Sara tilted her head to the side and studied me. It felt as if she’d speared me and placed me under a microscope before she finally asked. “What made you think the brownies were poisoned?”
The question truly sobered me. “Mitzi was poisoned with a pan of lasagna. So I assumed that the brownies were poison-laced, too. I’m praying I’m wrong.”
“What did you do with them?” Sara took a bite of the pizza and sighed.
“The police took them.” Brandon answered. I felt him gently pull me back to the couch. One hand massaged my shoulder.
She stopped chewing. “Why?”
“To test them for drugs or poison,” I muttered, enjoying the warmth of his palm. I hadn’t realized how tight my shoulders had become.
“Because Mitzi had been poisoned?”
All I could do was nod. Brandon now massaged both shoulders. It seemed to me the girl was awful dense if we had to explain every detail to her.
“I thought you said they didn’t know how Mitzi died.”
Her voice came out low and dangerous sounding. Had I imagined it? I raised my head to look at her. She seemed at ease, but I noticed Brandon had quit massaging my neck and shoulders. Had he heard it, too?
She opened her mouth as if to say something else and then she coughed and quickly grabbed the glass of water. For several moments she fought the cough by pouring more water down her throat.
Finally, looking up through tear filled eyes she said, “I’m sorry. Since I’ve been sick my voice does this funky thing and then I seem to choke on air. I’m sorry.” Her cheeks were now filled with red color.
“Oh that’s okay. As long as you’re all right.” I handed her another napkin.
Brandon spoke as he resumed his massaging, and I leaned back again. “I hate when my throat catches like that. At least you have the excuse of being sick.”
I couldn’t see him, but was sure he smiled at her.
She finished her pizza and stood. “Thanks for dinner. I’m going to head on home now. I need to water my plants.”
Reluctantly, I stood and followed her to the door. I heard footsteps behind me and turned to look. Brandon followed us. It felt good knowing he was there. I dreaded the time that he’d have to go home, too.
Sara moved through the screened-in porch and opened the door. Just before stepping off the last step she turned. “I’m glad you’re okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
I watched her move across the front yard, pat Sprocket on the head, and then go on to her house. She turned and waved when she got to her porch.
“She seems really nice.” Brandon placed one hand on my shoulder and one on the door facing.
I closed my eyes and enjoyed his comforting presence. He gave me a sense of well-being and safety. I could get used to this.
TITLE
Lethal Lasagna
Chapter 13
“Oh, she is very nice.” A little weird but who isn’t?
He stepped back. I missed his warmth immediately. “You know. I’ve been thinking and maybe you shouldn’t stay here tonight.” He leaned against the doorway that led back into the house.
“Where should I stay?” I crossed my arms and waited.
“Don’t you have a daughter that you can stay with?”
If the man had said my place I would have thrown something at him. But, he hadn’t. He’d proven once more that Brandon Harvest was a true gentleman.
I relaxed. “I’m not going to bother Megan with this, and I’m not going to live in fear.”
He pushed away from the doorframe and turned toward the living room. “Well, don’t you have friends you could stay with?”
Wasn’t he listening? I’d just told him I wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe with men it’s more complicated to hear. Or maybe he was just being stubborn. Well two could play that game. “I said no, Brandon. I’m staying right here.”
He turned to face me. His hands came up and a smile touched his lips. “Ok. I give. You’re staying here. I get it.”
Later, I wished I’d taken his advice. The house was so quiet and every time it settled my flesh crawled with fear. Thoughts of someone breaking in and force-feeding me poisoned food ran through my mind. Even though it was silly, I couldn’t get past those thoughts.
I hurried and got ready for bed. Sounds filled the night.
A dog barked. Was it Sprocket?
No.
My heart pounded. I grabbed the edge of the dresser and pushed with all my might. It moved against the door. I panted and listened.
This is ridiculous. I moved to my bedside and knelt.
I tried to remember a scripture about fear. Panic threatened to overtake me when, for several minutes, my mind remained blank and only cold fear could be found. Then it was there like a beacon in the night, Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows. Matthew 10:31 Prayers of thanksgiving burst from my lips, and then I crawled into my bed.
Sleep slowly settled over me but the fear had vanished. I nestled down under the covers, with the assurance that the Lord was with me.
****
The sun filtered through my curtains. I stretched and yawned. The desire to roll over and sleep away the day fought strongly with my desire not to become a sloth in my old age.
My gaze moved to the dresser I’d pushed in front of the door the night before. That explained the soreness in my arms. “Crazy old woman,” I muttered to myself as I shoved the covers back, and forced tired leg muscles to work. A warm shower might get the circulation going again and help with the soreness in my arms and shoulders. Maybe.
