"I know you love me. You know I love you. You've never given me any real reason to be insecure about our relationship. When you get your degree, we'll figure out the best plan for us both." He leaned over and kissed my lips—softly, sweetly, and for a long, long time. The taste of him was so familiar, so longed for, I could hardly stand it. Tino pulled back and whispered against my cheek. "I'll go where you go, my lover. I've made up my mind, and I won't be all that easy to get away from."
I sighed, a long sigh full of a thousand different emotions. "With all that's been going on I haven't had a chance to tell you something very important. I spoke to Doc Whitaker yesterday. His veterinary practice has grown a lot, so if it continues to grow—and he believes it will—it won't be too long before the doc won't be able to take care of all his patients by himself. He's asked me to consider coming to work for him as a secondary vet, once I have my degree of course. If I did that, I wouldn't have to leave Danger Cove. Wouldn't have to leave everything and everyone I love here, and I'd still be taking care of animals."
I watched his face as what I'd said registered, and the only word I could think of to describe his expression was relief. "That's awesome." His voice was full of excitement before he ratcheted things down a notch. "I mean, it is awesome, isn't it?
I laughed and nodded. "It is."
"Right," he whispered. "Awesome."
"I was beginning to worry about how I could ever leave here anyway. I'd have to be crazy to want to get away from you," I whispered back just before his lips closed over mine again.
We went inside together and spent some quality time displaying our strong feelings for each other.
Tino left a while later to share the news of his windfall with his family, and I set about taking care of rounds at the shelter.
It was early evening when Jimmy John came by before heading back to the hospital.
He'd brought a six-pack of Heineken and food from the Lobster Pot, a lobster roll for himself, and an order of mac and cheese for me. We took the food to the porch where Tino and I'd had breakfast. We ate our dinner while watching the setting sun change the hues of the sky beyond the woods on the perimeter of Fran's place.
"Talked to Bud Ohlsen today," Jimmy John said. "They've got a helluva case against Dottie Holmes. Bud said they searched her new place and found Carlos's watch, one that was engraved to him from Sabrina. Heck, they even found the old Doc Martens she'd worn on the beach that night. They were caked in sand and matched the casts the police had. Get this. They were mine after all—a pair I'd donated to the homeless shelter. She must've picked 'em up during one of those times she was living on the street or on the beach after she'd violated the generosity of one of her landlords."
"Wow," I said. "I bet Lester Marshall's having a field day with all this."
"Oh, you know it." Jimmy John said. "Bud mentioned he got this weird call from old Jack Condor first thing this morning. Jack's got his panties all in a knot, thinking he's got identity theft or something because someone's going around contacting people he knows and offering them real estate deals."
I spit beer all over the front of my T-shirt.
Triple J laughed then turned quiet. After another minute he spoke again, more softly this time. "Lizzie, it about scared me to death when they called and said Fran had been shot."
I laid my hand on his and squeezed. "Of course it did. But she's going to be all right."
"I know. It also didn't do me a lot of good when I heard you'd taken off after that woman. I quit worrying so much about you after Tino called and said he'd come across Jasper in the parking lot at the lighthouse when he was patrolling the beach. Tino cares so much for you that I knew he'd put his life on the line to save yours."
Hearing someone else acknowledge Tino's fierce and deep feelings for me made me catch my breath.
Jimmy John also took in a deep breath and held it a beat before he said, "I'm going to ask Frannie to marry me."
I waited a second to make sure I'd heard him right.
When he looked at me and asked, "That gonna be all right with you?" I threw back my head and laughed.
Then I jumped up and hugged him. "It's more than all right! I'm so happy for you, Jimmy John."
"Well, whoa there," he said in my ear. "Wait a minute."
I let go of him and stood back while he went on. "Frannie hasn't said yes yet."
"Oh, but she will. I know she will."
I was beside myself. I loved them both so much, I could hardly contain my happiness at even the thought the two of them would make a formal commitment to join together.
His voice was gruff. "In Jimmy John's Rulebook: It's real important to find someone to make life's journey with. I've been lucky enough to have found two great women to love—both just the most fantastic ladies. First I found your grandma. Now I've found Fran. Just like your dad found your mom." He looked off into the evening sky, and his voice cracked a little. "I pray you'll find someone great to love in your life too, sweetie."
"Maybe I already have."
"Tino?"
"It's looking more and more like he's the one." I shrugged, a little self-conscious. "He's just so…well, he's just everything. Jimmy John, I think Tino might be my forever home."
Jimmy John nodded, approval and pride shining on his face, and the intimacy of the moment had us both a little misty-eyed again.
I looked down at my feet where Vader had settled in for a nap, the little pink pig Sabrina had given him tucked snugly up against him.
"It even looks like Vader's found a special friend. Let's hope Sabrina brings her back soon. I think he misses her already."
"I think you're right," he said.
"Love you, Jimmy John."
He smiled and, a la Han Solo, said, "I know." Then he added, "But on the first page of Jimmy John's Rulebook it says: You couldn't possibly love me more than I do you."
