Genie bit her lower lip. Was it that obvious that they were on the brink of financial ruin?
“Hey, forget I mentioned it.” Maggie turned.
Genie swallowed the huge glob of pride stuck in her throat. “Thank you. Yes, I’d love to do that. I miss having a real kitchen.”
Maggie almost dropped the dishes. “Seriously?”
“Yes—but only if you allow me to experiment and offer some daily specials that are different from your usual ones.”
“It’s a deal.” Maggie pushed the door into the kitchen and called out, “Earl, you’d better watch out. You may not have a job when you get back.”
Jim grinned, reached across the table, and grabbed Genie’s hand. “That black cat brought us good luck. We’ll eat for free for two weeks.”
She allowed herself to enjoy a tiny thrill of excitement. Her own kitchen. Not a Sous chef. The executive chef for Sips Coffee Shop. She closed her eyes and imagined herself in her chef’s jacket and pants, whisking up an amazing variety of soups, appetizers, entrees, and desserts—all at reasonable prices.
A woman’s voice intruded into her fantasies of butternut squash bisque, goat cheese and leek tart, strawberry crepes, and sweet potato French toast.
“Miss King? Miss Genie King?”
She blinked. A short brunette with large hips made larger by her down coat stood next to the table, her nose bright red from the cold. The woman’s voice sounded familiar. “Do I know you?”
“We’ve only spoken on the phone. I’m Amanda—with your insurance company?” She pulled her purse off her shoulder and put her hand inside. “I heard you were here and I thought I’d give you the news in person.”
Genie braced herself. “That can’t be good.”
The woman sighed. “In cases of suspicious fires, we are obligated to examine all possible causes, including the home owner’s potential involvement.” Amanda paused and looked Genie in the eye. “We hired our own arson investigator.”
Dear God. Genie hoped they didn’t think she set the fire. She and Jim could have died in the blaze. She opened her mouth to protest, but the woman put her hand out like a traffic cop. “I know what you’re thinking. But it’s standard protocol. After extensive research, our arson investigator ruled you out as a suspect.”
Her breath came out in a long whoosh. Genie hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it almost the whole time the woman had been talking. Amanda continued. “I regret to inform you that the adjuster has determined that your house is not salvageable.”
Jim squeezed her hand. Hot tears welled up in her eyes and she felt her lower lip tremble.
“Between the fire, the water damage, and the subsequent temperature drops, it was totaled. Minus the land, the company has decided to pay you the value of your damaged property.” She handed Genie an envelope. “I’m sorry. I wish we could have saved your home.”
Genie watched the woman leave the restaurant through blurry eyes. Dammit. It just wasn’t fair. How much was a person supposed to take?
She withdrew the papers from the envelope, looked down and gasped.
Jim leaped to his feet. “What is it? You look as if you’re going to faint.”
Without a word, she handed him the check.
He ran his fingers back and forth across the numbers.
Genie leaped out of her seat and began jumping up and down. “Call the architect. Get Restoration Hardware on the line. We can start the renovations!”
Jim grabbed her and swung her around, knocking into empty tables and chairs. He stopped dancing. “There’s something we have to do first for our lucky charm.”
Breathless, she could barely speak. “What’s that?”
“We can buy Hope a lot of cat food with five hundred thousand dollars.”
~*~
Richard Heade could scarcely believe his eyes when he read the insurance company’s report to the Fire Investigation Team. Not only had Genie King been absolved of any wrong doing, but they paid her a ridiculous amount of money for the house. Who knew the dump was worth that much? Tony Aiolfo had been certain that torching her home would push her over the edge and force her into selling the inn. He’d even returned to New Jersey to await the call from Beth offering him the Inn at a fire sale price.
Instead of falling into a pile of manure and drowning, those idiots had come out smelling like the New York State flower—all thanks to the crook’s not-so-well-laid plans. Pacing his office, Rich rearranged his trophies, and then straightened framed photographs of himself with various dignitaries.
