Thyme for Love (Cooking Up Trouble Book 1)

by Pamela S. Meyers

  His moustache undulated. “How are you so sure it was planted, missy, and how are you so positive Thorne or Murray didn’t mess with the box?” He pulled the hat from the envelope.

  “The box arrived Friday, but Marc was with me all weekend. And I know Karl didn’t do it.” I tried to swallow, but my throat felt coated with sand.

  “What makes you so sure.”

  “He told me he didn’t and I believe him.” Oh boy, now I’d done it. Poor Karl.

  A silver brow rose as he jotted another note. “Love with suspect Friday to Sunday. Did you stay at his place or did he stay here?”

  My face heated.

  “Howard,” Kitty cut in. “All weekend didn’t mean sleeping together.”

  “Let her answer the question.”

  “We each slept in our own homes. He was here until about midnight Friday night, and we were together from about noon Saturday until one a.m. Sunday. He returned here to go to church with me at eight-thirty Sunday morning, and was here until ten that evening.”

  “So he had plenty of time to plant that hat in the box.”

  I inwardly cringed. Had I unwittingly dug a deeper hole for Marc?

  “So, there’s more than a working relationship between you and Thorne. No wonder you’re covering for him.”

  “I’ve known Marc a long while.” Kitty set a steaming cup in front of him. “He’s a good Christian man.”

  He smirked. “A good Christian man who was tossed from grad school for cheating.”

  “If that were true, he would have told my niece.”

  I didn’t dare look at Kitty. “I do know about that. But what he did in grad school has nothing to do with Mr. Galvez’s death. Someone is trying to frame him.” I croaked out the words. “Marc Thorne is not a murderer.”

  The chief scraped his chair back and picked up the envelope. “You know that old saying. If it looks like a duck, smells like a duck, and walks like a duck, then it’s a duck. He held up the envelope. “This adds the last piece to the puzzle. Sorry I couldn’t stay for the coffee. It smells great.”

  “I’ll see you out.” Kitty gave the man a stiff smile and handed him a card. “Here’s your recipe.”

  Their muffled voices drifted off toward the door. I pulled my phone out and checked voice mail.

  “April,” Marc said. “Call me. I’m at home.”

  Chapter 41

  After quickly answering a flustered Kitty’s questions about Marc’s cheating, I headed for his place. Halfway through the village, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my purse and glimpsed at the caller ID. As much as I wanted to let it go to voicemail, I pressed the button on my Bluetooth earpiece.

  “Hi, Flavia. You still need that recipe and I forgot. I’m so sorry. If you knew how hectic—”

  “I think maybe Isabel is involved in Ramón’s death.”

  My grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Why?”

  “The police chief up there wanted her permission to autopsy Ramón because there’s a suspicion he was killed.” She sniffed. “At first she balked, but when they mentioned a court order, she relented.”

  “That doesn’t mean . . . What makes you so sure?”

  “The morning Ramón died she planned to drive up to Rescaté to have it out with him. She said she had car trouble and never made it there. What if she’s lying, setting me up to tell them what she said, and she . . . I can’t say the word. She was so angry at him.”

  Tears welled in my eyes as I dug into my purse for pen and paper. “Do you know where she had the car worked on?”

  “Fox Lake.”

  Blurred red lights blazed in front of me. My foot hit the brake then everything went black.

  Chapter 42

  An acrid odor filled my nostrils. I pushed the airbag away from my face. Something was burning. I groped for the door handle, but my hand tangled with the deflated bag. The door flew open. Cool, clean air blasted into the car. I hauled in a precious breath.

  “Do you know how much dough you just cost me?”

  My gaze lifted to a pair of the broadest shoulders I’d ever seen and above them, bulging nostrils that I expected to smoke at any moment.

  Afraid of being singed, I turned away and stared through the windshield. I swallowed back the sour taste of bile and whacked the steering wheel with the heel of my hand. Dad would blow a gasket if someone rear-ended his ’55 Vette like that. I really did it this time.

