Cooking Up Trouble (11 page)

Angie’s eyes stung, but it wasn’t from the candy this time. “You will, Chelsea,” she said softly.

Chelsea shook her head. “No. I’ve tried hard. Nothing’s worked. I’m not very good-looking.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your looks.”

Chelsea didn’t appear convinced. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re
thin
, not to mention pretty.”

“That doesn’t mean I can get the right man to love me the way I’d like,” Angie said, and sighed. “Not at all.”

They pondered this a moment, then each took another candy bar.

“You think, then, that Jack’s true love wasn’t Elise?” Angie asked after a while. Her head was beginning to spin from so much chocolate.

“No, not Elise. He never really loved her. If he had, he wouldn’t have left. No one knows the name of his true love. But I’ve heard she had long red hair and big green eyes.”

Looking at the red hair and green eyes of the woman before her, Angie felt a chill. “Finley told you all that?”

“Moira and Finley did. Now that Finley’s gone, though, I don’t know what’ll happen to the inn, or my investment. All I know is that Reginald Vane will be happy.” Chelsea munched on her Oh! Henry.

“Reginald? Why?”

“His main interest in the inn is to see that it doesn’t open. He thinks it’s wrong to disturb the ghosts who live here.”

“So he became an investor? He wants to lose money?”

“That doesn’t make sense, does it?” Chelsea admitted.

Angie stood. “Promise me you’ll at least come down to have dinner with us.”

“I can’t. Give my best to Moira, though. I don’t think I want to see her quite yet.”

“Okay.”

“Angie, thanks for coming here. You’re the first one who’s listened to me. The first one who’s tried to understand.”

“I’m glad we had this chance to talk,” Angie said. “I’ll bring you up a dinner plate later.” She quietly closed the door as she left.

With the discovery of Finley’s body
, the desire to find Patsy alive and well had whipped everyone but Moira into a frenzy of activity. No one wanted to consider that what had happened to Finley could have happened to Patsy as well.

They’d find her.

Angie made a big pot of vegetable minestrone, served with lots of grated parmesan on top, along with bread, cheese, and a big vegetable salad. The lack of meat bothered her, but since the storm hadn’t let up, she realized she had to be frugal with the food. What if it wasn’t as easy as everyone thought to dig their way out of here? She was afraid of using too many of their supplies in case they’d need them later. She hadn’t grown up with stories of the Donner party starving while crossing into California for nothing.

As those who went outdoors to search for Patsy grew tired, cold, or hungry, they would come inside and eat a bowl of hot soup before going out to look for her once
more. But as night fell, an icy wind from the north hit, along with the constant rain. More and more of the group found themselves indoors and hesitant to go out again.

By midnight, Angie sat alone, half-asleep on the velvet settee in the drawing room, listening for Paavo’s footstep. Everyone else had gone to bed. Only the small night-light and the last embers from the evening’s fire lit the room.

The front door opened, then shut. It was him. Relief flooded her as she sat up. “Any luck?”

He stopped and peered into the darkness. Shrugging off his slicker, he hung it on the hook in the foyer, then came toward her. “What are you doing down here?”

“I wanted to see you,” she said tentatively; then, becoming bolder, she added, “I’ve missed you.”

He sat beside her, his arms tight around her as he leaned back on the sofa. She could feel the weariness in him, the frustration. She lay her head against his chest, listening to the steady pounding of his heart, her arms about his waist. “This isn’t exactly the kind of week you were expecting,” he whispered.

“Do what you must, Paavo.” She lifted her head. In the darkness, the shadows were deep under his eyes. She touched his face, finding it rough and scratchy, in need of a shave. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be the man I love.”

He kissed her once, twice—soft, gentle kisses. He stopped, but his hands continued to drift up and down her back while intense blue eyes searched hers. “I came in to warm up a bit. I’ve got to go back. We’ve got to find her.”

“It’s too late to do more tonight. Come to bed, Paavo.”

“Jeffers, Bayman, and Vane are still out there somewhere.”

She held his shoulders. “Actually,” she began, “Martin came in and passed out, so Bethel and I got him up to
bed. It seems the whiskey he was using to keep warm had another effect on him. Reginald Vane came in about an hour ago, half dead from cold and weariness. And earlier, Running Spirit came in and went to Moira’s room. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Great!” Paavo said. “The dutiful husband.”

“You need some sleep.”

“I’m used to long nights at work. This is no different. It’d be a lot easier if I had some real coffee, but—”

“Ah!” she cried, here a big smile brightening the darkness. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

“What?”

