Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé (17 page)

I sat up, reaching for lamp beside the bed.

In the darkness, fingers curled around my wrist.

Everything But The Kitchen Sink Gravy

You'll need:

1/2 pound lean ground beef

1/2 pound mild Italian sausage

1/2 pound spicy Italian sausage

1/2 pound ground turkey

1 whole carrot, peeled

2 cans tomatoes, crushed

2 cans tomatoes, pureed

1 small can tomato paste

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1/2 cup dry red wine

1 teaspoon oregano

9 fresh basil leaves, torn

Handful of fresh Italian flat-leaf parsley, chopped

1 medium yellow onion, diced

Handful of pepperoni, cut small

1 teaspoon sea salt

1/4 cup grated Parmesan

Brown each meat, and drain grease. Add tomatoes, wine, vegetables, pepperoni, cheese, carrot, and spices to same pot or transfer to Crock-Pot for a slower cook. Give it approximately 3 hours on the stovetop or 8 in the Crock-Pot. Remove carrot, and serve over hot pasta.

**Andy's note: This is really a very basic gravy recipe that leads to a hearty sauce. It's called Everything but the Kitchen Sink Gravy because that's exactly what you put in it—everything but the sink! I've been known to throw frozen meatballs, shredded cooked chicken, and even kielbasa into the pot. As long as it has plenty of time to simmer, it's always a treat.

"Andrea," called a familiar voice with a sexy accent before I could scream. "It's me, love. Don't shout down the household."

I knew that voice, and only one person called me by my full first name. "Malcolm?"

The bedside lamp clicked on, and I flinched at the sudden flood of light. Though my retinas had been seared, I'd seen enough to know that yes, it was Jones in my bedroom. "Jeez-a-lou! You scared the ever-lovin' wits out of me! How did you get in here?"

"Your grandfather gave me a key," Jones murmured in a soft voice, which only made me aware of how loud I'd been. "I apologize for frightening you, but I needed to talk to you, and it couldn't wait until morning."

Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the light, and I got a good look at him. He wore a black coat over a black turtleneck and the kind of cargo pants that had a zillion and one pockets. There were leaves in his hair and mud on his clothing. His hand was like ice where it connected with mine. "You're freezing. What happened?"

"The police are looking for my SUV, so I left it at my sister's house."

"You walked all the way here from Lizzy's?" That had to be at least five miles, and he'd done it in the dark, and unlike his sister, he done it sans skis. "Crazy man, what were you thinking? I know it's below freezing out there, and Donna said there's a storm in the forecast. Do you want to die of exposure?"

Jones shivered. "I couldn't let them detain me for questioning, not until I knew you were all right."

"All right is overstating things a bit, but at least I'm still breathing." His cold skin reminded me of finding Rochelle, and it was my turn to shiver. "Oh, Malcolm, it was awful."

He pulled me close, hugging me to him.

It took several moments for me to rein my emotions in and even longer for me to tear myself from him. "Come on. Let me get you something hot to drink. And then you can tell me about how you found out about Rochelle."

The door to the guest bedroom was shut, and the sound of Pops's snoring filtered through the room. Roofus actually lifted his head at the sight of Jones, his tail thumping against the hardwood floor in greeting.

"Some watchdog you are," I huffed at the ancient beagle.

"He knows me," Jones said as he reached forward to pet Roofus. The dog growled a warning, and Jones retracted his hand hastily.

"Yeah, you two are obviously besties." I shuffled to the kitchen and pulled two mugs down from the cabinet. "Coffee or herbal tea?"

Jones took his filthy coat off and set it by the door before lowering himself onto the couch. "Tea, please. I'd like to get a little sleep tonight before I have to talk to the police."

I filled the kettle, set it on the stove, and turned the gas on. Though I was dying to pepper him with questions, I waited until the two cups of hot liquid were ready before joining him on the couch. "I'm glad to hear you aren't planning to dodge the law forever."

He held the warm mug in his hands but didn't make a move to drink from it. "Dodging the police investigation was never my intention. I was out of town most of the day."

"So how did you find out about Rochelle?"

"From Lizzy. I'd called her earlier to ask about the evidence she'd found linking our father to the arson case, so she knew I had your cell phone. Speaking of which—" He handed me his mug, then dug in his front pocket. He extracted my cell phone and set it on the coffee table.

