Thyme for Love (Cooking Up Trouble Book 1)

by Pamela S. Meyers

  Kitty raised her hands in surrender. “Then I’m going with you.”

  Chapter 32

  Kitty turned her Mercedes into Rescaté’s vacant parking lot and pulled up to its edge, the headlights aimed straight across the lawn. “Is that about right?”

  “Can you move a little more to the left? I think I was closer to the trees.”

  She backed up then angled the car. “Better?”

  A swath of light illuminated the grass. During the short drive over from Kitty’s, I couldn’t wait to find what was left of my shoes, but now that I was here, I wanted to stay in the locked up Benz. What if that monster was sitting in the shadows waiting for me? Ridiculous. Even a fool would know to get out of there.

  I wiped my hands on my jeans, then lowered the window a smidge and listened to the eerie silence. “Everything looks different in the dark. I guess it’s okay.” I opened the glove compartment and pulled out a flashlight, then took a swig from the water bottle I’d brought. I stuck the bottle in the cup holder. “Wish me luck.”

  “Better than that, I’ll pray.” She held up her cell phone. “And I’m ready to call for help.”

  “Unless you’ve got a direct line to Superman, you may as well put the phone away. I’ll take the prayers. He’s our ever present help in times of trouble and if this isn’t trouble, I don’t know what is.” I climbed out of the car. A soft click assured me the door was latched.

  The hair on the back of my neck rose to attention. Once I stepped into the light anyone could take a potshot at me. Assuring myself that so far there’d been no guns involved in this caper, I took off across the grass, my eyes trained on the ground. All I needed was one scrap of sliced leather, half a rubber sole. Anything. Grab it and run for the car.

  I ran my light beam over the parts of the lawn Kitty’s headlights didn’t reach. Grass, grass, and more grass. All of it looked mossy green even in artificial light. I had to find out what they fed the stuff and tell Kitty. Something brown caught my eye. I scampered over to my lunch sack. Other than being more crumpled, it appeared no different than when I last saw it.

  I snatched the bag up and turned toward the car, skimming the ground with the flashlight. Halfway between the parking lot and the lake, I paused to get a fix on the trees. The moments right before I kicked off the shoes played in my mind. The stand of trees had been directly ahead, green and welcoming—except for one brown bough.

  Adrenaline surged through me, and I skimmed the pines with the light beam until it landed on the dried-up branches. Taking a few steps to my left, I stopped. Without a doubt this was the spot I kicked off my clogs.

  I circled the area, enlarging the circumference of each lap like rings in a tree trunk. Not one rubber sole. Not one scrap of leather. Was I crazy? A sob escaped, and I dropped to the ground. I had proof—the missing shoes, same as the missing pills. How can something missing be hard evidence if you have no proof they existed? Well, I sure didn’t go to work this morning in my stocking feet.

  My insides burned. I couldn’t fool myself any longer. There was a killer, and whoever he or she was, they were trying to mess with my mind. But why? They must think that if the trail turned cold, the cops would stop investigating. With the coroner’s report already filed and no evidence of foul play, the police would go back to nailing unsuspecting drivers as they came off the highway into a speed trap, and Ramón’s cause of death would always be seen as heart attack. I could ignore the rumors, too, except for one.

  Chapter 33

  Friday morning, my cell chimed from my purse as I was shrugging into my jacket. I snagged the phone and checked the caller ID. Finally. I hit the accept button. “Marc. There’s so much I need to say—”

  “What are you trying to do, April, wreck my life? Did you tell the police you suspected I’d done jail time?”

  “No. I—”

  “Then why’d they ask me to come in for a little heart-to-heart, as the chief called it?”

  My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a brick. “Stop shouting, and I’ll start at the beginning.”

  “So you are in on it.”

  “The chief is following up on what Kitty told him, but I almost got kill—”

  “Great. Now I not only have you wrecking my life, but Kitty, too. Both of you do me a favor. Leave me alone.”