  I peered up at the guy who didn’t look any less menacing than a second ago. “Totally my fault. I’m so sorry.”

  “You better believe it’s your fault, sister. Get out.”

  A siren sounded in the distance. “Let me give you my information. It’ll only take a sec.” I reached for my purse where it had landed on the passenger side floor, and a sharp pain torpedoed through my chest.

  A loud screech split the air. I looked up as the Corvette shot down the road and rounded a curve. A minute later a squad car pulled up. Chief Bronson climbed out, this time decked out in his police uniform, all pressed and creased in the right places.

  He swaggered toward me, wearing a gleaming badge on his chest and a smirk on his face. “What were you doing? Chasing down Galvez’s killer?”

  Too bad I didn’t have one of his mother’s shortbreads on me. “No. But you may want to look for the guy I hit. As soon as he heard your siren he took off. Big man in a red and white vintage Corvette, wearing jeans and a faded blue T-shirt. His license tag is ‘Lucky.’”

  “Wait here.” He stepped aside and spoke into the radio affixed to his shoulder.

  I seized the moment and called Marc.

  “April, where are you?”

  “I rear-ended someone at Lake and Main. No worries. I’m okay.”

  “I can jog there in two minutes.”

  “Bronson is here.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “No, Marc.”

  Next to me a throat cleared.

  I disconnected.

  “What’s Thorne gonna do? Come rescue you?”

  “I had to tell my boss I’m going to be late for a meeting.”

  “Step out and tell me what happened.”

  I detailed the crash after which the chief happily wrote me a ticket.

  He tore it off his pad with an extra flourish and added a lecture about not talking on a cell phone, even using the hands-free mode, while operating a motor vehicle. Strolling back to his car, he called over his shoulder, “Hope you got insurance. Bumpers cost a bundle.”

  I slipped behind the wheel and studied the deflated airbag. It had to be moved off the steering wheel if I were going to drive it to a repair place.

  “Ms. Love.”

  I peered out the door I hadn’t bothered to close.

  The chief tossed me a thin smile through his open window. “Sergeant Hogan just radioed. They caught the guy you hit. He was driving a stolen vehicle.”

  I bit back a snappy retort and mumbled, “Good to hear.” He drove off as Marc jogged toward me from across the road. My knight in blue jeans never looked better.

  He helped me out of the car, and the instant I pressed my face into his chest as his muscular arms cocooned me, tears erupted. “I hit a stolen vintage Vette. The guy was fuming. If he posts bail he might be looking for me.”

  Marc patted my back. “Sweetheart, I’m sure the only thing he’ll want to do is keep his nose clean, not go looking for more trouble. Are you hurt?”

  I assured him that except for the bruise from the seatbelt I was fine. When he suggested he drive the car back to his condo, I gratefully handed him my keys and slid into the passenger seat. Let him deal with that bag.

  Ten minutes later, after Marc had folded and maneuvered the bag’s remains into a position that allowed him to steer the car, we turned onto Cliff Drive, one of my favorite roads in the village thanks to the half-dozen antique Victorians that lined the street. He made a turn into his condo complex and parked in front of a brick building. “It’s driving okay. Nothing out of
alignment.” He cut the motor and handed me the keys.

  After a quick stop at his mailbox in the lobby, we went to his condo a couple doors away. On legs that suddenly felt like rubber, I headed straight for the suede-cloth loveseat and sank into its deep cushions.

  “What do you need, babe?” Marc’s concerned gaze fixed on my face.

  “Come sit with me.”

  Without a word, he plopped beside me and pulled me close.

  I snuggled up and pressed my face into his shoulder. The familiar scent of Downey tickled my senses, offering a strange sort of comfort. Mom always used that stuff. But I couldn’t wallow in childhood memories. This was now, and we had a hot police chief on our tails. “Does Bronson get elected around here?”

  “No election, but his contract comes up this summer. I heard that a citizen group is challenging it.”

