The Cook's Secret Ingredient

by Meg Maxwell

  He took a sip of his tea and set it down on the coffee table. “Well, the names are confidential, of course, but my client is a nine-year-old boy.”

  “Nine?” Surely Olivia had heard wrong.

  “Nine. His father up and left three years ago. He left a note on the boy’s pillow saying that he loved him but that the boy would be better off without him. He left a note on his wife’s pillow, my client’s mother, saying he was sorry but she always knew he wasn’t cut out for this.”

  Olivia sighed. “‘This’ being adulthood?”

  “Exactly,” he said. “Marriage. Parenthood. Bills, responsibilities, not drinking himself drunk every night.”

  “The boy hired you to find his dad?” she asked.

  Carson nodded. “He came to my office in Oak Creek. He put a shoe box full of one-and five-dollar bills on my desk and asked if it would be enough to hire me. I listened to his story and then told him that normally, no, his thirty-seven dollars in allowance and birthday money from his grandparents wouldn’t be enough, but that sometimes, PIs took cases pro bono, meaning the client wouldn’t have to pay. So I gave him back his shoe box and said he had himself a private investigator.”

  Dammit. The last of her flimsy hold on not falling hard for this man just...poof—vanished into nothing. Carson Ford was very kind.

  “I let my young client know I’d need to talk to his mother, of course, and he said he was pretty sure she’d tell me not to bother looking for his dad, that the guy didn’t want to be found. I went to see her and that’s what she said, but if I wanted to waste my time trying to find him, fine.”

  “Any leads?” Olivia asked.

  “He’s off the grid, that’s all I know right now. No arrests, no traffic stops, not using credit cards, hasn’t applied for jobs with his Social Security number. If he’s working, he’s off the books.”

  She sipped her tea, the lemony heat soothing. “I suppose the boy knows you might not find him.”

  “Or that I will find him and it won’t be what he expects. The man might not agree to come see his son even one time. Or he might be passed out drunk and unreachable. Sometimes you don’t know what you’ll find when you go looking.”

  She wondered what she’d find when they located Sarah. Would her aunt be bitter and cold? Unwilling to talk? Unwilling to accept the letter and family heirloom from her sister? Or would she be happy at the sight of her niece, whom she hadn’t seen in five years?

  Olivia had no idea how Sarah would react.

  “It’s brave of the boy to seek out his dad,” Olivia said.

  “It is, especially because his mother did prep him that he might not like what he finds.” Carson leaned his head back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “Sometimes I think about Danny seeking out his mother someday. I don’t know if she’ll come back to see him on her own or if he’ll look for her.”

  “I don’t know how people just up and leave,” she said, wrapping her hands around the hot mug to ward off the shiver that crept along her spine. “My aunt, your ex-wife, your young client’s dad. It’s sad enough that we lose people involuntarily. But to think about someone you love just walking away from you.” She shook her head. “I’ll never understand.”

  “Me, either,” he said, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

  He leaned his head back against the couch again and she couldn’t take her eyes off the column of his neck, his strong jaw. She had the urge to reach up and run a finger across the hard line. “I used to think my father might as well have been gone,” he said suddenly. “When I was a kid and teenager, nothing was as important to Edmund Ford as Texas Trust and the office. But he came home every night. Very late, but he came home. And he was never around on weekends and spent family vacations on the phone with the office. But every morning, every night, there he was.”

  “It’s so hard to reconcile the man he is now with the father you grew up with,” she said.

  He picked up his mug. “I know. I want to be closer to him, but there’s a brick wall there.”

  “That you built?”

  He nodded. “I suppose it was a defense mechanism from when I was a kid, dealing with the disappointment of my father missing my birthday parties or school events or making promises to take me fishing and then canceling the morning of. That kind of thing.”

  “He sure is trying now,” she said.

