Murder Al Fresco (17 page)

"Oh hey, Andy, it's Gladys Murphy. Remember we were in art together my senior year?"

It wouldn't be Beaverton if there wasn't twenty minutes of "remember when" to kick off every conversation. "Hey, Gladys. Is Kyle in?"

 "No, sorry, doll, he isn't. I can give you his cell number if you want to try to get ahold of him that way."

"Already tried that, thanks. When was the last time you saw him, Gladys?" I asked, my gaze locking with Mimi's. "Is he out on a call, or has he not been in yet?"

"I haven't seen him since yesterday. Hold on. I'll transfer you to Deputy Carlson. He might know more."

I bounced on my toes, hoping that my gut feeling was wrong, that Kyle had gone out for a beer, had a few too many and was sleeping it off somewhere.

"Andy." Dwight Carlson had a twangier drawl than the average North Carolina native. He'd been born in Texas, and even though he'd been a native since his fifth birthday, he had never forgotten his roots. "What can I do you for?"

"Hi, Dwight. Have you seen the sheriff? He was supposed to take some samples to the lab for me, and I need to know what they found out."

"Samples? I don't know nothing about no samples. Last I seen the sheriff, he headed out of here like a bat outta hell for your place yesterday afternoon, and we haven't seen hide nor hair of him since."

Stromboli

You'll need:

Uncooked pizza dough

1 cup fresh mozzarella

3 ounces pancetta

1 cup fresh spinach, rinsed with the stems removed

1 shallot, diced

Olive oil, about 2 tablespoons

Parmesan cheese, if desired.

2 cloves garlic, crushed

½ stick of butter

Directions:

Preheat oven to 400°F. Roll out pizza dough on a baking sheet and brush with olive oil. Layer sliced mozzarella on top. Cook pancetta in a skillet with a drizzle of olive oil until brown, about 5 minutes. Add diced shallot and rinsed spinach, and cook another 5 minutes or until spinach is wilted. Top mozzarella with sautéed mixture and roll up sideways. Brush top with olive oil and sprinkle with Parmesan cheese. Bake 17 minutes or until crust is golden brown and inside is cooked through.

While the stromboli is cooking, melt butter and sauté garlic. Serve hot with garlic-butter dipping sauce.

**Andy's note: You can fill this sucker with pretty much anything you want: sausage, meatballs, mushrooms, onions. It's basically a rolled-up pizza, so the sky's the limit!

"Any news?" Lizzy pounced on me the moment I walked through the front door. "Has anyone found Kyle?"

"No." I dropped my purse on the same end table where I'd plopped it the night before. Crazy how fast I could acclimate to a new place. Must be all the practice moving I'd had in the last eighteen months. "And he never brought the food samples in to be tested. As far as we can tell, he picked them up from the pasta shop yesterday afternoon then fell off the face of the earth. He could have gone on a total bender or be having a way overdue lost weekend."

Lizzy's bottom lip trembled.

I let out a sigh. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so callous."

"It's just so unlike Kyle." Lizzy shook her head.

She was right, it was unlike Kyle, but he was a trained law enforcement officer, and I couldn't make a move without the press vultures swooping in to pick at my rotting carcass. Best to change the subject. "I'm sure he's all right though. Is your brother here?"

"He's in the pool with Clayton."

I put a hand on her shoulder. "Kyle will turn up, safe and sound. Try not to worry."

Lizzy nodded. "I think I'll go back to my house for the night, if that's okay."

"You shouldn't be alone."

"I won't be. My dad's there."

We stared at each other for a beat. Maybe she would have been better off alone than with her father, but it was her choice. "Call if you need anything. Or if you hear from Kyle."

"Back at you." She gave me a quick and totally surprising hug. "Take care of the Jones boys."

I doubted I could take care of an air fern in my present state of mind, but recalled Jacob's advice.
Fake it till you make it.
A much better mantra than Aunt Cecily's
Your Nana would be so disappointed.
"Will do. Call me if you want to talk."

She blinked but then smiled. "See you later."

