by Rebecca Deel
“No comment. Should I spell that for you?”
#
Serena sank into her maroon recliner, grateful to put her feet up for a few minutes. Jewel jumped on the chair and, after a few full body turns, settled in Serena’s lap.
Together, she and Ruth had compiled a list of Pam’s customers that Serena was scheduled to cook for during the next week. She smiled. She looked forward to taking Ruth with her. Her home-bound customers would relish a visit with someone new.
Ethan’s face flashed into her mind again. This situation must be so frustrating for him. New job, burglaries linked to the mob, a murder, and now a missing woman. She wished Pam would have trusted Ethan from the beginning.
Serena sighed, guilt weighing heavy. She had her own trust issues. She’d tied Ethan’s hands by not giving him Mitch’s name. She didn’t mean to make his job harder. He was a great guy and she liked him enough that she didn’t want to look stupid in front of him. She nudged Jewel off her lap.
The phone rang.
“It’s Ethan. Hope I’m not calling too late.”
Fatigue and something else she couldn’t identify permeated his voice. “Don’t worry about the time. Are you just now getting home from Pam’s?” She glanced at the clock. After midnight.
“I answered a domestic disturbance call after I left her place.”
Serena slipped off her shoes. “Was it bad?”
“I took a couple of kids to the emergency room.”
Sadness washed over Serena. She hated hearing about those cases on the news. “How do you stand it, Ethan? How can you deal with the dark side of life all the time?”
He remained silent a long time, long enough that she didn’t think he would answer. “I’m always affected by what I see, Serena, but if I let things get to me, I can’t help anyone else.”
Serena recognized the gift, the trust he’d given her by sharing something so personal. “I’m glad you’re there to help. You have a lion’s courage, Ethan.”
“Thanks for lunch today, Serena.”
She rubbed Jewel’s ears. The change in his tone signaled an end to the previous discussion. Did he regret sharing that piece of himself?
“I enjoyed meeting your sisters and mother. You seem close.”
A surge of warmth flowed over her. “Maybe next time you’ll meet my father and brother.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have pushed the issue this late at night, but she wanted to know if what she felt this afternoon was a shared experience.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Butterflies flew in Thunderbird formation in her stomach. She forced herself to take a deep breath, and get a grip on her rollercoaster emotions. “Did you find anything more at Pam’s?”
“We’re following up on a few things.”
Serena grinned. She and Ruth had work to do.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Serena gripped the leash tighter. “Slow down, Jewel. We’re not in a race.” The dog continued to sniff, tracking some elusive scent, dragging her owner down the street. She wrinkled her nose. Last night’s rain left a clean-scented world this morning, except for the smell of worms flooded from their dirt homes.
She evaded another mud puddle on their obstacle course. Jewel latched onto another scent and lunged forward, tracking her quarry through a neighbor’s yard. “Cut it out, Jewel.” She tugged on the leash, grumbling under her breath. Was it too late to send Jewel to obedience school?
After two more side trips, Serena and Jewel rounded the corner and headed down the street to the house. Whoever said it was good for dog owners to walk their canines every day got it wrong. Jewel walked her owner every time Serena snapped on the dog’s leash.
Jewel nosed a few buttercups bordering the sidewalk, then cocked her head and whined.
“What is it, girl?” Serena squatted. What snagged her attention? Grass, more worms, flowers, bush. She shrugged and glanced ahead to her driveway. Her heart skipped a beat. “Aha. Smart girl. A handsome man, straight ahead.”
The dog’s muzzle wiggled as she sniffed the air. Her wagging tail resembled a windshield wiper on the highest setting. She lunged toward the white SUV and Ethan. Still sitting on her heels, Jewel’s hard jerk yanked Serena off balance. She gasped, let go of the leash, and threw her hands in front of her. Muddy water splashed her face, soaked into her jeans and decorated her shirt with bad finger painting mud designs.
Her face grew hot. Why did she always have to look like Frankenstein’s bride in front of Ethan?
Black shoes and four furry paws appeared in her line of vision. Ethan cleared his throat. “You all right, Serena?”