* * *
Mama Politano's Pesto Penne Primavera
8 oz. penne
3 TBSP extra-virgin olive oil, divided
1 lb. asparagus, ends trimmed, cut into 3-inch pieces
1 each orange, red, and yellow bell pepper, chopped into bite-size pieces
1 pt grape tomatoes
2 cups fresh basil leaves, packed tightly
3 garlic cloves
1/3 cup pine nuts
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 teaspoon salt or to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 tablespoon water
1. In a large pot, bring 1 gallon water to a boil. Add 1 Tbsp. salt and the pasta. Stir. Cook, stirring a few times, until al dente, about 8 to 10 minutes.
2. Heat 1 Tbsp. of the oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add asparagus and peppers. Sauté 5 minutes; veggies should be brightly colored and crisp. Add tomatoes and sauté another 5 to 7 minutes until cooked through and asparagus is crisp-tender.
3. To prepare pesto, place basil, garlic, and pine nuts in the bowl of a food processor or blender. Pulse a few times until coarsely minced. Add cheese, salt, and pepper to mixture and pulse again until combined. Scrape down the sides of the bowl. Through the feed tube, add lemon juice, water, and remaining 2 Tbsp. oil to the mixture while pulsing, until fully combined and smooth. The pesto will be thick.
4. Drain pasta and return to pot. Add vegetables and pesto to pasta and mix well. Serve warm.
4 servings.
* * * * *
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DANGER COVE BOOKS
Secret of the Painted Lady
Murder and Mai Tais
Death by Scones
Four-Patch of Trouble
Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai
Killer Closet Case
Tree of Life and Death
A Killing in the Market (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)
Killer Colada
Passion, Poison, & Puppy Dogs
A Novel Death
Robbing Peter to Kill Paul
Sinister Snickerdoodles
Heroes and Hurricanes
A Death in the Flower Garden
Divas, Diamonds & Death
A Slaying in the Orchard
A Secret in the Pumpkin Patch
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHORs
USA Today bestselling authors Sally J. Smith and Jean Steffens, are partners in crime—crime writing, that is. They live in Scottsdale, Arizona, awesome for eight months out of the year, an inferno the other four. They write bloody murder, flirty romance, and wicked humor all in one package. When their heads aren't together over a manuscript, you'll probably find them at a movie or play, a hockey game or the mall, or at one of the hundreds of places to find a great meal in the Valley of the Sun.
To learn more about Sally J. Smith & Jean Steffens, visit them online at: http://www.smithandsteffens.com/
Elizabeth Ashby was born and raised in Danger Cove and now uses her literary talent to tell stories about the town she knows and loves. Ms. Ashby has penned several Danger Cove Mysteries, which are published by Gemma Halliday Publishing. While she does admit to taking some poetic license in her storytelling, she loves to incorporate the real people and places of her hometown into her stories. She says anyone who visits Danger Cove is fair game for her poisoned pen, so tourists beware! When she's not writing, Ms. Ashby enjoys gardening, taking long walks along the Pacific coastline, and curling up with a hot cup of tea, her cat, Sherlock, and a thrilling novel.
* * * * *
BOOKS BY SALLY J. SMITH & JEAN STEFFENS
Danger Cove Pet Sitter Mysteries:
Passion, Poison & Puppy Dogs
Divas, Diamonds & Death
Mystic Isle Mysteries:
Mystic Mayhem
Mystic Mojo (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)
Mystic Mistletoe Murder
Mystic Mischief
Aloha Lagoon Mysteries
Murder on the Aloha Express
Jordan Welsh & Eddie Marino novels:
Stealing the Moon & Stars
Stealing the Golden Dream
Other works:
An Off Day (short story by Sally J. Smith)
The Night Before Christmas (short story by Jean Steffens)
* * * * *
SNEAK PEEK
of the next Danger Cove Mystery
A SLAYING IN THE ORCHARD
a Danger Cove Farmers' Market Mystery
by
GIN JONES & ELIZABETH ASHBY
CHAPTER ONE
"There was a massacre in the cucurbit zone," Sargent Adams, the newly elected president of the Danger Cove Garden Club, shouted in my direction. He pointed at the damage caused by someone stomping through a bed of thickly tangled vines in the historical garden where volunteers had recreated what the early lighthouse keepers had grown to feed their large families. On the weekends the garden club offered tours, and benches scattered throughout the garden invited marketers to take a break and get a bit of education about the history of agriculture.
Sargent—that was both the name listed on his birth certificate and the rank he'd achieved during his career—was in his sixties, but he hadn't taken his retirement from the military as an excuse to slack on his exercise regimen, so he was more physically fit than I'd ever dreamed of being. I was taller than average for a woman, but he had a good six inches on me and had perfected the art of looming. Between his muscular build, barking voice, and constant hint of suppressed fury in his eyes, I was amazed anyone would risk so much as breathing on his cucurbits without his permission.
