Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé (4 page)

You're being unreasonable,
I told myself. What could he have to say to her anyway? Every time her name came up, he looked away, obviously ashamed of the way she'd fooled him. I frowned, a wad of paper towels clutched in my fist. At least, that had been my impression of why he'd never let me see his face. A horrible possibility crossed my mind, one that actually caused me physical pain.

What if Malcolm Jones was still in love with his ex? And what if she wanted him back?

Fried Risotto Balls

You'll need:

1 batch your favorite risotto, cooled overnight

4 oz fontina cheese, grated

1 cup all-purpose flour

2 eggs

3 cups Italian-style bread crumbs

Vegetable oil for frying

Take pinches of the cheese, and shape into small balls for the filling. Beat eggs with a tablespoon of milk and set aside.

Take a small handful of rice, and shape into a shallow cup in the palm of your hand. Place one of the cheese balls in the center of the rice, then enclose the rice around the cheese, and roll into round balls. Set out three shallow bowls, one with flour, one with the egg mixture, and one with the bread crumbs.

First roll the balls in the flour, then coat with the egg mixture before rolling in bread crumbs. Set the coated rice balls on a baking sheet when they are completed.

Heat the oil in a large pot or deep skillet.

Carefully slip 3 to 4 balls into the hot oil at a time, and fry until golden brown. Drain on absorbent towels, and keep warm until you are ready to serve.

Top with a fresh basil and tomato sauce and serve hot.

**Andy's note: Hands down one of my all-time favorite appetizers. It's a decent amount of work, then again, everything worth doing usually is.

I'm not in the habit of hiding my emotions. Some women can continue to function when something's on their minds, but I don't happen to be one of them. Anxiety and frustration leaks into almost everything I do and spills over into every other aspect of my life until it consumes me. Maybe it's my family heritage or just my own unique emotional flavor profile, but when I'm upset,
everyone
knows it.

Which was why, when Jones abandoned me for his darkroom yet again after we got home, I flipped through the television channels with an untouched glass of wine, wondering what the best way was to bring up his seeing his ex.

Roofus rolled to his side with a heartfelt groan, and I reached down to scratch his lumpy head. "I hear you, buddy. It's just been one of those days."

I channel surfed for half an hour, but nothing held my interest. Damn it, why wasn't Jones sitting next to me on the couch, rubbing my feet and professing his undying love? Why didn't he know I was upset?

Maybe he did know, and he just didn't want to deal with me. That thought enraged me, and before I was aware of it, I'd pushed myself up off the couch and had taken several steps toward the cellar stairs. Luckily, reason kicked in. The man was working, just like I should be doing.
Take a freaking chill pill, Andy, you nut.
Yes, distraction was what was called for here, not an out-and-out confrontation. I could tear into him later if I was still in the mood.

Grabbing my laptop, I plugged it in beside the pub table and turned it on. The recipe book I'd been transitioning to digital backup was in the bedroom. The task seemed even more crucial since the fire yesterday. No time like the present, and the distraction would do me good. I snagged the book and my glass of wine and settled in to work.

I'd gotten three recipes entered and uploaded to the cloud and was working on the fourth when my phone vibrated.

"Hello?" I asked, not looking at the number.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Donna asked.

Other than fighting not to feel sorry for myself? "Not a heck of a lot. Why?"

"I have a rental house for you to look at."

I glanced at the clock. "Now? It's after eight."

"Afraid you'll miss
Diced
?" Donna quipped, naming my favorite cooking competition show. "What are you, ninety? DVR it."

No, but I was comfy. If we went out, I'd have to change into real people clothes. Unless we were going to Walmart, then anything would do. "What about your kids?"

"Got a sitter. Come on. I'll be there in ten minutes. Get your ass into some jeans and a shirt that doesn't have permanent spaghetti sauce stains."

I looked down at myself and grimaced. "All the mystery has gone out of our relationship."

