Murder Al Fresco

by Jennifer L. Hart

  After a silent Hail Mary, I crossed myself then got out of the car. Since I sort of lived there, knocking would have come across as phony—plus I didn't want to give my relatives a chance to shut the door in my face. After fumbling with the key, I let myself in, Jones guarding my back.

  Aunt Cecily stood in front of the kitchen stove stirring something that smelled divine. Pops had SportsCenter on in the living room with Roofus flopped on the couch next to him. Both turned at the scrape of the door but then resumed what they were doing a moment later.

  "It's like someone choreographed a shunning," I hissed to Jones under my breath.

  "Dinner smells excellent," Jones called out. "Is there enough for us?"

  I elbowed him in the ribs, widening my eyes to send the silent message that he wasn't helping. He held out his arms, palms up in a well-I-had-to-do-something sort of gesture.

  "You, go wash for supper," Aunt Cecily said.

  "Was that you for Eugene or for us?" Jones whispered in my ear.

  "I'm not sure. Let's treat it like it's for us until they say otherwise." I'd never known my aunt to turn someone away at mealtime.

  Pops was already struggling to extract himself from the overstuffed sofa. I darted over and gripped his hand, helping him to his feet. He grumbled an insincere sounding thanks then shuffled to the hall bathroom. Jones was washing up in the sink while Aunt Cecily ladled soup into Nana's wedding china.

  "What's the special occasion?" I moved up beside her to take two of the already full soup bowls to the table. I was thrilled to see she'd made sausage and tortellini soup, not just because it was a personal favorite, but it was another naturally nightshade-free dish for Pops to enjoy.

  Aunt Cecily didn't look at me as she reached for the next empty bowl. "We are old. We might die if we wait for a special occasion."

  Alrighty then. I took the bowls to the table and offered to open a bottle of wine. Pops already had the vintage he wanted out and the electric bottle opener poised. Jones retrieved the wine glasses, so after plucking four soupspoons out of the drawer and the linen napkins from the sideboard, I set the table. Jones sat beside me, handing me a much-needed glass of wine. I sipped as Pops eased down, still not glancing in my direction.

  Aunt Cecily carried the last two bowls to the table, took off her apron, and bowed her head to say a silent prayer. Pops bowed his head, another way to avoid eye contact. I fidgeted like a toddler who needed to tinkle, the only sound the ticking of Aunt Cecily's cuckoo clock and Roofus's snoring. The silence was unnatural. Never had I wanted to hear my relatives shout and cajole the way I did in that moment.

  Finally, Aunt Cecily straightened up, picked up her spoon, and pointed it to Jones. "Where is il bambino? With your sister?"

  "No," Jones scooped up a tortellini while he dodged the question. "Lizzy is at my father's house."

  "Where a girl ought to be," this from Pops, who swirled his wine, peering into the glass as if it held the answers to every secret in the universe. "Home with her family."

  "Don't hold back Pops, tell us how you really feel," I muttered, stirring my soup.

  "Andrea," Jones protested, but Pops held up a hand to stop him.

  "No, let her speak her piece. You flat out refused to come home with us yesterday, decidin' to stay with that man instead of your own kin. Did he toss you out like he did your mother all those years ago? Is that why you came crawlin' back?"

  I set my spoon down with a clank. "Enough, Pops. I know you've been holding a grudge for all these years, but Jacob is my father, whether you like it or not. And he's been trying to help me."

  "So that makes all he's done all right?" Pops spat.

  "Of course it doesn't," I retorted. "But he saved my life last winter, and he's trying to help save the pasta shop."

  Pops pointed his soupspoon at me. "Did you ever think that maybe he's the one who sabotaged you? Isn't it some sort of huge coincidence that both times your food makes people sick he's lurking about?"

  I threw my hands up. "What possible reason would Jacob have to ruin my reputation, not once but twice?"

  Pops was on a roll. "So he can do exactly what he's doing, come swooping in like a big damn hero and save the day."

  "That's crazy," I spluttered, shocked by the accusation.