  “Suit yourself.” I threw the phone in the waste can and stomped out to my car.

  At Rescaté, I mixed batter for muffins, brewed coffee, and made an apple coffee cake. It was still too early for the break run so I whipped up a batch of raisin bran breakfast cookies. Some people wouldn’t be able to boil water after dealing with the kind of stuff I’d been going through, but thankfully, cooking always helped me get past the worst moments in my life. Today was no exception.

  Of course, it helped that Marc was off the premises. If he had shut up long enough this morning, he’d have heard my apology and how I was almost creamed in a lawnmower attack. With every ingredient I added to the recipes, a prayer left my lips for Marc’s protection. Maybe the chief was following up on the pill theft report and nothing else. My worst fear was that he’d heard the rumor about Marc’s being responsible for Ramón’s death and was taking it to heart. What hurt worse was that with Marc so angry at me, the moment he got back to the office, he’d likely whip out his pen and write me a pink slip.

  Unless you counted the numerous thanks I received for my fresh-baked goodies, the break run was unremarkable. Office chatter mostly centered on who would be the next director. Marc was the favorite, but several thought Bob Cousins had a shot. If it weren’t for the fact that Marc would probably issue me my walking papers as soon as he arrived, I’d have been rooting for him too.

  Back in the kitchen, since I had nothing left to cook, I started wiping down everything in sight. At least I could depart head high, leaving the kitchen as gleaming as the day I first saw it.

  I glanced at the clock. Almost noon. To fill the time, I started taking inventory for the next person. At least with me gone, maybe the killer would feel safe and everything would settle down. How comforting to think that someone who got away with murder might be daily rubbing elbows with everyone.

  Lord, please cause justice to be done here. Protect the innocent.

  Armed with an iPad, I stepped into the pantry and counted the sacks of flour.

  “April? You here?”

  I braced myself. “In the pantry.”

  The door flew open and whacked against the shelves. Condiment and jelly jars rattled. Marc stared at me, his jaw muscle throbbing. “We need to talk, but not here.”

  “Sure.”

  He stepped into the kitchen.

  I followed, leaving the tablet on the counter as I passed it.

  He led the way to his new digs. The same desk Ramón had used still sat in front of the window. Only now a nameplate bearing Marc’s name occupied its polished surface. We stepped out a side door and onto the flagstone patio.

  Marc shut the door behind us. “Let’s go to the boathouse where we won’t be overheard.”

  Why pick the boathouse of all places? Anywhere but there. Side-by-side, we walked down the grassy slope, me taking two steps for each of his single strides. I crossed my arms against the cool lake breeze, and prayed for God’s help in controlling my tongue.

  “Chilly?”

  “I can deal with it.”

  No offer of his wool sports coat or suggestion to have the conversation inside. I worked to ignore the sensation of weight on my shoulders or that my shoes felt more and more as if they were made of cement. Today wasn’t the time to wallow on my pity pot.

  The screen door to the boathouse porch creaked in protest as he pulled it open and waited for me to enter. He gestured toward the wood bench. I sat to one end of the worn seat. At least in his anger he hadn’t forgotten his manners.

  He stood several feet away, hands jammed in his pockets.

  “You can sit here. I won’t bite.”

  He turned and faced the lak
e. “It’s better I remain standing.” He jingled the coins in his pocket then faced me, his left brow twitching. “Thanks to you, the police suspect me of murder. How is it that the loving and supportive woman I once loved has become a liar?”

  I flew to my feet and came to within a foot of him, hand raised. “When have I ever lied to you?”

  “Not to me. To the police.”

  “For a man so well educated you aren’t very bright. I checked with California Corrections. You never did time. If you’d returned my call yesterday, you’d have heard me apologize for causing you to think I was accusing you. I’ve never said a word to the police about you or Ramón’s death. They won’t even talk to me when I call them. I’ll pack my things and be gone in ten minutes.” I marched to the door and yanked on the handle.