She ran a few steps in front of him, then crooked her finger. “Come with me to the kitchen, said the spider to the fly.”

He chuckled and followed.

Angie had borrowed some French roast and a handful of Hershey’s Kisses from Chelsea, planning on an after-dinner surprise for Paavo. But he’d been out.

The inn didn’t have a cappuccino machine, so the caffè mòca she was making wouldn’t have any nice frothy milk on top. But it’d be delicious nonetheless. Being his first cup of real coffee since he’d arrived at Hill Haven Inn—was it only three days ago?—would make it particularly special.

She stood over the stove in the kitchen, stirring the chocolate so it wouldn’t burn.

She found it pleasant being here in the warmth and coziness of the quiet room. When she was young, she’d loved to sit in their old-fashioned kitchen and watch her mother cook. Serefina would take boneless rump roast and cut it into long, thin strips. She’d spread the strips with chopped parsley and garlic, roll them up, and hold them together with toothpicks. Cooking them all day in a red spaghetti sauce would make the sauce thick and tasty
and the meat so tender it could be cut with a fork. Whenever Angie smelled that certain blend of spices, particularly the hint of anise and basil Serefina used in her sauce, she felt right at home again.

Paavo leaned against the sink, lost in thought, one foot crossed over the other, his hands in his pockets. Seeing him in the kitchen caused her to notice anew how tall and broad-shouldered he was, how sharp and analytical his gaze could be, how stern his features. But then his gaze caught hers, and his features softened. She smiled.

“What’s the smile for?” he asked.

“You.” The chocolate was melting fast now. “Even though I’d hoped you’d be able to rest this week, and that we’d get to spend a lot of time together, a nice woman is out there somewhere, lost or hurt.” She held the spoon still a moment. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of all you’re doing to try to find her.”

Paavo stepped up behind her, his large hands spanning her waist; that simple touch brought a quickening in her, an awareness that prickled her skin. He had to go back outside, she reminded herself, fighting the feeling. Back to search for Patsy.

“So you’ve forgiven me for spending so much time away from you?” He breathed the words against her hair.

“Don’t I always forgive you everything?” She stirred faster.

“Do you?” He moved closer, drinking in her scent, the soft curls of her hair tickling his nose, caressing his cheek. He shut his eyes, wanting more than anything to lose himself with her, in her. He fought the feeling.

She bent her head forward, and without thought he kissed her neck. He heard her breath catch as he slid his hands over her hipbones, then forward to her belly, holding her against him.

“I can’t concentrate,” she said.

“I’ll concentrate,” he murmured. His hands slipped under her sweater, one splaying against her stomach, sliding under the waistband of her slacks, the other finding the upper edge of her bra and inching under it. His fingers were strong, hard, hot.

She melted a lot faster than the chocolate. Where he touched, she wanted more, and wanted to touch him in turn.

To hell with caffè mòca. Still holding the spoon, she spun around to face him, her hands upraised to circle his neck. The chocolate-coated spoon smacked against the side of his nose.

He stepped back in surprise. Laughing, she dropped the spoon, gripped his shoulders, and licked the spot of chocolate.

“So that’s the way it is,” he said.

“Well, I didn’t want it to burn you,” she said. “I guess that’s what’s known as a hot lick.”

“Not exactly.”

She shrieked as he lifted her, in one quick movement, so that she was sitting on the stainless steel countertop. She started to scoot back, away from him, but he grasped her hips and slid her forward, right to the edge of the counter, one knee on each side of him. Her laughter died.

His hands cupped her face. All sense of time and place flew from her mind. Her arms circled his shoulders, his neck. He leaned over her, slowly lowering her onto the counter, her pulse pounding until finally, their lips met in an open-mouthed, groin-throbbing, sight-blinding kiss.

The chocolate sizzled against the bottom of the pan. A burning smell filled the kitchen. But none of that mattered. Nothing mattered but Paavo and the way he made her feel.
He lifted her sweater, reaching for the clasp at the front of her bra, his gaze and touch so searing she thought the clasp would melt.

“What’s burning?” Chelsea’s voice rang out as the kitchen door opened. Paavo yanked Angie’s sweater down, straightened, and stepped away, his back to Chelsea.

“Are you cooking, Angie?” Chelsea asked.

Angie struggled to sit up and look nonchalant. Paavo’s eyes were shut and his jaw clenched.