I headed upstairs to change into my swimsuit and then out to the pool for a dip. Jones was in the water, and Clayton, on hands and knees, scampered around the edges wearing nothing but water wings and a swim diaper. He dodged Jones's outstretched hand and then scrambled away, while his dad tracked him from the water. Suddenly Jones lunged up out of the pool, and Clayton squealed in delight as he was plucked like a daisy. From the amount of displaced water, I could tell they'd been at this a while.

"Glad to see someone is having fun." I sat on a nearby chaise to watch.

"We did this all morning," Jones said, looking pleased that he'd successfully entertained his son.

"So much better than what I did all morning."

Jones put Clayton's feet on the ground and held his hands to help the little guy walk over to me. Clayton gurgled in excitement, tugging his dad forward so that he could reach me as soon as possible.

"That bad?" Jones asked.

I snuggled the wet little boy, breathing in the scent of chlorine and baby shampoo. "And then some. Still no word from Kyle, no clue who had the keys to the pasta shop. The press practically filleted me during my statement about the re-launch."

Jones kissed the top of my head. "I thought you handled it beautifully."

I smiled up at him. "You're sure in good spirits."

He nodded. "Well, Clayton's doctor's appointment went well. You were right. We need to get him off the bottle."

"But he's healthy otherwise?" I said, picking the little guy up and heading toward the pool.

"As a horse. I got ahold of his grandmother, and she's having all his medical records sent to the pediatrician down here. Dr. Lovegood said she would look them over and let us know if there's any problem."

"Well, that's one less worry."

"Don't fret, love. The re-launch is a brilliant idea, and putting Jacob in charge will give you time for other things." His blue eyes sparkled as he said that.

"Did you have anything in particular in mind?" I waded into the pool, enjoying the cool water lapping at my midsection.

 Clayton splashed happily in my arms.

"I think I know how to find your blogger." Jones grinned.

"What?" I asked, startled. "How? You were supposed to spend all day with Clay."

"It's a lead I put in yesterday. My IT guy was able to trace the blog to the server and back to the unregistered cell phone that has been posting directly to it. Seems as if Fangirl#1 is in Beaverton. The latest post was a video from your public statement and was uploaded not even five minutes afterword. I tried to track the phone, but it's been turned off."

"So the blogger is in town," I mused, trying to recall faces in the crowd and failing miserably. "Still, how do we find the blogger? Wait for her to power it up again?"

"Simple," a voice said from behind me. I turned to see Lacey, this time sporting a black rhinestone bikini and a cat-in-the-cream smile. "You do something newsworthy to draw him or her out."

"What good will that do?" I swirled in the pool, and Clayton kicked with glee.

"I have the phone number to the cell phone. All we do is call it and then see who answers."

It was a pretty straightforward plan, but I still saw a major flaw. "So what would be considered newsworthy?"

"That's easy." Jacob appeared from the side door, glass of Scotch in hand. "You tell the world that I'm your long-lost father."

"What?" I gaped, looking from one face to the next, to the next. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" Lacey pressed.

"Because." I scowled at her for daring to ask. "This won't be a safe hiding place for Clayton if I do."

"I'll hire security," Jacob shrugged. "No one will get past the gates."

"You can't be serious." I turned to Jones, pleading with him. He of all people should understand.

"I'm afraid there's nothing else that will work as proper bait." His eyes were on me.

Clayton splashed, but I'd gone motionless in the water, my thoughts churning. "Would you two mind giving us a minute?"

"Let me take ze little one in. He gets ze sunburn," Lacey offered.

I couldn't use Clayton as a human shield, no matter how tempted I was to do just that. "Thanks," I whispered, climbing from the pool and handing him over.

"Andrea," Jones began, but I held up a hand, glancing at the Griffins' retreating backs.

I took the time to towel myself off, afraid I was about to break down and cry like a weenie. "Was this your idea or Lacey's?"

"The scheme was mine, but Lacey suggested outing your relationship with Jacob as the content. She said he wouldn't mind taking some of the heat off of you."

I huffed out a breath and put my hands on my hips. "You know this will devastate Pops and Aunt Cecily."

Jones shook his head. "Not if you tell them why you're doing it beforehand."

I sagged onto a nearby chaise, towel wrapped around my shoulders. "Malcolm, I don't want to do this."

He studied my face for a minute. "Why?"