  “That’s true.” He took a sip of tea. “I’ve narrowed down another couple of towns near the Stockton rodeo,” he said, and she wasn’t completely sure if he was changing the subject. Finding Sarah was about his dad, after all. “I called ahead and there are three Sarahs in the right age range. If you’re free tomorrow afternoon, we could hit the road. I have a few leads on my young client’s father in that area that I’d like to check out if you don’t mind a brief detour.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon would be great,” she said.

  “Thanks again for everything you did tonight for Danny. Of course, now I’m going to call you at three in the morning when he wakes up with night terrors again or bad dreams or whatever this was.”

  Kiss me, she wanted to whisper.

  But she didn’t and he didn’t kiss her. He did look at her, long and hard, and she thought he might be remembering their kiss in her kitchen.

  “I’m sorry about the other day,” he said. “When I kissed you. I have no business starting something I can’t—”

  “Can’t what?” she asked.

  “You’re a really lovely person,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Ah. He either wasn’t really attracted to her, didn’t like her that way, or he just wasn’t looking for something serious, and she struck him as the serious type. She had heard that one before.

  “Maybe I’d hurt you,” she countered.

  “I’m impervious,” he said and stood up.

  Which meant he wanted her to leave. She swallowed back the little lump in her throat. She didn’t want to leave.

  Good Lord, she was falling in love with a man who’d just told her romance was off the table.

  She didn’t need Madam Miranda’s crystal ball to know what was in her future if she didn’t get a grip about Carson Ford.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day, Olivia had record sales of both po’boys and cannoli. She attributed it to both the day’s specials—cheeseburger po’boys, a big hit with kids, and pumpkin-cream cannoli—and the gorgeous weather, a sunny, breezy fifty-nine degrees. The food truck had lines all morning into the afternoon, people with their faces tilted up to the sun as they waited.

  Right before she was ready to turn over the truck to Dylan, the eighteen-year-old whiz-kid cook at Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen, a very handsome man with an adorable toddler on his shoulders came to the window and ordered a cheeseburger po’boy with lettuce, tomato and ketchup on one half, plain on the other.

  “I’ll bet the works half is for you, Danny,” Olivia said to the little boy with a smile.

  Danny grinned. “Burger!”

  Olivia grinned back at her favorite toddler. “Someone is in a better mood today,” she said to Carson.

  “He woke up smiling and raring to play.”

  “Well, one cheeseburger po’boy, half plain, half with the works coming right up.”

  As she worked on their po’boy, she wondered what she would be infusing it with. Happiness. Love. Hope.

  She wondered if it would have any noticeable effect on Carson. He’d been immune to the last po’boy she’d made him.

  She added the lettuce, tomato and ketchup and sliced the sandwich, and then handed it through the window. She tried not to take his money, but he insisted and refused the change from his twenty.

  “You look very nice today,” Carson said. And since she had garlic mayo on her shirt and flour on the end
s of her hair, which was up in some lopsided bun-ponytail, he must have really thought so. “See you at three at your house for the trip to Stockton,” he added. “I’m going to drop off Danny at my dad’s, then I’ll swing by.”

  She smiled and watched him walk over to one of the tables on the town green. He handed Danny the plain half, and Danny took a bite. She watched Carson take a bite of his half. Then another, then another, then another. If any big or small changes were going on within the man, she had no idea. Danny, on the other hand, still had three quarters of his half left and was adorably, saying, “Burger!” to anyone who passed by. When they finished and left, Olivia immediately missed them.

  Penny Jergen, the local beauty queen and barista who’d been teary-eyed over her cheating fiancé last week, sashayed over to the food truck and ordered a veggie po’boy on whole-grain bread and announced she was now doing restaurant reviews for the Blue Gulch County Gazette and would be giving the food truck her highest rating of five stars. Good for you, Olivia thought, glad that Penny had found a new outlet for herself.

  Finally, Olivia passed the reins to Dylan, zipped home for a shower and found herself putting on a little mascara and a touch of lip gloss. She looked through her closet for what to wear, something nicer than jeans but not dressy, something not sexy but not unsexy, then realized that just about everything she owned wasn’t sexy, but was very much “her.” Like her knee-length flippy yellow skirt with the tiny bulldogs all over it. Aunt Sarah loved bulldogs, and it seemed a good omen to wear it. A tank, a light white cardigan and her red ballet flats, and she was ready.