Her gaze traveled a long way up to his solemn face. His eyes gave him away. They twinkled like a star-filled sky. “Other than needing another bath, I’m fine.” She shifted her gaze to Jewel, who sat between Ethan’s feet, panting. “Traitor.” The dog tilted her head, ears swiveling.
Ethan extended a hand. “Had breakfast yet?”
Breakfast? She’d rolled out of bed early to face a long-haired bundle of energy. “Not yet.” Gritty water squished between her toes with each step.
“I stopped by the donut shop before I came. Interested?”
Her salivary glands roared to life. No wonder Jewel raced to meet him. She had good taste in men and food. “Sounds great.” She looked down at her splattered jeans. “After I change clothes.”
Ethan lifted a white box with red writing from the hood of his SUV. “We’ll wait on the deck.”
“Keep an eye on her. She’s a stealthy kleptomaniac.”
He laughed. “I can handle a twenty-pound dog.”
Serena grinned. How long before the four-footed thief struck? She might have time to change clothes. If she hurried.
The outburst she expected came as she closed the laundry room door.
“Hey, get your nose out of there.”
Serena stepped onto her deck. Ethan sat on one of the Adirondack chairs, holding the donut box shoulder height. The outraged expression on his face and Jewel’s careful licking of her lips said it all. “Didn’t you say you could handle the dog?”
“You didn’t tell me I’d almost lose a hand if I got between her and a chocolate-covered donut.”
She eyed the box with new appreciation. “What did you expect? She’s female and a Cahill.”
“Does that mean I should hand you the box and back away?”
“Might be a good idea if you don’t want to be maimed for life.”
He grinned. “You won’t get the Diet Coke, then.”
Serena lifted the box lid and breathed in the scent of yeast, sugar and chocolate. Her stomach rumbled. She moved the box to the table, along-side the coffee and Coke.
“That’s where I had them to begin with.” He rose and followed. “I turned my back for a second to watch a robin. When I looked down, she was on the tabletop with her nose under the lid, munching.”
Serena waved him to a seat, moved two others away from the table, and sat in the remaining one.
Ethan leaned back in the chair. “Outsmarted by a dog.”
She handed him the coffee and a donut, and grabbed one for herself. The confection melted in her mouth and the chocolate rush brightened her outlook on the day. Nothing came closer to perfection than a fresh-baked pastry. “What’s on your schedule today?”
“Work, schmoozing with the upper crust.”
“Sounds dull.”
“That’s why I dropped by. I’m hoping you’ll help me survive the schmoozing part.”
“How?”
Ethan sipped his coffee. “I’d like you to go with me to a dinner tonight. I know it’s short notice, but to be truthful, I’d forgotten about it. The council wants to welcome me to town.”
She grinned. She’d catered a couple of their dinners before she started Home Runs. Power plays, jockeying for coveted seats. Why bother with C-Span? “Need someone to watch your back?”
The corners of his lips curled. “The ways things are going, it may be the beginning of the end
of my career here.”
His comment wiped the smile from her face. She hoped that wasn’t the case. “What time?”
“Starts at 8:00.”
She should be finished at the Wolcott’s by 6:30. “I’ll be ready by 7:30. Is this a tux or a suit event? Will I need to borrow a ball gown?”
“Suit.” He tugged at the collar of his uniform shirt. “I hate ties.”
She bit into another donut and resisted an urge to smart off about the evils of pantyhose and high heels. At least he could remove the offending article of clothing as soon as he sat in the car. The pantyhose and high heels remained in place until she closed her bedroom door.
Ethan finished his coffee and set the cup aside. “How many customers does Home Runs have?”
“Twenty-four.” She grimaced. “Well, I had twenty-four. I’m down to sixteen now.”
“How many do you need to stay solvent?”
“Twelve.”
An eyebrow rose. “What happens if you dip below the breakeven point?”
Just the question she’d been asking herself the last few days. What would she do? She couldn’t work as a hotel or restaurant chef again. She grimaced. She had already tried that and failed. Many times.