I shook my head.

"Tell me why."

"You're just going to try to talk me into it."

He took my chilled hands in his warm ones. "I promise to listen to whatever you have to say. If it's only about your grandfather and Aunt Cecily, we'll let them in on it."

Swallowing, I did my best to gather my thoughts. "It's not just that. Letting him claim me publicly, like a piece of baggage he lost several decades ago, I just don't feel right about it."

"I know," Jones said. "I felt the same way about my father. He hadn't wanted anything to do with me for most of my life, so why bother giving him a chance?"

"So why did you?" I asked, searching his gaze.

"Lizzy," he said. "I wanted the chance to know my sister. She's the only family I have left. And I don't regret it."

"I don't have any siblings though. Although his trophy wife is my age."

Jones snorted. "You bicker like siblings too."

We sat quietly for a time. "It's just Jacob. Just him and me. He's been kind, generous about helping with the pasta shop. I don't think it's out of guilt either. Come to think of it, I don't think he feels at all guilty."

"And that upsets you."

I nodded. "I mean, he left me with her, you know? He knew she was loony tunes, but he left me behind in her care. What decent father would do that?"

Jones blanched, and I realized a second too late that he might be applying my sentiments to his own situation with Clayton.

"Not the same thing at all, Malcolm. You didn't know about Clayton."

"But if I did," he cautioned, "I might have done the same thing as Jacob. Would that make me a bad person?"

Slowly, I shook my head. "No, but I wouldn't expect him to forgive you either."

"He's not asking for forgiveness or even private acceptance. He only wants to help us save your reputation as a chef. So the question is, do you think the pasta shop is worth one afternoon of playacting?"

When he put it that way, I didn't feel as though I had much of a choice. "Fine. Let's go see if they'll babysit Clay."

Jones rose and extended a hand for me. "Where are we going?"

I stood up, clutching my damp towel. "You said we should tell Pops and Aunt Cecily beforehand. It won't be any easier if we sit on it. Just make sure you wear your running shoes."

*   *   *

My earlier statement about the grand reopening of the Bowtie Angel must have given the press plenty to chew on because the only vehicle parked at the little A-frame rental was the town car. I sat frozen with my hand on the doorknob, still trying to figure out what to say.

"Andrea?" Jones put a hand on my knee. "It will be alright, love."

I wanted to believe him, but I knew better. "Like a Band-Aid, right? We'll just rip the sucker off and see what sort of gruesome wound is left."

Jones shook his head then leaned over to kiss me on the forehead. "Always so dramatic."

After a silent Hail Mary, I crossed myself then got out of the car. Since I sort of lived there, knocking would have come across as phony—plus I didn't want to give my relatives a chance to shut the door in my face. After fumbling with the key, I let myself in, Jones guarding my back.

Aunt Cecily stood in front of the kitchen stove stirring something that smelled divine. Pops had SportsCenter on in the living room with Roofus flopped on the couch next to him. Both turned at the scrape of the door but then resumed what they were doing a moment later.

"It's like someone choreographed a shunning," I hissed to Jones under my breath.

"Dinner smells excellent," Jones called out. "Is there enough for us?"

I elbowed him in the ribs, widening my eyes to send the silent message that he wasn't helping. He held out his arms, palms up in a well-I-had-to-do-something sort of gesture.

"You, go wash for supper," Aunt Cecily said.

"Was that you for Eugene or for us?" Jones whispered in my ear.

"I'm not sure. Let's treat it like it's for us until they say otherwise." I'd never known my aunt to turn someone away at mealtime.

Pops was already struggling to extract himself from the overstuffed sofa. I darted over and gripped his hand, helping him to his feet. He grumbled an insincere sounding thanks then shuffled to the hall bathroom. Jones was washing up in the sink while Aunt Cecily ladled soup into Nana's wedding china.

"What's the special occasion?" I moved up beside her to take two of the already full soup bowls to the table. I was thrilled to see she'd made sausage and tortellini soup, not just because it was a personal favorite, but it was another naturally nightshade-free dish for Pops to enjoy.

Aunt Cecily didn't look at me as she reached for the next empty bowl. "We are old. We might die if we wait for a special occasion."