  "Is it? Otherwise, where the hell has he been all these years? Why did it take him so long to reveal himself to you?"

  "I'm not saying I forgive him for everything. I don't. But what is holding this grudge doing except wearing me down? I came here to tell you I'm going to officially announce he's my father tomorrow. It's for—"

  "I don't give a damn what your reasonin' is," Pops barked. "It's clear you picked him over the family that's stood by you all these years."

  "I'm not picking him." Wouldn't he even let me explain? "Pops, it's not like that, but you're too bitter to even see why I'm accepting his help, help that I need to save the pasta shop and my career. Mom was sick, you know that, and her depression wasn't Jacob's fault. Don't you think it's time to let it go?"

  Pops threw his napkin down and rose, his narrow-eyed gaze flicking between Jones and me. "Never. You're both parents now. Tell me when would you forgive the person who drove them to commit suicide?"

  I blinked, unable to come up with a suitable response. Pops strode from the room, anger smoothing his gait more than any arthritis medicine ever could.

  "Well, that could have gone better." I went to take another slug of wine then realized my glass was empty. Without a word, Jones handed me his.

  "You two go home now," Aunt Cecily said.

  "Let me help you clean up at least." I pushed back from the table, but she shook her head.

  "You have done enough for tonight." With her words lingering in the air alongside the aroma of sausage and spices, she disappeared down the hall.

  "Go home she says," I grumbled. "Doesn't she know I don't have a home anymore?"

  "Andrea—" Jones began, but I cut him off.

  "I knew it wouldn't work. He won't even listen."

  Jones put an arm around me, saying nothing. We sat side-by-side long after the soup turned cold then left the table, bellies empty, but with no appetite.

  "You don't have to go through with the announcement," Jones said as he drove us back toward Jacob's. "We'll think of another way."

  "I appreciate the gesture, but at this point I kind of want it all over with."

  "The investigation?"

  "The investigation, the show, the whole shebang. Do you know what Stu asked me today? Where the gazebo was. When I told him the town didn't have a gazebo, he got on the phone and ordered one for the green. I mean, who does that?"

  Jones glanced at me, a small smile turning up the edges of his mouth. "What did the town council have to say about that?"

  "No idea, I kinda had a mess of my own to deal with. But what else is new, right?"

  "Andrea," Jones pulled off to the side of the road.

  I scowled. The last time he'd pulled over we'd gotten engaged, but the way my luck ran lately, he was about to give me the old heave-ho and kick me out of the car to boot. "What are you doing?"

  When I turned to face him, he captured my lips with his own in a searing kiss. I melted into him, needing his heat to melt the ice that had formed in my stomach. Everything around us might be going to hell, but the kiss reminded me that I was part of a matching set and that while we both might be cracked, at least we could be together.

  His hands worked their way under my shirt and mine flew to his belt. Things were just getting interesting when someone tapped on the window. Jones groaned in frustration, and I looked over his shoulder to see a set of flashing, blue lights out the back window.

  "Sir, please exit the vehicle," the police officer called through the closed door.

  He was young, not someone I recognized. "I'm sorry, officer." I hurriedly tucked in my shirt and made to get out of the car, but he cut me off with a sharp hand motion.

  "Ma'am, please remain in the ve
hicle." As soon as Jones was out, the officer spun him toward the car and began patting him down.

  "Hey!" My tone was indignant. "No need for that. He didn't do anything wrong."

  A second officer had approached the car, his flashlight practically blinding me. "Is that him?"

  The first officer held Jones's wallet up, checking his driver's license.

  "Malcolm Jones, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. "

  My fiancé's gaze met mine through the window as the police continued to Mirandize him. To hell with their demands, I scrambled out of the vehicle. "What's the charge?"

  The first cop looked over at me. "Kidnapping," he said, and my lungs seized up. "And the transportation of a minor across state lines."