I moved stiffly to the dresser and pushed and shoved against it. It inched across the carpeted floor and for a brief moment, I wished for the adrenaline of fear that had possessed me the night before. Once it rested in its usual spot, I rested for a few minutes and then pulled clean clothes from the dressers depths. I hurried to the shower.
For the first time in years, I pushed in the knob to lock the bathroom door. I turned on the water and soon the room filled with warm steam and the scent of my lavender body wash. I’d chosen lavender because it was supposed to help me relax but could I relax knowing a killer had been in my house?
I could. And I would. The soothing scent washed over me, and soon I felt much better. “Fear will not win.” I declared as I dried the moisture from my body. That too seemed to give me confidence I could face the day.
So much so that I donned my favorite hot pink tee shirt that proclaimed, in flashy silver letters, ONE HOT CHICK. Next I pulled on a pair of blue jeans.
My flowerbeds were begging to be weeded, and I had decided I’d see them weed-free by the end of the day. After tying my shoelaces, I stood, smiled into the mirror and opened the bedroom door. I took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen for a scrambled egg and a slightly browned piece of toast.
The sound of something scraping across the front porch froze my confident steps. I stopped breathing and listened. No further sound met my ears. After several minutes of standing like a statue, I realized it was all in my head.
Exhaling, I moved on down the hall to the living room. I’d almost made it into the kitchen when I heard a thump come from the direction of the front porch. This time I dropped to the floor and panted with fear.
Sunlight filtered through the windows. I could hear a lawn mower running somewhere on the block. Everything seemed and sounded normal. But, I knew someone was on my front porch.
With the bravery of a wet worm, I pushed myself from the floor, tiptoed to the kitchen, found my big butcher knife, and then hugged the walls back to the living room. Furniture kept me from clinging to the wall in the living room. I stooped low and duck-walked to the door. Just as I got to it, someone knocked. My heart leaped, my pulse quit beating, and for a moment I thought I was going to die from lack of oxygen to my brain.
“Claire!”
It was Brandon. I still couldn’t move from my bent position.
“Honey, I know you’re there. I heard
you coming. Open the door.”
Honey? Honey? The man had scared me out of my wits, and he had the nerve to call me honey? If I wasn’t so relieved to hear his voice I think I’d kill him with the big knife in my hands. No, that wouldn’t do. Detective Howard would lock me up for sure.
I stood slowly. Hid the knife in a potted plant beside the door and ran my sweaty palms down my jean legs before opening the door.
He smiled. “I thought I heard you up and about. What does a fella have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?”
A desire to slap that knowing smile off his face was strong. Instead of answering him I asked a question of my own. “What are you doing here so early?”
He stepped to his left and leaned on the doorframe. With one hand he gestured toward my cozy morning corner and said. “I slept here last night. Hope you don’t mind.”
One look at his rumpled clothes and messed hair confirmed he was telling the truth. “Why?”
A slight flush filled his cheeks and he looked down at his shoes. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you being here all alone and scared, so I came back. But the house was dark, and then I got to thinking what if the killer came back.”
I could have helped him out but after the scare he’d just given me I wasn’t feeling too charitable so I waited until he realized he’d have to explain himself completely.
“I was worried about you so I made a bed of your reclining chair and stayed the night.” He offered that boyish grin that I couldn’t seem to resist and finished, “So see? I protected you. Think you could reward me with a cup of coffee?” Rumpled and looking boyish, I couldn’t refuse him.
“Come on in, Sir Harvest, and I’ll prepare you a feast for your night of gallantry.” I turned and walked back toward the kitchen. Aware he couldn’t see my face, I smiled. He’d stayed on the porch all night to protect me. That was about the sweetest and dumbest thing I’d ever heard of.
“Thank you, hot chick.”
TITLE
Lethal Lasagna
Chapter 14
Venturing into the unfamiliar waters of flirtation, I answered. “Why thank you kind Sir. I’m so glad you noticed.”
His warm laughter greeted my ears and warmed my heart. We moved into the kitchen. “Sit down and I’ll make a pot of coffee.”
“Thanks.” He looked out the window that faced Sara’s house. A frown marred his handsome features.
My gaze moved to where he seemed to be looking. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Why was he frowning? He looked lost in thought, maybe it was personal. I decided not to question him about it. If it were something important, or had anything to do with me, I felt sure he’d say something.
I put coffee in the filter and then turned on the coffee maker. “How does eggs and bacon sound?”
“Great.”
Pulling the eggs from the fridge I asked, “How would you like them fixed?” I set the carton on the counter and reached for the bacon.