  I huffed. “Nothing like a big arrest to make him look good. He was at Kitty’s when I got there. He couldn’t have planned it better. He jacked me around, insinuating I was withholding evidence because I hadn’t turned the cap over and made sure I knew about your trouble with the doctorate. I don’t know how he thought I could turn it in any faster, given I’d only discovered it that morning.”

  He tensed. “The man seems to operate in a parallel universe. There’s a big stretch between cheating in grad school and committing murder.”

  “I said as much to him.”

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “What next?”

  “I was talking to Flavia when I had the accident. She’s scared Isabel may have killed Ramón.” I summarized what she said about Isabel’s car trouble the morning Ramón died.

  “Her car problems should be easy enough to prove by calling repair places in Fox Lake. If she has an alibi that only leaves Ana on our suspect list.”

  I grabbed a red throw pillow and hugged it. “Same for the chief whether he wants to admit it or not. I told him the person I saw was no more than five-eight, not six-foot-one, so why are they looking at you?”

  “Probably figures you’re protecting me.”

  I snorted. “He said that too. They can’t arrest you without solid evidence.”

  “Think about it. The chief knows Ramón and I didn’t get along. He threw that in my face the other day. And he knows I had access to Ramón’s apartment. Now the cap was in my possession. Next thing you know poisoned pills are going to show up in my back pocket and the chief will be at my door with handcuffs.”

  I think he needs to take the case to the district attorney before they can arrest anyone. “Sit back and tell me what happened between you and Ramón?”

  He settled against the couch and grabbed my hand, weaving our fingers together. “Six months ago, the board recommended making me V.P. in charge of operations. He sabotaged the promotion by informing the board about my past.” Marc shook his head. “I thought they already knew, but he never told them. Ramón and I got into an argument. Kim was at her desk outside his door and heard everything. Guess she didn’t keep it to herself.”

  His cell phone jangled. He grabbed it and studied the screen. “It’s Bronson.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t answer.”

  The intrusive ring continued.

  “If I don’t, I’m putting off the inevitable. Best I take it.” He swiped his finger across the screen, “Thorne.” His jaw pulsed. “Not yet. I just took it out of my mailbox. Okay.” He tapped on the off button. “The chief wants to talk to me again day after tomorrow. He suggested I check out this week’s Chronicle.”

  “If he’s so anxious to slip a noose around your neck, why wait two days?”

  “He has to be in court tomorrow. At least that gives me time to lawyer up.” Marc went to the dining table and snatched up the weekly newspaper. He stared at the front page, and color drained from his face.

  Chapter 43

  I hunched forward. “What is it?”

  “Look for yourself.” He flung the tabloid-style paper. Pages flew into the air and spewed across the floor. “Talk about getting no respect in your hometown.” He stomped down a hall, and a second later a door slammed.

  I dove for the front page and stared at the two-inch-high headline: GALVEZ DEATH DECLARED MURDER. Pulse racing, I continued to read:

  Canoga County Coroner, Reginald Fuller, was forced to change Rescaté de Niño Director Ramón Galvez’s cause of death to murder. On a tip from a civilian, local police sought and received permission from Galvez’s sister to autopsy the remains.

  Police Chief Bronson announced today that a lethal amount of cyanide was found in Galvez’s body. Authorities suspect Galvez ingested the poison through vitamin capsules containing the deadly substance. Bronson revealed they are investigating a person of interest. They expect to make an arrest soon. Pressed for more details, he declined, saying he didn’t want to compromise the case.

  Marc wasn’t a killer. Tears pressed at my eyes as I glanced down the hall. The man stewing behind that closed door meant more to me than anything. I covered my face with my hands and wailed, “Lord, help us. We don’t know what to do next.”

  A hand gripped my shoulder. “April, are you okay?”

  I stared into Marc’s stricken face. “Yes.”

  “Liar.” He sat beside me.

  “Really, I am.” I sat up and palmed the wetness from my face. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Liar.”

  “You don’t have to be in this battle. I wouldn’t blame you if you got out while the getting is good.”