  Sausage and Tortellini Soup

  You'll need:

  8 ounces ground pork sausage

  2 tablespoons garlic-infused olive oil

  1 small white onion, chopped

  2 carrots, diced

  2 stalks celery, diced

  1 quart low-sodium chicken broth

  9 ounces refrigerated cheese tortellini

  4 cups loosely packed baby spinach

  2 tablespoons chopped parsley

  ½ teaspoon sea salt

  Freshly ground pepper to taste

  Parmesan cheese for topping

  Directions:

  Cook sausage in olive oil in pot and drain. Return to pan and add white onion. Cook until translucent.

  Add the carrots and celery to the pot. Cook, stirring, until just softened, about 5 minutes. Add the broth and 3 cups water—bring to a boil. Add parsley and salt. Simmer about 2 minutes.

  Add the tortellini and cook until they float to the top, about 4 minutes. Add the spinach and cook, stirring, until wilted, 1 minute. Season with pepper and top with Parmesan and serve hot.

  **Andy's note: Of course we use homemade tortellini at the Bowtie Angel, but store-bought will work if you're pinched for time. Just make sure to read those ingredient labels! Watch out for potato starch and the always-untrustworthy "spices" listing.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It's true what they say, you don't know what you've got until it's gone. And what I was missing was one county sheriff that would have given me a heads-up about the kidnapping charges.

  "It has to be some sort of mistake," I said for the forty-seventh time in the last hour. "Jones is Clayton's father."

  Detective Brown folded his hands on his desk and shook his head. "It's out of our hands, Andy. Transporting a minor across state lines is a federal charge, so we're only holding him until the FBI arrives."

  "There must be something I can do." I had a call in to Rochelle's estate lawyer in New York. Hopefully he could put me in touch with Clayton's grandparents, and we could get this mess cleared up as soon as possible. "Somebody I can talk to?"

  Darryl Brown shook his head. "I'm sorry. Do you need a ride home?"

  I opened my mouth to say I wasn't about to go anywhere until Jones was set loose, but the sound of a familiar voice snagged my attention.

  "Andy," Donna said again, and I was immediately engulfed in the scent of wild honeysuckle with the faint tang of nervous sweat underneath. "Steven called me. Like you didn't have enough to deal with already? I'll kill him."

  "I can't be hearing this." Darryl raised his hands up as if to ward us off. "I'll just go grab some coffee. Feel free to use my office as long as you like." He shut the door behind him.

  I drew back from the hug and frowned at my friend. "It's just a big mix up. As soon as I get ahold of the grandparents, they'll explain everything."

  Donna cast me a faintly pitying look but didn't pursue the topic further. Instead she wrapped an arm around my shoulders and escorted me out of the office. "Come on, let's get you home."

  "I don't want to go anywhere. I need to be here when the FBI shows up so that I can explain."

  "Andy." Steven appeared on Donna's other side and ushered us into an empty hallway between the main room and the restrooms. "Listen to me. Right now the only reason you're not under arrest too is that I convinced Detective Brown that you didn't know about the kidnapping."

  "Of course I didn't know because there hasn't been any kidnapping." This was ridiculous. "Jones didn't even know he had a son, and he has been freaking the hell out about it ever since."

  "Transporting a minor across state lines is a serious charge." Steven looked around, his voice lowered in case someone came out of the restroom. "As in hard time. Even if Clayton wasn't kidnapped, Jones should have waited to be granted custody by the courts before bringing him home."

  A sharp pain took up residence behind my eyebrows. "This is a freaking nightmare."

  "Come on, let me take you home."

  "I need to go to Jacob's," I said. "Clay's there."

  Steven looked pained. "Andy, Child Protective Services picked him up an hour ago."

  I staggered back against the cinder block wall, shaking my head. "They can't just take him."

  "I'm afraid they can." Donna and Steven exchanged a look.

  "Where will they take him?"

  "To a foster home until his rightful guardian is contacted."

  The image of Jones and Clayton playing in the pool earlier that day haunted me. How fast everything had changed. "Should I get Jones a lawyer?"

  Steven did another quick scan of the hallway, waiting until a group of uniformed officers moved further down the hall. "His father already contacted one for Lizzy, maybe for Jones too. I'll have to check."

