Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé

by Jennifer L. Hart

  Directly at Jones.

  "Fight!" Someone yelled a second before the free-for-all started. Chairs scraped against the wooden floor. The sound of angry shouts and breaking glass drowned out the guy singing "Why Don't We Get Drunk" (and screw).

  "See what you've done!" Lacey shoved me. "You must always cause trouble."

  "Me?" Righteous indignation made me shove her back.

  She made a grab for my hair, but I was scrappy, and I ducked out of her hold and sank my shoulder into her stomach. She let out a satisfying oof but managed to grab hold of my shirt. It ripped. I staggered, and we went down in a tangle of flailing limbs.

  A sudden report from a shotgun overpowered the noise. Judy was on the bar, the double barrels of a sawed-off pointed at the hole in the roof above my head. Anger flashed in her eyes, and the emotion was directed at me. "Take your bad juju up out of my place, yous. Before I call da law."

  "Too late!" another male voice called and was drowned out by wailing sirens. "Five-o."

  The bar patrons scattered like roaches.

  I scanned the remaining faces but saw no sight of Jones. "Malcolm?" I called out.

  Lacey scrambled away from me, her hair wild, dress rumpled, eyes ablaze. "You are completely insane!" she panted.

  The sheriff strode in, followed by half a dozen deputies.

  "What happened?" Kyle was at my side, helping me to my feet.

  I didn't answer him, too busy looking at the destruction around me. "Donna? Where are you?"

  "Here," she rasped. She'd crawled under a nearby table to keep out of the fray. Her blue eyes were round, but she appeared unhurt.

  "You okay?" I asked to makes sure. "Have you seen Jones?"

  "I'll live," she muttered.

  "Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?" Kyle yelled.

  "She attacked me!" Lacey wailed. The running mascara added to her victim's air.

  I lifted my chin in defiance. "What a crock! You shoved me, remember?"

  Kyle turned to Judy. "You want to press charges?"

  Judy's eyes narrowed, but she shook her head. "No, as long as they agree to pay for the damages."

  I nodded, but Lacey wasn't satisfied with that. Thrusting a finger at me, she spat, "She assaulted me! You must arrest her!"

  Kyle put his hands on his hips, his expression grim. "I'm taking you both in for disturbing the peace. Maybe some time in jail will cool those hot heads."

  He couldn't be serious. "Kyle, you know I wouldn't have just gone off and hit her." Even if she'd deserved it. I'd only been defending myself and staking my claim on Jones. Wasn't my fault if I was better at it than Lacey.

  He moved in closer and lowered his voice. "What I know is that you smell like a distillery and were caught up in a bar brawl. You need time to dry out. Now come along peaceably so I don't have to arrest you. I don't want word of this getting back to your grandfather. Or to Kaylee's mom."

  My shoulders slumped as the alcohol-induced fog lifted. He was right. By morning the entire town would hear that Andy Buckland had been drinking and mixing it up at Judy's. It would be bad for my reputation both professionally and on a personal level if there was an official arrest to boot. With his hand wrapped around my arm, Kyle led me out of the bar, Donna trailing in our wake.

  "Donna, I'm going to call your husband to come pick you up," Kyle said. "If you've been drinking, don't get behind the wheel."

  "I won't," Donna was quick to reassure him. "Andy, do you want me to call your grandfather?"

  "No." I sucked in a deep lungful of frosty night air to help clear my head. "But next time when I say I don't want to go out, do me a favor and listen."

  * * *

  The drunk tank at the county jail smelled of urine and bile and other foul odors I didn't want to think about. I sat with my back to the wall, drew my knees up, and rested my head in my hands. Noises echoed off the painted cinderblock walls. Somewhere out front a television blared a late-night infomercial at ear-splitting decibels. Someone was snoring like a bear with a head cold in the next cell over. Someone on the other end of the hall was crying. The dull murmur of sober voices and the angry shouts of the inebriated all echoed in a depressing cacophony. The florescent lights overhead hummed and made my eyes hurt. I lowered my lids and tried not to feel too sorry for myself.

