Dani’s head was pounding as if a drummer had gotten into her skull and was beating out Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” on her brain, but despite how she felt, she couldn’t let the hungry people down. The organizers needed her to take the lead in cooking the meal. There were others who could help, but she was the one who knew how to produce the dishes in bulk quantities.
Once Dani got to her suite, she swallowed two ibuprofen capsules and stripped out of her business attire. After putting on a pair of jeans and a fresh chef’s jacket, she selected a cowl-neck sweater to wear later in the evening and tucked it into her tote bag with her makeup case. Then she hurried downstairs and put a note on the whiteboard regarding her whereabouts.
With one last glance to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything, Dani picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder along with the tote bag. Ready for the evening, she walked out to the van.
There was a definite chill in the air and she shivered as she hurried across the driveway. She almost went back to get a jacket, but decided not to bother. It wasn’t as if she’d be outside any longer than it took to go from the parking lot to the building.
The food pantry was located in an old restaurant that some Good Samaritan had donated to the cause. Sadly, their benefactor hadn’t left any money to fix it up and it looked as if it were leaning slightly to the left.
The shingles were mismatched and several were loose, with pieces of the asphalt roofing material lying in the weeds. At one time, the structure had been painted white, but that was a distant memory. Rusty streaks leaked down from the gutter and the rest of the siding was a faded gray. One of the cracks in the windows had been fixed with duct tape and it was already peeling away from the glass.
The food pantry manager had explained to Dani that they had used what funds they had available to bring the interior up to code and the health department had given them six months to repair the outside.
Even with the lack of curb appeal, when Dani arrived, the parking lot was already packed. Often those in need came hours early in order to get in line. Although they served until the food ran out, there were always some who didn’t get the hot meal.
Those people were given whatever else was available. No one left hungry, but sadly some just got a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and a small bag of chips.
At least there was always plenty of lemonade, coffee, and tea available. As well as a warm, safe place to relax and socialize.
Dani stepped through the entrance, but stopped in the area between the outer and inner doors to look at the poster sitting on an easel. She knew what was supposed to be served, but she wanted to make sure the menu was correct. She treated this just as she did any of her paid catering jobs, which meant everything had to be perfect.
With the supplies Dani had contributed from the doomed engagement party, they were offering a choice of pappardelle in a tomato sauce or lemon chicken with cauliflower. A nearby farmer had contributed the poultry and a couple of the local supermarkets had given them items whose expiration dates were fast approaching, as well as lettuce, carrots, and red cabbage that wouldn’t last another day, which Dani planned on turning into salads.
It had been a challenge figuring out recipes that would use all the donated ingredients and produce a delicious dish, but Dani had poured over cookbooks—physical and online—until she found what she hoped were the perfect options for the food pantry meal.
She knew that the pappardelle would be a big hit; pasta was always popular. And she was confident that the chicken would win over diners if they would at least taste it before turning up their noses. Many of their clients preferred the basics, like meat and potatoes, but Dani strived for a healthier option.
To round out the meal, several neighborhood bakeries had given them all their day-old bread. Dani planned to slather the loaves with garlic and butter, then pop them into the oven to warm up. This would make good use of the not-quite-freshly-baked bread.
Thinking of all she needed to accomplish in the next hour, Dani opened the inner door and stepped across the threshold. She didn’t get far before a trio of men crowded into the space behind her.
They were all big, well-built guys wearing designer jeans, hoodies, and sunglasses. They didn’t quite push her aside, but if she hadn’t moved quickly, they might have mowed her over.
As they hurried past her and headed toward the main office, they each muttered, “Excuse me,” but none of them spared her a glance.
They weren’t the type of volunteers Dani was used to seeing. She was squinting after them trying to figure out what they were doing at the food pantry, when a teenage girl ran up to her and shouted, “Emergency,” then sprinted away without checking to see if Dani followed her.
Dani jogged forward and grabbed the girl’s arm. “What’s going on?”
“Rocky won’t let any of us near the chicken.” The girl tried to keep going, but Dani had a good grip and didn’t let her go.
“You need to explain what you mean by that.” Dani couldn’t remember a volunteer named Rocky, and she wanted to be clear on what was happening.
“She’s shouting something about conditions in the chicken farm and cruelty to animals.” The girl shrugged. “I don’t understand. It’s not as if they’ll reanimate if we don’t cook them. They aren’t zombie fowl. They’ll just have died in vain.”
Dani released the girl and counted to ten. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t march into the kitchen and slap Rocky silly. Someone would call the cops on her. Plus, although she’d had the urge a couple of times, she’d never hit anyone in her life.
It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the woman’s concern, but this was not the time or place to stage some kind of protest. The hungry people expecting to be fed would be the ones to suffer, not whoever might be mistreating chickens somewhere in the vast agro business that Rocky was doubtlessly hoping this demonstration would influence.
Once Dani had her temper under control, she entered the kitchen. The girl who had raised the alarm trailed her though the path cleared by the other volunteers, but she kept her distance.