What was he going to tell Tony the Wolf?
CHAPTER TEN
~*~
Genie shouted through the serving window. “Order up.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Maggie hustled into the kitchen after seating yet another out-of-town couple. “You know, all I wanted was for you to fill in for two weeks. I never expected you to stay on after Earl went AWOL and turn this place into a celebrity food show.”
Genie put a hand on her hip. “You mad at me?”
Maggie grinned. “Hell, no! We’ve gotten rave reviews from local papers, and now I suspect that Mr. and Mrs. Incognito out there, just might be food critics for a New York City newspaper.”
Jim looked up from chopping vegetables. “Does this mean we can hire another kitchen assistant? This woman is killing me.”
Genie shook a spatula at him. “Back to work, slacker.”
He bowed at the waist and lowered his voice in an imitation of Boris Karloff. “Yes, mistress, as you wish, mistress.”
She laughed and turned back to speak to Maggie, only to find Webster Bond in her place, looking serious. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.” She motioned Jim over to her side. “Whatever you say to me, he should hear, too.”
Web pulled out a notepad and a pen. “I’m on the Fire Investigation Team. It’s been three months and we still have some unanswered questions. Both the Fire Department’s Arson Investigator and the insurance company agreed that it was an intentional blaze. The cigarette lighter had no prints and the propane tank was expertly set up—so it was someone who had experience.” He frowned. “We have the wrappers you found. One of them had a piece of chewed gum in it—but we can’t match the DNA to anyone in state or FBI databases. And we can’t test everyone who’s in Summerville to see if we get a match.”
Jim grimaced. “Don’t you hate it when ethics stand in the way of getting the job done?”
Web nodded. “So, our job is to narrow down the suspect pool to the most likely offenders.”
Genie tapped her spatula on her palm. “Don’t you have a list of convicted arsonists? Couldn’t you look at them?”
“We’ve already started. A large number of them had to be eliminated because they have alibis. Incarcerated or dead firebugs aren’t very helpful.”
“There’s something about the gum wrappers that’s been bugging me.” Jim shook his head. “It’s like it’s right in front of me and I can’t see it.”
“Genie, do you recall the day you pulled into the SPD and honked your horn at me?” Web asked.
“Yeah. I felt like an idiot for doing that.”
“Didn’t you say someone was following you?”
She flushed. “My overactive imagination. I thought the guy we outbid for the Inn was tailing me—”
Jim shouted, “That hairy guy, Tony, was chewing gum at the auction. Wads and wads of it, kept throwing the wrappers on the floor. I remember thinking what a pig he was.”
“You really think he would burn my house down because he lost the auction? He could have killed us!”
“I’ve seen people murdered for their shoes,” Web said. “If this guy felt like he’d been screwed out of something he wanted, that’s a powerful motivator.”
Genie recalled the gleam of hatred she’d seen in her rearview mirror that day. Yes, that thug is capable of arson—and murder.
Web looked up from his notes. “Did either of you happen to catch his
last name?”
Genie shook her head. “No, but your boss seemed to know him. Kept slapping him on the back and telling him what a great casino it would make.”
It was Web’s turn to look surprised. “My boss?”
“Yeah. The Chief of Police, Richard Heade. He was at the auction the whole time.”
Lips tight, Web snapped his notebook closed and gazed off into the distance. At last, he spoke. “Thanks. I’ll see what I can find out from him—if anything.”
~*~
It was all Tony Aiolfo could do not to leap through the phone and strangle Heade. Stupid sonuvabitch. No wonder they called him Dickhead.
“So, instead of putting the Inn back up for auction, they’re going ahead with renovations?”
“Like I said, Tony, there was nothing I could do. I can always control the outcome of the SPD investigation—but how the hell was I to know the insurance company would hire their own investigator? They usually only do that when the property’s worth over half a million. Who knew they’d haul in the big guns for a fucking shack? And now that the reports been filed in a million different places, there’s nothing I can—”
Dickhead’s whine had all the charm of a droning buzz saw.
