Courting Disaster (23 page)

Stan found Hannah sitting on the wooden bench on the wharf, the place he'd first seen her staring out at the bay. Only now, instead of being alone, she held her baby.

“How are you doing?” he asked, joining her.

She turned to him, her face calm and peaceful. “Gail has gone to pack. Paavo's letting her go. Don't tell anyone!”

“Never,” he said. “But I'm more concerned about you.”

She waited a long moment before she spoke. “It's hard being back here. So much has changed. Tyler and Shelly Farms dead. Eugene Leer and Michael Zeno arrested. Poor Michael! He thought he loved me, but he never knew the real me. He was kind to me, though, and I'm sorry for him.”

“I'm sorry it had to be like this,” Stan said.

“Me, too. But they were doing wrong—and they knew it.” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “You're the only truly good man I know, Stanfield Bonnette.”

“Hannah—” The timbre of his voice must have caught her attention because she turned to him, her face serious, as he drew in his breath to try to go on without passing out in a dead faint. Earlier that day, he hadn't been able to find the words. Now—maybe after facing guns and death—he could say them. “It's time for you to move on as well.”

Her mouth opened with surprise, then she shut it, and withdrew her hand from his. “It is?”

He nodded. “You're one of the nicest people I've ever met, Hannah, and you're beautiful and kind. But you've been hiding away, and trying to live through people you think you're in love with. You love the idea of love, but you don't love me, Hannah.”

She cocked her head. “I don't?”

“I'm no hero, for one thing,” he said ruefully, then amended. “Not much of one, at least.”

She smiled at him. “You'll always be to me, Stan.” Her gaze turned to the fishing boat. “Gail's leaving as soon as possible. The boat's all set up for a baby. She told me I was welcome to join her…. I don't know where she's going, though. She probably doesn't, either. But it'd be someplace new.” She glanced up at him. “An adventure. I've never had an adventure.”

He stared at her, his gypsy girl, then nodded. “It's a great plan. A great start.”

He wrapped his arms around her and Kaitlyn, holding them close. Then he kissed Kaitlyn on the forehead, stood, and stepped back. He tried to smile as he spoke, but he couldn't. “Good-bye, Hannah. Take good care of my girl, there. When
you get settled someplace, I'll send you all her stuff.”

“Thank you, Stan,” she whispered. “Thank you for everything.”

Out on Jefferson Street, he turned away from Fisherman's Wharf and headed toward the Maritime Museum. His heart was heavy as he walked beside the beach at Aquatic Park. He slid his hands into his pockets and faced the water, and as he watched the tide ebb and flow against the shore, little by little he stood straighter, and soon it felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

Or at least about a hundred twenty pounds of it.

The odd thing was, he felt good about himself, and good about having helped Hannah and Kaitlyn. More than anything else, he felt good about getting his life back again.

He took a few steps, then a few more, feeling a jaunty spring that hadn't been there for a long time.

Why in heaven's name had he ever thought his life had been lonely? Was he nuts? It was happy!

All of a sudden, his reason for happiness increased a thousandfold as he remembered Angie's engagement party. How could he have forgotten? Just the thought of it and his stomach began growling, his mouth salivating, and his body aquiver over all the great food he knew Angie's mother would be serving.

A special delivery envelope had come that morning and gave the location of the party. He looked straight ahead and smiled.

 

Angie wore no makeup, her hair was an unruly mass of damp curls, and her dress was shrunken, wrinkled, and carried a hint of eau de fish.

Paavo had also showered, then shaved as well and dried his khaki slacks. His beautiful new suit would have to wait for another occasion. He left Inspector Mayfield in charge of everything; he had an engagement party to go to.

Angie laughed until tears came to her eyes over what a ridiculous pair they made as the engaged couple, until she saw her father. The soon-to-be father-of-the-bride's tuxedo had shrunk. His sleeves were three-quarter length, and his trousers looked like floods.

Suddenly, though, none of that mattered. She was being lauded as a hero for saving the baby, and Sal and Paavo were not only getting along, but had worked together.

As the three of them walked toward her car for what she understood would be a short ride to the party, she looked at the two men she loved more than anything in the world, one on each side of her. She reached out and took both their hands as the memory of how close she came to losing them washed over her. She also chuckled inwardly over memories of her father and Paavo sneaking around trying to hide Sal's secret admirer from Serefina—how she would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for their conversations. Thoughts of all her sisters' stories about engagement parties past, both the good and the bad, came back to her, plus her own foolish worries about purple cakes and strippers.

The truth struck her as she walked, so simple as to be laughable, so profound as to touch her heart. It was this—Paavo, her family, her closest friends, they were what was important. Nothing else mattered. Not clothes, not job, not position, not wealth or fame. It was those you love and who love you in return.

They got into the car, Paavo at the wheel. She still had no idea where the engagement celebration was being held or what it would be like, but that was okay. Her mother had planned the entire party, details and all, with love. Wherever it was held, whatever it was like, she knew it would be perfect.

SPINACH TRIANGLES (
Spanakopita
)

These are wonderfully rich little triangles of buttery, flaky phyllo dough filled with spinach, onion, cheese, and herbs. They can be used as a side dish or hors d'oeuvres.