And Dani could see why. The woman holding the poultry hostage was waving a butcher knife approximately the size of a machete. Rocky stood in front of the refrigerator that Dani assumed held the hijacked hens, and was loudly threatening anyone who came within arm’s length of her.
She wore a bright-pink dress that had a short full skirt. She had on equally-bright-blue knee-high socks and neon-green sneakers. Behind large round glasses her eyes were shining as if she was having a wonderful time.
With the hand not clutching the knife, she tucked a strand of magenta hair behind her ear, zeroed in on Dani, and said, “Are you the cook?”
“I’m the chef,” Dani said in a firm voice. “And you must be Rocky.”
“You’ve heard of me?” Rocky’s voice rose in delight. “Has the TV crew arrived?”
“Why would they be here?” Dani edged closer. “I doubt the people who come to the food pantry for a hot meal would appreciate the publicity.”
“They’ll realize it’s for the greater good.” Rocky’s expression morphed into that of a sulky two-year-old who had been denied an ice cream cone. “Michie”—she pointed to a young man who looked as if he wished he were somewhere else—“is filming for my vlog, but the whole point is to have a bigger audience.”
“Well, you aren’t getting it, so let’s wrap this up.” Dani crossed her arms.
“I will too.” Rocky cocked her head. “In fact, I bet they’ll be here any minute.”
“Who called them?” Dani sent a death glare around the circle of onlookers.
A middle-aged man tapped Dani’s shoulder and said, “They’re coming for the members of the Korn Kings.”
“Here?” Dani frowned. No one had mentioned anything about ballplayers to her. “Why?”
“In
exchange for a photo op of the players helping in the kitchen and serving food,” the man explained, “the team is covering the price of new siding, a new roof, and thermal windows.”
“Wow!” Dani wondered how much that would cost Mr. Whittaker.
“But”—the man gave Dani a cynical look—“my guess is that since this is supposed to be a feel-good story to show the players in a good light, if this lunatic is still here shouting about chicken abuse, the players will skedaddle and the team won’t give us the money.”
“Crap!” She glared at the hen hijacker.
Dani’s headache was now at epic proportions and she’d had enough. No one would interfere with either the hot meal or the funding that would help Normalton’s neediest citizens.
The man glanced at his watch. “If you’re going to do something, do it now.”
“Here’s the thing, Rocky.” Dani advanced on the woman. “We are cooking those chickens and you are not using our guests to further your cause.”
“Come any closer and I’ll cut you.” Rocky thrust the knife at Dani.
Dani put her hands on her hips. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”
“I didn’t think you’d risk that pretty face,” Rocky gloated.
“I’m not the one at risk.” Dani narrowed her eyes. “I’m having you removed.”
“By who?” Rocky sneered. “No one around here is willing to sacrifice what I am.”
Dani looked at the man by her side. “Please get whoever is doing security tonight.” She paused. “Tell them to bring his stun gun.”
No one spoke as the guy hurried away. The only sound in the room as they waited for his return was the buzz of the overhead lights. Rocky leaned casually against the refrigerator and tested the edge of her knife against her finger as her cameraman continued to record.
A couple of minutes later, the kitchen door burst open and the three ballplayers Dani had seen entering the food pantry earlier rushed inside. Now that she could see their faces more clearly, she recognized them as the guys signing autographs at Von Maur’s when she and Tippi had been there shopping for her date-night outfit.
She briefly wondered why these three were suddenly making so many appearances. She mentally shrugged. Maybe it wasn’t all that unusual for them to be in the public eye and she was just hyperaware because she was working for the team’s owner.
While Dani’s mind had been wandering, the player who was a few steps ahead of his pals, Marc Something, the one Tippi had said was a shoo-in for the major leagues, advanced on Rocky. Then, in a move Dani couldn’t follow, he had the protester flat on the ground.
His left knee held down Rocky’s wrist, as he pried the knife from her grasp bending each finger back until she released the handle. While he got the weapon away from her and into his possession, he used his weight to pin the rest of her body to the floor.
The second player, the one Tippi had identified as Perry O’Toole, snickered and said, “Dude, I know you’re into all that crazy survivalist crap, but if that’s how you treat that chick you’ve been hooking up with, it’s no wonder you haven’t been getting any the past few days. Is that why you won’t tell us her name?”
Growling at his friend, Marc tilted his chin toward the young man who had been filming Rocky’s last stand, and said, “Perry, maybe you should worry about young Mr. Tarantino instead of my personal life.”
Perry jerked his head around toward the videographer and then stomped over to the guy. He plucked the cell phone from his unresisting fingers and dropped the shiny, black rectangle to the dingy linoleum, crushing it under the heel of his expensive cowboy boots.
The third and largest player scrutinized the onlookers. He had to be six foot six and two hundred and fifty pounds. Dani guessed that the big guy was checking to see that no one else was using their phones to record the incident.
Seemingly satisfied, the big man leaned against the wall, crossed his legs at the ankles, took out his own cell, and started tapping away. Dani could hear the sounds of Candy Crush as he played the popular game.
