I looked at him appreciatively. It seemed to startle him at first, which told me I needed to tone down the constant derision and attitude. Genuine heart to heart conversations were rare between us, but the banter was mostly in fun, true friends who could take and dish out equal amounts of teasing. Even Jackson and Edward had found a balance there, but they were far less likely to have a heart to heart. In fact, if I thought about it, they had never had an earnest chat. At this point in their relationship, the two men, both members of the same family tree who were solidly connected by one mutual acquaintance, namely me, were most comfortable with banter and sarcasm.
"Thank you for noticing, Edward. It was a trying day to say the least."
"You and me both," he groaned. It seemed his moment of empathy was over, and we were back to the Edward show. "Those two dimwits argued even more than usual today. Then the oaf, Henry, nearly set the whole place on fire when he tried to fry up some eggs."
"Eggs? I need one for the brownie mix." I hurried to the refrigerator to make sure Henry had left me at least one of Emily's farm raised eggs. Two remained of the original ten. "That was one big pan of eggs." I shut the door.
I'd gotten home just in time to see Ursula and Henry driving off. They'd both waved weakly and flashed shy smiles. They'd apparently packed up early wanting to make a cowardly getaway to avoid facing me. But none of what happened had been their fault. I was sure Aunt Prudence was not the type of family member to accept approval and suggestions from a niece and nephew. I only hoped that she'd be willing to take some expert advice on running a newspaper from those of us who knew the business.
I flipped the pieces of bacon. I'd had much loftier plans for dinner, plans that included spaghetti and angel food cake for dessert, but my day had been thrown so out of whack, I opted for the always simple and safe BLT sandwich and a box mix brownie for dessert.
"I assume your difficult day had to do with the aforementioned dimwits. Most of the arguments were about telling you something first, instead of letting you find out on your own. I gathered, from their ramblings and general nonsense, that it had to do with the newspaper and your job."
I turned to him. "You were actually paying attention today. Yes, their rich aunt bought the newspaper, so I have a new boss. But it'll be fine. I think. Besides, by this time next year I'll be running the Cider Ridge Inn and the Junction Times will be far behind me."
"Yes, the Cider Ridge Inn. Soon we'll have every sort of stranger traipsing about the place. More to look forward to in my abominable existence." He was back to his old self. My woes were no longer relevant, especially as compared to his long list of problems.
I waved toward the door. "Feel free to move on and find a home more to your liking."
"At least I've helped you get your humor back." A knock on the front door was followed by the dogs taking off at warp speed and Jackson's hello. "Can we ever just have a peaceful night without him intruding?"
I smiled to myself as I flipped over the bacon once more. It was rather cute that Edward considered us as a sort of family, where this was our house, just the two of us, and anyone else was intruding on our family time. In a way, I felt the same. I was most comfortable and most at my leisure when it was just Edward and me . . . and the dogs.
Redford and Newman came trotting back to the kitchen. Jackson came up behind them reminding me that as nice as it was to have a quiet evening alone in the house, it was equally nice when my devilishly handsome boyfriend showed up. On this particular night, he was carrying my favorite thing in the world, a pink bakery box.
Jackson held it up almost as if it was an offering. I was able to fill him in on my chaotic day while he was between work meetings. I might have conveyed a touch more angst than necessary to show my true emotion. Apparently, it resulted in him stopping by the bakery, so it was worth tossing in the extra drama.
"It's carrot cake. They were out of chocolate."
I walked over and took hold of the box. "Hmm, I can smell the frosting through the cardboard. Thank you, you are always thinking about me." I shot a raised brow toward Edward.
"Just moments ago, I pointed out that you seemed out of sorts. I thought that was quite intuitive of me," Edward countered. "Unfortunately, I am not able to ply you with sweets from the bakery." Edward turned his lifted chin toward Jackson. "I would have searched high and low for the chocolate cake."
Jackson looked at me. "Why does this suddenly feel like a competition?"