  My behind hit the floor with a thud.

  It would have been an exit not to be outdone by any drama queen if the door hadn’t stuck.

  Marc hunched beside me, concern replacing the anger in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  I brushed away his offered hand and scrambled to my feet. “Of course.” This time the door popped open with the slightest of tugs. “See ya around.”

  A hand grasped my shoulder. “Don’t leave.”

  “Why? So I can stay and take more of your accusations?”

  “I’m sorry. Guess I’m guilty of jumping to conclusions too. The rumor about me being suspected of murdering Ramón is true. Someone’s framing me.”

  My shoulders sagged as I faced him. “It’s probably the same person who tried to run me over with a lawn mower yesterday.”

  He flinched. “Are you serious?”

  I nodded and he opened his arms. “C’mere mi caramela. I’m so sorry.”

  I gladly stepped into his embrace. Nuts to the rumor mill. I much preferred hugging to arguing any day.

  “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” His voice cracked. “What’s this about being run over by a mower?”

  I tipped my head back and looked him in the eye. “You first. Did the chief actually say you’re a suspect?”

  “He and another officer named Hogan pulled the good cop, bad cop routine.” He released me and plopped onto the bench. “Where was I on Thursday night? What about Friday before dawn? Did I have an alibi? Did I have a key for Ramón’s apartment? Did I own an orange cap? Do I know how to operate a commercial lawn mower? Admit it, Thorne, you murdered Ramón Galvez. April, you know how hard it is for me to kill anything.”

  I settled beside him and took his hand, shocked at how cold it felt. “I remember junior year when you insisted your roommates release a mouse they’d trapped in the bathroom.”

  He uttered a sardonic chuckle. “The poor animal probably died from trauma minutes later.”

  “How long did the interrogation go on?”

  “Several hours. I’d probably still be there if they weren’t called away to a car accident out near the highway. They warned me not to leave the country and to stay close. Bronson wanted to ask for my passport, but Hogan advised unless I was officially named a suspect they couldn’t. Guess I need to call a lawyer.”

  “They can’t know how Ramón died, and they don’t have the pills.”

  “They’re gonna autopsy the body. I thought it’d be in New Mexico by now.”

  “Isabel was considering cremation so she left the remains here until she decided.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Flavia.”

  “Who?”

  “Isabel’s cousin. We had a good chat over dessert after the service . . .” I gave him a weak smile. “Nothing like gourmet cooking to forge a friendship.”

  He turned his hand so that our fingers naturally wove together. “Tell me about the mower.”

  I summarized my afternoon of terror, ending with how the remains of my shoes were gone when I went back to look for them.

  “That’s why they badgered me about knowing how to operate a commercial mower.” He pulled me into his arms. “I can’t have you at Rescaté until this mess is over.”

  “We don’t want this creep to win. I drove to work this morning. If I do that from now on I’ll be fine.”

  His cell rang and he put the instrument to his ear. “What’s up, Taryn?” He paused a moment to listen. “I’ll meet him there in five minutes.” He hit the off button and pocketed the phone. “Claypool wants to see me. Let’s go.”

  “Wait. We need a plan.”

  “A plan?”

  “To prove your innocence.”

  Marc pulled me closer. “I don’t deserve you.” He nuzzled my ear. “Let’s discuss it over dinner?”

  “Okay.”

  “Tonight then.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I may not be a free man tomorrow.”

  Chapter 34

  At the Lakeshore Inn, the host led us around a huge fireplace to our window-side table. Marc waited until I was settled, then sat across from me. Between us, a bronze lantern cast a romantic glow. He ordered for both of us, and by the time our iced teas arrived, so did a basket of warm breads. The inn’s position on a bluff gave us an unmatched view of the lake, and we watched the sun’s pink rays stretch across the water.

  “Beautiful scene.” Marc’s voice cut into my thoughts.

  “When my job in Atlanta bogged me down, I’d daydream about this place.” I felt an easy smile drift over my lips. “So many good memories.”

