by Lynn Cahoon
Angie set the two bowls in front of him and went back to get spoons. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. But seriously, she’s got to be what, fifteen?”
“Sixteen, according to a missing person’s report out of Utah. Her folks are in a group that lives near the Nevada border in some sort of commune.”
“Are they coming to get her?” Maybe Angie wouldn’t have to train a new staff member after all.
He shook his head. “According to her father, whom I talked to this afternoon, she’s made her bed. They’ve washed their hands of her. The social worker I called said there was a problem with jurisdiction and asked if I could hold her for a few days.”
“Hold her. As in, put her in a jail cell? Why? Because her folks don’t want her?” Angie brought her bowl of the corn chowder over to the table and handed him a spoon. “This just keeps getting worse.”
“I’m not putting her in custody, but she is moving in with Maggie and me tonight. If you’re serious about giving her a job, I want you to copy her work schedule to me. We’ll make sure she gets there. And I’m going to talk to the school about education options.” He took a sip of the chowder. “This almost makes up for the worst day in my career.”
“How long before the state takes her?”
He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
They sat, eating in silence for a while.
Finally, he set his spoon down. “Anyway, that’s not why I came by. I wanted to check in and see what progress you’ve had in checking out the other contestants.”
Angie went through what she and the rest of the crew had found out. Then she ended it with the discussion with Miquel the day before. “I’ll be honest, I don’t like the guy. But is he a killer? I don’t know.”
“I’ll do some research. I’m going to pull up that report from Barb. I vaguely remember that situation. I think when he left, she dropped the charges.” He scribbled in his notebook. “The guy makes me think there’s some smoke there, but it may not have anything to do with the murder.” He finished eating his soup.
“Do you want more?” Angie stood and held out her hand for a bowl. “Tell me which one you liked the best.”
“More chowder please. The chili’s good, but this is amazing.” He handed her that bowl and then stood to take his other bowl to the sink. “I want you to know, if you think it’s too dangerous, you don’t have to go back to the fair. It’s not worth the risk.”
Angie sat a full bowl of chowder at his spot. She grabbed two bottles of water and brought them to the table. “I have to finish this. I don’t know why, but it’s important.”
“Well, the idiot who’s leading this task force thinks you’re fine. That Nubbins’s death isn’t related to the contest. Of course, he’s also trying to make it into an accident.” Sheriff Brown stirred his soup, blowing on the spoonful before eating it.
“You don’t think it was an accident.” Angie took a bite of her own soup, considering the implications.
“The coroner said he ingested enough poison to kill a mountain gorilla. I don’t think he would do that accidentally. And, before you ask, the food in his stomach wasn’t nachos. He’d just eaten a funnel cake.”
Angie thought about Brandon and his “accident.” “Did they test Brandon for the toxin?”
“They weren’t going to, but I pulled a few strings. I know the head of emergency over there. He ran a special tox screen, and yes, Brandon had the same stuff in his bloodstream. He’s lucky he got to the hospital as fast as he did.” Sheriff Brown finished his soup. “I’ll deny it if you mention this to Maggie, but that’s the best soup I’ve ever had.”
“Thanks. And, Sheriff Brown?”
He paused as he rose to put his bowl in the sink. “Yes?”
“Thank you for talking to me. I know you don’t like my amateur investigating.” She smiled. “This feels like we’re actually cooperating on something.” She stood and watched him put on his hat as he walked to the door.
“Well, if we’re going to be working together, maybe you should call me Allen. I know Ian would be happy if we could bury the hatchet.” He nodded, then left the kitchen.
Angie watched out the open door as he drove away. She saw Mrs. Potter out in her yard, walker nearby, directing while Erica dug in the front flower beds. She turned back. Time to share what she’d made and make time for a short visit to her only neighbors.
She packaged up two containers of soup—one for today, one for later—and put that and a loaf of wheat bread she’d made and frozen a few weeks ago as well as a jar of strawberry jelly, into a basket. She shook her head at Dom. “Sorry, dude, I don’t want you to think you can cross the road without me, so you need to stay home.”