She wanted to avoid event catering since that put her in direct competition with Grace and meant buying a new car. Her beloved Beetle couldn’t handle catering equipment.
Besides, she loved the more personal aspect of her job, cooking for families. Her commitment to those families ran deep. As a hotel or restaurant chef, she wouldn’t get to know her customers unless they complained to management about their meal. Not to mention the nausea problems caused by multiple orders of steaks and hamburgers.
She smiled at Ethan. “Need a personal chef, Chief Blackhawk?”
#
Rod yawned so wide his jaw popped and his bloodshot eyes watered. He needed coffee to cut through the fog blanketing his brain. If he kept drinking the office brew, though, he’d have to invest in a stomach pump.
He waved at the dark-haired dispatcher.
“Morning, Rod. Up early, huh?” Her warm brown eyes scrutinized his disheveled appearance, concern evident on her face.
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” Again. That drink before bed last night didn’t help much. Maybe he’d try something stronger tonight.
“The Chief’s already here.”
Hand flat on the squad room door, he surveyed his appearance. Wrinkled shirt, soiled tie, pants not pressed. Blackhawk might think he slept in his clothes. He sneered. He hadn’t felt like changing for bed last night. Why bother?
Rod dropped his hand from the door and detoured to the locker room. Blackhawk insisted the department personnel look and act like professionals at all times. He’d hoped Blackhawk’s late return from the domestic disturbance call meant his boss would come to work later. He should’ve known better.
He changed into the pressed slacks and shirt he kept hanging in his locker. Some crime scene investigations left his clothes soiled, and he’d developed the habit of changing before he went home to Erin. Evidence of his work upset her. He slammed the locker. None of that mattered now. No one waited at home to notice what he wore.
He walked past Suzie a second time. She smiled, and gave him a thumbs-up sign. In the squad room, the scent of coffee caused him to pull up short. He closed his eyes, breathed deep. Real coffee. The tantalizing smell drew him to the coffee pot. He poured the hot liquid into his mug, inhaled the aroma, and took a sip.
“Good, isn’t it?”
Rod turned to the police chief, whose coffee mug steamed with the brew. “Whoever made this needs a permanent assignment to coffee detail.”
Blackhawk nodded toward the woman walking into the squad room carrying a heaping platter of food.
“Good morning, Detective Kelter.” Serena placed the platter on the table beside the coffee pot.
“It wasn’t a good morning, but things are looking up.” He perused the pastries and coffee cake. “And it’s Rod.”
She passed him a small plate. “I heard you had a better chance of winning the lottery than getting a good cup of coffee around here, so I brought a special blend for you to try.”
He took a second sip of coffee. “You telling me this might be permanent?”
Blackhawk chuckled. “If you’re an indication of how everyone else feels, I’ll make sure the squad room stays supplied.”
Serena glanced at her watch. “I have a date with a grocery store. I left instructions for the next pot of coffee and my cell number. If you have another bad pot of coffee, call me and I’ll walk you through a fresh one.”
She grabbed her purse. “By the way, Ethan, Ruth will be with me most of the day. She said she wanted a day out of the house.” Serena smiled and left.
“I have a few calls to make before roll call.” Blackhawk refilled his mug and excused himself.
Rod carried the plate and mug to his desk. He checked his computer screen. Another hit on the fingerprints from Miller’s hospital room.
A couple of mouse clicks brought up a familiar face. Coronado. Gotcha. He smiled. Coronado must be the muscle, not the brain. He left prints all over town. He wished the second perp, The Fox, would make a mistake. So far, he had left no clues at any of the crime scenes.
He printed the latest results, and ran the next set of prints through the system. He turned away to refill his mug when his computer beeped. Another match?
Rod brought up the picture, and drew in a sharp breath. Blackhawk? He checked the location of the prints, puzzled. Why were the chief’s prints found on a chair in Miller’s room? Blackhawk didn’t touch anything except a plastic cup when they interviewed the vic Friday. He must’ve gone back to see Miller. Why didn’t the chief tell him?
