Murder Al Dente: A Southern Pasta Shop Mystery (Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries Book 1) (31 page)

"
Get that look off your face right this second, Sheriff Landers," I hissed. "Jones did not hurt Mimi."

"
Have you forgotten there was a murder in town and that your friend was the only ear-witness?"

My hands flew to my hips.
"Have you forgotten she said she heard a woman talking to Chef Farnsworth?"

"
That doesn't mean the woman killed him."

"
It doesn't mean Jones did, either!" This argument would get us nowhere fast. "Kyle, look, I'm worried about her, all right? Can you just, I don't know, spread the word that she's missing?"

"
North Carolina doesn't have a waiting period for filing a missing person's report. If it was anyone else I might say wait and see if she shows up, but her involvement in an open murder case worries me," Kyle said. "I'll have the office put out a BOLO on her and Jones."

"
He didn't do it, Kyle." But he was already moving toward his official vehicle and didn't hear me.

Pops waved me over by the stage.
"It's time."

Kyle
's suggestions about Mimi's involvement with the case had me feeling queasy. "Can you help Donna at the booth while I announce the contest?"

"
Sure thing, Andy-girl."

As he moved away a little girl ran up to me with a folded note.
"This is for you."

"
What?" I took the note, unfolded it, and wavered on my feet. "Who gave this to you?"

But the child had disappeared back into the crowd.

I stared down at the simple message, which had been written in Mimi's neat handwriting on a sheet of loose-leaf notebook paper.

I found her. Meet me at Jones
's house.

* * *

There was a barricade up, blocking off the road to Jones's place. A placard stating men at work stood in front of it. I stopped and got out, shading my eyes to see what was going on. That was weird—the road had been clear the night before. Through the dense trees I could see a massive backhoe, though it didn't appear to be in use.

Since I
'd just gotten Mustang Sally back, I wasn't about to take any chances driving through a construction zone, so I decided to park at the Tillman's place and walk over to meet Mimi.

Again I cursed her timing. Why did she have to go and solve a murder at that exact moment for the love of Pete? I wasn
't even sure what I'd said to introduce the pasta-eating contest. All that work, and I couldn't enjoy the moment of triumph.

I
'd looked for Kyle before I'd left, to tell him he could call off the dogs in the Mimi hunt and that she knew who the woman was that had spoken to Chef Farnsworth before he'd been murdered. But I hadn't spotted him and didn't want to take the time to track him down.

I parked my
'stang and was all set to sprint across the hills to Jones's place when I heard someone call my name.

"
So close," I grumbled as Lizzy's mother climbed from her Lexus.

"
Andy," she waved cheerily. "What are you doing here?"

Other than trespassing?
"How are you, Mrs. Tillman?"

"
Please dear, call me Irene. Would you care to come in for a cup of tea?"

No
, but I didn't want to rouse her suspicions about what I was doing either. Mimi had gone to a great deal of trouble to contact me discreetly, and I had to believe Jones was helping her. It was easier to accept the tea than to make up a story as to why I was there.

"
That would be great, thank you." I followed her and her shopping bags into the house.

"
Marguerite?" Mrs. Tillman—Irene—called out. The vast house was silent, no sounds of footsteps or doors being opened or closed. She frowned, obviously displeased that her housekeeper didn't hop to her summons. "Where on Earth is she?"

"
I don't need tea," I began, glad of the excuse, but Irene waved me off.

"
Oh, it's all right. I may be a society wife, but I do know how to make tea, dear. Why don't you wait in the drawing room?"

Skippy
. I pasted a small smile on my face and went as directed. From the big picture window I caught a better look at the backhoe and the enormous hole it had dug. Mounded up dirt obscured the view of Jones's house, and I wondered if that might not be intentional.

"
Here we are." Lizzy's mother carried a tea tray. Bone china cups with actual saucers and a matching yellow pot. I'd never used a saucer in my life but thanked her when she handed me the cup.

"
Do you know what the construction is all about?" I asked her, indicating the backhoe.

She pulled a face,
as though smelling something foul. "Just some septic maintenance. It does spoil the view, doesn't it? Then again I haven't enjoyed the view of late." Her eyes looked so sad.

I sipped my tea and tried to decide what to say next.

She forced a bright smile. "You like him very much." It wasn't a question, and I knew who she was talking about.

"
I do" I said simply. "Very much."

She stared out the window
, and I got the odd sense that she was lonely. "The irony of it is, if he weren't my husband's bastard son, I would like him, too. He's a talented artist, I can admit that much. It was so much simpler when he lived half a world away. But Lizzy adores him, and for her sake I do my best to tolerate him, though I'm not a forgiving sort of woman."

I had no idea why she
'd opened up to me, of all people. She shook her head as though remembering herself.

"
So, are things serious with the two of you?"

"
We're just starting to get to know each other." But what I knew of him, I liked.

She set her empty teacup aside.
"You're a smart girl. Many young women rush right into relationships and expect too much, too soon."

I wondered if she was talking about Lizzy and Kyle but didn
't feel right asking. Instead I drained my tea and rose. "I didn't mean to interrupt your day. I should get going."