  On the plus side, at least Lacey wasn't anywhere in sight. Either someone had bailed her out or Kyle had been wise enough to keep the two of us apart. What was it about her that got under my skin and gave me a rash?

  Time dragged by like a hunter towing a ten-point buck, but eventually footsteps came down the hall. I shielded my eyes and looked up. "Aw, crap."

  "Lovely seeing you too, Andrea." Jones's expression gave nothing away. "Although I must say you've looked better."

  "Where the hell did you go?"

  "He was there?" Kyle had come up behind him.

  Frigging fantastic. They already had me at a disadvantage, what with my being incarcerated and all, but I didn't want Jones literally looking down on me while he was figuratively looking down on me. I rose, and the room spun slightly. Damn it, I didn't think I was still drunk, but then my stomach rolled as though it had gone out to sea without me.

  Jones shouted something as I slid back down to my seated position, and a moment later he and Kyle were by my side.

  "Andrea, look at me," Jones prompted, peeling my eyelids up.

  I tried to swat his hands away and failed miserably. "I'm fine, just buzzed."

  "Did you hit your head?" The man was relentless.

  Had I? I couldn't remember and told him so.

  "She seemed all right when I brought her in," Kyle told him. "Just drunk and pissed off."

  "She needs medical attention." Jones's energy shifted, and his voice grew lower, more sinister. "You left her in here by herself with a possible head injury for three hours, Sheriff?"

  "I didn't know she was hurt!" Kyle put his hands up as though warning Jones off.

  "Call an ambulance," Jones barked.

  "No," I snapped, aware enough to know that I didn't need an ambulance so much as a glass of water. "You can take me to the hospital, but no ambulance."

  I was, of course, ignored and was wheeled out of my jail cell on a stretcher.

  "I didn't know," Kyle repeated to the EMTs, to his deputies, to anyone who would listen. I couldn't be sure, but I thought he looked ready to cry. "I didn't know she'd hit her head. Will she be all right?"

  "I'll be fine," I reassured him, though I'm not sure why I bothered. He had tossed my carcass in jail and called Jones, when he knew I didn't want that.

  For his part, Jones stayed silent, gripping my hand as I was loaded into the ambulance. I closed my eyes so the motion from the vehicle wouldn't make me lose my lunch. Luckily, the community hospital wasn't far, and I managed to keep everything down.

  I was examined and told I had a slight concussion, which accounted for the headache more than the tequila did. After being hooked up to a banana bag and told not to sleep for more than an hour at a time for the next twenty-four hours, I was left face-to-face with one very pissed-off boyfriend.

  "What were you doing there?" I asked him.

  "Working," Jones said. "Or at least I was until you decided to intervene."

  "Working?" It was probably the head injury, but that made no sense. "You were working when I left."

  He sighed. "I was on a case, Andrea. You know I don't frequent bars unless I have a reason."

  "And how come you left without me?"

  "I didn't leave. I hid until after the sheriff took you away so I could offer to pay for the damages to the bar. One of us had to stay free to post bail." He ran a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. "This has been an expensive night. Probably more trouble than the case is worth."

  Shame burned through me. Jones wasn't a barfly, and he didn't hook up with random women. He was committed to me and to our relationship. So why hadn't I trusted him?

  Because he'd been wi
th Lacey, and seeing it had made me nuts.

  "I can explain," I began, but he shook his head.

  Threading his fingers through mine, he murmured, "Later. When you're up to your fighting weight."

  I blew out a breath, relieved that if he was planning on dumping me, at least he wasn't going to break up with my sorry carcass in the ER. I felt pathetic enough. I didn't need the old heave-ho while lying on a gurney in ripped and dirty clothes, fresh from county lockup.

  There was a commotion out front, lots of feet moving at a brisk clip, and the high, excited murmur of voices. Jones frowned, dark eyebrows meeting above his sharp blade of a nose.

