Murder Al Dente: A Southern Pasta Shop Mystery (Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries Book 1)

by Jennifer L. Hart

  "How long?" Donna pushed.

  I blew out a sigh. "Too long." "Right. For the record, I knew this whole use him and lose him plan wasn't going to work."

  "You were right." Music to any woman's ears. "So, what do I do now, oh wise one?"

  "I told you—"

  "I'm vetoing the sex in Lizzy's bed scheme. We're not teenagers, for the love of grief."

  "Have it your way."

  I turned onto Grove Street. "Listen, I just got home. Are we going out tomorrow to look at potential houses?"

  "That doesn't sound quiet so appealing when I know you aren't in the market."

  "Commission-whore," I teased.

  "And proud of it. Mama needs a new pair of shoes. Night."

  I put the Town Car in park and disconnected the call. The lights were on in Pop's bedroom. It was barely eight o'clock, weird that he would be in bed already, especially since Aunt Cecily had been there. Maybe Aunt Cecily got a lift back to the pasta shop?

  Wait, that wasn't the steady thrum of a lamp, more like the flicker of firelight. Oh cripes, had something caught fire?

  I bolted up the steps, tripping over Roofus in my haste and sprawling onto the floor in an undignified heap. The dog cast me a sardonic glower, then resumed his nap. I pushed myself to my feet and checked the living room. All the curtains were drawn. "Pops? Aunt Cecily?"

  "Andy?" Pops voice sounded strained. Oh no, it was coming from his bedroom. Maybe he'd fallen.

  "Are you hurt?" I shouted. My heart raced as a million scenarios played out in about half a second. Where was my phone? Should I call 911 now or wait to see what had happened.

  "I'm all right." He didn't sound it. I heard the stress in his voice. Proud old goat didn't want to worry me.

  I scurried down the hallway, threw open the door to his bedroom, and froze.

  A dozen candles lit the room, which accounted for the flickering. The cheery little lights danced at the force of the door hitting the back wall and then steadied themselves. Definitely scented candles, honeysuckle by the smell of it. Sinatra crooned from Pops' ancient record player. There was plenty of light to see by, more than I really wanted at that particular moment.

  Pops and Aunt Cecily were in bed together. Naked, or at least I assumed they were beneath the hastily tugged-up sheet. It took me a minute to wrap my head around that fact because imagining them naked was bad enough. Add the mood lighting and the music, and I was assaulted by a very clear picture of what had been going on before I crashed the party. Pop's face mirrored my shock, but Aunt Cecily offered her trademarked glower.

  "Don't just stand there girl, shut the door."

  "Sorry," I managed to choke out. "I'm going to bed."

  "Andy girl," Pops looked like he was about to get out of bed, which was the last thing I wanted to see.

  "It's okay, Pops. I'm just glad you're all right. Really, I'm good."

  "Then go," Aunt Cecily ordered, obviously impatient to get back to business.

  I went.

  Chunky Tomato Mushroom Sauce

  What you'll need:

  3 tablespoons extra-virgin garlic-infused olive oil

  2 medium yellow or white onions, diced

  1 teaspoon sea salt

  1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

  3 cloves garlic, minced

  8 ounces baby bella mushrooms, sliced

  1/3 cup dry red wine

  3/4 cup chopped fresh herbs (such as parsley and oregano)

  1 28-ounce can crushed tomatoes

  1 cup thinly sliced basil leaves

  1/2 cup freshly grated Romano or Parmesan (for topping)

  You can add 1 T of dark chocolate chips to reduce acid in tomatoes. Makes it very mellow instead of acidic. Just melt it right in there.

  Heat the oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the onions, 1/2 teaspoon of the salt, and 1/4 teaspoon of the pepper and cook, covered, until the onions are softened, about 8 minutes. Add the garlic and mushrooms and cook, covered, for 6 minutes more. Add the wine and cook, uncovered, for 3 minutes. Stir in the chopped herbs, and remaining salt and pepper, and cook for 4 minutes. Add tomatoes and heat through. Stir in basil. Serve over your favorite hot pasta.