Tony shoved three sticks of gum into his mouth. The old adage was true: If you wanted a job done right, you had to do it yourself. “I’ll be back next Wednesday. Make your big-titted wife do somethin’ useful for a change and find me a place to lay low, so I can keep an eye on the Inn.”
He heard Dickhead’s sharp intake of breath—but nothing more. “Glad you unnerstand who’s in charge here.”
~*~
Midnight, exactly one week after Web interviewed them at Sips, Jim walked through the door of the inn, ass dragging as bad as his feet. The construction crew had swept up the sawdust and debris and left the work site in good condition. He felt something brush his legs. “Hi there, Hope. Are you hungry?”
She stared at him with gleaming eyes. “Meowrp.”
“I take it that’s a yes.” He rummaged in the pantry for a can of pureed turkey and placed it in her dish. She lunged at the wet food and hoovered the plate clean. He ran his hands down her back and sides. “You’re putting on a little weight, my dear.” Maybe they were overfeeding her.
Genie came in through the back door, hands filled with bags of food she’d prepared for the workmen.
“You’re spoiling the guys,” he told her. “They’ll never work for anyone else after this.”
She loaded the bags into the new brushed chrome refrigerator. “Who says loyalty can’t be bought?”
“Did you happen to notice that Hope is getting fat?” He pointed at the creature in question, currently licking her paws and grooming her face. “I think we should cut down her food.”
Genie reached over and patted the cat’s head, then felt down to Hope’s belly. She stood up, a smile wreathing her face. “She’s not fat. She’s pregnant.”
“But she stays inside—”
The woman who still made him weak at the knees, with or without food, gave him an amused look. “She arrived in December—in the middle of that terrible cold snap. It’s now the end of January. So, she must have been pregnant when she landed at our door.”
“Poor Hope.” Jim lifted the cat into his arms. “I hope your baby daddy isn’t out catting around on you.” She head butted his arm and purred loudly.
“I can’t wait to hit our lovely new bed with the real mattress,” Genie groaned. “I’m beat and I know you’re exhausted. The lunch crowd will be clamoring at us tomorrow.” She yawned and stretched. “Before we go up, we’d better find a cardboard box and put some blankets in it for Hope.”
“There’s a box in the foyer. It will be just the thing.”
Jim set the cat down and flipped on the light switches as he headed toward the lobby of the inn, pausing to admire the work that had been completed. The mahogany surface of the refinished registration desk gleamed a welcome beacon. The floor, too, had been refinished; the windows, once cracked and broken, had been replaced. He knew the crew was moving room by room, repairing and renovating the space in preparation for decorator approved furnishings.
As soon as the insurance check cleared, he placed the order for thirty rooms of identical Hepplewhite replicas and coordinating décor items with one of the top manufacturers in the country. Out of habit, he reached into his pocket and rubbed the medallion in silent thanks to all the saints who had helped Genie and him get the old gal back up on her feet.
He searched the dark corners for the cardboard box he’d seen earlier that morning, and after some digging around, found it. Whistling a happy tune, he picked it up and heard something rattle inside. Crap. Had the guys used this for trash already? He opened the lid.
Inside was a wad of crumpled gum wrappers.
~*~
Tony sat back, turned on the TV and surfed for the porno channel. Nuthin’ like a little footage of naked broads to help a guy relax after a hard day’s work. He snickered. Dat bimbo and Ichabod Crane were gonna have their hands full when they found his latest surprise. He clicked away at the remote—channel after channel of nuthin’ to watch. Where the fuck was the triple X channel?
He’d told Heade’s big-titted wife to order all the cable channels—but each time he clicked on the Adult Entertainment icon, a message flashed on the TV screen, informing him he didn’t have that service.