Rod’s earlier question to Blackhawk about his bruised knuckles resurfaced. Did Blackhawk tell him the truth about hanging shutters for his aunt? He remembered the chief’s description of The Fox’s handiwork. Could he have been describing himself? His mind rebelled against the possibility of a dirty fellow cop, but he couldn’t afford to be wrong.
Rod scrolled through Blackhawk’s file, found a name and number. He scrawled the information on a scrap of paper. When the police chief opened his office door, Rod changed his screen and shoved the paper in his trouser pocket. He’d have to call later.
#
Serena wheeled her grocery cart toward the fruits and vegetables, scanning her list. Broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, onions, lemons, limes, apples, bananas. She wondered if the Harts wanted a salad with their roast and potatoes tonight.
Another cart blocked access to the lettuce section. A woman wearing familiar sneakers leaned over a bin, picking through the Granny Smith apples. “Good morning, Grace.”
Grace Martin glanced over her shoulder. “You’re out early.”
She beat down a snide response begging to fly off her tongue. She didn’t remember the last time she’d slept late. She smiled into the other woman’s model-perfect face. What woman could look that good at 7:13 in the morning?
“Shopping for yourself or one of your customers?”
“The Harts and the Radcliffes. What about you?”
“I’m catering dinner tonight for the town council. They’re welcoming the new police chief.” A sly smile appeared. “I hear he’s a hunk.”
Disgust turned Serena’s stomach. A hunk of what? Meat? Why did Grace treat men like arm candy? “What’s on the menu?”
“Roast, baked chicken with a Dijon sauce, steamed asparagus, garlic mashed potatoes, yeast rolls and apple pie a la mode for dessert.” She knotted a produce bag filled with apples. “Is Mitch covering the dinner for the paper?”
“I’m not sure.” Serena selected one bag of red leaf lettuce and one of green leaf.
“What?”
Grace’s shocked voice drew her attention from the produce display. “Something wrong?”
“Doesn’t he tell you anything? Are you one of those women who do whatever a man tells
them?”
She squared her shoulders. “I have a mind of my own. I don’t need Mitch or any other man telling me what to think or how to schedule my day.”
“Sorry.” Her satisfied smile said otherwise. “Since you two are an item . . .”
Serena frowned. “We’re just friends, Grace.” Barely. After that episode on Overlook Point, she viewed him more as an enemy.
“That’s not what he says.”
“Well, he’s mistaken.” She aimed her cart at the onions and potatoes. “See you later.” What kind of interrogation would follow when she walked into Grace’s dinner with Ethan?
Her cell phone buzzed.
“Hi, sis. Can you talk?”
Serena placed fresh broccoli in her cart, and moved to inspect the cucumbers. “Sure, Meg. Just don’t whine if I drop the phone by accident. I’m in the produce section at Wilson’s.”
Megan groaned. “The chickens aren’t up yet.”
“Maybe your chickens are still snoring, but I’ve been up since 4:00 a.m.”
“Why did you get up at that awful hour?”
Serena smiled. A certain police chief, but she didn’t intend to share that with Meg. She also wouldn’t admit she’d been on the phone with Ethan until well after 1:00. “I had some baking to do.” She wrinkled her nose at the overripe peaches.
Meg hated mornings. When they were kids, Meg was the last Cahill to wake up on Christmas morning. If someone woke her too early, Megan’s disposition resembled a cheetah with a sore paw. Claws extended, she took equal opportunity swipes at the innocent and guilty.
“Will you have any time outside a kitchen today?”
Mrs. Johnson and the Harts this morning, the Radcliffes this afternoon, dinner with Ethan at 8:00. “No. Why?”
“I need another interview.”
“Dream on.” Serena steered her cart to the next aisle. “The last time I agreed to that I had a very nasty surprise.”
“I was in a bind and Mitch volunteered.”
“He did a great job turning the spit. Even grilling on all sides. Forget it.” She tossed two bags of whole wheat pasta into the basket.
“I need information about Pam’s disappearance for Wednesday’s paper.”