  **Andy's note: I'm not a huge fan of fungus, but this recipe is one of Pop's favorites, so I just cut the mushrooms large and pick them out. The things we endure for family.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "It's not that funny!" I insisted.

  Donna was slumped against the steering wheel of her car, wheezing with laughter. Tears streamed down her face, smudging her mascara. She didn't seem to care because she was so caught up in her hysterical cackling.

  I leaned back against the headrest and fought a smile of my own. Okay, maybe it was a little funny.

  There was some snuffling, and she reached for her purse, extracting a battered looking tissue to fix her face. "Tell me again what she said."

  "You're getting way too much entertainment out of this," I grumped.

  "Humor me."

  "Don't just stand there girl—shut the door." I mimicked Aunt Cecily's accent, which had been thicker post Coitus interruptus.

  Another burst of laughter, and she nearly put her eye out with the tissue.

  Okay, so it was funny, at least it would have been if it had been somebody else's elderly relatives catting around. But this was my family tree that was winding in on itself.

  "I think it's sweet." Donna made an effort to collect herself again. "Nice that they've turned to each other that way. And at their ages it's miraculous that they both can…you know."

  "It is. But at the same time it's weird, and not just for me. Pops looked as though he'd been batter-dipped and deep fried in guilt this morning." Awkward didn't begin to cover our stilted breakfast.

  "Well, of course he feels guilty. That's his wife's sister he was shtupping."

  I made a face. "Don't say shtupping, okay?"

  "Plowing?" Donna suggested. "Bumping uglies?"

  "You think you're funny, but you're not."

  "I'll have you know I'm a laugh riot." Donna finally started the car.

  "Okay, forget the semantics. What should I do to let them know that even though I'm skeeved out, I'm kinda sorta okay with this?"

  "Get him to hang a sock on the door next time?" Donna was really on a roll as she pulled into Peterson's parking lot.

  I held out my hand. "Just for that, you're buying the coffee."

  "Black, two sugars." Donna forked over a five. "Oh, and on the plus side? At least your grandfather and Cecily don't have to worry about birth control."

  I rolled my eyes and went in to get the coffee.

  Peterson's Grocery was the closest thing Beaverton had to a Starbucks. If you wanted a double whipped, half-caff, heavy on the foam you were SOL, but the mountain blend in the coffee maker was decent and best of all, inexpensive. I was so wrapped up in fixing two to-go coffee cups that I didn't notice the person next to me until she spoke. "How are you, Ms. Buckland?"

  "Mrs. Tillman! Good to see you," I said to Lizzy's mother.

  "Please, call me Irene. How's your grandfather doing?" Her eyes were warm, filled with genuine interest. How the heck had this vivacious woman hatched Lizzy? "Fine, thank you. I saw Lizzy's new house yesterday. It's beautiful. How are all the wedding plans coming?"

  "It's crazy. Lizzy is so particular, has everything mapped down to the smallest detail." She shrugged with a small self-deprecating whatchya gonna do gesture. "Thank you so, so much for your help with the engagement party. It was beautifully catered."

  "Thanks." I'd always been a little intimidated by Lizzy's mother. She was a living legend in the community, a do-gooder of epic proportions. Sure, her marriage wasn't the greatest, but I had to give her props for not letting that stop her. In fact I'd begun to suspect she'd forced Lizzy into hiring the Bowtie Angel to cater the engagement party. Giving a boost to a flailing local business was just her style.

  "I'm so sorry about what happened. Malcolm
told me you were the one who found the chef. Are you all right?"

  I waved it off, like finding a dead body in her pantry was just par for the course. "I'm fine." Pillar of the community or not, I really didn't want to get into it with her. "Have you found a replacement pastry chef yet?"

  A faint blush tinged her cheeks. "You caught me. That was one of the things I wanted to ask you about. Do you happen to know any quality pastry chefs?"

  "Of course. I can email you a list, though I can't guarantee any of them will be available on such short notice. But they can give you other recommendations."

  She smiled, clearly relieved and handed me a business card with her email address clearly printed on it. "Wonderful dear, I'm so glad I ran into you. I know you and Elizabeth weren't close growing up and considering your…history with Kyle, it's a mark of maturity how well you're taking all this."

