“Roger,” he reminded her.
“Okay, Roger, can you get to the point?”
He scanned her apartment once again before his eyes settled back on hers. “Looks like you could use some new furniture around here,” he said. “Money a bit tight?”
She sighed, exasperated. How many different ways could she tell this man he was out of line and no longer welcome in her apartment?
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He picked at an imaginary speck on his sleeve with a perfectly manicured finger before glancing back up. “You did a great job on the article about the restaurant in this week’s Globe. I like your style, Jordan, very much.”
“Thank you.” She inched closer to the door. “Is that what you came by to tell me?”
For the first time, a smile covered his entire face, and he shook his head. “I came by to offer you a job.”
CHAPTER 13
“A job?” Jordan repeated. “What could I possibly do for you?”
Mason pointed to the small kitchen table. “Do you mind if we sit and discuss this?”
Shaking her head, she led him to the table. When they were both seated, Mason reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“I pay an advertising firm in Dallas to write ads for my restaurant.” He shoved the paper toward her. “Nothing fancy, just basic ad copy.”
Jordan skimmed the papers before shrugging. “Looks like they do a good job.”
“They do,” he agreed. “But after reading your exposé about the ducks, which by the way, I’m still investigating, and your second critique of the restaurant, I had this brilliant idea. Think how much better it would be if I had the ad copy done closer to home.” He paused, studying her face. “Who better to write it than the one person who seems to have created a fan base overnight? Rumor has it the newspaper’s circulation has nearly doubled since you took over the Kitchen Kupboard.”
“Doubled is a gross exaggeration, Mr. M—Roger,” Jordan said, secretly wishing it was true.
“Nonetheless, you can’t argue with your increased popularity since you started writing the column.”
“I’m really not interested in changing jobs,” Jordan blurted, fighting to hold back a yawn. She’d been up since the yappy dog next door had decided to serenade the world at five in the morning. She’d hoped to catch a power nap before Castle came on at eight.
“No one’s asking you to. You could write the copy from your apartment and e-mail it to me once a week. You’d earn enough money to lighten your financial responsibilities.”
Jordan’s first instinct was to chastise him for butting into her business, but then she reconsidered his offer. A little extra money would be a welcome addition to her bankroll or lack thereof. Plus, it would give her something to occupy her free time and keep her mind off other problems, mainly J. T.’s murder and more recently, the phone call from Brett.
But could she work for a man who imported foie gras knowing the history behind it?
“Do you still serve foie gras at Longhorn?”
She watched his eyes harden.
“There’s no way I could do that after your report, Jordan. I’ve taken it off the menu temporarily until we can verify your story with our supplier in Canada.”
Score one for the good guys!
“I’ll have to think about this, Roger. I’d need to talk to my editor.”
“Why would he discourage you from making extra money doing a few hours of work in your spare time? You won’t be reviewing my restaurant again now that we’ve been open for a few weeks.” Mason stood and walked out of the kitchen, turning a complete circle to take in the entire living room.
Jordan followed, letting her eyes stray in the same path as his.
Why is he so interested in my walls? An uncomfortable feeling swirled in her stomach.
She walked to the door and opened it. “I’ve had a hard day, Roger. Give me some time to mull this over, and I’ll get back with you in a few days.”
He stared for a few seconds as if trying to figure out why she wasn’t all over his offer. “Don’t take too long, Jordan.” He walked past her out the door. “I’d hate to see you get hurt because you waited too long to come to me,” he added over his shoulder as he walked down the hall toward the front of the building.
With the door closed behind her, Jordan leaned into it and blew out a breath.
He’d hate to see her get hurt? That sounded more like a thinly veiled threat than a business offer.
She shook her head, scolding herself for being so paranoid. It must be all those cop shows she watched. Settling in front of the TV, she turned the channel and smiled when Castle’s adorable face covered the screen.
A writer solving murders. Now, that was a novel idea.
Alex finished off the taco and threw the wrapper on the passenger’s-side floorboard. Picking up his binoculars, he scanned the front entrance of Empire Apartments. Ever since Dumb and Dumber, the names he’d chosen for the two local cops, had entered the building, his mind had been in overdrive wondering why.
He’d stopped at Mi Quesadilla on his way home, hoping to catch a quick bite before curling up in front of the television. After an earlier phone call to his boss admitting he’d made no progress so far, all he wanted to do was chill. He’d agreed to step up the game if only to appease his boss.
When he saw the police cars racing down Main Street toward Empire Apartments, he’d followed, parking far enough away to observe what was going on without being made. Usually cops charging into a building with a piece of paper in their hands meant a warrant. He didn’t know if Jordan’s apartment was the one being searched, but after the weird incident with the knife he’d found behind her toaster the other day, he wouldn’t be all that surprised if it was.
He remembered the way her facial expression had turned to panic when he’d questioned her about the knife rack. Things would go south in a hurry if the cops found out Ray had hidden it. The last thing he needed was having Jordan hauled off to jail before he could find out how involved she really was in all this.