Chelsea walked up to the smoking pan and lifted it off the flame and right into the sink, where she ran cold water in it. “I thought it might be the chocolate. There I was, sleeping, and this wonderful scent woke me up. But when it began to burn, I just had to investigate.”

“It’s ruined,” Angie said. “Oh, well, we’ll try again tomorrow. Good night, Chelsea.”

Chelsea reached into the pocket of her smock and pulled out a handful of Hershey’s Kisses. “I don’t leave home without it…I mean, them.”

Angie bit back a groan of frustration.

“If it’s stopped raining tomorrow,” Chelsea said, “I’ll go down to the village and buy more.”

“Nifty,” Angie said. To think she used to like Chelsea.

“Whenever weathermen predict a big storm, like now, it’s often no more than a light sprinkle,” Chelsea chattered on. “Nothing to worry about. This’ll be another drought year, for sure.”

Angie glanced at Paavo. He’d bent over, his elbows on the counter, and was staring at a blank wall.

“I’ll melt the chocolate,” Chelsea said, “and make sure it doesn’t burn. Then we can all have some caffè mòca together.”

“I’ll just have my coffee plain, thanks,” Paavo said,
turning abruptly to get a coffee mug and pour a cup of the fresh brew. The look worn by all frustrated males weighed heavy on his brow. “But go ahead, Angie. I know you love it. I need to get back outside.”

“I’ve lost the taste for it myself,” Angie said, wondering if the longing she felt sounded in her voice.

“Nonsense,” Chelsea said. “I can melt some in a jiff. I even brought more coffee.”

Chelsea took a clean pot from the cabinet beside the range, dropped the chocolates in, and put it on a burner. “I didn’t get to be this size not knowing how to make good things to eat and drink. Anyway, I figure ghosts don’t mind a little extra flesh on a woman. Heck, they’re probably happy for any flesh at all!” She laughed, then sat on a stool.

There’s no getting rid of the woman, Angie thought. She could see Paavo fidget, wanting his coffee to hurry up and cool so he could drink it and get out of here. Giving up, she set out cups for herself and Chelsea.

“All melted,” Chelsea said.

“I was,” Angie said forlornly.

Angie put some chocolate in the bottom of the mugs, poured in the coffee, then stirred them together before adding any milk. She wadded up the little foil candy wrappers and opened the big double doors under the sink to throw them in the trash. A pair of big blue eyes looked up at her.

Angie slammed the door again
. It was all she could do to stop herself from screaming. Thankfully, she did. She hated screaming women. Unfortunately, this place was turning her into one.

Paavo hurried toward her, but she held up her hand, stopping him.

Swinging open the door, she said, “Come out of there.”

A boy, about eleven or twelve years old, crawled out. He glared at her from deep blue eyes under a black Chicago Bulls baseball cap.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He looked from her to Paavo, then turned and ran to the back door. Paavo grabbed his T-shirt by the shoulder, stopping him. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Tell us your name and what you’re doing here this time of night.”

The boy was thin and dirty. His lips were clamped shut and he shook his head.

“Where do you live?”

No answer.

“Do you know the people who live here?”

Same lack of response.

“At least tell me what you were doing in the kitchen,” Angie said. “Are you hungry?”

“No!”

Angie knew a hungry child when she saw one, especially when one protested so vehemently against hunger. “I’m sure I can find something to cook up fast.” She opened the refrigerator. “There’re eggs, butter, jack cheese, bacon.” She turned toward the boy. “How would you like a bacon and cheese omelet? I can make toast and maybe find some good jam or jelly to put on it.”

“Bacon? I never—” His eyes lighted for the briefest moment, then shuttered once more.

“I can leave out the bacon,” she said.

“No. That sounds good. Just the way you said it,” he replied.

“All right.” Angie and Paavo nodded in silent agreement not to question the boy any more until he’d eaten his fill. Paavo placed a stool beside Chelsea for the boy.

“You know, Angie,” Chelsea said, “if there’s enough of everything, I’m kind of hungry myself.”

“You eat meat?”

Chelsea shrugged. “I’m hungry. What can I say?”

Angie smiled. “There’s plenty. Paavo, I know you’ve hardly eaten today, and I haven’t either. Four omelets, coming up.”

Chelsea looked at the boy. “What’s your name?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Well-mannered, isn’t he?” Chelsea said to Angie, then got off her stool to take charge of cooking the bacon while Angie beat the eggs and grated the cheese. Paavo made toast. Before long, the omelets were on the table.

The boy took a tentative bite of his food, then scarfed
the rest down. Angie was heaped with praises for how good the meal was.