  He broke off a piece of roll. “Like the day we met in Lake Geneva?”

  “When you sent me into the drink, bumping into me like that?” A giggle burbled. “The look on your face was priceless.”

  “Being my usual focused self bent on getting to the boat for lake patrol. Thought I was going to have to do a rescue right there. But before I could, you were climbing back on the pier.”

  “Just another day at the office for me.” I laughed. “I must have taken an unexpected swim at least a half dozen times those years I was a mail jumper.” I paused a moment. “I still found you irresistible, especially when you insisted on taking me to dinner to make up for my surprise dunking.”

  His features softened in the candle glow. “I’m not sure about the me being irresistible part, but you were the cutest girl I’d seen in a while, especially after you climbed out of the water.”

  I raised a dinner roll as if to throw it at his smirk-filled face.

  We shared a laugh, and then he grew serious. “As young as we were, I was sure you were the one God had for me.”

  A dull ache spread across my chest. “For one so certain, why weren’t you willing to flex when I said I couldn’t move to California after graduation?”

  Marc snatched a roll from the basket and tore it in half in one swift movement. He tossed one of the halves on his saucer, then began buttering the other. “Seemed the opposite way around to me.”

  “Sometimes there’s the inability to—”

  The waiter appeared with our salads and set them in front of us. After what seemed countless minutes of adding ground pepper and making sure we had the dressings we wanted, the server left. I pushed my words through clenched teeth, “You may recall I couldn’t leave.”

  “But, we were engaged.”

  I grimaced. “We’ve been over this road before, Marc. It’s starting to get potholes. We needed to live in Chicago for two years so I could fulfill my end of the deal with Dad. There are no loopholes in his world.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He hoped in the end I’d want to work for him, and we could become business partners. If I didn’t give him two years, I’d have to reimburse him for my tuition. He thinks cooking for a living is menial work. Culinary school was not an option.”

  Marc’s jaw slackened. “You said that, but I thought you wanted to stay near your family and that agreement thing was a convenient excuse.”

  “Are you kidding? Even now, Dad is on me to come back and work for him. I hate staying away because it means no time with Mom, but . . .”

&n
bsp; “Why didn’t Brian have an agreement?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Can you see my brother analyzing financial reports?”

  Marc picked up his buttered roll and stared at it. “I was pretty obnoxious wasn’t I?”

  “Obnoxious is a start. I can come up with a few more adjectives.”

  “I really thought you didn’t want to leave Chicago. I’m sorry, April. I guess I didn’t listen.”

  I moved my gaze to the fireplace across the room and studied the flames. “If we’d talked then like we are now . . .”

  “Mi caramela.”

  His melodic tone lured my gaze back to him.

  “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he said. “Can you forgive me?”

  “Forgive you as though the hurt never happened?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed like a Red Delicious in a tub of water. “You were never far from my thoughts these eight years.”

  He expected me to believe that? What did he take me for? “Not one call, one e-mail . . . nothing.”

  “Didn’t think you wanted me to contact you.”

  The familiar sensation of brokenness press down on me. I swallowed and gathered what strength I had left to pick up my salad fork. “If you’d only explain what happened in California.” I stabbed at the baby greens in front of me and lifted them to my mouth. Despite the spicy dressing, I tasted nothing.

  “Let’s step outside for a moment.”

  My fork slid out of my grip and fell into the mound of lettuce. I looked up at his dark-eyed gaze. How had he slipped out of his seat without me realizing it?

  On our way to a patio directly off the dining area, he caught our waiter’s attention and told him we’d be right back.

  Outside and out of view of the other diners, Marc sheltered me in his arms. “April, I ache to think how my stubbornness deprived us of eight years. Please forgive me.”

  How could I forgive when he still hid secrets? But wasn’t Jesus ready to forgive me before I’d repented of my wrongdoing? I’d lived long enough in bitterness over what had happened.