"Did your friend manage to trace the call?" Now that I knew Rochelle had been killed, thinking about the phone call in which I'd heard it happen was even more unsettling.

Jones nodded. "He did pinpoint the location. There's a defunct lumber mill on the edge of town. I found a discarded burner phone there. It was obviously the crime scene."

"Oh god." I closed my eyes, and it was all too easy for me to envision the scene he described. Poor Rochelle, she must have been terrified. Then another thought pushed the vision out of the way. "The police need to know—"

Jones had anticipated my reaction. "I already called in an anonymous tip to the police, but I wasn't comfortable turning myself in for questioning unless you're with me."

"That must have been what caused the flurry of activity at the sheriff's office the day before. You sure know how to stir the pot, Malcolm."

Jones didn't smile as he studied me. "Whoever is behind all this has put a target on you, Andrea."

Shoot, I should have just had the coffee. It was unlikely I'd ever sleep again. "Why though? All because I told Lizzy to hire Rochelle? Why is the killer coming after me and not your sister? I mean, she was the one who hired Rochelle."

Jones shook his head. "I don't know. But it's a safe bet that it isn't my father, even though he's been arrested for the arsons."

I took my hand in his and squeezed. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about him. He has a high-priced law firm to help get him out of it. God only knows what he was doing with all that gasoline. It looked as if he were anticipating an apocalyptic disaster."

"I didn't just mean your dad," I spoke softly. The guilt that had been looming over me all day had expanded, growing and morphing until I was afraid it would swallow me whole. It wasn't just about Rochelle either. Jones was a person of interest in a murder investigation, had been to the crime scene. What if he left evidence there? Hair, blood, a boot print, tire tracks. People had been convicted on less, and he'd been dodging the police. He could be charged with his ex-wife's murder, and no jury in the world would believe he was innocent.

My voice shook, and I fought hard to bury my fear. "I meant all of it. Rochelle and Lizzy. Me keeping you in the dark. I feel like I've set you up for this huge fall."

He stared off into space for a long moment. "As far as Rochelle goes, I'm sorry too. I'm glad you insisted I let her have her say, so there was nothing left unfinished between us. And Lizzy would have told me something eventually. As for you…" He turned so he faced me directly, blue gaze boring into me, seeing all the fear I'd tried to hide.

Though I wanted to look away, I couldn't. His gaze was mesmerizing. "I know I'm nothing but trouble—"

He interrupted me with a searing kiss. The contact stole my breath and scattered my thoughts, reducing me to a witless, panting creature.

Jones pulled back long enough to murmur, "You're worth all the trouble." Then he kissed me again.

And really, what more needed to be said?

*   *   *

"Lacey L'Amour is behind all this," I said to Jones as we drove into town. "It's too much of a coincidence that she just shows up, and then all of a sudden buildings start going up in flames all over town."

Jones was behind the wheel. For once his
slower than molasses in January
driving was a bonus, since neither of us was in a hurry to reach the police station. He cut his gaze to me, then refocused on the road. "Do you have any actual evidence to prove your theory, or are you just saying that because you don't like her?"

I made an indignant noise. "I don't like her because she's been hitting on my boyfriend and because I am an excellent judge of character. Lacey stands the most to gain if the Bowtie Angel goes out of business for good. That's motive."

Jones nodded slowly. "All right, I'll give you that. But if she was the arsonist, why wouldn't she just burn the pasta shop down?"

Perish the thought. Instinctively, I crossed myself before saying, "The fire would destroy the building, but that wouldn't be enough to drive the Buckland-Rossetti clan out of business. We'd rebuild and come back stronger than before with the support of the entire town. Linking the pasta shop to a murder though, that's different. She's out to ruin our reputation, so rebuilding isn't an option. She's already tried to hire Mimi away, and she sabotaged our first health inspection. In fact, I wouldn't put it past her to specifically hire your ex-wife and bring her to town to make trouble. If Rochelle dug up dirt on me, Lacey would use it, but even if she didn't, having your ex here was sure to cause trouble for me, to take my eye off the prize. But when Lizzy hired Rochelle to unmask the arsonist, Lacey knew it was only a matter of time until Rochelle put it all together. Don't you see? She's behind all of it."