"Not sure but if you two decide on a duel—" I stopped and realized my misstep. "Sorry, Edward, didn't mean to bring that up."
"Just because I lost the one duel, doesn't mean I'd lose the next one," Edward said wryly.
Jackson smiled. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it does. In fact, I think we could say your first loss was pretty definitive."
"All right, we're done with this conversation." I headed to the stove. "After all, this cake is to help me feel better, so I'm going to be the selfish one tonight and make it all about me." I flicked my fingers toward Edward. "Go on, Mr. Self-centered. I'm sure you have better things to do than watch me feel sorry for myself while gorging on carrot cake."
"I'm not sure about that. It's rather entertaining watching you stuff your face like a—"
I put up my hand. "Don't finish that comparison. Now go away."
Edward took his time with what I liked to call his dramatic exit where his image blurred, vibrated, came apart like shredded gossamer before disappearing completely. However Jackson and I both knew he was still, as we liked to call it, lingering in spirit.
Jackson and I sat at the table and rushed the sandwiches to get to dessert. I cut two pieces of cake and Jackson poured two glasses of milk to wash it down. "See, this was all I needed. Carrot cake and Detective Jackson."
"Boy, if I had a nickel for every time a woman has told me that." Jackson took a bite just as I smacked his arm. The piece fell off the fork, missing his mouth completely. He laughed and stabbed the fallen chunk of cake. "When I talked to you this afternoon, Parker had gone home sick. Did you see him again?"
I shook my head as I savored the deliciously rich piece of cake. "Nope." I wiped a touch of frosting off the corner of my mouth. "It's probably for the best. Prudence had a crew come in to take apart his office and put up her new desk and shelves. She added a plush rug and some artwork. It looked very nice. Parker's belongings were piled in a corner of the newsroom. It's almost as if she's hoping he'll quit." It was a theory that had popped into my head when I saw the work crew drop Parker's stuff unceremoniously in the corner of the newsroom. All of his years at the Junction Times piled in heaps in the corner, it was sad, almost poignant. But, to me and, I was sure, Myrna, it almost spelled out the words please consider resigning.
"Sure sounds that way." Jackson reached for a second piece of cake. I'd finally found someone whose sweet tooth could rival my own. No wonder I was so crazy about him.
"Enough about my topsy-turvy work day. I've decided to make the best of it." I took a sip of milk and blotted off the moustache. "I'll be spending my work day at the craft fair. If Prudence wants light and fluffy articles, then I'll give them to her. Leaves me more time to think about my future business. I think I'll buy a few things at the fair to dress up the inn once it's ready to open."
Jackson squinted one eye as if he was trying to decide whether or not I was being serious. "Somehow, light and fluffy doesn't seem like you."
"It's not. But that's all part of my plan. If we fill the paper with frivolous, lighthearted stories, eventually people will stop reading the paper and find their news sources elsewhere."
Jackson nodded. "Ah, I see, then Prudence will realize that those kinds of stories don't sell papers, and she'll switch back to the regular format."
"Exactly." I pushed my fork into the cake for another bite.
"One problem with that—" he continued. "What if Prudence has so much money, this little venture is more or less just a tax loss kind of thing? Maybe she's not in it for the mon
ey. Just the power. After all, with the way she treated Parker today, it seems she does like power."
My posture deflated. "You've thrown rain on my cake parade."
"Sorry. Just looking at it as an outsider. Ignore me. I know nothing about the newspaper business." He leaned over and kissed me. "However, I do know how to make journalists happy by bringing them cake."
"That you do. Now, for a subject change. Lana has decided to introduce us to her new boyfriend. Although, I'm probably jumping ahead by calling him a boyfriend. Lana prefers male acquaintance. That way Emily and I don't read too much into it. But this is a big step for Lana. We're having a pre-Valentine sweetheart's dinner right here at the inn. Emily's cooking . . . of course."
"Nice. Who will you be inviting to this sweetheart dinner?" Jackson asked.
"You sure are in a teasing mood tonight."
