Thyme for Love (Cooking Up Trouble Book 1)

by Pamela S. Meyers

  After an uneventful trek through the trees, I stepped onto Rescaté’s plush lawn. Ahead, the mansion blazed orange in the setting sun’s reflection. The outside lamps on either side of the entrance provided a soft glow—hardly more than a couple candles’ worth—and no lights shone in the windows.

  The parking lot stood naked in the glare of its overhead lights. I’d never been inside the mansion alone. Maybe this could wait until tomorrow. But if I didn’t bring the pills back with me, my aunt wouldn’t stop pestering. What she expected me to do with them, I had no idea. It wasn’t like I could test them for poison myself. I marched across the grass, key card in hand.

  I’d heard the phrase “the silence was deafening” many times, but never until I entered the dimly-lit reception area had I understood its meaning. Even Pedro, who could usually be heard from the front door, was quiet. Shadows lurked in every corner. I had exactly 29 seconds to enter the code into the alarm before Canoga Lake’s finest converged—all four of them. Not exactly how I wanted to meet Chief Bronson for the first time.

  I darted through the security light’s yellowish glare to the alarm box and punched in the numbers Marc had given me. A green light blinked an okay at the same time realization flashed in my brain. Ramón had said the alarm turned off at six-thirty a.m., and I’d waited until then to head over to the mansion that Friday. The person I’d seen that morning must have known the alarm code, or they’d been in the building all night.

  I gave myself a mental shake. Not exactly a newsflash after all. Marc had conjectured the person was likely a Rescaté employee. Someone who would likely have the code.

  Keycard still in hand, I stole across the room on my tiptoes and turned down the hall. Another safety light beamed from a spot past the kitchen door—the open kitchen door. Didn’t I lock up when I left with Ana? An act so routine it would be easy to not remember doing it. But I was exhausted and she did distract me. Was that on purpose?

  My mouth felt like I hadn’t had water in days. When I got to the kitchen I’d grab a bottle of water along with the pills. I crept to the door and hit the light switch. The stainless-steel fridge gleamed, the counters shone, towels hung neatly on their rack by the window. Nothing out of place. Across the room, a drawer protruded about an inch. My lungs constricted. Another drawer wasn’t flush either. I next checked out the towel drawer. Beneath it, a half dozen or so white towels lay scattered in a heap on the floor.

  I flew across the room into the pantry. Sugar granules crunched beneath my rubber soles. I didn’t have to look in the crumpled bag on the floor to know.

  The pills were gone.

  Chapter 24

  I tore down the shore path, my thoughts skittering through my brain like a dozen silver balls in a pinball machine. Did the person presume the pills were in the kitchen or did they spy on me? Did someone overhear my aunt telling the police chief where they were hidden?

  Winded, I jogged up the hill and around the house where I dropped to the grass, my breaths coming in short gasps. The only car in the circular driveway was mine. Kitty had already left for her Wednesday night Bible study.

  I pushed to my feet and walked on rubbery legs toward the house. My pulse quickened. What was I doing? I couldn’t go in there. What if this was a trap? I pulled my cell from my jeans pocket and pressed the speed dial code for Marc.

  “Hi, April. Change your mind about supper tonight?”

  “Someone broke in the kitchen and took the pills.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sure I locked the door, Marc. No. I’m not sure. Ana was talking to me and—”

  “Where are you?”

  “Standing by Kitty’s backdoor.”

  “She home?”

  “No. She’s—”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  The line went dead. I’d wait outside until he got there. I glanced around the darkened lawn, then at my car.

  It wasn’t large, but with doors locked and windows closed, it looked like an armored tank to me.

  The sound of screeching tires on asphalt announced Marc’s arrival. I opened my car door and climbed out as he was exiting his Escape. We met halfway between the two vehicles. His eyes herk-jerked over my face, then he expelled a breath and gathered me into his arms. In the protective cocoon of his embrace, the adrenalin that had kept me functioning evaporated. I wrapped my arms around his waist, hoping we could stay that way for at least the next hour.