  As Olivia waited on her porch for Carson, she scanned the newspaper. On the one-page People in the News section, which some folks in town called the society section, there were some photos of Dory and Beaufort’s engagement toast gathering. In one of the photos was a close-up of Dory with the caption:

  Dory is wearing a dress her future mother-in-law bought for her as a welcome-to-the-family gift, but she sweetly accessorized the pricey frock with a pair of dime-store “pearl” earrings her mother gave to her for her sixteenth birthday back when they lived in the Blue Gulch trailer park.

  Another photo showed the trailer Dory and her parents had lived in with the caption:

  Blue Gulch mayoral hopeful Beaufort Harrington proposes to trailer-park gal, taking her from rags to riches.

  Weird, Olivia thought, folding the newspaper and putting it aside on the porch. Dime-store earrings? Trailer-park gal? What was that all about?

  As Carson pulled up, she took the Gazette with her into his SUV. “Did you see the paper? There are photos of the engagement party.” With some very strange captions. “If you look very closely and squint, you can even see me in one of them.”

  “Actually, I did see the photos. I read the paper every morning—you never know what interesting little facts will present themselves, especially if you’re looking for people. Police blotters, lottery winners, arrests that don’t result in convictions—and photos of random people. Like there you are in a story about Dory and Beaufort’s engagement. If someone were looking for you and had no luck, there you’d be.”

  She buckled her seat belt and smiled at the two cups of coffee in the holder. Carson really was thoughtful. “Huh. I hadn’t really thought of all that.”

  “Simple, but effective. Some of the most complicated things come down to simple.”

  “I think that’s true,” she said. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “I got us muffins, too,” he said, pointing at the bag at his side. “Coffee-cake-lemon and cranberry-almond. Take your pick.”

  “Can we split them?” she asked.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” The smile he shot her almost made her swoon. Happy, sexy, tender, dazzling.

  She wanted to caress his handsome face and kiss him, but instead she busied herself by unartfully trying to split the muffins in two.

  “I didn’t know Beaufort Harrington was going to run for mayor,” she said. “Dory didn’t mention it.”

  “I think it’s just talk and speculation right now. Getting his name out there, seeing if he can drum up early support. He has stiff competition.”

  “Dory as the mayor’s wife,” she said, trying to picture that. “She’s not much of a spotlight seeker and is pretty shy.”

  “Folks like that, though,” he said.

  Olivia shrugged. “As long as she’s happy.”

  Carson glanced at her. “Is she? I have to say, neither of them looked particularly happy last night. I can’t really put my finger on it.”

  Well, Olivia knew why Dory didn’t look like a blushing bride-to-be, but she wondered about Beaufort now. Maybe he did have his own reasons for proposing that had nothing to do with love, either.

  “Well, maybe they just figured it was time to get hitched. If Beaufort’s running for mayor, having a hometown wife is a plus.”

  “Romantic,” she muttered, unable to help it.

  “I don’t know, Olivia. Maybe marrying for love isn’t the be-all and end-all. Maybe marrying for purpose—whether because it’s time to settle down or because someone meets the checklist—is smart. You know what you’re walking into.”

  For Dory’s sake, Olivia hoped so.

  For the next hour, en route to Stockton, home of the rodeo championships, Olivia and Carson ate their muffin halves and sipped their coffee and looked out the window.

  “Did you ever attend the rodeo with your aunt?” Carson asked as they pulled into a spot right in front of Wild West Hair, the first salon on Carson’s list.

  “A bunch of times. Right before she left town, Aunt Sarah and I went to the championships here in Stockton. She particularly loved watching the bull riders. Logan Grainger, the husband of Clementine Hurley Grainger, one of my bosses, used to be a champion bull rider.”

  “I didn’t know that. I certainly couldn’t last one second on a bull.”

