by Mary Campisi
“Thank you.” Ben moved the bag to the edge of the desk. “I’m looking forward to it.” He’d almost been late for work twice this week. Sharing a bed with Gina was a huge distraction, as in he wanted her—a lot and often. Even after she exhausted him with lovemaking and he drifted off to sleep, he’d wake to find her soft skin touching his and the need started all over again. In the morning, between the first alarm and the second, he had to have her. Yesterday, she’d followed him in the shower and, well, that had been the best wakeup call he’d ever had. She seemed to share his need though they didn’t talk about it, not in words anyway, but he could feel their bond strengthening, and he knew she had to feel it, too.
And not just in bed. They cooked dinner together, took walks, talked about city life versus small-town life. Ben almost told her he wanted to take her to a place like Chicago or New York, but he pulled back. She might ask about a trip to Philly, and there was no way to explain that one without a lie, and damn it, he did not want to lie to her. Actually, he wanted to tell her the truth about how he’d ended up in Magdalena, but not yet. Gina might consider his subterfuge a lie, brand him untrustworthy, and he couldn’t risk that until they were tighter.
“So, I hear you and Gina Servetti got together, huh?”
That comment brought Ben back around fast. What to say to that? It’s not like he and Gina had been hiding these past few days. They’d taken walks after dinner, not holding hands but close enough to touch. And he’d parked his car in her driveway, even though it wasn’t exactly visible from the street since she had a long drive and lots of shrubbery to obscure it. Still, they weren’t hiding, they just weren’t advertising.
“Well?” Jeremy leaned forward, planted both elbows on his knees, like he was getting ready to watch a movie.
“Well what?”
“Did you turn the jalapeño pepper into a sweet red? Or take the venom out of the viper?”
Ben leaned back against his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t you have work to do? And where’s your father?”
Jeremy pointed to the report in front of Ben. “Waiting on you, and the chief’s at the dentist, getting a crown fixed. Remember he said he wouldn’t be in?”
“Right.” He didn’t remember but the less he saw of Rudy Dean, the better.
“Just tell me, Ben. Did you and Gina hook up?”
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “Gina’s not the kind of girl who hooks up, you got that?”
“Oh. Uh, sure. Sorry.” Red splotched the boy’s face, slithered to the tips of his ears.
“Do you have a girlfriend, Jeremy?”
“Huh? Not really.”
That could mean anything from “I’m in love with someone and she doesn’t know I exist” to “I’m with so many women, all of them are girlfriends” or “None of them are.” Ben guessed with Jeremy it would be the first possibility. “You aren’t going to have one either if you don’t learn to respect them and their privacy.”
“Look, I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean anything by it, it was just that Pop said—”
“Pop? Who the hell’s Pop?”
The boy’s face lit up. “He’s the Godfather of Magdalena. He knows everything that goes on in this town, sometimes even before it happens. They say he talks to his dead wife, Lucy, and she sends him messages about the residents.” He paused, rubbed his jaw. “Advice, too.”
“Sure he does.” The guy sounded like a nut case, or maybe he had dementia. Or maybe— “Wait a minute; are you talking about that skinny guy with the big glasses and pencil mustache who faked a broken ankle at Cash and Tess’s wedding so I’d dance with Gina?”
Jeremy grinned and nodded. “That’s the one.”
“Why is this Pop guy talking about me?”
“He’s got it in his head that you and Gina make a good match and once Pop gets something in his head, he gets real determined to see it happen.”
Ben didn’t like the idea of anybody trying to force a situation, especially if it involved him. He might just have to check out this Pop and have a conversation with him that started and ended with “Mind your own business.”
“Would it be reasonable to ask why this man was talking about me and Gina at all? It started somewhere.” Pause. “Was it you?”
“No.” He shook his head and his ears turned redder. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Ben. Honest. I did hear Pop say something about Bree Kinkaid. You think it’s her?”