“Well, I don’t think the boy belongs around here,” Chelsea said as soon as she finished eating. “Guess we’ll have to hold him here until the sheriff arrives. Whenever
that
will be.”

“I live out there,” he offered.

“You’re Quint’s boy?”

“No. I’m nobody’s boy.” The boy ate the last of his food, then got off the stool, looking ready to make a run for the back door.

“Hold it.” Paavo took hold of the child’s arm and turned him around. “Where are you going to sleep tonight?”

The boy lifted his chin. “I don’t have to tell you.”

“No, you don’t.” Paavo let go of him. “But we can find someplace here for you.”

“I got someplace to stay already.” Distrust and caution lined his young face.

“Come by tomorrow,” Paavo said.

“Why should I?”

As Paavo looked at the hard stare and the ragged clothes, he was reminded of a boy many years ago who used to approach adults with the same defiant attitude. “No special reason,” he said, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans.

“Maybe I got something else to do,” the boy said, adopting the same pose.

Paavo nodded. “Could be. But I saw a basketball hoop nailed to the side of an old shed. Thought I’d shoot some hoops if the rain lets up a bit.”

The boy frowned. “You like to do that?”

“Sure. Do you know Horse?”

A half smile filled the boy’s face. “Of course!” he said, then turned and ran from the kitchen.

They watched as he stopped at the end of the patio, reached behind a rosebush, and lifted out a long object.

“Oh, God!” Angie cried. “He’s got a rifle.”

“It’s all right,” Paavo said. “It’s a shotgun.”

“All right? He’s just a child. Stop him!”

“There are mountain lions around here. Wild boars. Snakes. I’m sure Quint showed him how to use it for self-protection.”

Angie felt as if all her blood had turned to ice. “You mean I’ve been walking around out there…”

Paavo chuckled. “Stay near the house or with others and you’ll be okay. Especially during the day.”

Angie wasn’t so sure about that. “I wonder if we should have let him go?” she asked.

“He said he has somewhere to stay—probably Quint’s. I want to know what drew him here in the middle of the night, though.”

“Maybe it’s just that Quint’s in town and the boy doesn’t like being alone,” Angie suggested.

“I’d say it’s more. He doesn’t seem the type who’s afraid to be alone.”

Angie began putting things away in the kitchen. “I wish he’d talk to us,” she said.

“He will.” Paavo put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. “If we get his trust, the rest will follow.”

“That’s a beautiful thought,” Chelsea said, sitting on the stool again. “It explains exactly how I feel.”

“Oh?” Angie said.

“About Jack.”

Angie didn’t want to hear more of Chelsea’s ravings. She went outdoors with Paavo to see if the boy was anywhere nearby. If he showed any indication of changing his mind, they wanted to assure him he was welcome to come in with them.

Chelsea waited at the door while they searched. Coming back into the kitchen, they made one last inspection to be sure they had cleaned everything and put it all away, then turned off the light and crept back down the hall.

“Walk me upstairs, Paavo?” Angie asked.

He looked at his still wet slicker hanging on a hook, at Angie, and nodded.

“I wonder if Jack Sempler might come by tonight,” Chelsea said, then giggled as they climbed the stairs and crossed the gallery.

Suddenly, the soft sound of crying filled the house. “It’s Elise,” Chelsea whispered. “She’s probably upset because Jack is interested in me now and not her. This must mean Jack will be here sometime soon!”

Angie just stared after her as Chelsea hurried into her room and shut the door.

“Great friend you found there, Angie,” Paavo said. “She thinks she shares a room with a ghost.”

“That’s an improvement for her,” Angie said as she went into their octagonal room and turned to face him.

“Oh?” He put his arms around her.

“She used to think she saw Elvis.”

He lifted her sweater off her and tossed it aside. “Did she tell you Elvis is an anagram for lives?”

“Not to mention evils, veils, and even Levi’s.”

He unbuttoned her slacks, lowered the zipper, and let them drop. She stepped out of them and into his arms. “I’m almost afraid to kiss you,” he said. “The way things have gone around here, the roof might fall in.”

She ran her fingers up his arms, across his chest, and down to his belt buckle. “What’s the matter—do you think Miz Susannah would take displeasure at any goings-on in her room?”

He ran his hands over her shoulders, her breasts, while he eased her closer to the bed. “I could pretend to be a ghost myself, then she might not even notice.”

“I don’t know, Inspector,” she said as she stepped into his arms, feeling his arousal pressing against her. “I don’t think ectoplasm can do this.”