  She tried to imagine Carson Ford on a bucking bull, but couldn’t. She smiled at the thought. Carson was all man, but he was no cowboy.

  A minute later, they were walking into Wild West Hair. The Sarah employed as a stylist was not their Sarah. Nor was their Sarah at Cut and Curl, or at Hair Parade. Stockton wasn’t a big town and only had a small downtown that had grown out of necessity from the rodeo. Tuckerville, just five minutes away, had all the shops and restaurants. But they’d already visited the Tuckerville salons.

  Dejected, they stopped in an old-fashioned coffee shop and sat at the counter and ordered coffee. Olivia smiled at the lady sitting one seat over and flipping her newspaper—and then her eye caught on a half-page advertisement.

  Sarah Monk, expert hairstylist, is now at Style Mile in nearby Leeville! Over twenty-five years’ experience. A master stylist of the whole kit and caboodle, including precision cuts, blow-outs, Japanese straightening, artful highlights, long-lasting color and quick cuts for fidgety children with overgrown locks. Hours: Tues–Thurs 10–6 and all day Saturday. Call for an appointment today!

  Olivia’s heart leaped. Sarah would use a phrase like kit and caboodle!

  “Carson, look! Maybe Sarah’s using the last name Monk. It’s very close to Mack and is sort of apt. Maybe it’s her.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Carson said to the woman with the newspaper. “Do you mind if we copy down the address from that ad?”

  The waitress glanced over. “Oh, Sarah Monk? She’s my stylist. Does my color every six weeks. Bet you couldn’t even tell I wasn’t a real blonde.”

  “I wouldn’t have been able to tell,” Olivia said, which was true. The color was very natural and soft. And Olivia liked the cut, kind of a long bob with bangs.

  “She’s the best,” the waitress said, refilling their coffees. “I just love Sarah. And those green eyes of hers. Stunning. Tell her Lorraine sent you. Maybe she’ll give me a
discount on my color next time.”

  Those green eyes. Olivia and Carson locked gazes. He quickly jotted down the address of the salon, placed a ten-dollar bill on the counter, thanked the waitress and then they ran to his car.

  “Leeville is just two towns over. A small town, not much there.”

  “Except maybe my aunt!” Olivia said, excitement building.

  Fifteen minutes later, they’d arrived at Style Mile. The salon was between an apartment building and a real estate office. When they walked in, a woman with very green eyes stood up and put down her magazine. “Hi, how can I help you?”

  “We heard Sarah Monk is working here now and does great work,” Carson said.

  Please don’t say you’re Sarah, Olivia thought. Say that Sarah Monk of the stunning green eyes is in the back and will be right with you. And then Aunt Sarah will walk out, see me and run over and hug me. I’ll have my aunt back.

  Please, please, please.

  “I’m Sarah Monk,” she said, and Olivia’s heart plummeted.

  “Sorry,” Carson whispered to Olivia. “Um, we’ll be back another time. My friend isn’t feeling well.”

  She wasn’t feeling well. At all. They were never going to find Sarah.

  He led Olivia outside and wrapped her in a hug so warm and enveloping that she let herself droop against his strength. “I know it’s disappointing. But I made you a promise that we’ll find her, and we will.”

  She took in a breath and let it out. “I guess it’ll just take time. You said you had a lead here about your young client’s dad. Maybe we should turn our attention to that case.”

  He looked at her for a moment, as if making sure she was really okay. “We’ve hit all the salons in Stockton, so that’s two more towns crossed off the list. I do like the notion of sticking close to rodeo or ranching towns. I have a good idea where to focus the search next.”

  She nodded. “So where to now for your young client?”

  “His mom said we’d likely find her ex-husband either working the rodeo as a hand or at one of the ranches nearby. That’s what he did for a living before they got married and he started drinking and got fired, leaving his ex to support the family. I called ahead to the rodeo and there are three Steve Johnsons working as hands. The manager I spoke to said the hands who don’t have their own places bunk near the barns.”