  Surely I hadn't heard that right. "Why would Lizzy need a lawyer?"

  Another glance between Donna and Steven, and he said, "She traveled back here with Jones and Clayton, so she's an accessory to kidnapping."

  Stunned, I just shook my head. What a nightmare.

  "I have to get back to it. I'll call you with any updates." Steven gave me a brief hug, which barely registered. He kissed Donna and then strode back down the hall.

  "My Escalade's in the side lot," Donna said. "Where to?"

  I had no idea. Pops and Aunt Cecily had shut me out, and Clayton was no longer with Jacob and Lacey. Lizzy was incarcerated, Kyle was still missing, the pasta shop closed. I had nowhere to go to ground and process my wounds.

  Donna decided for me. "My house then. I need to relieve my sitter, if the twins don't have this one hog-tied over a roasting pit yet."

  My cell phone rang, and I checked the number, hoping against hope it was Rochelle's estate lawyer finally getting back to me. No such luck. The number was for the pasta shop. "Mimi? Can I call you back? I'm kinda in the middle of something here." As in a nervous breakdown.

  "Andy, I'm sorry to bother you." Her tone sounded extra apologetic. "There's a man here claiming you asked him to cook family meal."

  "What?" That made as much sense as anything else that had happened. Then I recalled my conversation the day before with Rodrigo. "Doesn't he know we're closed?"

  "I tried to tell him that, but he insists you promised him. He's in the kitchen now, and I hear sizzling." She whispered the last.

  Great. "Can we swing by the pasta shop?" I asked Donna.

  "Sure." She banged a U-turn and headed the other direction on Main Street. Good thing her husband could fix tickets for her.

  "Mimi, we'll be there in a few." At least I could fix one problem.

  Donna didn't bother pulling into the lot, just parked right in front of the pasta shop. With plywood over the busted windows and no lights showing, the building looked abandoned.

  "Why would Rodrigo still want to cook here after the food poisoning incident?"

  "Maybe he has the hots for you," Donna suggested.

  "Good grief, you're as bad as Jones." I smiled as I recalled his jealousy from early that morning, but it evaporated like steam under a vent fan when the reality of our circumstances crashed down on me.

  Prison. Jones could go to p
rison because he hadn't filed for custody. Maybe he hadn't done it because he'd thought he'd give Clayton back over at the end of the month, or maybe in his shock it hadn't even occurred to him. But whatever the reason, he had been hauled away in handcuffs, and poor Clayton was with strangers.

  "I can't believe so much has happened in the last few days." Donna remarked as we made our way to the front door. "The Diced people showing up, the death, mass food poisoning and the break in, and now Jones's arrest. It's like you can't catch a break."

  I froze with my hand on the doorknob, her words echoing in my head. "No, I really can't," I whispered.

  "What's that?" Donna asked.

  "Never mind." I wanted to get a little distance from the thought that was so fresh in my head. Unlocking the door, I stepped inside my boarded-up pasta shop and called out, "Oh, Lucy! I'm home, and you've got some 'splaining to do!"

  Rodrigo pushed out from the kitchen, a grin on his handsome face. "Your accent needs work. Come in here—everything's almost ready." He disappeared back into the kitchen.

  "Rowr," Donna mock growled and made a clawing motion in the direction the interloper had vanished. "He's even better looking in person."

  "Down girl," I said. "I know you're into younger men, but Rodrigo's practically a zygote."

  "But a hot zygote. And he can cook too." She waggled her eyebrows.

  "First thing in the morning, I'm signing you up for the Skanky Old Cougar's club. SOC for short."

  "Oh, let me have my fun," Donna grumped. "You know I don't mean any of it. I love Steven to death, but I'm married, not dead."

  I retrenched. "Don't you have to get home to your kids?"

  She shrugged. "It would be rude not to stay for dinner after he's gone to all that trouble. And you know I never pass up a free meal."

  I rolled my eyes and pushed through the kitchen door. "Chef Lobo, in case you haven't heard, the Bowtie Angel is closed until further notice. And I don't appreciate you bullying my sous chef into letting you cook here."