"
Are you going to visit him now? It's such a beautiful day, and I could do with a bit of a walk." Irene got up, too.

Shoot, shoot, shoot. Some inventive Italian curses came to mind
, but I couldn't think of a thing to say to dissuade her without making her suspicious. I forced my emotions down. She disliked Jones, and she wouldn't come with me all the way to his house. She was just a lonely woman looking for a reprieve from her own company.

We set out across the meadow, me asking questions about Lizzy and Kyle
's wedding. Honestly I didn't give a fig, but she talked animatedly about the flowers, the guest list, Lizzy's dress, which was a Vera Wang original, naturally.

We were halfway up the hill when I yawned.
"Excuse me."

"
Are you all right?" she asked as I stumbled over nothing.

"
I'm not sure." I was having trouble getting back up. I looked up, but her features had gone indistinct. My body felt slack as lethargy crept over me. Something was very wrong. The world started to spin, and I clung to the grass so I wouldn't go flying off.

A hand went under my arm and Irene, who was definitely stronger than she looked, pulled me upright.
"Here we are."

"
Where?" I looked around in confusion. My thoughts were slow and dim, as though a bulb had blown in my brain.

"
The end of the line," Irene said just before my world went dark.

Spring Fling Pasta

What you
'll need:

12 ounces cooked rotini

2 tablespoons
extra virgin basil-infused olive oil

5
ounces sliced prosciutto, torn into large pieces

1/4 pound cooked, chopped pancetta

2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

3 green onions, chopped

1/2 cup water

1 chicken bullion cube

6 cups baby spinach

Sea
salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

2 ounces
feta cheese, crumbled

1/4 cup fresh basil leaves,
sliced into strips

Heat the oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add the prosciutto and pancetta, and cook until crisp, about 2 minutes per side. Transfer to a paper towel-lined plate.

Add the garlic and onions
to the skillet and cook until softened, about 2 minutes.

Add the broth, peas, spinach,
1/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/8 teaspoon pepper, and bring to a boil. Toss with the pasta, feta, basil, and prosciutto

**Andy's note: Prosciutto is Italian ham, but cooks up like bacon. Pancetta is uncured Italian bacon. Bacon plus bacon or in other words,
magnifico
!

Other than allergy medication and the occasional Tylenol, I'd never taken drugs before. I wasn't a big drinker either, and the woozy, out of control feeling I had when I came to was completely foreign.

Irene Tillman stood over me, a small silver pistol in her hand. The way she stood with her legs shoulder
-width apart, arms straight, eyes narrowed, I knew she meant to kill me.

I couldn
't help it. I started to laugh. Somewhere deep within my mind I was terrified, but that part was buried under layers, like Aunt Cecily's work uniform. She looked ridiculous in her pink linen suit and strappy sandals, ready to blow me away like it was high noon at the O.K. Corral and I was some gun slinging badass. Any minute now My Little Pony would charge in trailing sparkles instead of dust and they'd ride off into the sunset.

"
Get up," Irene said. Her eyes were different, colder, like someone had sucked all the do-gooder personality right out of her.

I thought about it for a second and decided
up was too much effort. Hey, if she was gonna kill me, at least I didn't need to worry about cardio anymore. Though my reaction was completely inappropriate, my brain was still piecing the situation together. Slowly, but things had started to make sense.

"
What's wrong with me?"

"
I put GHB in your tea." She said it matter-of-factly, like she was talking about adding lemon.

I made a face.
"Isn't that a date rape drug?"

"
Perfect for my purposes." Her tone was confident. "Everyone will believe that Malcolm slipped you the drug, but you overdosed, so he buried your body to hide his crime."

Right away I saw a big hole in her plan
, and my drug-loosened tongue had to blurt it out. "Jones wouldn't need to drug me to get me into bed."

"
He wouldn't be the first man to indulge in a rape fantasy," she said. "The people in this town are ready to believe anything about him. I made sure of it."

An evil mastermind in pink linen.
"It was you. You killed Farnsworth."

"
I
loved
him." Though her voice trembled, the hand gripping her pistol never wavered.

"
Love stinks," I slurred. "Believe me, I know. But still, did you have to off him?"

The words sounded too funny
, and I started to laugh again.

"
He betrayed me, betrayed my trust. I gave him everything, helped build his career until he was famous, and he threw me over for that little slut."

"
You're married." Even in my stupor, I knew that wasn't a smart thing to say. Reasoning with the unreasonable never worked.

"
I am, and I need to stay that way. That dog intended to tell my husband. He tried to blackmail me. Me! I gave him everything, and he threatened to destroy me." Her outrage echoed in the still meadow.

"
He was a jackass," I said. "I'm sorta glad you killed him."

She looked down at where I sprawled in the dirt.
"Get up. There can't be drag marks. He'd be able to carry you."

I was lost.
"Farnsworth?"

"
Jones," she said as if I were thick.

It occurred to me then that she really did intend to kill me.
"Where is he?"
And where was Mimi?

She ignored my question and gripped me by the hair. I shrieked and slapped at her but moved up into her grasp to ease the pain in my scalp.

"I don't understand," I sulked like an irritable teenager. "Why me? What did I ever do to you?"