  First time I'd been accused of that particular attribute. "I'll get you that list as soon as possible. Have a good one."

  I paid for the coffee and scuttled back to Donna's car.

  "What took so long?" she complained as I handed her a cup of fragrant java. "I've got a showing at ten."

  "Lizzy's mom wanted to pick my brain on a replacement pastry chef."

  Donna choked. "Are you serious?"

  "She called me mature." I pronounced it the way she had, mah-toour.

  "Will wonders never cease." Donna backed out of the lot and headed toward the lake. "Back to the matter at hand. There are eighteen vacant houses listed in the town limits. All have a Realtor box with the keys, which we access with individual codes. That might be how Mimi gets in."

  The first house was empty, with no sign of habitation other than a bird's nest in the chimney flue.

  Donna locked up and pulled up a map of the town on her tablet. "We only have time for one more before I have to skedaddle. The red dots are the vacant houses. The ones with the blue Xs have pricey security systems. Let's just assume she can somehow get into any rental property she wants. Which one do you want to check?"

  I studied the dots. "Okay, this was the first house, right? Assuming my theory is correct, she would probably avoid that area in case the police patrol that neighborhood. And she'd want to be farther out from the town center so she isn't seen. Are any of these furnished?"

  Donna did a little tapping and several of the red dots faded. "These are all staged with rental furniture."

  "That one," I said pointing to the dot farthest from the center of town.

  Donna blinked. "That's Hewitt Avenue, right behind Grove Street. Nice house, but the owners are asking the moon for it. In the current market, it's going to sit like a frog on a log."

  "I could be way off base here, but it makes sense she'd stay close to me if she wanted to catch me alone. And an overpriced, furnished, empty house right behind mine would be too good to pass up."

  "If that's the case, why hasn't she made contact?"

  I shrugged. "Pops is usually there with me."

  Donna shifted her weight. "I'm not sure I like this—we're talking about a murder suspect. Do you think we should call somebody first? Steven or Kyle?"

  I shook my head. "I don't want to involve the police until I hear Mimi's side of the story. She's a sweet girl who had a dickhead boss. Even if she did kill him, he gave her plenty of reason to do it."

  Donna bit her lip. "At least call Jones."

  I rolled my eyes. "Donna, I know what you're trying to do."

  She lifted her chin, and I knew I'd lost. "Either you call Jones, or I call Steven."

  I blew out a sigh and extracted my cell phone from my pants pocket. "Fine, but I'm not going to sleep with him."

  "That," she said with a grin, "is between you and him."

  * * *

  We retraced our route back to Grove Street. If Mimi was in the house on Hewitt Ave, we didn't want to spook her with multiple vehicles parking in front of her hideout. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans nervously. Was I anxious because of Mimi, or because I was going to see Jones again? Short as our conversation had been, he'd sounded amazing over the phone, that delicious accent winding around me like a sultry cloud of masculinity. Something had shifted between us last night when I'd made him dinner. Something I couldn't put a name to but recognized as altering.

  "How did you know Steven was the one for you?" I asked Donna.

  "I liked the way he looked in uniform."

  "Really?" I said. "Donna, you have about as much depth as a teaspoon."

  She shrugged. "It's the truth. I was running late for a closing and ran a red light. He pulled me over but let me go with a warning. And his phone number."

  "But what about affection, trust, love?"

  "All that came later. Say what you want about all the higher emotions, but chemistry is the cornerstone for any real relationship. If you haven't got zing, he's not worth shaving your legs for. Steven's sweet, considerate, and a great dad, but if I hadn't liked the way his butt looked in his uniform, I would have tossed his number and moved on with my life. I never would have given him a chance."

  "But chemistry was how you started, right? What if he hadn't been all those other things?"

  She wiggled her eyebrows. "I still would have hit that."

  "As a teaspoon," I underscored my earlier observation.

  She winked. "You wouldn't have me any other way."