He chuckled. "Sorry, I guess it's been kind of slow at work. That's a good thing. Only then I'm stuck doing paperwork and that makes me antsy."
I licked a bit of icing off my finger. "What you need is a good murder or crime spree."
Jackson laughed as he got up to refill his glass with milk. "I don't need either of those things, but I wouldn't mind a little stir up or scuffle. In the meantime, I guess I better start choosing my outfit for the sweetheart's dinner. I want to look good for my sweetie."
"That's going to take more than an outfit," Edward drawled from his usual spot on the hearth. "Judging by the way you normally dress, I doubt you'll find anything to wear that will be an improvement."
Jackson looked at me. "Is he invited?"
"Unfortunately, I have no way to un-invite him. He sort of comes with the venue."
Chapter 10
Emily's text popped through a good hour before my alarm. I had been drifting in and out for several hours after tossing and turning all night. The restless night was mostly due to the changes at work, but the two large slices of carrot cake might have played a part too.
"I made a breakfast hash I think you'll love. If you can pull yourself out of bed early, come try it. We can go over dinner plans."
I cleared the haze from my head and texted back. "I'll be there in twenty."
The dogs went on their morning search for squirrels while I took a quick shower and got dressed. Emily's coffee was far superior to mine, so I didn't bother to make any. Ursula and Henry would be disappointed with the cold, empty pot and the nearly empty fridge, but it seemed appropriate considering neither of them had the courage to warn me about Prudence.
Edward was baffled by my early and abrupt departure. "I've never seen you up at dawn," he noted. "And no breakfast?"
"I've been up at dawn before and no breakfast. Emily is making some hash. I'll drink coffee there. Have fun with Ursula and Henry," I said flippantly, then stopped myself in the doorway. "Never mind. Scratch that. No fun. No antics. Just stay out of their way." I walked out before I got caught in any of our usual repartee.
Edward was right. It had been a long time since I was up early enough to see the sunrise. The bright glow started low on the horizon and slowly lifted up into a blue sky dotted with shaggy gray clouds. Snow mounds left behind from the last storm and Nick's snow plow were melting into puddles lining the dirt road to Emily's farmhouse. A wheelbarrow brimming with fresh hay was parked at the entrance of the barn. I could hear my favorite goats, Tinkerbell and Cuddlebug, calling for breakfast.
Nick leaned out of the barn doorway as my tires crunched the gravel in the parking area. He waved before turning back into the barn with an armful of hay. The chickens were still locked safely inside the henhouse. Tiny clucks and burbles could be heard behind the doors as the birds waited anxiously for time in the yard. Emily liked to keep them in until the sun was well up in the sky. Predators tended to do most of their hunting at dawn and dusk, so the chickens were safer inside until the new day had solidly arrived.
The mouthwatering aroma of grilled onions, crispy bacon and hot coffee helped clear my head for the work day. Emily was just piling three plates high with browned cubes of potato, peppers and onion.
She glanced back from her task to smile. "I knew food would coax you out of bed early. I think this will make a great winter breakfast for the Cider Ridge menu. It's very hearty. I've filled it with fresh herbs for extra earthy goodness."
My sister's cooking was certainly going to put my inn on the map. I was so lucky to have both my talented sisters helping me with the bed and breakfast.
Emily turned around with two plates. I took them from her and filled my senses with the sizzling magic as she went to the window to look for Nick.
"Last I saw your husband, he had his arms filled with hay and he was heading into the barn." I lowered the plates to the table and sat down.
"He takes forever with morning feeding lately. He says Butterscotch won't start eating unless he stands at her stall and talks to her, filling her with compliments and assuring her she's the prettiest horse in the world."
"That is adorable. You have the best guy in the world, Emi. Seriously. Although mine is a close second. He brought me carrot cake last night to ease my anxiety about my new boss."
Emily took off her apron and sat down with two cups of freshly brewed coffee. "That's right. The new boss. How did it go?"
