Thyme for Love (Cooking Up Trouble Book 1)

by Pamela S. Meyers

  Yesterday, other than church, we’d stayed indoors at Kitty’s watching Netflix movies and cooking. Together, the three of us made steaks over the gas grill embedded in Kitty’s cook-top, twice-baked potatoes and a tossed salad. A Sunday I would have enjoyed had I not been dreading what the week could bring.

  While I sifted dry ingredients for the muffins, I convinced myself I was as safe in Rescaté’s fortress-like building as I was at Kitty’s as long as I didn’t take any strolls across the lawn. Besides, would the killer reveal himself in the very building he or she had done the dirty deed? Especially with so many people around?

  I got the muffins in the oven then set out cream cheese to soften. Later, with extra minutes to spare, I started lattes for a break with Marc.

  A thud sounded behind me, and I jumped. Heart racing, I made a slow turn. “You sure know how to scare a girl.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t realize you were so jumpy. That box is heavy.” Karl indicated a cardboard carton sitting on the island counter. “It has your name on it. Figured it came here.”

  I eyed the box. “What’s in it?”

  “Dunno. It was in Marc’s office. I’m moving his stuff to Galvez’s suite.”

  I resisted the urge to charge over to the carton to investigate and forced a smile. “You won big this weekend. Congrats are in order.”

  He offered a vacant stare. “Good thing you guys came Saturday. Yesterday, I couldn’t stay focused. Bucked off in 2.5. Didn’t even place for the weekend.”

  And I had a hunch his bet hadn’t paid off either. “Wow. Talk about a roller coaster couple of days.” I held up a mug. “Want coffee? You can have first crack at a new muffin recipe I made this morning.”

  “No to the muffin. Sure to the coffee.”

  I poured his brew while he settled onto a stool at the island.

  As I placed his mug in front of him, his troubled eyes searched my face. “Do you have time to talk?”

  I took a seat next to him, and prayed he wasn’t about to confess to murder. “Um. Sure.”

  He wrapped his hands around his cup. “The reason I didn’t do well yesterday . . . I bet money on a guy to ride a saddle bronc. He bucked off. Lost the prize money I won on Saturday and more.”

  “You bet on the rodeo?”

  “You saw me. Stop acting like you didn’t.”

  “Gambling on a rodeo could end your career, right?”

  He pushed his coffee away and nodded. “It started out as something fun to do, to add more excitement, but then I won a few times and wanted more. Now it’s not just the rodeos I’m in, but finals in Vegas . . .football . . .” He shook his head. “I about lost my shirt last year. You’d think I’d learn.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He pulled his mug toward himself and hunched over it. “Dunno. I can barely make my rent. Had to hit my brother for a loan.”

  “Does he know about your problem?”

  He shook his head.

  I stared off across the room. Where do I go from here, God? I knew nothing about addictions, but Marc did. The answer flashed into my brain. “What about an addiction support group?”

  He straightened his shoulders. “I can do it on my own.”

  “There’s a group that meets at Canoga Community Church on Friday nights.”

  The right corner of his mouth drew up. “Fridays are bad. A guy I know goes to a Wednesday night group. Maybe I’ll call him.”

  “I’ll hold you to it, cowboy. And, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

  He peered at me. “Doesn’t Marc already know?”

  “No. And I don’t plan on telling him—unless it starts interfering with your work.” I pulled the box toward me. “Let’s see what’s in here.” I opened the flaps and pulled out a book. A purple Post-It note sat smack in the middle of its jacket cover.

  ‘Marc, these cookbooks are for April. Give her my love. Mom.’

  I ran my fingertips over the familiar handwriting, then studied at the photo of red, green and yellow peppers on the book cover. “Marc’s mom sent me these.”

  Karl grinned. “You move fast. Already in good with the future mother-in-law.”

  Did my face look as red as it felt? “We have no plans.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, right. Everyone around here knows you two have it bad.”