  I struggled until I made it upright. "What's going on out there?" It was a hospital after all, but most of the emergencies in Beaverton were of the drunk and disorderly type, with the occasional car accident or heart attack thrown in. Whatever had happened sent a massive amount of people into the emergency room at once, long after last call.

  "I'm not certain." Jones let go of my hand and moved toward the privacy curtain. He pulled it back about a foot. From my position, I couldn't see anything, though the voices were drawing closer.

  "Third-degree burns…" someone said.

  Curiosity blotted out the intense pain in my head, and I slid off the gurney in an ungraceful heap just as Jones strode out into the hallway, disappearing quickly in the commotion.

  "Malcolm?" I called just as he shouted, "Eugene!"

  Pops was here? I shoved aside the curtain to face the chaos. There were people everywhere, gurneys rolling by, and medical staff cutting off clothing. I scanned frantically for Pops but didn't have the advantage of Jones's height.

  Then he was back, dragging Pops in his wake. For his part, my grandfather looked singed around the edges, his clothing covered with what looked and smelled like ash. I threw myself at him, and he hugged me tightly.

  "What happened?" I asked. "Why are there so many people here? And where's Aunt Cecily?"

  "Sshh, Andy girl. She's fine." He gestured down the hallway, toward the waiting area. "She's sitting with Joe Humphries. It seems Ruth didn't make it out."

  A cold chill skittered through me, and I shivered, which only made the dull ache in my head throb. "Out of where? Pops, what happened?"

  My grandfather met my gaze, his expression grave. "There was another fire. This time at the seniors' facility. And now there's a body count."

  Antipasto Platter

  Options (mix and match to your tastes):

  Jarred marinated artichoke hearts

  Water crackers

  Camembert cheese

  Sliced tomatoes marinated in Italian dressing

  Havarti dill cheese

  Thinly sliced Genoa salami

  Fresh crusty Italian bread/baguette

  Prosciutto

  Chunks of fresh cantaloupe or honeydew

  Jarred roasted red and yellow peppers

  Roasted red pepper or garlic hummus

  Pita bread

  Toasted rosemary focaccia

  Sardines

  Olives, black and green

  Capers

  Sweet pickles

  Pepperoni

  Smoked turkey breast

  Roasted pine nuts/almonds/cashews

  Dried or fresh figs/dates in season

  Green tomato relish

  Cold shrimp

  Grilled deli vegetables

  Marinated fresh buffalo mozzarella

  **Andy's note: I always follow the two-by-two rule—2 meats, 2 cheeses, 2 grains, and 2 veggies/fruit. Mix and match to see what you'll come up with. Play with in-season delicacies, or do regional themes. The sky's the limit! Try a milder meat like smoked turkey combined with Genoa salami, or fresh figs with marinated veggies. Color is the name of the game. Remember, this is just your opening act, so save room for the main event!

  CHAPTER SIX

  "Thank you for letting them come home with us," I said to Jones as I eased myself down on the white couch. Pops and Aunt Cecily had taken the master suite, the only one of the three bedrooms that actually had a bed in it.

  He shrugged as he crouched beside me. "They're your family. And it's not like either of us will be doing much sleeping over the next twenty-two hours."

  My grimace had nothing to do with pain. "Still, you shouldn't have to stay up the entire time."

  He gave me a dark-blue look. "Andrea, someone has to check in on you."

  I could tell from his tone that he meant more than just the concussion. "Would you shut the curtains, please? The sea of white is making my head throb."

  Jones glowered at me but then rose and moved toward the windows. I sighed in relief as dimness filled the space, and snuggled under the red afghan Lizzy had given her brother for Christmas.

  "Try to rest. I'll wake you in an hour." He moved quietly through the room toward the kitchen. I heard the scrape of the pantry door, then water running in the sink. Some more shuffling and a few moments later, the enticing scent of coffee.

  Though I was sore and exhausted, I couldn't sleep, seeing the mad press in the emergency room. Pops telling us that there had been another fire and that this time, people had died. Was it arson again or just an accident? And why was I focusing on that instead of my own personal multitude of issues?