  He squeezed me tighter. “You okay? You sounded terrified.”

  “Of course, I’m all right. I was out of breath from running when I called. Really, I’m doing fine.”

  Marc broke the hug and stood back.

  It was too dark to see his face, but I knew his worried expression, and I had no doubt he was wearing it.

  “The way you’re shaking says otherwise,” he said. “Go on inside and lock the door until I’ve checked out Rescatè’s kitchen.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “You don’t need to. Once I see the damage for myself, I’ll call the police. I don’t want you there until we know it’s safe.”

  I gritted my teeth and pushed past him. No way was he going back there without me. Rescaté may be his responsibility, but it was my kitchen that was invaded.

  Marc raised his hands surrender style. “Okay, you win.”

  He wanted to walk over, but I’d had enough of those pine trees for one night. We set off in his Escape with a question nudging the edge of my thoughts. Should I have called the police first?

  We arrived at Rescaté, and Marc slid the flashlight beam over the grounds. Nothing out of order. Once we were inside, he motioned me to wait by the door while he reset the alarm. That done, he threw the main light switch and the crystal chandelier sparkled to life. Was that a good idea? Maybe so. Evil loved darkness and hated the light.

  He pointed to the hall and mouthed, “Let’s go.”

  A moment later, my throat went dry for the second time that evening. “I left the door open, Marc.” I blurted out my words, forgetting to whisper. “I know I did. I was too scared to stop long enough to lock it.” I bit my lower lip to stop the tremble.

  Marc pulled me into a side hug. “Let’s see what’s inside.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and turned the doorknob. Locked. He raised his keycard to the electronic pad.

  I grabbed his arm and whispered. “Maybe they’re in there.” I glanced over my shoulder toward the reception room. “Or anywhere in this place.”

  “We can’t not do something.” He put his ear to the door. “Nothing,” he mouthed.

  I pressed my ear against the wood. Silence. A vision of someone on the other side of the door with their ear pressed against it materialized. But would anyone be dumb enough to hang around waiting to be caught? Whoever took the pills was probably miles away.

  I stepped back and Marc raised his brows is if to say, “Okay?”

  I nodded and he waved the card. The lock clicked and in a slow, deliberate movement he pushed the door open.

  I expelled the breath I was holding.

  Marc aimed the flashlight into the room. Blocked by his shoulder, I couldn’t see a thing. I was about to move around him when he said, “Stay back, April.” He took a step and shot the beam into the open pantry. “Hit the lights.”

  I flicked the switch, and the overhead fluorescent lights came to life.

  Seeing nothing unusual, I stepped in, my rubber soles squeaking on the freshly mopped floor. Were we in a movie? If we were, this was one flick that would get no thumbs-up from me. “They cleaned it up.”

  I crossed to the towel drawer, taking robot-like steps, and pulled it open. Towels lay folded and stacked as though straight from the dryer. From there I moved to the open pantry door and stared at the floor. I hauled in a breath and pointed at the tiles. “The bag the pills were hidden in was right there in the middle of a pile of sugar.”

  I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand. Had someone slipped me a hallucinoge
nic drug? Was I so overtired I couldn’t think straight? No. The place had been a wreck a half-hour ago. “I’m not crazy, Marc. It really happened.”

  His arms came around me from behind, and he pressed his mouth close to my ear. “I may not have believed the rumors before, but I do now. Whoever did this knows that without evidence of a break-in, the police can’t do anything.” He paused. “Still, we need to call them. Let’s go back to Kitty’s and do it from where it’s safer.”

  I faced him and pressed my head against his chest. His heart’s staccato beat belied the calmness in his voice. We needed to get out of there. This dream kitchen had morphed into a nightmare.

  Despite Marc’s comforting grip on my hand as he drove one-handed back to Kitty’s, I couldn’t wait to get inside. I led the way into the kitchen then went to the wall phone and grabbed the receiver. “The direct number to the Canoga Police is below the keypad. But before you call, you need to know that Kitty told Chief Bronson about the pills during their chat at the memorial service. The rumors too.”

