Murder Has a Sweet Tooth (2 page)

And private detectives (well, at least the ones on TV) are often disgruntled malcontents, right?

It’s all so crazy, sometimes I have to tell myself I’m not dreaming. I mean, me, Annie Capshaw, once divorced and now engaged and the business manager of Jim’s wonderful restaurant . . . me, a detective? But then, maybe that’s why I find solutions to cases when even Tyler can’t: I’m not the kind of detective anyone expects. It certainly helps encourage me when I think how much my friends admire what I do. They provide a boost, and, sometimes, backup. They believe in me, even when I don’t always believe in myself.

That afternoon as I stood on Jim’s front porch, I wondered what they’d say if they knew that my detective skills had failed me completely.

The thought sat in my stomach like the remains of the BLT I’d tried to make for lunch that afternoon. I’d burned some of the bacon to a crisp. Some of it, I hadn’t cooked enough; it was floppy and greasy. When I tried to slice the sandwich into perfect pieces the way Jim always does, the tomato squished.

I pushed off from the window where I had my nose pressed against the glass and grumbled. Just like my stomach did.

In fact, I was so busy feeling inadequate and incapable of looking into even this, what should have been the simplest and the easiest-to-investigate mystery, I didn’t hear Jim’s car pull into the driveway.

Which explains why I jumped a mile when I heard him behind me.

“You’re not trying to do something you shouldn’t be doing, are ye, Annie?”

I pressed a hand to the front of my navy spring-weight jacket, the better to keep my heart from bursting through my ribs. When it comes to my investigations, I can tell a lie with the best of them. After all, a detective has to be good at that sort of thing. When it comes to Jim, though, there’s no way I could even try to prevaricate. There was no way I’d ever want to. That’s the wonderful thing about our relationship: Jim and I are completely honest with each other.

Most of the time.

I smiled in the way I knew from experience made a tingle shoot up his spine, and just to make sure I kept him off guard, I gave him a hello kiss. “I just wondered if you were home, that’s all. Nothing wrong with the bride checking on the groom, is there? I wanted to talk to you. About the menu for the reception.”

“Uh-huh.” It was three weeks before our wedding and Jim was waiting until the exact right moment to get his hair cut so that it would be perfect for our big day. When he nodded, a curl of mahogany-colored hair flopped into his eyes. He pushed it back with one hand, then looped an arm around my waist. “If ye were interested in talking about food, you could have done that at Bellywasher’s,” he said. “You knew I’d be there all day.”

“But . . .” I put my arms around his waist and hooked my fingers behind his back. “You’re not at Bellywasher’s. You’re here, at home. Which means if I wanted to talk to you, I knew I’d have to do it here.”

“Aye, but you didn’t know I would be here, did you?” Did I say I was the detective? It looks like Jim is pretty good when it comes to noticing details, too. He tugged the cuff of his shirt over his hand, reached around me, and wiped my nose print off the front window. “You’re trying to get a look inside the house.”

Of course I was.

Oh, how I hated to admit it!

“It’s not fair,” I wailed, stepping back and out of the circle of Jim’s arms. “It’s going to be my house, too. I should at least have the right to see what’s happening inside.” Just in case anything had changed in the time since I last made an attempt to check on the renovations going on inside the house, I stood on tiptoe and tried for another look. Call me paranoid, but I was sure that was why Jim had tacked a bedsheet inside the living room window. The only thing I saw was the pattern of blue and white flowers. My shoulders slumped, and I didn’t have to try to sound disappointed. “I should have some say-so when it comes to the renovation.”

“You’re in charge of the wedding.” Jim had said these words to me dozens of times since he’d announced that he was redoing his house in honor of the wedding, and believe me when I say I was not complaining. Not about the renovations, anyway. Jim lives in a wonderful ramshackle house in Arlington’s Clarendon neighborhood. He’d bought the house for a song from the elderly woman who’d lived there previously, and since he’d sunk all his money into buying it—not to mention into keeping Bellywasher’s open and thriving—there was little he could do in terms of updates. Last I’d seen it, the living room was papered in cabbage roses and violets. The dining room was red. The kitchen had aqua appliances and an avocado countertop. Or was it avocado appliances and an aqua countertop? The fact that I honestly couldn’t remember said something about how paranoid I am when it comes to cooking.

Needless to say, I am not a cabbage roses, violets, red, aqua, or avocado kind of girl.

And (just as needless to say) one of the reasons I love Jim is that he realizes it and he’s willing to change things to accommodate my tastes.

“But shouldn’t I have some say?” I lamented, as if he was following my train of thought.

Jim, ever patient, took me by the shoulders and turned me away from the window. “I’m in charge of the renovations.”

“But—”

“Uh!” Like I said, he’d reminded me of our agreement a couple dozen times already, so I guess that gave him every right to shush me. He knew continuing our conversation would get him nowhere so he smoothly changed the subject. “Did ye go get your dress fitted this morning like you were supposed to do?”

“Yes.” Was that me sounding so peeved? About what I knew was going to be the happiest day of my life?

I shook off my disappointment and crossed the porch so I could flop down on the front steps. “The dress is beautiful and it fits perfectly.”

“But?” Jim sat down beside me.

I sighed. “But Eve is taking this wedding and turning it into a coronation.” Jim laughed; I wasn’t trying to be funny. I made a face. “I told her just what I told you last fall when we got engaged. I’m not looking for the social event of the season. That’s not what this wedding is supposed to be about.”

