“Oh, sorry…” Brad said, seeming to have picked up on my discomfort.
“It’s okay. I mean, it’s okay with me if it’s okay with you. I’d just always heard that talking about one’s ex was a big faux pas on a first date.”
Brad’s expression went a little blank, and I realized that just like he’d done, I’d probably used a term he wasn’t familiar with.
“Well I don’t know what a big fox’s pa’s got to do with it, but it’s fine by me if you don’t want to talk about him. Just seems that he’s trying to inch his way back into your life—”
I guffawed and snort-laughed both at the same time, stopping Brad cold. “No! That’s ridiculous. I’m nothing but a smudge on his rearview mirror. He is sooo done with me. The man falsified my arrest record, for Pete’s sake.”
“Yeah, you oughta have Zoey do something about that.” Then he made a face. “Naw, scratch that. The chief’s done seen your record. You’re on his radar. It suddenly clears up and he’ll want to know what’s what.”
I stared at Brad in shock and dismay. He wasn’t missing a beat as he went about fixing our dinner, but I couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.
“Wait a minute,” I laughed. “Did you just recommend that Zoey commit a… a… I don’t know. What is it? A felony?”
Brad grinned. “You don’t see a uniform, do ya?”
“So wait a minute, when you’re in uniform Zoey is like suspect number one for you. But out of uniform…?”
“Hey, Zoey’s a real cool girl. I like her. She’s got a lot of moxie, and she helps make sure you’re okay. So, that makes her okay in my book.”
My mouth was literally hanging open. “You did not just say those words! You tried to forbid me from spending time with her!”
Brad laughed and put up his hands. “Can’t blame a guy for tryin’.” He refocused on the food prep. “Naw, but seriously. Can you blame me? She almost got you killed.”
“No, no.” I wagged my finger in the air. “You cannot blame her for the actions of someone else. She is not responsible for the bad decisions of others.”
“Don’t matter,” he said with a dismissive shoulder shrug as he tossed the shrimp into the now hot skillet. There was an instant sizzle followed almost as instantly by a very heavenly aroma. “Danger is where danger is. Good intentions. Bad intentions. That don’t matter if the end is the same.”
“You don’t really believe that do you?”
Brad finished flipping the shrimp over. “Do you know how many times I’ve held my breath when getting a call over the radio that a woman has been injured or killed in an altercation? You wanna know how many nightmares I’ve had with your very pale, very waxy face looking back at me? No. I won’t apologize for nothin’. You spendin’ time with Zoey, she’s the wrong sort.”
I let the silence linger between us for a few minutes before speaking again. “If what you’re saying is true, then it’s not Zoey who’s the wrong sort, it’s me. Like you said, good intentions—bad intentions. All the same. I got her involved in solving the murder I was accused of. That put her in danger. I did that. Now there’s Morgan’s murder. I’m not sure she was going to get involved, I mean really involved… boots on the ground involved, if I hadn’t.”
“I knew it! I knew it,” Brad said, shaking his tongs at me. “You’ve gotten involved again. And you know what that means?”
I shook my head no, and Brad seemed to deflate.
“It means more nightmares for me.” He shook his head as he went back to preparing dinner. Soon he was building the sauce and then adding the fresh linguini noodles, bought from the store. “I said I’d never get involved with another cop. Said I’d never do it.”
“But I’m not a cop.” My voice sounded small.
“No, you’re not a cop. You’re worse,” Brad said. “A cop is trained on how to handle themselves. They’ve got skills. The only skill you’ve got is getting lucky. Really lucky… Where are your plates?”
“It’s done already? That was fast!”
“Am I giving you ideas about a new dinner option?” he asked with a wink.
“Maybe,” I said, smiling. I hopped down from the counter and retrieved a pair of plates and forks. I’d swiped them from the café.
Brad loaded up both plates, then carried one in his hand and the other balanced on his forearm as he took my hand in his. He led me out to the apartment’s front room, the one that overlooked Main Street. It didn’t have an overhead light and I didn’t have any lamps, but moonlight and streetlight spilled into the room through its enormous windows.