A maroon Cadillac Seville caught his attention when it pulled up to the curb in front of the apartment. Slumping forward for a better look, he saw a man run from the car and head up the steps. Though he didn’t get a good look, Alex was pretty sure it was the lawyer he’d met at the bar Friday night. Instinct told him this wasn’t a social visit. Someone inside needed his services.
He hoped it wasn’t Jordan.
Settling back in the seat, anticipating a long wait, Alex thought of ways he could up the pace on all this. With nothing solid to give him, he knew his boss wouldn’t wait patiently much longer.
After the police left, he decided to hang around and see if Dozerly left, too. That would tell him if the lawyer was there for business or pleasure, remembering the way his hands were all over Rosie at the bar. He straightened up and focused the binoculars on a black Audi A8 that pulled in behind the Caddy. The curb outside the apartment was getting crowded in a hurry.
Holy crap! he mouthed, recognizing Roger Mason walking up to the brownstone.
What is he doing here in a hundred-grand car like that?
His sudden move closer to the windshield had his stomach rumbling, and he wished he hadn’t inhaled that last taco. Relief would have to wait until he got home and could take some antacids because things had suddenly gotten very interesting here. His mind raced, considering all the possible explanations why the owner of Longhorn Prime Rib would pay a visit to Jordan only minutes after the police had served a warrant.
That’s if Mason was actually here to see her and if it really was her apartment the police had searched.
Whatever it was, something was definitely going down.
His hope that Jordan wasn’t involved was fading as fast as his initial impression that she was your average girl next door. There was nothing average about her. He’d have to find some way to break her shell to pick out the information he needed. There was no doub
t he would eventually, no matter what he had to do, but time was getting critical.
He trained his binoculars on the window to the left side of the main entrance, knowing that was her apartment. Wishing he were a fly on her wall, he sighed, resigning himself to the fact he’d have to wait for the police report to satisfy his curiosity.
By Thursday, Jordan was getting desperate. She had to come up with a good recipe for Tuesday’s edition. After scanning the Internet, she decided to try a taco bake. How hard could that be? You fry up ground beef, throw in a little RO*TEL and veggies, and voilà!
Then she remembered her last attempt at cooking. She’d tried a simple grilled cheese sandwich, a staple from her childhood. After calling her mother to get the recipe, she’d hopped in her car and rushed to the grocery store for the ingredients.
Who doesn’t keep bread and cheese around?
And who burns a simple grilled cheese sandwich? According to Rosie, her patient instructor who tried to make her feel less incompetent, it probably hadn’t been a good idea to cook it on high.
It was all too depressing, she thought, reaching into the desk drawer for her secret stash of Ho Hos. They never failed to lift her spirits. Savoring the gooey chocolate and white cream filling, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, repeating her new mantra to herself. “I can cook if I put my mind to it. I can. I know I can.”
“Jordan?”
Her eyes opened wide, and she nearly choked on the last bit of the chocolate treat. “Victor, what are you doing here at this time of day?”
“Hostess should pay you for advertising,” he said, pointing to the three empty wrappers in her trash can before looking around. “I can’t believe you don’t have your own office, girl. How can you think in here?”
“It’s not like I’m saving the world researching a cure for cancer.” She smiled. “I write personals, Victor. Remember? On my busiest day, it doesn’t take much concentration.”
“You have your own column, too. Which, by the way, has everybody in town talking. How much longer do you get to do this gig?”
“Loretta is scheduled back in four weeks. I can’t say I’ll be that upset when she returns,” Jordan said, remembering her no-recipe dilemma this week. But even as the words left her mouth, she knew it wasn’t entirely true.
Despite the constant stressing before deadline, having name recognition was addictive. Just the other day, the clerk in the grocery store had made a fuss when she saw her name on the debit card.
Okay, so the lady was in her seventies, but so what? Nobody said her fan base had to be teenyboppers. And how many people her own age picked up the newspaper and zoomed to the Food section?
“What brings you to the other side of town, Victor? You’ve never set foot in this place before.”
He scrunched his face. “And I probably won’t again. How can you stand all this”—he waved his hand around the room—“energy?”
“You get used to it. So, why aren’t you at the shop?”
He flopped down on the edge of her desk. “Michael’s filling in for one of the guys at the station tonight, and I’m starving since he does all the cooking. I know you’re not the kitchen goddess he made you out to be, so I thought we could hang out and grab a bite.” He giggled. “The kitchen goddess? What was he smoking?”
“Who’s covering Yesterday’s Treasures?”
“Not many people antiques-shop on a Thursday afternoon around here. And I’m the boss. I can close whenever I want.” He sighed. “So, are you game for chowing down with me tonight or what?”
Jordan pretended to think about it, loving the way her friend’s face turned into a pout. “Give me five minutes to close down here, and you’re on,” she said, figuring she’d teased him long enough.
She clicked off her computer and grabbed her purse. “Come on. Let’s blow this honky-tonk.”
“This really is a dungeon,” Victor commented, entwining his arm in hers. “Tell your boss to spring for fluorescent lighting to brighten things up. It’s a great stress reliever.”
“Why do I think you just made that up to impress me?”