He turned from the window and grinned. “Scrambled and crispy.”
I smiled. “Me, too.” I ducked my head and went to work preparing my knight in shining armor a breakfast fit for a king.
Soon the fragrant smell of coffee and bacon filled my cozy kitchen. I popped bread into the toaster. Scrambled eggs and set butter and strawberry jam on the table. While I worked I noted that Brandon continued to gaze out the window.
I set plates and silverware down. “Something bothering you?” I asked as I placed a cup of coffee in front of him.
He smiled. “Not really. I was just thinking that if you hung a feeder in front of this window, you could watch the birds while you enjoyed breakfast every morning.”
I poured scrambled eggs from the pan into a bowl. I didn’t buy his story for one moment. But went along with it just the same. “I’ve had the same thought but just haven’t taken the time to hang one.” I added the glass coffee pot to the assortment of breakfast items and took my place.
“Would you like me to give thanks?” He asked, reaching across the table and taking my hand in his.
I nodded and bowed my head. His warm voice washed over me as he thanked the Lord for the food, my safety, and our friendship. I echoed his, “Amen.”
“Do you cook like this every morning?” He asked, after swallowing a bite of eggs.
I buttered my toast. “Not always; why?”
“Well, if I’m going to continue to protect my fair maiden, I want to know what kind of meals I can expect.” He took a cautious sip of coffee and then grinned over the rim of the cup.
I almost dropped the butter knife. “I’m far from a maiden, and I really don’t need protecting, Brandon. It was sweet of you to stay last night, but I’m sure it wasn’t necessary.”
“Ah, but that is where we disagree. Someone wants to kill or hurt you, that makes my staying on the front porch crucial. As long as I’m here, I don’t think the mysterious baker will be making house calls again.” He forked more food in his mouth.
His behavior and the stubbornness of his jaw said that no matter how much I argued he wasn’t going to back down. In all honesty, I didn’t want him to, but I couldn’t let him know that.
“Okay, let’s say I agree. How long do you plan on staying?” I nibbled on my toast.
He swallowed. “Until Mitzi’s killer is caught. I’m sure that you have ruffled his feathers and I, for one, do not want to see you hurt.”
“Brandon, that could be months.” The thought of having him on my front porch for months seemed extreme, but I did like the idea of having him close.
“Maybe. If it does, I’ll just have to make the front porch more comfortable.” He poured himself more coffee.
I couldn’t imagine him spending a month on my porch. “I have a guest room. You can stay there, if you insist on staying.” My coffee needed chocolate. I got up and found some in the pantry.
“No. I won’t have your reputation tarnished because I moved into the house.” Brandon protested.
The laugh burst from my lips. “Come on, we aren’t living in the eighteen hundreds.”
His serious eyes met my laughing ones. “No, but we are still Christians, and I’ll not have people talking trash about us and ruining our Lord’s reputation at the same time.”
The words talking trash weren’t something I would have expected to come from a professor’s mouth, but when he said it like that, I realized he was right. “Man, I hate it when you’re right. OK. How are we going to make the porch comfortable?”
“I’ve got a cot at my house that I sleep on sometimes. It’s comfortable and will fit in that snug cove you’ve created with the potted plants and flowers.” He pushed away from the table and carried his plate and cup to the sink.
I stood to clear the table. “Are you sure you want to go to all this trouble? It might be easier just to ask the police to patrol the neighborhood at night.” I replaced the butter and jam in the fridge.
“Not on your life. I’m staying, and that’s final. You’ll see; it will be no trouble at all.” He opened the dishwasher and put our plates, silverware, and cups inside.
I wiped the table off and replaced my potted plant in the center. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t give you a chance out of this mess.”
He moved across the floor and pulled me into his embrace. His breath smelled of fresh-brewed coffee. “As long as you are in danger, we’re in this mess together.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
It felt like he kissed the top of my head before he released me and headed toward the door. He stopped in the entryway. “If you don’t have anything pressing to do today, would you like to come to the house and help me gather up that cot and some sheets?”
The thought of spending more time with him tickled me to the toes. I tried not to express how pleased I felt at his invitation. “Sure. As long as we get back here by lunchtime.”
“Not a problem.”
****
“With a house like this, why do you sleep on a cot?” I tucked my purse against my side, as he led the way through the garage.
He laughed and opened a side door into a spacious kitchen. “I don’t always sleep on the cot. Just when I go camping.”
“So you aren’t crazy?” I laughed as I followed him through a comfy living room. Its interior held hunter green and soft tan hues. A large couch, recliner, and big screen TV filled most of the room. I noticed a bookshelf and fish tank occupied one corner with plush looking chair and matching end table in the other.
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