It was lovely and romantic. It was perfect.
Brad put the plates on the floor. “You sit. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared and then reappeared a minute later with two glasses. “Wine,” he said, handing one of the tumbler-style glasses to me. Then he sat down on the floor next to me, shoulder to shoulder.
I lifted my glass to him, and he clinked his cup with mine. “Salute,” I said.
“Cheers,” he said.
I took a sip of the wine, and then took a bite of the pasta. “Oh my gosh!” I didn’t even bother to swallow first. The food in my mouth was simply too delicious to not say something about.
“You like?” Brad asked, a chuckle in his voice.
“I love! You have to teach me how to make it. Was it really as simple as it looked?”
“Every bit.”
We ate in amiable silence, and I found myself glad that Brad had wanted to make me dinner. I hadn’t realized how famished I was until I started eating, despite the dinner I’d made for myself a few hours earlier.
“Brad,” I finally said when my belly was full and the comfortable silence had shifted into a silence ready to be filled, “I’m sorry about the nightmares.”
He put his plate to the side. “You’re gonna keep investigating murders, aren’t you?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not. I hope there aren’t any more murders to be investigated.”
“But if there is one, and it’s attached to you at all, you’re gonna snoop ’til you get it figured out, aren’t ya.”
It hadn’t been a question, we both understood that, but I answered anyway.
“Probably.” Silence returned, and I was sure that Brad was thinking up a way to tell me that he couldn’t have anything to do with me anymore.
“Well then, there’s something I gotta do,” he said.
“What?” My heart was sinking, heavy and fast. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say next.
Brad got up, then reached down with helping hands to get me to my feet as well. “I gotta teach you how to defend yourself.”
“What? Really?” I hoped he couldn’t see the way my eyes teared up. The room was only lit by the outside light after all.
I threw my arms around his neck.
“Hey.” Brad laughed. “Whatcha think I was gonna say?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, pulling away so that I could look up into his face.
Brad reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone. He did a couple of taps and then the soft sound of rhythmic music followed. “First things first,” he said, lying the phone down before standing and pulling me into his arms. “We salsa.”
“Salsa?” I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Hey, you gotta learn good footwork somewhere.” He pulled me tight against him, and then glided me across the wide, open floor in a series of turns before bending me backward in a low dip. When we were upright again, he brushed a hair away from my cheek. “What do you think of your first defense lesson?”
Breathless and staring up into his eyes, I said, “I want more.”
Chapter 14
A mosquito kept dive-bombing my head. It was so loud, so annoying, that I wanted to swat it away, but it felt as though my hands and forearms were encased in putty. It made them heavy and clumsy. I couldn’t lift them to swat the annoying creature away.
Another s
ound crawled its way into my head. A jackhammer, but one that was pleasing and nice, that is until wet sandpaper scraped its way up my cheek.
I jerked awake. The room was dark and my head was pounding with the ferocity of a hangover. But I didn’t have a hangover. Brad and I had only had one glass of wine each last night. No, this headache was brought on by plain old exhaustion.
I rubbed at my eyes, and Sage head-butted my hand, purring loudly with obvious satisfaction that I was finally awake.
“Hi, sweetie,” I said, scratching her temple.
I blinked blurry eyes at my cell phone. Its morning alarm was still going off. I leaned forward to see it better. “Six-thirty!” I’d overslept! Brad hadn’t stayed very long, but our late-evening date had taken precious time away from my already scant slumber hours.
Rolling myself off my floor mattress, I stumbled my way to the bathroom. I showered, dressed, and got myself downstairs in under fifteen minutes. The whole time, my brain churned over what to make, and I’d settled on scrambled eggs made to order. In addition, I’d make crispy potato cakes with pre-cooked maple sausages cut up in them, crispy bacon, and would offer buttered toast with jelly as a side.
I got to work, and Sage curled up in a corner and went back to sleep.
