a couple slices of banana bread and a latte late this morning. I was working on a new recipe for a magazine contest, so I nibbled on more bananas through the afternoon. That was enough calories for
me to make it through until now."
"Maybe if you were a mouse." He plopped a square of lasagne on her plate. Warm ricotta flecked with herbs oozed out from between the layers of pasta. "Since you are my gorgeous, human wife that means you need to eat. Running on fumes isn't going to do any good. You need to stay on your toes with a psycho roaming around."
He was right. The killer had to be a lunatic to connect her with a vindictive walking temper tantrum. They weren't adjacent points in a dot to dot puzzle, so how could the person go from knocking off Mandy Jo to threatening her with the same fate? "I am being careful, watching the people around me when I'm in town, triple-checking that I turned on the alarm system. I even bought one of those little bottles of pepper spray while I was out running errands this morning. It's more portable than my industrial-sized hair spray bottle." She sniffed. "If anybody messes with me they're going to get a habanero pepper facial."
"I'm glad you are being so vigilant." He grabbed her free hand as she shoveled a forkful of tomato sauce covered noodles into her mouth with the other. "I think we need to take more precautions, though. I'm sure your mom would love to have you visit for a while."
"Oh, hell no!" The mellow mood from being fed and fondled evaporated. "For one thing, I can't leave because I am part of an active homicide investigation. And two, the only thing staying with my mother will do is piss me off. I can't handle her, and you know that."
Her alcoholic mother had moved to south Florida 10 years earlier, after becoming a widow courtesy of her father losing his battle with liver cirrhosis. She lived in a trailer house in a retirement community. The paneled living room walls were covered with clocks, all set to different times. The names of cities around the world were written on masking tape stuck to the face of each one. During their last visit her mother had explained that she liked to see what time it was in other parts of the world. The following day the chronological obsession showed its true colors as her mother made a Moscow Mule cocktail, complete with the copper mug, at 8 a.m. to toast happy hour in Moscow.
"I'm sorry. I know you don't get along with your mother, but I figured you would be safe there."
"I'm being very careful. I'll be safe here." She leaned sideways and rested her head on his shoulder. "That nice detective said he has been in the homicide division for 10 years. I'm sure he'll figure out who the murderer is. Besides, the note didn't specifically say the person wanted to kill me. It said I would end up like Mandy Jo."
"She ended up dead, sweetheart. How else can you possibly take that statement?"
Great. Everyone was turning into brainiacs and making her feel stupid. First Carla pulled out her medical trouble-shooting skills and figured out Pogo ate the missing pie. Now Alex was flaunting his deductive skills to squish her attempt at rationalizing she wasn't the target of a killer. Just because her family could only afford to send her to cosmetology school instead of a university didn't mean she was dumb. She had made the honor roll almost every semester in high school. "You know, I had to learn things like anatomy and hair color chemistry in beauty school. It wasn't a cake walk. "
"I…" He held up his index finger and took a long drink from his beer bottle. "You are an awesome hair stylist, and I know you worked very hard in school to get to that point. I'm sorry, but what does that have to do with the note?"
"I was just trying to intelligently point out that there could be different interpretations of the note. I'm just not sure what any of those would be at the moment." She drummed her fingers on the oak tabletop. "Maybe the person who wrote the note meant I would end up mean and ornery, not dead."
One of Alex's signature, high-wattage, heart-stopping, movie star-quality smiles spread across his face. "You are the most optimistic person I know. One of the many reasons I love you." He kissed the back of the hand he was still clutching. "One of the other reasons is that you have a wonderful sense of style. Do you think you could help me order some flowers to send to Mandy Jo's funeral? Choosing anything other than a dozen red roses for you boggles my mind."
"I already ordered an arrangement from us. It will be delivered to the funeral home tomorrow."
"That's great, but I also wanted to send one from my company."
"Why?"
"Quantum redesigned all of the logos and signage for Kevin's accounting firm a couple months ago."
"I didn't know that. You never told me."
Kevin, Mandy Jo's hen-pecked husband, owned Pierce Accounting. Amy remembered admiring the firm's new logo when it changed, but had no idea her husband was behind the design. Alex didn't tell her about his work often, but not letting her know he was working with the hubby of her biggest enemy must have been omitted on purpose. Nope. She wasn't married to a dummy, and he knew that information would upset her. "Mandy Jo had only been married to Kevin for a few months when I noticed the logo had changed. Let me guess, his new wife recommended your company to him."