So Brody couldn’t keep his mouth shut after all. Ben guessed if he had to spill to someone, it might as well be his wife. Of course, there was the off chance, though unlikely, that Brody had kept quiet and the culprit was Bree. She’d insisted Ben and Gina were destined to be together, long before he saw past Gina’s sharp tongue to the real woman. “I have no idea.”
“Oh. Well, just so you know it’s not me.” He stood, cleared his throat. “And I’m sorry if I offended Gina.”
Ben nodded. He really did not want to discuss this.
“And if you let me, I’d like to cook for both of you tomorrow night at Mimi’s. Your choice: veal saltimbocca or chicken Cordon Bleu.”
“Jeremy, that’s not necessary.” Though he hadn’t had veal in a while…
“I know, but I want to do it. I’ll plan it all out. How about 7:00?”
“Sure.” When the boy talked about cooking or food, his excitement spilled into his words, spread across his face in ways it never did when he talked police work. Why wasn’t he doing something he obviously loved instead of doing something he obviously didn’t? “Why aren’t you a chef instead of a policeman?”
“What? No.” He shook his head, glanced toward his father’s empty office, and mumbled, “It’s just a hobby. I only do it to pass time.”
“Really?” Ben doubted that. He’d listened to the kid describe the pairings he chose for the sandwiches he brought Ben, and this was no hobbyist. “So, you only cook once in a while?”
“No.” He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward, lowering his voice, “I cook every day.” Pause. “For people in town.”
“You do?”
He stifled a smile. “Remember the ravioli you told Mimi you loved? That was mine. And the pulled pork with slaw? Mine, too. She lets me use her kitchen and we cook together, though she’s pretty much just the prep person.”
“I’ll be damned. And the desserts, the apple pie and cream puffs?”
“Yup.” This time the smile slipped out, burst across his face. “Cream puffs are my specialty.”
“Now I’m really impressed.”
“And you know that mushroom barley soup you order at Lina’s Café every Thursday?” He pointed to his chest. “I make that. My special recipe.”
“Do you cook for the whole town?”
He shrugged. “Seems like it, at one time or another, but I don’t mind. I love the challenge.”
“What’s the chief say about all this?”
Jeremy looked at him as though he’d just asked the kid to chop off his right hand. “He doesn’t know.”
“Doesn’t know? Why? You’ve got talent, kid, and a passion. You should be in a kitchen, not behind a desk or in a patrol car.”
“Police work is my job. Cooking is my hobby.”
Ben blew out a disgusted sigh. “Who told you to say that? You sound like a canned advertisement. Was it your old man?”
Jeremy’s gaze skittered across the desk, landed on the bagged lunch he brought Ben. “No.”
Damn Rudy Dean for screwing with his own kid. “Of course, it was. Listen, Jeremy, nobody’s going to give you a playbook and tell you to go out and have a good life. It’s up to you to fight for what you want and don’t let anybody else tell you what that is. You got that? Everybody has their own agenda, and they might try to convince you it’s yours, but don’t be a fool. I think your dad expects you to be a cop and you don’t have the guts to stand up to him and say, no, you have other plans.”
“He’d be so disappointed in me.” He ran
both hands through his hair and blinked hard. “The whole town would know and I can’t do that to him. I just can’t.”
“Then you’re a fool. Keep living someone else’s life and see how far it gets you. There comes a time when you have to man up, and this is yours.” He opened his ledger and grabbed a pen. “Now I’ve got work to do, and so do you. Thanks for the sandwich.”
***
“And Brody told me how very sorry he was for not understanding my needs at this difficult time, and he brought me a bouquet of daisies with pink and blue ribbons.” She smiled and touched her hair. “He said they reminded him of our first date. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?”