  I set the book on the counter. “Bad as in good?”

  “You guys have been giving each other love-sick stares ever since you landed here. We’re waiting for the wedding announcement.”

  So much for acting indifferent. Did the ‘we’ include Kendall? “Since you already know so much, I suppose it’s not news we were engaged back in college.”

  Deep dimples formed in his cheeks. “I thought that, but Rosa and Helen said no, that you probably knew each other from summers on the lake.”

  I nearly spit out the coffee I had just sipped. Didn’t these people ever work? “Right on both counts, but let’s keep it quiet around here.” I reached inside the box and touched what felt like tissue paper. Marc’s mom used to tuck little surprises in packages she sent to him at school. Had she done the same for me now? I eagerly snatched up the bundle and tore at the blue paper.

  The tissue fell away and a sour taste rose in my throat. I flung the thing to the floor.

  Karl jumped off his stool and picked it up.

  I stepped back until my rear hit the counter. “How long was the box in Marc’s office?”

  He tossed the baseball cap on the counter. “Can’t say.”

  I forced my eyes away from the orange monstrosity and shot him a venom-filled stare. “Ridden any lawn mowers lately or only bulls?”

  “Mowers?” He edged toward the door. “You’re not making sense.”

  “Don’t run away now, cowboy. You’re about the right height and build. Have access to all the rooms. Pay Ramón a little visit the morning he died?”

  A chill filled the air and ran down my spine. I glanced at the chef’s knife on the counter. In one movement he could shut me up for good. Who did I think I was? The lead character in a thriller novel? I wanted my boring life back.

  He grabbed the door handle. “You think I did Galvez in all because of some cap Thorne’s ma sent you? You’re crazy.” He opened the door.

  Was he leaving? Good. As soon as he was gone, I was calling the police.

  If Karl is the killer, he’d never leave this room with me alive. I know too much.

  He was stepping into the hall when I found my voice.

  “Karl, wait. I’m really losing it here.”

  Chapter 39

  Wariness etched on his face, Karl stepped inside and shut the door. But he came no further.

  His eyes went wide as I summarized what had gone down the past couple weeks. I ended with the mower attack and Marc being framed.

  “Man, I can’t believe all that happened under my nose.”

  I offered a wry smile. “Do you know if Ramón was blackmailing someone, and if so, who it may have been? Someone has to be feeding the police information beyond the rumors that implicate Marc. But what? I’m scared we’re running out of time before he is arrested.”

  “Or you’re killed.” He pursed his lips. “There wasn’t any love lost between Ramón and Isabel or Ana.”

  “What about Candy?”

  He shrugged. “No cash. The other ladies have resources.” He crossed to a stool at the island and sat.

  I settled on the seat next to him and filled him in on what I overheard Brett saying that night at the Apple about dropping money into Candy’s bank account. “What if he’s financing her?”

  He chuckled. “Hagenbrink is a small-town nobody who sells insurance out of a strip-mall office. Whatever the reason he’s throwing money in her bank account, trust me. It wasn’t enough to make anyone commit murder.”

  “Good. The last thing her mother needs is a jailbird for a daughter. Any more ideas?”

  “Not now.” He tapped his ear. “But, I’ll keep my radar up.”r />
  Feeling a bit better, I sent Karl off. If anyone could dig up new information it was him. Now to tell Marc that Karl was on his side, or was he? A minute ago I reasoned that he wasn’t the killer, but what if he had me fooled? Risky still, not to shut me up when he had the chance. I had to trust him.

  At Marc’s office, I swept past Taryn, the hat in a brown envelope tucked under my arm. I shot her a look that said, “Don’t try to stop me.”

  I tapped on his open door. He looked up from packing a moving box and grinned. “Time for our break already?” His voice echoed off the barren walls.

  I shut the door. Then scanned the room behind me. We were definitely alone. “The killer strikes again.” I shook the hat from the envelope onto his empty desktop.