  Marc grimaced as he took the phone.

  While he stabbed the number into the keypad, I crossed to the fridge and grabbed a couple bottles of water.

  “This is Marc Thorne from Rescaté de Niño. April Love, the Rescaté chef, found our kitchen ransacked about an hour ago. Some pills she’d hidden in the pantry are missing.” He listened a moment. “Well, no. She found the door unlocked, and drawers pulled open, their contents tossed on the floor. The pills were in a bag of sugar in the pantry—”

  His jaw pulsed while he listened. “No. Nothing illegal. They were the over-the-counter pills that Kitty McPiper spoke to Chief Bronson about. Can you send an officer out ASAP?”

  His face reddened. “I don’t care how many guys you have on duty. This is an emergency. The thief already has disturbed things. April came to her aunt’s next door to Rescaté and called me. We went over there. Everything’s wiped spotless.”

  He caught my gaze and shook his head. “Yes,” he said into the mouthpiece. “I agree. She should’ve called you first, but you know how it is when you’ve had a shock.”

  He rocked back on his heels. Things weren’t looking good. “Fine. We’ll be in touch with Chief Bronson tomorrow.” His thumb hit the off button. “Nice to know how well we’re protected. There’s only two guys on duty. The one I spoke to and the other officer who’s checking out a domestic disturbance. Since we have no evidence of breaking and entering, he suggested I call Bronson later.”

  He pulled me into a hug. “Mi Caramela, you’re shaking.”

  I didn’t realize I was until he said it. I wrapped my arms around his waist. “When are we going to wake up from this crazy dream? That’s all it is, right?”

  He ran his palm up and down my back a couple times. “Wish it were.”

  I stepped back and studied his face. “It doesn’t seem we can keep laughing at those rumors or ignoring them. Someone took those pills for a reason. Either to scare me or to keep them from being tested.”

  “Who knew where they were hidden other than Kitty and the Chief?”

  “Only me and Kitty until this afternoon when she told Bronson.”

  A frown creased his forehead. “I saw her and Bronson talking quite a bit during lunch. A lot of people milled around them. Someone could have overheard.”

  “Who? Do you remember?”

  A moment passed while he thought.

  “Sorry. I don’t.”

  I stepped back and handed him his water. “Why don’t I nuke some leftover soup and throw a couple salads together? You can help by getting rolls from that bag on the counter.”

  We worked in silence as I got the soup into the microwave and dumped romaine from a cellophane bag into salad bowls.

  Marc set a wholegrain roll on each of the wood trays I’d found. “You always did turn to food in stressful times. Don’t know how I forgot that. The lasagna you usually made before finals was the best. Maybe if I’d had you around in Cal . . .”

  I looked up from slicing a tomato.

  Marc’s lips were cemented into a thin line.

  “If I’d been in California, what?”

  “It wasn’t important.”

  “Try me.”

  “Maybe with your lasagna I’d have done better on my master’s thesis. Only got a B on that.”

  My stare bore into him. “If you assume I’m buying that explanation, you must think I’ve become the epitome of one of those dumb blonde jokes that were around a few years ago.”

  He closed the space between us and wrapped his arms around my rigid body. “I really didn’t do well on that thesis. Spent the night before it was due wolfing down cardboard pizza and slurping high-caffeine soft drinks. If I’d had some of your cooking, I’d have done a whole lot better.”

  My spine relaxed. “No doubt you would have, but even if Emril Lagasse had laid out a full-course meal for you every night, I don’t think it would have been enough to sway you from your goal. What did, Marc?”

  He pulled me closer. “Only the realization it wasn’t right for me.” He released me. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

  We carried our meals to the sunroom and sat side-by-side on the couch. He prayed a blessing over the food, then we dove into our suppers. Over the next several minutes, other than an occasional clink of a spoon hitting the stoneware, no other sound filled the space.

  His bowl still half full, Marc rested his spoon on the tray and sat back.