"There are two problems with your theory," Jones said. We'd reached the traffic light at the edge of town, and he turned to face me fully. "One, why would Lacey burn down both the florist and the assisted living if she was targeting you? And two, if you're right and she was the one to hire Rochelle to investigate you, she must know about Kaylee. But if she does, why has she been keeping it to herself?"

"I don't know," I admitted. I liked my hypothesis too much to just let it go without a fight. "Maybe because of Kyle. The two of them have been spending time together. She might not want to hurt him by revealing the truth."

Jones shook his head. "You can't have it both ways, Andrea. You can't say she's a sociopath who'll burn down half the town to get at you, and claim she cares too much about the engaged man who has been using her to make his fiancée jealous to ruin his reputation. Now I'm not saying she isn't involved at all," he continued when I'd opened my mouth to protest. "But I don't think she's the mastermind behind the arsons."

We were only a few minutes out from the police station. My knee bounced nervously as our destination drew closer. "What if the crimes aren't related? We've been assuming that Rochelle's death is because of her involvement with the arson case. But you work more than one case at a time, right? What if there's something else going on?"

Jones nodded thoughtfully. "It's not impossible. If the killer was clever, perhaps he or she isn't really coming after you. Instead, he's using the two of us as a distraction to get the police off their trail."

"Right. The police are so busy investigating us, and the real killer literally gets away with murder."

He cleared his throat and murmured, "That sounds like something my father would do."

I sucked in a sharp breath. "But he was with us at the time of the first arson."

"Andrea, my father isn't the sort of man who soils his hands. He has underlings who do the dirty work for him." His tone was filled with bitterness as he added, "Like the lawyer who checked on my welfare twice a year and sent my mother money to provide for me. He didn't even write his own checks."

We'd arrived at the police station. Jones parked at the far end of the lot, but neither of us moved.

"Whatever happens," I told him softly. "We'll deal with it. Together, okay?"

He looked at me and smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

I blinked. "Why?" If he handed me another bunch of roses, I was going to beat him with them.

He shook his head. "Because my life is a mess, and it's spilling over onto you. My father, Rochelle, Lizzy, all of it. I really wanted us to be a normal couple, but all of this refuse from my past keeps coming up, interfering with our relationship, your business. I feel like it's all my fault and you'd be better off if you had nothing to do with me."

"Malcolm, I'm the one with a long-lost daughter and a crazy stalker here. Don't take so much on yourself. You can't control other people's actions, especially not those of people who lie to you. And for what it's worth, I think you're worth it." I repeated his words from the night before back to him.

A real smile cracked his stony countenance. "All right, let's just hope neither of us gets arrested today."

I made a face, mumbling "You aren't kidding" before popping the car door. We walked hand in hand into the police station.

Beaverton was barely large enough to have its own police department. In fact, it hadn't when I was growing up. All matters of law enforcement had fallen on the overworked sheriff's department. The slow but steady population increase over the past decade had brought in enough citizens to justify the expense of forming both a fire department and a city police force. There were four detectives, including Darryl Brown, a handful of sergeants, and a baker's dozen collection of officers, all under the supervision of Chief Leroy Fontaine, who answered directly to the city council and Mayor Eli Randal II.

Donna had mentioned that there were quite a few homes on the market for winter, more than there had been at the same time a year earlier and even more in the week since the arsonist came to town. I wondered what would happen if the population of Beaverton fell below the necessary number for city status. Would the brave men and women who'd been trained as police officers, like Donna's husband, Steve, lose their jobs? That would perpetuate the cycle because the area lacked any major employment opportunities. More people would pull up stakes, which would hurt the whole town.

I'd have fewer customers, who I now had to share with Lacey L'Amour, if I ever managed to open again. Theo and the health department might shut the pasta shop down for good.

Shoving all my worries aside, I sat by Jones's side while we waited for Detective Brown to come fetch him. It wasn't until Jones put his hand over my knee that I realized it had been bouncing like mad.

"It'll be all right, love. I didn't do anything wrong."

My teeth sank into my lower lip. Maybe it was my own jaded point of view, but knowing that Jones hadn't done anything wrong didn't change the fact that Kyle had it out for him. And even though the murder investigation wasn't Kyle's case, he still had a lot of pull.