  I gripped his hand, stunned at its lack of warmth. “I’m going nowhere.”

  “They’ve got me pegged, and nothing is going to change their minds.”

  “They may have made you their target, but we’ll find the killer and prove them wrong.”

  His grip on my hand tightened. “I’ve got to think of your safety. The more we keep investigating, the more danger you’re in. I’ll call that attorney and go to the appointment with the chief.”

  “By all means, get your lawyer, but meanwhile we’ve got tonight and all of tomorrow. Let’s make some notes.”

  Marc found paper and pencil and we settled at the small dining table next to the kitchen. After going over the timeline of events, we moved next to the suspects.

  I drummed my fingers on the tabletop. “We can dismiss Candy altogether after what Karl said.”

  “Karl?”

  “Once I knew he was in the clear this morning, I told him what was going on. He’s a good guy to have on board.”

  Marc crossed his arms and shot me a wary look. “Are we so certain he’s in the clear? After all, the guy’s knee deep in gambling debts.”

  I felt my brows rise. “You know that?”

  “I’ve heard him on the phone a couple times when he thought no one was nearby. At the rodeo the other night I saw him collecting money, and that confirmed it. I’ve been talking to Pastor Helmuth who runs the addiction ministry at church about doing an intervention and getting Karl some help.”

  My heart had to enlarge to make room for the expanding love for this man. “And here I was afraid to tell you because you’d fire him.”

  “Ramón would have fired him. I look for a solution. Taking his job away would only force him into more betting to try to make up for lack of a paycheck.” He ran a hand over his hair. “If you’re convinced he’s not involved in Ramón’s death, I’ll trust your instincts.”

  “After seeing his face this morning when I accused him of the crime,” I paused . . . what if I was wrong? No. I could see it in his eyes. He told me the truth. “I’m convinced he’s innocent. We need him. Marc. Think about it. The guy can be in places we can’t without drawing attention. He gave me great insight on Candy, Ana, and Isabel.”

  Marc nodded. “You’re right. But be careful how many more people you draft. What did he say about Candy?”

  “Brett is likely trying to be a big shot. We don’t know what the deal was with the money, but neither he nor Ca
ndy have enough to be blackmailed. Karl says Isabel has the bucks, and it appears that Ana has enough moola as well.”

  “That’s for sure. She lives in a penthouse in Lake Geneva and is always taking expensive vacations.”

  “Have you heard anything about her being in the country illegally?”

  Creases formed between his eyes. “Never. Why?”

  “Someone overheard Ramón threaten to out her during one of their arguments. He said she’d find herself back in Mexico before she knew what happened.”

  “Interesting. Scuttlebutt around the office has it she comes from a wealthy family that made their fortune in Acapulco hotels.”

  I tapped my pencil on the pad. “Ramón seemed to have a fetish for exposing people’s secrets.” I looked at my watch. It was already past business hours. “I’ll call auto repair places in Fox Lake tomorrow morning and see if Isabel’s story matches up.”

  “I feel in my gut it was an inside job, and I have just the thing to smoke out the killer.” Looking more animated than he had all afternoon, Marc reached in his jeans pocket and pulled out a rusty key.

  Chapter 44

  “I remember her well,” the service manager at Fox Lake Motors said to me the next morning. “Tall, dark-haired lady. Good looking. Came in at seven thirty-two according to my computer. Had a busted serpentine belt. Got a little huffy when she had to wait for us to get a replacement.”

  Time to cross another suspect off the list? Maybe, maybe not. “Did she wait?”

  “She had no choice. All the loaners were out.”

  “Did she make any calls?”

  “Don’t pay no attention to the customers in the wait area.” He paused. “Hey, who did you say you were? I’m not sure I should be giving out this information.”

  “You’ve helped a lot. Thanks.” I tapped the off button on my cell phone and put it in my pocket. Marc’s plan had to work. We were fast running out of time. Visions of a jailhouse wedding had been creeping into my thoughts since yesterday, and each time it became harder to quash them down.