  I glanced in his direction. “Finished already?”

  “Just not as hungry as I thought.”

  I dragged a carrot through my broth with the spoon. “What you said in your eulogy today made me realize you’re grieving over Ramón’s death too. I’ve been so focused on the gossip I didn’t take that into account. I’m sorry.”

  A half-smile softened his features. “Thanks. Truthfully, I’m not sure how I feel. Ramón was a complicated guy. As long as he wasn’t crossed, he’d fight for you to the end. But once betrayed he never forgot.” He dropped the remainder of his bread onto the tray. “I prayed for him all the time, but he never changed.”

  “So you didn’t get along with him either?”

  “We had our moments.” He slid his tray onto the coffee table. “Before I forget, my Mom’s sending you some Argentine cookbooks. I told her you were Rescaté’s new chef, and she’s excited. She always loved you.”

  A warm soothing sensation came over me. Gabriela Thorne had always called me the daughter she never had, and I’d looked forward to having such a godly woman for a mother-in-law. Although my mom and I always had a good relationship, the tension between Dad and me often put her in the middle. Avoiding Dad usually meant avoiding Mom too. I’d only spoken to her once since arriving in Canoga Lake to tell her about Marc’s working at Rescaté and that I’d gotten the job. All she said was, “Be careful.” I pulled my thoughts out of the past. “I loved your mom too. I’ve missed her almost as much as . . .” I snapped my mouth shut.

  Marc reached his arm across my shoulders and nudged me closer. “As much as what?”

  I inched my head away. “As much as the kids we knew at college.”

  “One rather dumb kid in particular?”

  His breath tickled my ear, nearly sending my sensibilities into oblivion. I needed to move before we ended up repeating that kissing scene in the Apple’s parking lot. Sharing supper, talking about his mom, being snuggled into the crook of his arm like pieces of a puzzle. Too much. I scooted to the edge of the cushion then set my tray next to his and stood. “Want more iced tea?”

  Marc let out a loud sigh. “Sure.”

  Chapter 25

  With drinks in hand I returned to the sunroom and sat, leaving a cushion width between us. “How many people know the alarm code?”

  Marc tossed the magazine he’d been flipping through onto the table. “Me, Cousins, Karl, the board, and you. Ramón may have given it to others.”

  “What about Ana or Isabel?”

  “Mayb
e Ana. I don’t know why Isabel would have it. She wasn’t around.”

  “It’s never been changed since Ana and Ramón broke up?”

  “It’s been the same since I started a year ago, but the code will be changed first thing tomorrow.” He pulled his phone from his breast pocket.

  I couldn’t drag my eyes away as he thumbed a reminder on the screen’s keypad. The set of his jaw beneath the trimmed beard, the dark hair, cut just long enough to allow a lock to drop over his forehead an inch or so, the full lips, and those nearly black eyes that had already stirred up delicious flutters in my stomach. Aside from his good looks, Marc had his faults, but there was so much more that was good about him, especially now. His interest in helping kids at church, his concern for the work staff, and a new tenderness that hadn’t been there in the past. His earlier display of haughtiness was probably a knee-jerk reaction after all the stress.

  He returned the phone to his pocket and looked over. His eyes seemed to search mine as he leaned in, his mouth coming within inches of my lips. Lips that ached to feel his once more. Another kiss would likely propel us even further into the kind of relationship my heart wanted, but my brain wasn’t ready to accept. I tilted away. “How many employees have keycard access to all the doors in Rescaté?”

  His head lurched back so fast he probably got whiplash. He exhaled a deep sigh. “Officially, the three of us who were directly under Ramón along with Karl, and Gerald Claypool.”

  “Gerald who?”

  “Claypool. Since he’s the board member living closest to Rescaté, he has access to everything.”

  A vision of a large jowly man I met at the board lunch popped into my mind. “I remember him. What happens if a staff member needs to work overtime? Are they given the alarm code?”

  “That’s up to their bosses.”

  “If someone uses the code, is it recorded at the alarm company?”