  The smile slipped from his face as he picked up the cap. “Where’d you get this?”

  “In the cookbooks your mom sent. Karl brought me the carton a few minutes ago when he saw my name on it.”

  He paled. “I hope you don’t think I put it there.”

  “What I want to know is how long the box has been in your office.”

  “Since Friday when UPS brought it.”

  “You were in here Saturday. Did you look inside the carton?”

  “The only time I glanced inside was when it came on Friday after we’d talked in the boathouse. I was here Saturday morning for a while when I researched information about the keycards, but I never paid the thing any mind and never saw any indication anyone else had been here.” His eyes creased at the corners. “A curly-headed blonde preoccupied me the rest of the weekend. Work was the last thing on my mind.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “At least this takes Karl off the hook.” He turned the hat over in his hands. “He couldn’t have planted this then brought it straight to you. He’s smarter than that.”

  “I agree. But can we trust our gut instinct?”

  “We have to.”

  On the other side of the door Taryn laughed, and I lowered my voice. “Here’s the name of a lawyer Kitty recommends.” I handed him a business card. “Before you call him, best we nail down all you remember about your activities that Friday morning.“

  He tossed the hat on his desk, then sat and studied the card.

  I sat across from him. “You had a breakfast appointment that Friday morning. Right?”

  “Yeah. At a restaurant over on the South Shore. But we didn’t meet until seven-thirty. Before that I went for a run and showered.”

  I groaned. “How does someone who lives alone have an alibi?”

  “You don’t.”

  “How long does it take to drive to the restaurant from your place?”

  He shrugged. “About fifteen minutes.”

  “You could’ve stopped here first, exchanged the bottles, and then run me over on your way out.”

  He stiffened. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m only trying to think like the chief would.”

  The lines around his mouth softened as he took my hand. His skin felt cold against my palm. “Sorry. I’m not thinking clearly.”

  “Did anyone see you during the run?”

  He huffed. “A bit hard in the dark.”

  “Was your car parked outside?”

  “In the garage.”

  An odd feeling came over me. Here we were talking about a possible future together, and I had yet to see Marc’s condo. That would have to change soon. “A garage used by others too?”

  “Each unit has a private garage.” He stared at the ceiling. “It’s hopeless.”

  Taryn and Candy’s voices filtered into the room. I pointed toward the door and whispered, “I’d feel better if we could discuss this away from here.”

  He nodded. “Let’s have lunch. I’ll swing by for you at noon.”

  I left Marc and headed to the kitchen, the envelope containing the cap under my arm, our ticket to Marc’s freedom.

  Chapter 40

  Marc called a few minutes before noon. Kendall wanted to meet him for lunch. I was to wait at Kitty’s for his call, and we would meet at his condo after I dropped the hat off at the police station.

  I loved how I’d just thought about not yet seeing his home, and without my mentioning it, he suggested we meet there. Not one who looks for hokey signs that that say we were meant to be together, I tried to temper the warm feeling the thought evoked, but I couldn’t. We were meant to be a couple. Period.

  When I pulled into Kitty’s circular driveway, a plain sedan greeted me. I studied the empty vehicle for a second, then decided it must belong to one of my aunt’s lady friends. I grabbed up my purse and the envelope containing the hat, and climbed out of the car.

  From the service porch I heard a man’s voice, and my curiosity rose. Kitty had few male callers. Maybe it was the guy who worked on her computer the other day. Through the door I caught sight of the back of a tall gray-haired man in a rumpled suit. I stepped into the kitchen.

  “Here she is now,” my aunt said. “April, I’d like you to meet Chief Bronson. He is on his way back from court and dropped by to see you.”

  I was supposed to go to him, not him to me. A trap door beneath my feet would be nice. “Chief, glad to meet you in person.” I stepped in further and looked up into his steely gray eyes. Funny, his rather monochromatic appearance—gray hair, gray eyes, gray mustache, gray suit—matched the even-toned voice he’s given me over the phone the other night.