I scowled at her. “That is sooo unfair.”
In response she lifted her head, gave me toothy yawn and stretched her front legs out before her. Then she curled up and went back to sleep again.
I was so, so tempted to lie down on the floor next to her. My head was swimming with fatigue. But lying down wasn’t an option, not unless I was willing to disrupt my customers’ habits. I had a few morning people who came pretty regularly, people who weren’t even Brad. If I kept my doors closed and they weren’t able to keep to their routine, I’d be training them to go somewhere else for breakfast. That wasn’t the type of training I could afford to give.
Somehow, amazingly, early morning turned into mid-morning. People ate and some even paid full price. I baked some more orange poppy seed muffins, and this time I got them right. I also baked some chocolate chip cupcakes, which became an instant addition to the Oops Board.
Some chocolate chips are great, right? Stands to reason that a bunch of chocolate chips would be even better.
Nope.
For lunch, I made loaded potato soup. At first it was too soupy, so I added cream, but then the cream turned lumpy. What exactly happened inside that pot was a mystery I’d have to solve another day. The taste was still okay, so I scrawled its name up on the Oops Board, which was surprisingly gaining its own little fan base. Customers would come in just to see if there was something new and awful—and yes, cheap—that they could try.
“You ready?” Joel asked from behind me. I hadn’t seen him come in.
When I turned around, I spotted him and only him. He was dressed in a lightweight sweater that emphasized his muscular build rather than covered it.
“Where’s Zoey?” I asked. The three of us were going to Danielle Stokes’. I was going to deliver the muffins that Ms. Belinda Jackson had ordered as a gift. Joel was going to make up an excuse about writing a story, and Zoey… well, she was going to just be Zoey. Scary and intimidating. Her intense, silent stare made people jabber on and say the most amazing things. She was better than any dose of sodium pentothal.
“She texted. Said she had some kind of tech emergency and couldn’t make it.”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and brought its screen to life. Sure enough, there was a message from Zoey, but it didn’t say anything about an emergency. Instead it said, Have fun! ;D.
Zoey had bowed out so that Joel and I would have time alone together. That made me wonder, was she rooting for Joel to win in my affections over Brad? But if that were true, it wouldn’t explain why she had told Brad last night that my evening was wide open instead of the truth, that I’d already made plans with her.
It looked like my dear, sweet Zoey was playing both sides of the fence when it came to my love life. I suspected she was having even more fun with it than I was, and I had to admit, I was having a lot of fun.
“Let me touch bases with Melanie and Sam, then I’ll be ready to go,” I said. I knew that the café would be safe in their care. When I could finally afford more wait staff, I’d promote them to floor managers.
Half an hour later Joel and I pulled up outside Danielle Stokes’ house. Belinda Jackson had given us the address when she’d ordered the muffins. The drive had been quiet, and I let the gentle hum of the road lull me into a light sleep. Adrenaline spurred me awake as soon as we arrived, though.
The door of Joel’s old beat-up truck creaked its complaint when I opened it. And when I closed it, I had to do it twice. The first time, I didn’t slam it hard enough so it didn’t shut.
“Ready?” Joel asked, and I nodded. I followed behind him on the curving red brick path that lead to Mrs. Stokes’ front door. Her home was a lovely, well-kept ranch. The red brick motif continued halfway up the house’s outer walls before shifting into a cream-colored plaster.
Joel knocked, and I repositioned the muffin platter in my hands so that the prettiest side faced forward. There was dead silence on the other side of the door. I started to think she wasn’t at home, but then the door opened.
“Yes?” the woman standing in the doorway asked. She was a little taller than me with a dark complexion and high cheekbones. Her figure was trim, and she wore tan slacks and a cream-colored blouse. Her gray hair was pulled back from her face in a severe bun, but it suited her. She looked good, and I could understand a younger man having an interest in her. But knowing what we did about Morgan, I guessed that his true interest had been less flattering than Mrs. Stokes might have liked.