"I'm sorry." Technically, the garden was outside my jurisdiction as the manager of the Lighthouse Farmers' Market. It was located between the market and a rocky arm of land where people liked to climb, which had undoubtedly led to someone taking a short cut through a corner of the cucumber bed. "Did you report it to the police? They usually have a few officers here on market days."
"Fred Fields told me there wasn't much he could do if he didn't catch them in the act but he'd keep an eye out for future incursions into my territory."
"I don't suppose you saw who did it?" If he had, I doubted he'd have needed my help to deal with the miscreants.
"I did. Two young hooligans in pirate costumes." As a garden guide, Sargent himself was wearing a costume to look like the pioneers of the late 1800s who'd settled the Pacific Northwest. His outfit wasn't as flashy as the pirate ones, just a shapeless beige homespun shirt with dark loose pants held up by suspenders.
Sargent went on, "I'd have caught them if it weren't for my bum knee. They can't outrun a paintball, though." He nodded at the vintage wheelbarrow a few feet away. Inside was what I hoped was just a toy gun, although I was far from an expert on such things. "I'm prepared now. If they come back, I'll tag 'em, and then Fred Fields will have something neon-bright to keep an eye on."
"I may be able to head off any future problems with the pirates so you don't have to resort to armed combat," I said before I left him to do whatever he could to rescue his trampled cucumber vines while I returned to the main market area.
The farmers' market had only been open for an hour, and I was already starting to regret my decision to make it an expanded two-day event to take advantage of the Labor Day weekend crowds on the waterfront. I'd been warned that I was pushing too hard to make the Lighthouse Farmers' Market into a top destination for tourists in too short a timeframe, but I was determined to pull it off. Despite my inexperience as a market manager, I had a great deal of experience with setting goals and overseeing the actions needed to accomplish them. Admittedly, that had been in the context of financial planning, rather than selling locally sourced products, but I wasn't prepared to let that hold me back.
After all, I was the great-great-great-granddaughter and namesake of Danger Cove's first lighthouse keeper, Maria Dolores, famous for her rescue of drowning sailors in a terrible storm when she was in her sixties. I didn't just look like her—above-average in height with a sturdy build and short, brown hair—but I'd been told I had her unflappable personality too. She wouldn't have been fazed by the prospect of something as non-life-threatening as getting the market onto one of the published lists of the top ten farmers' markets in the Pacific Northwest during its first season. The original Maria Dolores had also been as practical as she was brave, so she'd probably have been willing to settle for being among the top ten in Washington State rather than across several states. Unfortunately, at the rate things were going today, I'd be lucky to stay out of the list of the ten worst markets.
It was particularly galling that the various problems had arisen despite my being as prepared as I possibly could be. The vendors had been thoroughly vetted and then provided with detailed instructions for their on-site activities. My sling bag was packed with emergency supplies, like magic markers, receipt pads, price tags, baggies, paper towels, sale signs, tacks, duct tape, batteries, chargers and my migraine meds. I wore my official Kelly green market T-shirt to make it easy for people to find me if they needed anything. My jeans and sneakers would hold up to any challenges I might encounter while making my rounds, and I'd added a bit of holiday flair to my appearance by spending some time at The Clip and Sip on Friday, getting my fingernails painted. I'd chosen miniature American flags, since the traditional muscular arm holding a hammer wasn't easily recognized, and Rosie the Riveter wouldn't fit.
My preparations had paid off in the main market area at the foot of the Danger Cove Lighthouse, where everything appeared to be proceeding as planned. The regular vendors were all set up, and a steady stream of buyers was making its way up from the parking lot to w
here the white-canopied stalls faced each other across the Memorial Walkway that led to the lighthouse. All the regular farmers and craftspeople knew what they were doing and, for the most part, were good at interacting with customers.
The morning's problems had all arisen outside the main market, between the first aid tent and the parking lot. That area was usually empty, but for the holiday weekend it was populated with displays by local businesses and nonprofit groups.
Not everyone in that area was contributing to my incipient migraine. The adoptable dogs, cats, and rabbits brought by the volunteers of the Second Chance Animal Rescue were on their best behavior, and I thought one or two of each species had already found their forever homes. The Danger Cove Quilt Guild had set up their quilting bee with military precision, and their raffle tickets were selling nicely. At the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery's pushcart, people waited in line with more patience than I would have shown to get fresh pastries, and at the Dangerous Reads tent there was only mild grumbling over the sign limiting the number of books that Elizabeth Ashby would sign per person per trip, through what was likely to be a long line.
These vendors, along with half a dozen other local businesses, had been here the last time I'd expanded the market for a holiday weekend and hadn't caused any trouble whatsoever. When they'd requested sites for this weekend, I'd been happy to approve them. I could trust them to treat both local residents and tourists alike with the upbeat, professional demeanor that gave Danger Cove its reputation of being the friendliest town in the Pacific Northwest. At the end of the day, their customers would leave satisfied and primed to return the following week and even to spread the word about how great the market was.
Divas, Diamonds & Death: a Danger Cove Pet Sitter Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 15) Page 18