Not really. Gina wanted to ask about the counselor. Had they made an appointment yet? Had they talked about the child they lost? And what about Bree’s need to have a choice whether there would be more babies? Or had Brody merely filled Bree’s prescription, grabbed a bouquet of daisies, and spouted his apologies? Something was wrong. Gina sensed it. Bree was smiling too much, going on and on about Brody and his wonderfulness. Nobody smiled that much, not even Bree, and nobody was that wonderful, especially Brody Kinkaid.
Bree had invited them to Lina’s Café for coffee and dessert, and as she put it, “To show them she was alive and back on track.” Gina thought the last part was debatable, because while Bree might be on track, they couldn’t tell where she was headed. When she excused herself to use the restroom, Gina waited until she was out of earshot before turning to Tess and Christine. “What’s going on? Where’s the Bree who moped around and could barely comb her hair. She’s gone from a sad sack to a whirling dervish. She’s laughing, wearing makeup, doing the laundry, and cleaning the house…And don’t tell me it’s all because of the medication she’s taking, because I’m not buying it.”
Christine bit her bottom lip, narrowed her gaze on the bathroom door of Lina’s Café. “I agree. Something’s off.”
“Yeah, like a cheerleader’s invaded Bree’s body and won’t let go,” Tess said.
“But why?” Gina had checked in with Bree every day and while her friend sounded better, the transformation didn’t take place until two nights ago.
“I think I might have an idea.” Christine leaned forward, lowered her voice. “Nate said Bree’s dad called him a few days ago. He wants to retire and asked Nate what he thought about bringing Bree into the business.”
“Really?” This from Tess. “I thought Brody was taking over.”
Christine shrugged. “Didn’t sound like it.”
“Huh.” Tess forked a piece of coconut cream pie and said, “I know Bree’s always wanted to get involved, but her dad didn’t want her in the manufacturing business, protecting his daughter and all that.”
Gina rolled her eyes. “Maybe after the recent developments, he’s figured out that his son-in-law isn’t the best choice.” Did Brody know? She’d had hopes that he might turn things around, but she’d called twice to check in and he hadn’t returned her calls. Not a good sign.
“That would account for her excitement, wouldn’t it?” Tess asked. “I just hope Brody’s bought in. She’ll need help with the kids.”
“Nate said Rex is thinking about hiring someone from the outside. Bree would work with him to get familiar with the business until the kids are older and she’s able to become more involved.” Christine sipped her water and glanced at the bathroom door. “But I’m not sure what that means for Brody.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know,” Gina said, as Bree opened the bathroom door and walked toward them. “And maybe that’s why Bree is on the ‘Brody’s wonderful’ kick. It’s called guilt. She’s in the Big Boys Club and he’s gotten the boot.”
“Could that be true?” Tess turned to watch Bree.
“Very possible,” Gina said. “Actually, highly probable.”
Bree flashed them a smile and slid into the booth next to Tess. “It’s so good to have a little alone time with my friends.” Her smile spread. “Life is good.” She popped a pecan from her pecan roll in her mouth and chewed. “Very good.”
Gina was about to ask her to expand on that when Bree clutched her hand and said, “How much longer are you going to make us wait before you spill the beans?”
“Excuse me?” Why couldn’t Bree ever just say what she meant? Why did her meaning always have to circle around and around until she made them all dizzy?
“You know.” She tapped a finger on Gina’s arm. “Now don’t get all shy and pretend. I am so happy for you. I absolutely knew this would happen, just knew it! And now—”
“Bree,” Tess cut her off. “What the heck are you talking about?”
“Gina and Mr. Handsome Hunk.” Bree’s eyes sparkled like they used to when she was dreaming of weddings and babies. “Also known as Ben Reed.”
***
“What the hell happened to you?” Ben stared at Jeremy. A mix of black and purple circled the swollen flesh around the boy’s left eye, seeped onto the bridge of his nose, and filtered to the nostril.
“I ran into the door.”
“A door?” Ben had never seen a door causing this kind of damage unless said door was made of steel and the person had been tossed into it.
Jeremy turned toward the coffee pot, away from Ben. “I wasn’t paying attention and ran into a door.”