“Hi,” I said with more enthusiasm than I probably should have. I was overcompensating for my nervousness. “I’m from Sarah’s Eatery. My name is Kylie Berry, and these muffins are for you. Ms. Belinda Jackson ordered them as a gift.” I held the platter out to her.
“Oh… Oh.” Mrs. Stokes’ expression changed from cautious neutrality to pleasant surprise. “Why, thank you,” she said, taking the platter from me.
“This is Joel Mullen,” I added hurriedly. I didn’t want her to wrap the conversation up and disappear inside her house before I got to the next stage of our pitch. “He’s with the Camden Falls Herald and is working on an article. He was hoping for the chance to visit.”
“Good morning, ma’am,” Joel said, giving Mrs. Stokes a smile that made me weak kneed. Thank goodness he’d been looking at Mrs. Stokes when he flashed it.
Mrs. Stokes giggled. Yes… giggled. Like a school girl. Joel had that effect.
“Would it be too much of an imposition to come in?” Joel asked. “I’d love to have a sit down with you to get your perspective on some current events.”
“Is it about that new bypass they’re talking about putting in?” Mrs. Stokes asked. “That is something that our little town just doesn’t need.”
“No, ma’am. It’s not that, but it is something that I think you’ll be able to help us with more than just about anybody else. Would it be okay if we came in?”
“Why, I guess that’d be all right. And please, call me Danielle.”
She stepped aside and widened the door to let us in. The decor of her home was a lot like her fashion: tasteful and understated. Everything seemed to have a place, and was snugly at home in said place.
“Follow me into the sitting room,” she said after she’d closed the door behind us, and she led us through to a small room with a fireplace and two large bookcases on either side. The room’s dark hardwood floor was covered by a bright area rug. On it was a small couch facing three deep-cushioned chairs. A coffee table stood in the middle.
Danielle moved to stand next to the chairs, claiming those as hers. That left the couch for Joel and me to share. “Can I get you some tea or coffee?” she asked.
I started to say no—I didn’t want to impose—but Joel answered first. �
�That would be great,” he said.
Danielle disappeared with the muffins, and we sat down on the couch.
“Accepting her hospitality will help to get her to talk to us a bit longer,” Joel said in a low voice not meant to carry beyond the room we were in.
Once again I was reminded that Joel was a professional reporter and not just a businessman. There were so many things that I didn’t even know that I didn’t know, and apparently ways to get people to talk when they otherwise had no reason to was one of them.
Sitting next to him, the top of my head came up to his shoulder, and the breadth of his chest and shoulders took up close to two thirds of the small couch.
“How was your date last night?” he asked, and I realized that Joel hadn’t only maneuvered Danielle into a situation of talking to him. He’d done the same with me.
“You’re asking me this now?” I challenged. He could have asked about the date during the ride over.
“Conversation leads to conversation,” Joel said. “If Danielle comes back to a silent room, that makes getting a conversation started all the more awkward.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I decided to roll with it anyway. “The date was nice,” I said.
“Nicer than the date that I’m going to take you on?” he asked, grinning.
I laughed. “How would I know? You haven’t taken me on a date yet. Not a real one.”
“And that is something we’re going to have to rectify.” Joel’s usually joking eyes had grown serious.
“Why do you want to date me?” I asked suddenly. This situation of being trapped in a conversation went both ways.
To my surprise, Joel brushed a finger over my cheek. “Because you’re unique,” he said, all humor gone. “You’re a walking disaster, and I find that—and you—beautiful.”
I’d like to say that I came back with something witty and light, that I regained control of the situation, but that’s not what happened at all. No, I stammered and blinked and then practically yelled “Thank God!” when Danielle walked back in the room.
“Here we go,” she said as she placed a festively yellow serving tray on the coffee table. It held a porcelain tea pot, three cups and saucers, and a plate of the orange poppy seed muffins that I had brought her. “Earl Grey tea, is that okay?” she asked as she poured the amber liquid into the cups.
A Berry Cunning Conman_A Laugh-Out-Loud Cozy Mystery Page 9