Sadie smiled at him as she passed him in the doorway. “Thank you.” Once back in the room, many of those possibilities he’d just mentioned began spinning cartwheels in her head. Perhaps she was jumping to conclusions—it wouldn’t be the first time—but there was a comfortable air with Detective Cunningham that tingled with anticipation.
He held her eyes for a moment, then blushed slightly and looked back at the glass. They watched in silence for nearly a minute as the officer finished wrapping things up with Jack, who was still signing paperwork.
She tested the next thing she wanted to say, and decided to go for it. Her timing was probably terrible, and yet with everything over she realized she might not see the detective again. Even if nothing came of it, she wanted some of her curiosity satiated in regard to this man. “When did your wife pass away?”
Cunningham stiffened quickly, then slowly relaxed. When he spoke, his voice was soft and vulnerable. “How did you know?”
Sadie smiled slightly but didn’t meet his eyes, allowing him his privacy with facial expression if nothing else. “The tapering of your finger where your ring used to be, the sweetness in your voice when you talked about your wife’s applesauce . . . and you understood when I talked about Neil’s death.”
After a few more seconds, Sadie turned to look at him. She smiled even though it hurt a little bit. She’d been oddly excited to have him see her with her makeup and hair done so he’d know what she really looked like—now she’d have to wait for the swelling and bruises to go away.
He met her eyes and cleared his throat before he spoke. “Two years,” he said quietly. “Pancreatic cancer. It’s been . . . hard.”
Sadie smiled sympathetically. “I wore my ring for almost three years,” she said. “It was hard to accept the shift in my future.”
Detective Cunningham nodded, absently rubbing his naked ring finger with his right hand. “I took mine off on the two-year anniversary last month—I’m not sure I’m the same man without it.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely. And she was; losing someone you loved was a horrendously painful experience.
“Me too.”
The door of the room Jack was in opened and Jack quickly stood, his eyes wide, his expression scared as he wiped his hands on the front of his pants—the pants he’d come in with and that had been returned to him. She noticed he had his wedding ring on again and wondered if he still had hope in regards to Carrie. Part of Sadie rebelled against the idea—Carrie had done very little to deserve a second chance—and yet who was she to say what was and what wasn’t big enough for love to heal?
A woman led Trevor into the room and Jack tried to smile though he looked very nervous. Finally he crouched down and reached toward the hesitant toddler. After a few moments, Trevor let go of the social worker and made tentative movements toward Jack’s outstretched hand.
“Hi, Trevor,” Jack said, smiling despite the tears in his eyes. “I’m Jack, your . . . I’m your dad.”
Sadie felt a lump rise in her throat and wiped quickly at her eyes before turning to Detective Cunningham, afraid if she kept watching she’d lose all composure.
“It’s been a long day and I was thinking of making a gingerbread when I get home tonight, you know, to take the edge off. I know I’m not much to look at right now, but I can still cook. Would you like to come over and share it with me?”
Cunningham regarded her for a moment, then smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corner just like Sean Connery. “Gingerbread? I hear it goes well with applesauce.”
Granny’s Gingerbread
1⁄2 cup sugar
1⁄2 cup butter
1 egg
1 cup molasses (mild)
1⁄4 cup applesauce
21⁄2 cups flour
1 teaspoon cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon cloves
1⁄2 teaspoon salt
2⁄3 cup hot water
Whipped cream (optional)
Powdered sugar (optional)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream sugar and butter, add egg and mix well. Add molasses and applesauce—mix well. Add dry ingredients and spices—mix well. Add hot water—mix well. Pour into greased and floured bundt pan (don’t cheat with cooking spray!). Bake 45 minutes, cool in pan before turning out onto a plate. Serve with whipped cream, applesauce, or sprinkled with powdered sugar.
Tastes better on the second or third day as flavors mingle.
(Smells just like Christmas!)
Acknowledgments
As mentioned in my dedication, I must first acknowledge my gratitude to my mother and the many ways in which she has shaped my life. Not only has she showed me how to be the right kind of woman (though I’m still working on the application part of some of those lessons), but she taught me the difference between bread from the oven and bread from the store. It wasn’t until I left home that I realized how priceless a gift that really was. Many of the recipes featured in this book came from her and are the taste and smells of my childhood.
Big thanks to Jeff Savage who a few years ago hosted a first chapter contest for a food-based mystery; without that contest this book would never have come about. Thanks to Willard Boyd Gardner for his insight into police procedure, although he certainly doesn’t deserve the blame for any mistakes included here. Thanks to my writing group members who over the years have helped fine-tune this story—Janet Jensen, Carole Thayne, Ronda Hinrichsen, Anne Ward, Becki Clayson, and Jodi Durfee. Thanks to my sweet cousin, Melinda Rich, for finding time to do a last-minute edit amid all her new adventures, and to my dear friend Julie Wright who, once again, came to my rescue and buoyed me up every time I needed buoying.
Thank you to everyone at Deseret Book, your support and enthusiasm is priceless. Specifically Lisa Mangum, the assistant editor who first said that, despite this book being different from my others, she’d like to take a look at it; Jana Erickson, who orchestrated all the details, Shauna Gibby for the great cover, Rachael Ward for the typesetting, and the entire marketing team for getting the word out. A big thank you to Erin Crouse, assistant to Jana, who tested each recipe to make sure they were doable in a kitchen other than my own.
Thanks to my husband, Lee, who remains my sun, moon, and stars, and my children—the beneficiaries (and victims) of my baking obsession. I’d be in trouble if I had to eat it all myself, and it wouldn’t be any fun to eat alone anyway. I love you guys and so appreciate each of you in my life.
And thank you most of all to my Father in Heaven, for this story, the others, and all things stated above. I am blessed.
About the Author
Josi was born and raised in Salt Lake City, attended Olympus High School and made an appearance at Salt Lake Community College before marrying her high school sweetheart, starting a family, and moving to Willard, Utah. In addition to her writing, she loves to bake, travel, can her own peaches, watch criminal justice TV, and study the oddness of human nature. Lemon Tart is her ninth published novel, and the first of the Sadie Hoffmiller mystery series that combines many of her great loves into one delicious book.
In her spare time, she likes to overwhelm herself with a multitude of projects and then complain that she never has any spare time; in this way she is rather masochistic.
She also enjoys cheering on her children and sleeping in when the occasion presents itself. She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached at [email protected].
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