Shutting the door behind her, she walked down the dirt driveway and crossed the street to Mrs. Potter’s house. She picked up the afternoon paper from the slot where the driver had left it a few minutes before.
Arriving at the front stoop, she set her bundles down. Mrs. Potter patted the bench next to her. “Come sit by me. I haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been up to?”
“Busy as usual.” She waved to Erica. Mrs. Potter’s granddaughter was finishing school as well as watching out for her grandmother when she was in her Idaho home. “You’re planting flowers? Isn’t it late?”
“Actually, it’s time for the mums to go in. I lost all of the mums last winter when I went to California to stay with the kids. This year, Erica’s staying around, so she’s promised to watch out for them.” Mrs. Potter pointed to the left. “Move that one over about three inches before you plant. They need to be spaced evenly so we get the most blooms.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Erica grinned at Angie. “I think I promised too much in plant care over the winter semester. I have a black thumb.”
“Don’t be silly. You just need to learn what they need.” Mrs. Potter smiled softly at her. “You should have seen all the flowers I killed my first year married to your grandfather. He started calling me a plant serial killer.”
Erica barked out a laugh. “I think I heard him say that once.”
“I hadn’t killed a plant in over forty years and he still teased me. That’s what happens when you marry your high school sweetheart.” Mrs. Potter’s eyes sparkled with humor. “I know all about Erica’s love life since the boy has to drive out here to get her just to go to the movies, but what about you, dear? When are you and Ian getting busy?”
Angie choked on the breath she’d just taken. “Excuse me?”
“What do you kids call it?” Mrs. Potter tapped her fingers on her chin. “Shaking up, right? When are you shaking up?”
“You mean shacking up, Grans. Getting busy and shaking up have a whole different meaning.” Erica chuckled as she planted the last mum. “Angie’s about to have a coronary over there.”
“I am not,” Angie said, but if the heat from her face wasn’t from the sun, she had to be beet red right now.
“Are too.” Erica stood and brushed the dirt off her hands. “You might as well tell her, she’s going to keep asking about you and Ian moving in together.”
Nona would have been pushing the same buttons, although, Angie thought, she would have been saying the m word. Or at least an engagement. She put her hands on her cheeks, hoping it would cool her and drop the blush. “Ian and I haven’t talked about taking that kind of step yet. We’ve only been dating a little while.”
“Over a year.” Mrs. Potter patted her leg. “You’re not getting any younger, my dear. You’ll want to have memories to warm your nights when you’re old and widowed like me.”
Angie bit her lip. She wasn’t sure how to respond. How do you talk about your love life with an elderly neighbor? Not thinking of any response, she glanced at the stoop. “Anyway, I brought you over two types of soup—chicken chili and corn chowder—and a few other things.”
>
“Sounds like lunch is ready, then.” Mrs. Potter stood, using her walker to help pull herself up. “Erica, would you bring those in and get me some food? I’m feeling a little warm out here. I think I’ll take a nap after I eat.”
They watched Mrs. Potter move slowly into the house. Angie stood next to Erica. “She’s so fragile lately.”
“You’re noticing it too? I think I need to call Mom.” Erica picked up the basket and the paper. “You want to wait for the basket?”
“No, I’ll pick it up tomorrow. Let me know how she’s doing, okay?” Angie turned to go back across the street.
“Of course, and thanks for grabbing the paper.” Erica waved as Angie walked across the two-lane blacktop and back over to her own mailbox.
Angie got out the small stack of mail and then turned to watch Erica disappear into the house. A wave of sadness filled her as the door closed. Angie hadn’t been around as Nona had slowly descended into her final illness. She’d been off in California and believing her grandmother’s claims that everything was fine.
When she got back to the house, Dom sat staring at the door. Somehow he knew she’d gone visiting without him. Glancing at the mess she needed to clean up in the kitchen before starting her new sandwich project, she grabbed the leash instead. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Immediately, Dom forgave her the insult of leaving him behind and went crazy. She slipped on walking shoes and grabbed her backpack, adding water bottles. She would work later. Right now, she needed to do something happy to ease her mind.