“I did no such thing!” He stopped to face her. “You’ve seen the way my orchids thrive under it. It’s got to be good for humans, and admit it, weren’t you just a little impressed?”
“Sheesh! Call me gullible, but I’m impressed you’re such a talented liar and can come up with anything off the top of your head and make it seem believable.” She led him toward her car. “I’ll drive. We can pick up your car afterward.”
“That’s not gonna happen, my dear. I’ve seen you drive. You’re like Jeff Gordon on a Red Bull high.” He nudged her to the other end of the lot and opened the passenger door on his T-Bird for her. “I said I was starving, not crazy.”
“You got someplace in mind?” she asked, ignoring the slam on her driving skills. She did like to drive fast.
“Someplace yummy.”
“And cheap?” she asked. “I’m low on funds until payday tomorrow.”
“I heard that,” Victor said with a laugh. “There’s this hole-in-the-wall Italian joint off the beaten track in Connor that Michael and I go to every now and then. You can get really good spaghetti and meatballs with a salad and garlic bread for under eight dollars.”
“Sounds excellent,” she responded, thankful she’d been too busy for lunch and still had ten bucks in her wallet.
On the way to Connor, Jordan remembered she’d planned to drive to Grayson County College after work to apologize to Larry Trevelli and get her boss off her back. “What time does Michael get home tonight?”
“After ten. Why?”
Jordan hesitated. She definitely didn’t want Ray to know about her amateur attempt to find J. T.’s killer but decided Victor was a whole other story. Everything was an adventure to him. She could even bribe him into keeping her secret by volunteering to work in the antiques store for a few hours on Saturday. It wasn’t like her social calendar was crammed, and she loved all the old stuff there even if she couldn’t afford any of it.
“I need to run by the college to talk to the football coach for a few minutes before we eat. I can do it tomorrow after work if you don’t feel up to it.”
“Seriously, Jordan. Do you really think I would pass up an opportunity to check out fine young studs, all hot and sweaty in those skintight uniforms?” He glanced her way. “You couldn’t tell Michael, though.”
“I won’t tell him if you promise not to mention this to Ray.”
“Ray?”
“Don’t even ask. Do we have a deal?”
Victor lifted his fist and bumped her outstretched one. “Deal. Now tell me why you need to talk to the coach. Is it about last week’s game?”
Jordan straightened in her seat, her interest suddenly escalating. She could use any tidbit that might make eating crow and the fake mea culpa to Coach Trevelli a little more believable. “What about the game?”
“The Cougars played in Tyler last week against a team they were supposed to slaughter. Not only was there no bloodshed, but they were lucky to make it out of there with a win. The Dallas papers were all over it at the beginning of the week, some even saying it was doubtful the team would make the Division II championship game if they continued to play like that.” He stopped at the red light and faced her. “Heard the quarterback threw three interceptions and fumbled twice. It wasn’t pretty.”
He had her full attention now. If she thought the coach was grumpy the first time she talked to him, she was sure he would be a bear today after all that negative publicity. She would have to turn on the charm.
“It sure made the old guy upstairs in 3A happy, though.”
“What did?” Jordan asked.
“The game. Apparently he had a lot of money on the other team. I saw him Sunday morning, and he was still celebrating. Guess he made a killing when the Cougars didn’t cover.”
“What was the spread?” Jordan asked.
“Grayson County spotted
the other team thirteen points, which was supposed to be a walk in the park for them. I guess the odds on the other team were off the charts because of it. The final score was twenty-four to twenty-one.”
“Sounds like a good game,” Jordan commented, wishing she could have been there to write about it and wondering if Brett had been. Was that why he’d called this week? Did he think she might have the inside scoop about what was going on at the college? It would be just like him, the lying jerk.
“Ramsey—he’s the guy upstairs—drove all the way down to Tyler to watch the game. Said the Cougars smelled up the place and only scored the winning field goal in the last few seconds.”
“Interesting,” Jordan mused, thinking Coach Trevelli was really going to be sensitive about it.
They pulled into the parking lot at the practice field and got out of the car. A sudden feeling of dread surged through Jordan’s body at the thought of facing Derrick Young again. She’d have to take extra precautions about ticking him off, after the game he’d just had. She knew what he was capable of. And if J. T. wasn’t strong enough to fight him off, Victor at five eight would be a pushover.
As soon as they were settled on the bleachers, Jordan scanned the field for Trevelli. Just when she decided he wasn’t there, she saw him move out of the center of the huddle, and she gasped. He was on crutches. Deciding to go easy on him since it looked like he’d given up and had that bum knee scoped, she would simply apologize and get out of his hair. When he looked her way, she waved. Much to her surprise, he started toward them instead of dispatching security to ask her to leave.
As he hobbled to the edge of the bleachers, Jordan stole a glance at the team. When her eyes connected with those of Derrick, who was facing them, she didn’t need to be any closer to feel his anger. Pasting a smile on her face, she shrugged. If she was going to play nice, she might as well go all the way. He turned back to the huddle.
“Egan mentioned you’d be stopping by,” Trevelli said.
Liver Let Die Page 13