In a fury, he hurled the remote control device across the room and decided Mrs. Tits would pay for the hole in the wall. Stupid bitch.
Now he’d have to find a different way to entertain himself.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
~*~
Genie cradled Hope to her chest, rubbing the cat’s ears while Jim spoke to Web. “I’m telling you, the work crew sweeps this place clean every day before they leave.” Jim nodded at her as he spoke into the cell phone. “They’re bonded for life to Genie through her cooking...Yes, we’re up. We won’t be going to bed anytime soon. See you when you get here. Thanks.”
Hope jumped down and slipped through the basement door.
Genie washed her hands and patted them dry. “Is Web on the way?”
“Yeah. He said he’d bring crime techs with him to collect the wrappers.”
She shuddered. “I can’t believe that creep had the nerve to come into our home. He must have found the key we left for the construction workers and came in after they left.” Her eyes suddenly wide, she locked gazes with Jim. “What if he sets a fire here, too?”
Though his heart took a major leap into his throat, Jim tried to stay calm. “The crew put the sprinkler system in last week. I’ll take a good look around the Inn, go room by room. You stay here and let Web in.”
“Jim, I’m afraid. We barely got out with our lives last time, what if—”
He grabbed her, held her tight, and kissed the top of her head. “We’re one step ahead of him. I’m sure he didn’t think we’d find his spoor.”
He handed her the cell phone, then lifted one of the kitchen fire extinguishers. Thirty suites, thirty areas to hide a smoldering flame that could rage out of control. Trying not to panic, he began the search on the third floor.
~*~
Genie clutched the phone and paced back and forth in the kitchen, hoping Web would get there soon with a crew from the SPD. When she heard the front door bell, she almost wept with relief. She raced down the hallway, across the large foyer and threw the door open.
The Neanderthal in a suit stood on the darkened front porch with a gun pointed right at her chest. “Hullo dere, little bimbo. Remember me?”
She wanted to scream for help but her voice froze in her throat.
“Ain’t you gonna invite me in?”
Mute, she stepped away from the door—and hit the re-dial button on the phone.
“Turn around. There’s a good little bimbo. I gotta make sure you ain’t packin’.”
As he ran a beefy hand under her blouse then down her front and between her le
gs, she bit back a shudder. Her skin felt as if it was crawling with bugs.
“Turn around to face me.”
What should she do with the phone?
She pressed the speaker button and handed it to him. “It’s for you.”
“Summerville Police Department, nine-one-one.”
She screamed, “Help me, there’s a man with a gun—”
Tony backhanded her and the lights went out.
~*~
Jim stopped his search of suite 302. Was that Genie? He stepped out of his shoes and raced out onto the balcony hallway to peer over the balustrade. A body was crumpled on the floor with the thug standing over it.
It was Genie. She was down. Is she alive? Pulse pounding, his breath coming in short puffs, he patted his pocket. She had the phone.
While he watched from above, trying to decide what to do next, the creep pulled her hands over her head and dragged her out of sight across the newly finished floor.
Where’s the police? He couldn’t just stand there like a statue. He had to do something.
He wanted to run to her, but was afraid that if he moved too quickly, the crook would hear him and maybe hurt her worse. He dared not take the elevator. Too noisy. It took all he had to tiptoe down the hall and test one step at a time, one flight at a time, avoiding squeaking floorboards. By the time he arrived at the first floor, he was dripping in sweat and the fire extinguisher in his hand felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. He stood still and listened hard.
“Stupid little bimbo. Tink you can take this place from Tony the Wolf?”
The thug was in the kitchen.
Someone mumbled.
“Don’t talk back to me.” The distinct sound of a slap shattered the air.
Genie whimpered, then fell silent.
“I’m asking you again. Where’s Ichabod Crane?”
“He went to the police department—took your gum wrappers with him.”
“So it’s just you and me, little bimbo. You and me are gonna party.”
Killer Kisses Page 18