Her phone rang as they drove to the park. She didn’t recognize the number, but it was local, so it could be a supplier. Taking a chance that it wasn’t a spam robo call, she answered, “This is Angie.”
“Oh, my God, Angie. Brandon was poisoned. It wasn’t just food poisoning. Someone actually tried to kill him.” A frantic Sydney was on the other end of the line.
“How did you find out?” Angie didn’t bother pretending like she didn’t know.
“A reporter came to the house and started asking questions about the break-in. I was so glad I didn’t keep any of my stuff in the trailer. I sent it all back to the restaurant right after the contest finished. I guess I was lucky there. The fair has to replace everything in the trailer. Of course, they have the stuff from the eliminated contestants.”
Sydney was on a roll. Angie hadn’t heard her talk this fast, ever. When she took a breath, Angie interrupted. “So, this reporter told you about Brandon being poisoned?”
“Well, kind of. I mean, he asked what had happened and if anyone had told me that he was being tested for poison. I guess he could have been fishing since the police let it out that poor David was poisoned the day before. I mean, seriously, what a sad way to go for a chef. We should go out with something besides food poisoning, don’t you think? In medieval times, the king had a taster. If they died, the king didn’t eat. Maybe we should get testers.”
Angie pulled the car into the parking lot and glanced at Dom. There was no way he was going to be good, knowing the walk was right out his window. “Hey, Sydney? Can you hold on a second? I have to transfer you to my earbuds. Dom and I just got to the walking path.”
“Actually, let me call you back. My lawyer is on the phone. I called him right after I talked to that reporter. I hope this doesn’t hurt the restaurant. I should be more careful about what I say.”
Angie was going to try to comfort her when she realized that Sydney had already disconnected the call. Whomever Sheriff Brown—no, Allen, she corrected herself—whomever Allen had said was in charge of the task force wasn’t going to be happy when The Statesman blasted the cause of death as poison and reported that the killer might have tried again. She could just see the headlines.
Deadly Food Kills Chef. Chef Dips into Wrong Bin. Food Strikes Back?
Okay, maybe she couldn’t.
Chapter 12
She and Dom had just walked past the bridge when her phone rang again. She looked down and saw Matt’s number. “Hey, I hope you’re not calling off for tomorrow. I’ve got a killer chowder I want you to try.”
“No, I’m not calling off. I just wanted to check in and see if you’ve heard from Hope?” Matt’s voice, typically so calm, sounded tight, stressed. “I mean, I would have thought you might have called to check up on her.”
Crap, I should have called to check up on her. She pushed the guilt away. Hope had been left in her parents’ capable hands. But the restaurant should have sent flowers. Or did an emergency room visit warrant that? She had been working that day at the fair. She pushed the questions away and answered Matt honestly, “No, I haven’t heard from her.”
“But you think she’s okay, right?”
Angie thought about Matt’s concern. Maybe there was more going on with the two of them than she knew. “If she wasn’t going to make service tomorrow, I’m sure she would have called.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He paused, and even over the telephone line, Angie could sense his thoughts whirling around in his head. “Maybe I should call her?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Who was she? Matchmaker Melda? She took a breath and smiled. She’d read that you sounded friendlier over the phone if you smiled. “Look, Matt, Dom and I are walking right now, so I need to go.”
“Okay. Tell Dom hi. And I’ll see you tomorrow for staff meeting.”
“Later.” She hung up before Matt could ask her another time if she thought he should call Hope. Maybe he was just concerned because he’d watched her fall. That was probably it. She dialed another number. “Felicia, can we send flowers to Hope?”
“Already done. I called and talked to her mom yesterday. Hope’s doing better. Her family physician cleared her to come to work tomorrow. So, no worries.”
“She gave us quite a scare.” Angie reined Dom in, as there was a runner coming down the trail. “Matt’s worried sick.”