"Not too sure. I only saw Prudence in the morning, just before she shooed me off to my next assignment, the Firefly Craft Fair."
Emily took a sip of coffee. "So you'll be at the craft fair today? I'm planning on heading over there after chores. There's an artist named Katy Michaels. I follow her on Instagram. She makes the most beautiful door wreaths."
"Yes, I saw her. She has some for every holiday and season. I was thinking of buying a couple for the inn. What do you think?"
"Absolutely. There's no better way to dress up a door. I always look forward to the craft fair. I understand there's a whole hierarchy and power structure amongst the crafters. Some people aren't considered true artisans apparently. It's a sort of talent snobbery thing. Certain skills just aren't considered worthy of being part of the club, so to speak. Although, the city council allows anyone who is willing to pay for a kiosk to sell their wares."
"Jeesh, that almost reminds of high school where you had to be with a certain clique to sit at the tables in the outside eating area. Who knew quilters and potters were so concerned with status."
Emily laughed. "It is rather ridiculous."
I took a bite of the hash. Emi waited for my response.
I nodded in approval before I swallowed the bite. "Yes, yes, yes. The guests will love this. As Edward would say 'you are bloody brilliant', little sister."
"Thanks. Maybe I'll get to sit at the tables in the outside eating area." Emily picked up her fork then stopped. My pulse was already splish-splashing around as I quickly tried to find an excuse for my verbal misstep. It had been months since I accidentally brought Edward up in conversation. He was such an integral part of my life, it was hard to remember that, with the exception of Jackson, no one else knew of his existence. "Who is Edward?"
My laugh was dry and unsteady. "No one. Just someone I used to know in the city. He was from London, hence the bloody brilliant phrasing."
Her blonde brow was arched in confusion. "What made you think of him?"
I shrugged half-heartedly. "No idea. He just popped into my head. Anyhow, enough about that. What are you making for the big dinner at the inn? Or has Lana already gotten cold feet?"
"As far as I know we're still going to meet the new guy. I've pulled out my recipe cards. We can sort through them after breakfast and choose just the right dinner. It'll be fun. I'm looking forward to it."
"Me too." I released a silent breath and silently congratulated myself for spinning such a smooth yarn about Edward in the city. Silly me. I was blaming it all on Prudence Mortimer.
Chapter 11
Emily's potato hash was delicious but probably a better choice for a Sunday when plopping on the couch, cozying up with a blanket and
book was the possible follow-up scenario. Heading off for a day in the field was another thing altogether, especially after a restless night and early wake. My body was saying food coma nap, but my head was reminding me I had to work.
An impressive line of shoppers had queued up to enter the fair, which didn't officially open for another hour. Two young women were at the makeshift entrance that consisted of two orange traffic cones and a sign welcoming people to the fair.
A few unfriendly mutters and a 'hey, there's a line' were lobbed at me as I walked past the long line to the entrance. I flashed my press pass. "Hello, I'm with the Junction Times. I'm covering the craft fair."
One of the women chirped excitedly. "How wonderful. I love the Junction Times. It always covers all the local news." She waved me through. "Have a nice time. Remember to write nice things about the fair," she called.
"I sure will."
There was far less activity and hustle this morning. It made sense considering the shoppers would be descending on the craft filled kiosks in an hour. I'd hoped to get a few words with Henrietta, the president of the Crafting Society. It would give me some bonus points with Prudence. I wasn't exactly sure who was going to give the final approval on my stories. Normally, that task fell to Parker. He almost always gave me the thumbs up. If Prue had decided she would give the final word, and that was entirely possible given her penchant to give advice and opinion, then my content and style had to be geared toward her. It wouldn't be the first time I'd had to tweak my writing style to please an editor. One of my first jobs was with an editor who absolutely detested complex sentences. He wanted short, clean sentences for easy reading. I thought it made my stories sound choppy, but he would put a red line through any compound sentence. I had to retrain myself to write longer sentences once he left the newspaper to go into real estate.
A Crafty Killing Page 5