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Heat 3 tablespoons olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Sauté onion, green onions, and garlic until soft and lightly browned. Stir in spinach and parsley, and continue to sauté until spinach is limp, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat and set aside to cool. In a medium bowl, mix together eggs, ricotta, and feta. Stir in spinach mixture and lightly salt.

Cut phyllo sheets into long strips, 3 inches wide, and brush with melted butter. Place one tablespoon of the spinach mixture at the bottom of each strip and fold the corner up to form a triangle; continue folding in a triangular shape until the entire strip is folded. Continue this method until all the ingredients are used. Place the triangles on lightly oiled cookie sheets, brush each with butter, and bake at 375° for 15 to 20 minutes until golden brown.

SOUVLAKI

Souvlaki is made with tender cuts of meat cooked on a skewer. In this pork recipe, the meat is marinated in a lemony olive oil mixture. Serve with rice pilaf and a Greek salad.

In a bowl, mix together lemon juice, olive oil, soy sauce, oregano, and garlic. Add pork, onions, and green pepper; stir to coat. Cover, and refrigerate for 2 to 3 hours.

Slide pork, pepper, and onion onto skewers. Turning skewers frequently, grill at medium high heat OR broil until lightly charred. Cook about 10 to 15 minutes total.

GREEK BUTTER COOKIES (
Kourabiedes
)

This is a traditional cookie—especially delicious with strong Greek coffee.

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Grease cookie sheets.

In a medium bowl, cream together the butter, sugar, and egg until smooth. Stir in the vanilla and almond extracts. Gradually add in the flour to form a dough—you may have to knead it in by hand at the end. Take about a teaspoon of dough at a time and roll into balls, logs, or “S” shapes. Place cookies 1 to 2 inches apart onto the prepared cookie sheets.

Bake for 10 minutes in the preheated oven, or until lightly browned and firm. Allow cookies to cool before generously dusting with confectioners' sugar. These are often served in paper cupcake cups.

From the kitchen to the deck of a cruise ship, Joanne Pence's mysteries are always a delight. Starring career-challenged Angie Amalfi and her handsome homicide-detective boyfriend Paavo Smith, Joanne Pence serves up a mystery feast complete with humor, a dead body or two, and delicious recipes.

 

Enjoy the pages that follow, which give a glimpse into Angie and Paavo's world.

A while passed before she looked up again. When she did, she saw a dark-haired man standing in the doorway to her apartment, surveying the scene. Tall and broad shouldered, his stance was aloof and forceful as he made a cold assessment of all that he saw.

If you're going to gawk, she thought, come in with the rest of the busybodies.

He looked directly at her, and her grip tightened on the chair. His expression was hard, his pale blue eyes icy. He was a stranger, of that she was certain. His wasn't the type of face or demeanor she'd easily forget. And someone, it seemed, had just sent her a bomb. Who? Why? What if this stranger…

As he approached with bold strides, her nerves tightened. Since she was without her high heels, the top of her head barely reached his chin.

The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His face was fairly thin, with high cheekbones and a pronounced, aquiline nose with a jog in the middle that made it look as if it had been broken at least once.
Thick, dark brown hair spanned his high forehead, and his penetrating, deep-set eyes and dark eyebrows gave him a cold, no-nonsense appearance. His gaze didn't leave hers, and yet he seemed aware of everything around them.

“Your apartment?” he asked.

“The tour's that way.” She did her best to give a nonchalant wave of her thumb toward the kitchen.

She froze as he reached into his breast pocket. “Police.” He pulled out a billfold and dropped open one flap to reveal his identification: Inspector Paavo Smith, Homicide.

Angie glanced up from the monitor. She'd been debating whether or not to try to take the next call, if and when one came in, when her attention was caught by the caller's strange voice. It was oddly muffled. Angie couldn't tell if the caller was a man or a woman.

“I didn't catch your name,” Henry said.

“Pat.”

Angie's eyebrows rose. A neuter-sounding Pat? What was this, a
Saturday Night Live
routine?

“Well, Pat, what can I do for you?”

“I was concerned about the restaurant killer in your city.”

Henry's eye caught Angie's. “Thank you. I'm sure the police will capture the person responsible in no time.”

“I'm glad you think so, because—you're next.”

Henry jumped up and slapped the disconnect button. “And now,” he said, his voice quivering, “a word from our sponsor.”

She placed her hand over his large strong one, scarcely able to believe that they were here, in this strange yet lovely room, alone. “But I am real, Paavo.”

“Are you?” He bent to kiss her lightly, his eyes intent, his hand moving from her chin to the back of her head to intertwine with the curls of her hair. The mystical aura of the room, the patter of the rain, the solitude of the setting stole over him and made him think of things he didn't want to ponder—things like being together with Angie forever, like never being alone again. He tried to mentally break the spell. He needed time—cold, logical time. “There's no way a woman like you should be in my life,” he said finally. “Sometimes I think you can't be any more real than the Sempler ghosts. That I'll close my eyes and you'll disappear. Or that I'm just imagining you.”

“Inspector,” she said, returning his kiss with one that seared, “there's no way you could imagine me.”

Cold logic melted in the midst of her fire, and all his careful resolve went with it. His heart filled, and the solemnity of his expression broke. “I know,” he said softly, “and that's the best part.”

As his lips met hers, a bolt of lightning lit their room for just a moment. Then a scream filled the darkness.