With that, Dani had her first inkling as to why these three might need to improve their public images. They’d acted too quickly for this to be their first rodeo. She’d bet her prized Lodge cast-iron griddle that these three had been in more than one fight together.
Clearing her throat, she asked, “What happened to the security guard?”
“He’s not here yet, but we told Ms. Milne that we’d handle the problem,” Marc answered.
“I see.” Dani looked at him and suggested, “Maybe you should let Rocky up now.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “You know, before the television crew gets here.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “Right.” He got Rocky to her feet but didn’t release his grip on her arm. “What do you want me to do with her?”
Dani inclined her head toward the woman and asked, “Will you leave peacefully on your own?”
Rocky didn’t answer as much as make a weird growling sound, but Dani took that as a no.
She looked at the woman’s friend and said, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Instead of calling the police and having you two arrested, these gentlemen will gently escort you and Rocky to your vehicle. They will buckle her in the back seat with her arms under the belt. You will drive away before you release her.”
While the young man nodded, clearly eager to leave, Rocky snarled, “I’ll just come back. You can’t stop me from spreading my message.”
“If you return, we will call the cops who will charge you and your friend with trespassing and aggravated assault,” Dani said.
“What?” the young man yelped. “Rocky didn’t hurt anyone and this is a public place.”
“Wrong and wrong.” Dani had been dating someone in law enforcement long enough to know some of the legalese. “Assault charges don’t require physical harm. Just that you behave in a way intended to put someone in reasonable fear for their safety.” She glanced at the onlookers and asked, “Was anyone here afraid she’d hurt you?”
Everyone’s hand shot into the air. Well, everyone but the huge ballplayer who yawned.
“You all can’t be serious,” Rocky whined.
“So, police or leave?” Dani crossed her arms. “Which is it? I’ve got a dinner to cook, so whichever you choose, make it snappy.”
Chapter 18
The phone was ringing when Spencer stepped into his office. Shortly after he left Hiram at the diner, he’d been summoned to the university’s union to handle a physical altercation between two students. He’d been dealing with the fallout from that incident up until a few minutes ago, when he’d finally given up trying to talk the pair of stooges out of beating the crap out of each other and turned them over to the Normalton police.
The numbskulls would be held overnight. Then, in the morning, depending on their attitude and demeanor, the officers would make a judgment call as to whether the dipshit duo could be safely released.
Nothing Spencer had said had made the punks back off from pounding on each other. As far as he could tell, the fight had started when one of blockheads had told the other one’s sister that she should sleep with him because if she died a virgin the terrorists who were expecting seventy-two untouched maidens would be up there waiting for her.
While he hadn’t been surprised the bozos were fighting over a girl, Spencer had to admit that Romeo’s approach had been unique. Horribly insensitive and extremely politically incorrect, but unique. He hoped that cooling their heels in jail for a while would help the two idiots come to their senses and agree not to beat each other up again. But he wasn’t holding his breath.
Busy with the dueling doofuses, Spencer hadn’t had a chance to call Dani, but he had sent her a short text agreeing to meet her at the food pantry dinner as soon as he was free. Although he’d been disappointed that they wouldn’t have the whole evening alone together, at
least they’d have a few hours at his town house, where they could talk in private. And maybe get in a few kisses without worrying about one of the girls wandering into the room.
Blinking back into the here and now, Spencer scooped up the receiver on the fourth ring, just before it went into voicemail, and said, “Drake here.”
“Heller here,” Hiram responded. “Where in tarnation have you been all afternoon? I’ve called your cell every fifteen minutes since three o’clock and it’s nearly five now. I finally got fed up and decided to try your office.”
Spencer could tell from the excitement in Hiram’s tone that he’d found out something interesting. “Sorry. I was knee deep in testosterone. You know the drill: two yo-yos, one in lust with the other’s sister.”
“Yep.” Hiram chuckled. “That never ends well. What happened?”
“I couldn’t get them to back down, so now they’re in the local jail until morning.” Spencer pulled out the chair behind his desk, sat down, took out his cell, and saw Hiram’s missed calls. “But enough about that. I’m guessing you’ve found out something good about what Yvette’s been up to since she and I parted company.”
“Your BFF Brock Ortiz has gone off the grid,” Hiram drawled. “He lost an arm while on duty and Yvette dropped him like a hot potato.”
“Yeah, she told me that she couldn’t be with an amputee.” Spencer had forgotten his ex telling him about Brock, but now that Hiram mentioned it, a jilted lover was a great suspect. “By off the grid, you mean you can’t find him or he’s just laying low?”
“You know darn well there’s no one I can’t find.” Hiram exhaled so loudly it sounded like he was blowing a raspberry at Spencer. “It just may take a day or two to track him down to his hidey-hole.”
Spencer was well aware that his mentor had never failed to locate a suspect or witness or anyone else that he really wanted to find. “In that case, give me a holler when he turns up. Meanwhile, I’ll let the detective working Yvette’s case know about Brock.”
Winner Cake All Page 16