"Good thing I'm in it for the secondhand sex details," Donna said and hung up.

I really didn't want to go out, but if Donna had arranged for a sitter and was already on her way… My gaze slid to the cellar door. Should I tell Jones where I was going? Would he even care? I shook my head, sick of being an insecure idiot.

I went into the bedroom and snagged a black scoop-neck top that was slimming at the same time as it revealed my cleavage, and a clean pair of jeans. My hair was beyond help, so I did a quick French braid and tied it off with a small red silk scarf and a dangly pair of earrings that I hoped detracted from the flyaway curls. It was too cold for the killer heels that would have made the outfit unbeatable, so I settled for motorcycle boots that were surprisingly comfortable.

I coaxed Roofus to go out and do his business in the frigid winter night and then descended into Jones's photography lair. The red light was off, and the door to the darkroom stood open, so I knew he wasn't working with raw film. Clothesline was strung across the room with black-and-white photos pinned up to dry. After a quick peek, I knew those were art focused and not evidence in one of his cases. Good thing. I really didn't want to see portly Mr. Figgs in the raw with his equally stocky secretary. I had to look these people in the eye when they came into the pasta shop, and there was no coming back from that mental picture.

Jones sat at his desk, messing around with one of his photography programs.

"Hey," I said. "Donna's on her way over, so I'll be going out."

He didn't turn away from the screen as he murmured, "Have fun."

That was it? He didn't want to know where we were going or if he could tag along? I'd expected mild curiosity at the very least. The grown-up response would be to tell him I was going out to look at a house and ask if he wanted to come with us. But this was the first real adult relationship I'd ever been in, and let's face facts—I was still immature. Not to mention afraid of being rejected. So I didn't call him on it, on any of it, even though I was hurting inside.

"See ya." I forced a light tone and tromped upstairs to wait for Donna.

"Jones didn't want to come?" she asked when I'd climbed into the car. She still wore her hideous green jacket but had changed into jeans and a red turtleneck sweater.

"He's busy with work," I answered.

Donna's gray eyes narrowed. "You didn't tell him where you were going."

My chin went up. "He didn't ask."

She threw up her hands. "Andy, for crying out loud, you're worse than a teenager. And I have one, so I know what I'm talking about."

"Yeah well, Jones is not my parent, and I can't force him to pay attention to me if he doesn't want to." No, that didn't sound bitter at all. I grimaced but didn't retract my statement.

Donna shook her head but thankfully turned out of the driveway. "You can hear yourself, right? I just want to be sure you're aware that you've hit a new level of neurotic that only insanity-detecting dogs can hear."

Okay, so I was being a bit of a brat, but I had good reason for it. I told her about the conversations I'd overheard with Mr. Tillman and Lizzy and finished with, "What if he's still in love with his ex, and she wants him back, and he's looking for a way out of the situation with me?"

Donna made a face. "Promise me that from now on you'll call me before you go completely off the deep end. Friends don't let friends think alone."

"I'm serious, Donna. He didn't even look at me or kiss me when I said I was going out. I'm telling you, something's off with him."

"Honey, you two just hit that comfortable stage in your relationship. When men get comfortable, they get lazy. If you think this is bad, wait until you two are married. Then it's all about the three S's—sex, sandwiches, sports, not necessarily in that order."

I shivered in revulsion. "That sounds horrible. Why would any sane woman want to get married if that's all there is to it?"

"That's only if you let the man get away with it, which is exactly what you're letting Jones do right now. It's the woman's job to keep the man from being too comfortable and letting it get to that point. You need to light a fire under them periodically. Shake things up. Keep them on edge."

"And how exactly should I do that?"

Donna grinned. "By moving into this rental house, of course."

"No, that's not self-serving
at all
." My tone was dry.

"What can I say? I'm a problem solver."

*   *   *

"Wow," I said as I looked at the A-frame structure nestled under the pines.