  "True," I agreed. I was a little envious of Donna for knowing exactly what she wanted and going after it full steam ahead. Me, I always stumbled whenever I was on the verge of making my dreams come true. Then I'd set new goals, and the process would repeat itself. I'd wanted Kyle, but we'd crashed and burned. I'd wanted to be a gourmet chef, and look how that had turned out. Since I had a habit of shooting myself in the foot, was it really any wonder I was gun-shy about developing feelings for Jones?

  "Took him long enough," Donna muttered as Jones pulled up behind us. Since his SUV was toast, he drove a white Impala, which I guessed was a rental. "He drives like my Great Aunt Rosalee, and she has to sit on a cushion to see over the steering wheel."

  "Just part of his charm."

  It wasn't only Jones's driving that was slow today. He moved stiffly, like any man would barely two days removed from a car accident.

  "Are you sure you're up to this?" I asked him as he eased into the back seat.

  He nodded and smiled at me. "It's better today, actually."

  There was a manila envelope tucked under his arm, which he held out for me to take. "Everything you ever wanted to know about Norman Burrows."

  "Who?" I frowned as I took the file.

  "That's Zoltan Farnsworth's real name."

  "I can see why he changed it." Donna cut the wheel and drove around the cul-de-sac.

  There was a packet of paperwork stuffed inside the envelope, along with several photos of the deceased pastry chef, both publicity shots as well as several candid pictures.

  "How did you get all this so quickly?" I turned in my seat to face Jones.

  "Luck, mostly. It seems I wasn't the first person to investigate him."

  "What? Who else was looking?" Had Flavor TV been investigating more people than just me after the food poisoning incident? The thought was somewhat comforting.

  "I'll explain later," Jones said as Donna parked in the driveway. Hewitt Avenue was a through street, but the lots were much larger than those on Grove Street, and a bend in the road ensured privacy from any neighbors who happened to be home.

  Jones and I followed Donna up the steps and waited as she punched her code into the key box. As soon as she unlocked the door, I pulled her aside. "You should go."

  "What?" She frowned and changed her question. "I mean, why?"

  "Too many people might scare her off. She's already hiding, and we don't want her to vanish altogether. Besides, I don't want you to get into trouble." I left out the real reason. Just because I thought Mimi was incapable of murder, didn't mean I was right. Risking myself was one thing, and despite his soreness, I
felt confident Jones could handle himself, but putting my best friend in the line of fire was not gonna happen.

  "My code is already in the box," she argued. "People will know I was here."

  "You can say you were showing us the house but had to leave. It's the truth, right?"

  She looked from me to Jones and back again. "You two out looking at houses together? That'll have tongues wagging all over town."

  "Well, it's better than them saying we're mucking around in a police investigation."

  Jones was the voice of reason. "Maybe Donna could wait for us on the front porch. That way she can call for assistance if it's required."

  "Fine." Donna folded her arms. "But if you die in there Andy, I'm going to be über freaking pissed at you."

  "Nobody's going to die," I said and pushed open the door to reveal a pool of blood.

  The Red or the White?

  Ah, the age old conundrum, should I order the red wine or the white wine to compliment my meal? Which should I procure when cooking for guests? I'm a self-proclaimed foodie, but even I have stumbled over this conundrum a time or two. When it comes to pasta though, I live by one simple rule—if it's light, serve the white. For instance, pasta primavera goes best with a dry white wine. Baked ziti or lasagna, pretty much anything with a hearty tomato sauce is complimented with a bold red. Still unsure? Split the difference with a nice rosé like Beringer's white zinfandel. And save room for dessert wines, like Rosa Regale, which is a winner alone, served with fruit and cheese, or alongside my dessert noodle kugel.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "Isn't that a little fast?" Kyle asked as he looked between me and Jones. "You guys barely know each other."

  I tucked my arm through Jones's in a show of what I hoped looked like romantic possession. "Oh well, you know how it goes, Kyle. When it's right, it's right."

  In the interest of keeping my pasty backside out of the county lock-up, I'd convinced Donna and Jones to stick to the story that he and I were looking at houses together. Kyle wasn't stupid though, and he narrowed his eyes on me. I turned the brightness of my smile up a few watts.