  I cracked an eyelid. Rochelle. This all stemmed back to me finding out about Jones meeting with his ex. That he wouldn't make plans with me to move forward with our lives. I told the man everything and was getting a little tired of his man-of-mystery shtick. We'd been together for almost a year, and yet I still didn't know much more than I had in the beginning.

  Slowly, I sat, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass by. When it finally did, I got to my feet, slung the blanket around my shoulders like a shroud, and shuffled into the kitchen to face the music.

  Jones was staring into his coffee mug, seemingly lost in thought. I cleared my throat, and his eyes shot up. "Andrea? What's wrong? Can I get you anything?"

  He was already on his feet, a look of medical speculation in his eye.

  "I can't sleep." I moved to the fridge and extracted a bottle of water. Even though the IV full of fluids had kept me from shriveling up like a grape left in the sun, my throat had gone dry.

  I settled in across from him at the breakfast nook and opened my water.

  "Would you like some tea?" he asked as though I were a stranger stopping by instead of the woman he'd been living with for nine months.

  I met and held his gaze. "What I'd like is some honesty between us."

  Jones frowned, the lines creasing his handsome face, making him even more attractive. "What do you mean?"

  Physically I was in no condition for this conversation, and emotionally I wasn't much better. Was there any way to admit to your current flame that you'd spied on him without looking like a crazy stalker in the making? Probably not, so I just went for it. "First of all, I know I acted like a lunatic last night, and I'm sorry."

  He sat beside me. "All right. Can you tell me why you acted like a lunatic, as you so succinctly phrased it?"

  I loved when he used words like succinctly, or at least I usually did. At the moment though, I was too busy gathering my courage. "I know you met up with your ex."

  "Do you now." Jones raised a brow. "And may I ask how you came by this knowledge?"

  I frowned, and even that small working of muscles made my headache worse. "It's not important."

  Jones set down the mug he'd been holding and moved toward me. "What happened to honesty? You don't think the fact that you're spying on me is important?"

  "I wasn't spying."

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  I blew out a sigh. "Okay, I was sort of spying."

  He didn't smile, but I could tell from the glint in his eyes that he wanted to. Good thing somebody was enjoying this conversation. He simply nodded and murmured, "Go on."

  "The important thing is that I felt the need to spy because you haven't been telling me important stuff."<
br />
  One jet eyebrow went up. "And what sort of 'stuff' would you like me to tell you, Andrea?"

  Normally I loved the way he said my name, his New Zealand accent buttering the syllables so they seared me to a perfect temperature. But his tone had turned frigid.

  Damn it, I was no good at this adult relationship crap. Jones was usually so easy going. He'd been a rock over the past several months, supporting me unconditionally, being there when I needed him. Sure, we'd squabbled a bit, but this was different. There was some sort of chasm between us, filled with all sorts of hidden secrets.

  My head pounded, and I sank onto a barstool. It took all my willpower to look into his vivid blue eyes. "I'm sorry. I know I'm acting crazy, but I don't know what to do to fix this."

  He took a step closer, close enough to touch me. I wished he would, but he didn't. Instead he spoke softly. "Tell me what's really going on."

  For no real reason, that made me angry. "You know something? I tell you everything. Every dirty little detail, no matter how stupid or insignificant, or how much it could affect someone else. You've helped me clean out my family's home, met my ex and my daughter. I share everything with you, and you just shut me out."

  "You know I can't talk about my clients," he began, but I cut him off.

  "I know that. It's not just about work. You skulk down into your darkroom and leave me up here to my own devices all the time. And that's a disaster in the making, because then I have time to drive myself crazy speculating at why you're hiding down there. I really don't want to be one of those needy girlfriends, and I'm trying to support you, but it's more than that, and you know it. You dodge me every time I bring up moving out, and I feel as if you're avoiding me."

  He blinked, clearly surprised I was so upset. His mouth opened and then closed again. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to say."