Even if Ben believed everything, which he didn’t, this story would be a hard one to buy. Something had happened to the kid that he didn’t want Ben to know about, and that meant it probably had to do with his old man. “Did your father do this to you?”
The boy flinched. “No. Leave it alone, Ben.”
“Like hell. If you won’t tell me, I’ll get the truth from your old man.”
Jeremy swung around, his good eye wide, fearful. “Don’t. Why can’t you just leave it alone, huh?” His voice hitched, broke open. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” He tossed the coffee spoon on the counter and left before Ben could say anything else.
What had Rudy Dean done to his son? Had Jeremy taken Ben’s advice and told his dad he wanted to cook instead of do police work? Is that what the black eye was all about? Ben tore into the chief’s office, arms crossed over his chest. “What the hell did you do to Jeremy?”
Rudy Dean glanced up from the papers on his desk and shoved his reading glasses on top of his crew-cut head. “What did you say?”
Ben closed the door behind him so Mrs. Olsteroff didn’t try to take notes and said, “Did you give Jeremy that black eye?”
The man blanched and hesitated a half second too long before saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? That black eye doesn’t have anything to do with Jeremy telling you he’s more interested in baking soufflés than collaring criminals?”
“The boy fell.”
“Huh.” Damn Rudy Dean and his lying bullshit. “He said he ran into a door.”
The man’s thin lips flattened, his nostrils flared. “What happened between me and my son is none of your damn business. You’re just some city-boy hotshot trying to make a young kid feel inferior.”
“I’m trying to show him he has options.”
“Options.” Rudy Dean balled his hands into fists, clenched and unclenched them. “The kid barely made it through high school. He almost didn’t pass the police exam even though I spent hours going over the friggin’ questions. We had to find a place for him, so don’t tell me about options.”
“The boy can cook; maybe that’s what he should be doing.”
“Where? In a greasy spoon, frying up chicken wings and French fries?” He blew out a breath, shook his head. “Jeremy’s never been fifty miles outside of Magdalena and not because we didn’t try.”
That information surprised Ben. Maybe Rudy Dean wasn’t such a hard-ass after all when it came to his son. Maybe it was more about protection than control, but the boy had a gift in the kitchen and maybe the old man was so beaten up by the prospect of his son’s limited possibilities that he couldn’t see he was
suffocating the kid. Ben took a deep breath and said, “Look, I’m not his father and I don’t know his backstory, but what I do know is that boy can cook. I could tell he didn’t want to do police work the first time I met him. It’s either in your blood or it’s not.”
“He’s young. It’ll grow on him.” The man didn’t say it with much conviction.
“You really believe that?”
Rudy Dean shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know what I believe anymore.” He shook his head, stared at the papers on his desk. “I came home and Jeremy was in the kitchen making chicken piccata. I don’t even know what that is. He started on about the ingredients and the savory taste and then he up and told me he was quitting the force to become a chef.” He snapped his sausage-sized fingers. “Just like that. Quitting. Said there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it because he was an adult and it was his choice. Never mind that he still lives at home and doesn’t pay a cent of rent. We got into it, and it was bad. He turned back to the stove like I wasn’t even there and I lost it. That’s when I threw the spatula.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to hit him; hell, I still don’t know how I hit him.”
Ben sighed. He didn’t know much about family dynamics and he sure as hell didn’t know about father-son relationships, but this one needed mending. He guessed Rudy’s strong-arm tactics were the result of equal parts personality and an attempt to get Jeremy to move his butt. As for Jeremy, he could just meander along, not happy with his circumstances, but not willing to take a leap that might require extra work.
“Do you know your son cooks for Mimi Pendergrass and Lina’s Café?” He’d bet the man had no idea.
“Cooks what?” And then, “When?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs. Pork chops and stuffing. And have you had Lina’s chicken pot pie lately?”
Rudy Dean hesitated. “New to the menu. Had it last Tuesday.”