"See, I knew you'd love it. Wait until you get a load of the kitchen. It even makes me want to cook." Donna swung her legs out of the car door and slid to the ground, neon bubble jacket seeming to glow under the floodlights. I followed her up the steps to the small porch where a split-log bench sat overlooking what my ears told me was a small creek.

"You can't see it right now," Donna said as she punched in her Realtor code, "but there's a small arched bridge back there over the water. Very tranquil."

"Why are the owners renting?" I asked as I got my first look at the great room. It was typical A-frame style, with a row of ceiling fans suspended from exposed beams overhead. A massive river-stone fireplace sat front and center between two built-in bookshelves. The L-shaped couch was a deep chocolate color, with oversized ottomans on either end and accented with cream-colored pillows artistically arranged. A Native American woven rug covered the oak floor, giving the grand space a homey feel.

"Death in the family. The mother had cancer, and this was her dream home. Her husband built it for her with his own two hands. He doesn't want to live here anymore but couldn't bear parting with it either, so I suggested renting. Their kids grew up here, and they all want someone who'll take care of it."

The sad story tugged at my heartstrings. This house had known love and loss, just like me. The kitchen was even more glorious. I ran my hand over soapstone countertops, the cherry stained cabinets, the gas stove, and wall oven. It wasn't a Viking like the stove at Lizzy's house, but what it lacked in modern upgrades, it more than made up for in charm. The country-style sink was a chef's fondest dream, with a basin large enough to fill the largest pot with water and a side section for peeling vegetables.

We walked through the master bedroom done up with rich burgundy fabrics. Handwoven rag rugs lay in front of the mirrored dresser and in front of each nightstand. The master bath had a pedestal sink and separate vanity and came equipped with a claw-footed tub and a more modern shower stall, perfect for both lingering and efficiency, depending on one's mood.

The two smaller bedrooms were unfurnished and painted more neutral colors, a light chicory and a sage green. Either would work well for an office, but the green room also had a built-in window seat. Another full bath fit in a tiny nook in between the two.

I went back into the main room and took it all in, trying to smell Italian scents coming from the kitchen with Dean Martin crooning from my iPod and Roofus snoring in front of the fireplace. The vision came all too easily. What I couldn't see here was Jones.

"It's not officially on the market until next week, but it'll get snapped up quick." Donna prodded. "And once the market turns around, they might let it go for a bargain price to the right person."

"I have to talk to Jones about it first." It was one thing to stalk out in a snit, quite another to move out without a real conversation. "Can I bring him back to see it, maybe tomorrow in the daylight?"

"Of course. You're all dolled up, and I've got a sitter. We should go out. You want to head to Judy's? It's karaoke night with dollar shots. I can always call Steve to drive us home later."

I grimaced at the mention of karaoke, but a few shots wouldn't go amiss. I gave one last look to the sweet little house that might soon be my home. I needed a place like this, the security it represented. Maybe Kaylee would like to come visit me here. "That sounds like the best plan I've heard all day."

Classic Greek Chicken Salad With Blue Cheese Dressing

You'll need:

10 oz assorted salad greens

1 cup ripe Greek olives

3 plum tomatoes, cut into wedges

1/2 cup thinly sliced red onion

1/2 medium cucumber, peeled, cut into wedges

1 cooked boneless, skinless chicken breast, cut into strips

Dressing:

1 pint mayonnaise (start with 1/2 and add as needed)

1/4 cup blue cheese, crumbled

1/4 cup white vinegar

2 cloves garlic, minced

Dash of cayenne pepper and Worcestershire

1 cup sour cream

2 teaspoons sugar

Dice veggies and chicken. In separate bowl, mix the dressing until it reaches desired consistency. Toss into salad until all ingredients are evenly coated.

**Andy's note: Blue cheese adds a rich element to any salad, and the tartness combined with the creaminess of the dressing is just dynamite. Salad greens have never been so much fun!