Alex shifted in his seat. "I think Kevin did say that. I assumed she liked the work I did for the salon."
"Was she involved in all of the meetings? Did she help supervise the installation of the sign on the building? How about suggest that it should be a little higher on the wall and you should meet her in the supply closet?"
He held his arms up in surrender. "It wasn't anything as explicit as that. Yes, she was at all of the planning meetings. I guess she did flirt with me a bit when Kevin wasn't around, but it wasn't a big deal. I just ignored it like I always do."
"Like you always do? So is it common for women at your accounts to flirt with you during meetings and installations?"
He swiped his hand over his face. Then he took another long swig of beer. Amy stared at him. If all of the turmoil inside her turned to energy, there would be lasers shooting out of her eye sockets, and he would've lost at least an ear by that point. She knew she was married to a man that looked like he belonged in the pages of a men's exercise magazine. How had it never occurred to her that women would flirt with him behind her back? Alex knocked the realization out of the ballpark when he said, "You flirted with me while I was working at Elegance Salon."
"But you weren't married then."
"You're right. That's why I flirted back." He plucked another bottle of beer out of the
six-pack and twisted off the cap. "I swear, I have never flirted back since you and I got married. You have my heart and always will. Okay?"
Amy studied the thin, gold wedding band on his finger as he raised the bottle. Since she couldn't make him wear a sandwich board proclaiming that he was married, a wider band would make his marital status a little more apparent to the drooling, love-starved women he apparently had to deal with on a regular basis. She slid closer to him and traced a line with her index finger up his thigh, stopping below his belt buckle. "I believe you, but I think it would help if you demonstrated exactly how much you love me."
He slid his hand around her hips and pulled her onto his lap. "I would be happy to," he mumbled as he leaned forward and nibbled on the side of her neck.
CHAPTER FIVE
Carla chose a light gray eyeliner pencil from the overflowing makeup case. She was just going to Amy's house and then coming right back home, but that wasn't a reason to not look presentable. The long night at work had erased the liner she applied before her shift. Like it or not, her crime solving ex-lover was heading a police investigation that involved her best friend. The very real threat that she could cross his path at any moment made her want to stay in bed continuously, hidden in the fabric softener-scented sheet cocoon. Amy sounded odd when she called, inviting her to come over for a mid-morning snack. Something was wrong. Considering the stress Amy was under after finding a body then receiving an ominous threat herself, the least Carla could do was put on makeup and brave the possibility of bumping into Bruce.
Half an hour later she pulled into the driveway of the tidy gray house. The sweet scent of bananas drifted past her as she approached the side door. One of the kitchen windows was open, and the smel
l of Amy's baked goods was surely making half the neighborhood hungry. A series of beeps emanated from the other side of the door before she could even knock or ring the doorbell. The door swung open, and the invisible banana-perfumed cloud engulfed her.
"Come in. I just pulled a loaf of bread out of the oven." Amy moved aside then slammed the door shut seconds after Carla crossed the threshold. She punched in the security code again while she waved her other hand to shoo Carla toward the breakfast nook. "Have a seat. I have tons of stuff to tell you."
Amy was the kind of person who liked to talk things out. She discussed exotic ingredients she had discovered at Columbo's with the precision of a research scientist. Fellow customers in line at a coffee shop were asked their opinion on fruit combinations for muffins. Alex said she even wandered around the kitchen talking to herself when she was working on a new recipe. The table was set with plates, a crock of soft butter, gigantic coffee mugs adorned with cheerful sunflowers, and the insulated carafe of fresh coffee. In the middle of the arrangement was a steaming loaf of caramel brown banana bread. Amy was set up and ready to roll on a long conversation.
Carla slid behind the table, taking her favorite spot with her back against the window that faced the road. From her position she could look out the other window in the nook that protruded from the side of the house. Despite the relentless summer heat, the backyard garden was in full, riotous bloom. It was a much more beautiful view than the one out her own kitchen window, which overlooked a wholesale construction equipment business. One of the not-so-nice features of living in the loft. Instead of a yard she got a tiny balcony overlooking shipping docks and a parking lot, but at least she didn't have to mow a lawn after working a long, stressful shift at the hospital.
"Can you believe Mandy Jo hired Quantum to make over her husband's business logo just so she could flirt with Alex?"
Pies & Peril Page 5