“Is that why he’s calling? I missed his last call, and now he’s calling again,” Felicia asked.
“Really? That’s interesting.” Angie spied a large dog coming their way off the leash. “Let me talk to you tomorrow. I’ve got a situation here.”
She grabbed Dom’s leash and had him sitting before the other dog arrived. The dog stepped closer, probably going to sniff Dom, but his growl made the dog step back and lie down on the other side of the trail. Angie glanced around. Did the dog belong to someone? She spotted a person farther along the trail, but he didn’t seem to be even watching the unfolding scene.
When he got closer, Angie waved her arm. “Is this your dog?”
The man popped earbuds out and looked at her, confused. “What?”
“Your dog. Is this your dog? Dogs are supposed to be leashed.”
He looked down at the empty leash with a collar clipped to his waistband. “Crap, sorry. Timber, come here.”
The black dog got up and trotted over to his master, letting him slip the collar back over his head. He fumbled with it and tightened the fit. “Sorry, I’m not used to running with him. He was my wife’s dog.”
Angie’s nerves settled now that she knew she wouldn’t have to break up a fight between the two dogs, which both probably weighed more than she did. Or close. “It happens. I’m just glad he wasn’t aggressive.”
“Timber’s a sweetheart. He’s a labradoodle. He’s just missing his mama. My wife, she passed away a few months ago. This is the first time we’ve gotten out to run. I guess I’m going to have to keep a better eye out for him.” He tucked the earbuds into his pocket. “Listening to gratitude lectures. They’re supposed to help.”
Angie studied the man. In his forties, probably, and he seemed nice. “I’m sorry for your loss. Are you new to the area?”
He shook his head. “We’ve lived south of River Vista for the last five years. I work in Boise, though. I’m an attorney. Jon Ansley. And you met Timber.”
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“Angie Turner. I own the County Seat in town.” She took his outstretched hand and shook it.
“I’ve been meaning to get over there. My wife, well, she wanted to go, but…” He sighed. “I’m sure you didn’t come out here to listen to some stranger go on about their sad life. It was nice to meet you, Angie Turner. And Dom too.”
Angie and Dom continued their walk, and it wasn’t until she’d got back into the car an hour later that a thought hit her. She glanced back at the smiling but tired face behind her. “How did he know your name was Dom?”
When she got home, she did an internet search on John Ansley. Nothing local came up. Then she tried a different spelling for John, dropping the h. This time a Jon Ansley showed up. He was a lawyer at a Boise firm. She read his bio and mostly it matched what he’d told her, but his wife was still mentioned. Either the company hadn’t updated it, or he’d lied about losing her. She wrote his name down in her notebook. Jon Ansley. She’d ask Felicia tomorrow if she’d ever met him.
She put the laptop away and took out mixing bowls. Time to make some bread and play with sandwich recipes. Later tonight she’d take her scribbled notes and make up recipes for what she’d created today. Tomorrow she’d see how they translated to her cooks for family meal. Nancy was also presenting a dish for possible inclusion on the menu. Wednesday would be a full day.
* * * *
Angie woke up the next morning feeling ready for the day. Not only did she have a killer corn chowder recipe to share, she’d concocted a twist on a Reuben that she thought was better than the original. She hurried through her morning routine, only spending a few minutes with Precious but promising her that after the fair was over, they’d have more quality time.
Dom lay on his bed, his gaze frozen on the leash. “Sorry, guy. You know you can’t come to work on days we’re opening. You’d be cooped up there way too long. I’ll be home as soon as I can, and we’ll watch the Food Network.”
He closed his eyes and turned his head away from her. Angie walked through the downstairs one more time, just to make sure she hadn’t left anything down that Dom could mistake as a chew toy. Then she gave her dog a kiss on his head and headed out the door. She locked up the house, more out of habit than expectation that someone would break in. In San Francisco, her condo had had a doorman and three locks on the door, as well as a video camera in the hallway. She’d always felt like she was locking herself inside away from the world when she threw the dead bolts after coming home from work.