  “Likewise.”

  At his hardened stare, I hugged the envelope to my chest. Bad move. The pressure from my arm forced the orange cap bill through opening at the top. The lines on his face tightened, and I shifted my gaze to a row of trivets hanging on the wall behind him. I may have been standing in my aunt’s kitchen, but right then he held all the marbles.

  He rocked back on his heels. “I don’t want to presume you’re withholding evidence, so why don’t you hand over that envelope?”

  At his harsh tone, I took a step back.

  “Now, Howard, I’m sure April intended to give you whatever she has.” Kitty pinned a stare on me. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

  “I was planning on dropping this off within the hour. Seeing that you’re here, it saves me a trip.”

  “See? There’s no hurry,” Kitty patted his arm. “After all, we don’t even know for sure Ramón was murdered.”

  “That’s not true, Mrs. McPiper.”

  “Then you autopsied the body?” The words flew out of my mouth.

  He jerked his glare back to me. “If you’ll tell me how you came to have that hat you’re trying so hard to hide, I’ll forget how you were suppressing evidence.”

  “April, maybe I should call Dutch Vanderveldt.”

  I blinked at Kitty.

  “She doesn’t need a lawyer.”

  The lawyer’s business card I gave Marc that morning. No wonder the name was familiar. I turned my attention back to Mr. Personality. “I only found the hat in the Rescaté kitchen this morning.”

  “Where in the kitchen?”

  “Inside a box.” Sweat beaded on my forehead.

  “Do you know who had the box last?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kitty’s gaze jumped from me to the chief’s haughty expression. “Would you like some coffee, Howard? I wish I’d known you were coming, I’d have made up your mother’s shortbread recipe.”

  A sudden softness came over the man’s face. “Of all the cookies Mom made those were my favorites. Do you think before I leave you could jot down the recipe?”

  Who would’ve thought the guy would crumble at mention of his mom’s cookies?

  We settled around the kitchen table while Kitty started coffee brewing and found the recipe. The respite gave my nerves time to settle.

  The chief pulled a small notebook from his pocket. It looked like the same one I saw him use at the memorial service. He flipped it open and printed the day’s date in bold capital letters across the lined paper. “Okay, start at the beginning. W
e’ll get to the hat later.”

  I gave him a point-by-point timeline of each event, starting with the overheard telephone conversation and ending with how Marc was being framed. At his insistence, I told him who I thought might have reason to kill Ramón and why. I inwardly winced as he jotted down Isabel and Ana’s names. After his third “anyone else?” I added Candy, stressing that she was a long shot.

  He caught me in the bull’s eye of another intense stare. “No men?”

  Karl’s face popped into my thoughts. But not an hour ago, he’d proven to me he wasn’t a suspect. I shook my head.

  “Who had the box of cookbooks before they arrived at Rescaté?”

  My cell phone vibrated inside my pocket, its buzz sounding like a giant bee. If the chief heard it, he didn’t let on. “Had to be Marc Thorne’s mother, unless you count the delivery man.”

  He poised his pen. “She live nearby?”

  “Florida.”

  While he jotted on his pad, I gazed longingly at the sink faucet. I’d give anything for some water, but didn’t dare ask.

  “So, Thorne had the hat.”

  The man shifted gears faster than a racecar driver. Was this a taste of the interrogation Marc had gone through? “He didn’t have the hat, didn’t see the hat or touch the hat until I took it to his office after I opened the box. Whoever is trying to frame Marc planted the cap in the books after the box arrived in his office.”

  “So Thorne gave you the box.”

  My stomach soured. I had to tell the truth. “Karl Murray, the handyman, delivered the box to me because it had my name scribbled on it.” I caught the man’s hard gaze in my own. “Karl didn’t put the hat in the box. I’m convinced of that. Someone else planted it there over the weekend.” I shoved the envelope toward the chief.