“And I’ll tell you what I told you then. If Eve’s involved, things are bound to get . . . well . . . involved.”

“I should have listened.”

“And kept your best friend from being a part of your wedding?”

He was right. He knew it, and so did I. I gave in with as much of a smile as I could produce. “I’d never leave Eve out of the loop. I adore Eve. And besides, she’s planned so many of her own weddings, I figured she’d be the perfect one to do all the groundwork. I just never thought . . .”

Jim patted my knee. “You need to stand up to her.”

I groaned. “I’ve done my best. When she wanted that flock of doves—”

“She wanted a flock of doves?”

He turned so pale, I had to laugh. “It was a passing fancy and luckily, it passed quickly. So did the idea about the limo, and the candlelight procession and Doctor Masakazu as ring bearer.” I shivered at the very thought of Eve’s beloved and incredibly spoiled Japanese terrier being part of the ceremony. “I’ve reined her in. Honest. But now she’s talking champagne toasts and floral bouquets and—”

“Well, there will have to be champagne toasts.” Jim made it clear that the subject wasn’t open to discussion. “You can’t expect me to celebrate the best thing that ever happened to me without a champagne toast or two. Then”—he wiggled his eyebrows—“I will happily switch to a nice dark and foamy beer.”

“It’s not the toasts I’m objecting to, it’s the silver-plated champagne fountain. And I don’t mind flowers. Of course I don’t mind flowers at a wedding. But carnations can be just as pretty as orchids, and there isn’t room in Belly-washer’s for the kind of gigantic floral sprays Eve is talking about. They’d fill the bar and leave no room for guests. And she wants your cousin Fi’s children in the wedding, too. All of them!” It’s not that I dislike children. In fact, I’d like to have a couple of my own. But I knew Emma, Lucy, Doris, Gloria, Wendy, Rosemary, and Alice all too well. When they stayed with Jim for a couple weeks the previous spring, Eve had taken them under her wing and transformed the girls from hellions into well-behaved young ladies. These days . . . well, without Eve’s constant tutoring and with a new little brother to tease, the girls were back to their couch-jumping, sister-pushing, careening-through-the-house selves. I knew this for a fact because Fi and Richard had just moved to the area from Florida and we’d seen them the previous weekend. My head was still pounding.

I sighed, and I knew Jim understood. I’d bet his head was still pounding, too. “That’s not the kind of wedding I want. You know that, Jim. I want things to be simple. I just want to concentrate on you. And on being the best wife I can possibly be.”

“You’re already the best possible person you can be; the wife part shouldn’t be so hard.” He slipped an arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick hug. “But remember, Annie dear, even when you have the best intentions, things don’t always work out the way you planned.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t expect our wedding to be perfect.”

“I’m saying that nothing is perfect. Not weddings, not marriages. Even the ones that look perfect from the outside. Especially the ones that look perfect from the outside!”

I gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Ours is going to be. I’m going to make sure. Knowing what’s happening in the house where I’m going to live would be a good start.”

“Oh, no!” Jim threw back his head and laughed. “You won’t get around me so easily. Not when it comes to this.” He looked over his shoulder toward the closed front door. “Have you not seen Alex since you’ve been here?”

We were back to talking about everything I couldn’t see in the house, and just so he’d know I knew it, I harrumphed. “I can’t see anything. Not through the living room window or the kitchen window in the back or even the dining room window.”

“The dining room window? The one that’s so high off the ground you shouldn’t even be trying to look in it?”

I was too offended to be embarrassed. “Your neighbor’s tree has this low-hanging branch and—”

“You climbed Mrs. Malone’s tree? To try and get a peep into the dining room?” It was Jim’s turn to groan. “She’s a little old lady. She doesn’t need to see you lurking about like that, Annie, and I don’t need a bride with her arm in a cast. Besides . . .” His smile was mischievous. “I thought you’d do exactly that. Which is why I had the miniblinds installed in the dining room.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “And you keep them closed, too.”

“It’s my duty.” He grinned. “As a husband who wants to please his wife.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He stopped my objection with a quick kiss. “This is my wedding gift to you and I want it to be special. That means it has to be a surprise.”

“But—”

This time, he kissed me longer. Right before he hopped to his feet. “I just stopped home to see what Alex was up to. He didn’t answer when I called this morning. I’m going to pop inside and see if he needs any help.”

I got to my feet, too. “I could help you find him.”

Jim’s expression teetered between tolerance and I-can’t-believe-you-had-the-nerve-to-say-that. “It’s a small enough house that I think I can find him myself, thank you very much.” He unlocked the front door. “If I find ye back in that tree . . .” he warned, and he opened the door just enough to slip inside before I could see anything. I wasn’t imagining it; I heard the door lock behind him.

There was nothing I could do but wait, so I went back to the steps and sat back down. Now that I thought about it, I was surprised I hadn’t heard Alex rambling around in the house while I was trying to get a look inside. Alex is not quiet, especially when he’s working. Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard the radio he usually played at full blast, either.

The Alex in question was Alex Bannerman, Jim’s cousin who had come all the way from Scotland to be the best man at our wedding. Alex was as rough-and-tumble as Jim was quiet and laid-back, a strapping, handsome man of thirty-eight with a shock of hair as red as a Virginia sunset. Alex never talks, he bellows. He doesn’t walk, he sprints. Alex believes in taking in life not in tiny bites but in huge gulps, and he proves it by singing too loud, eating all the wrong foods (and still managing to look like a million bucks), and—as he himself admitted the very first time I met him—loving too many women with too much passion to ever make him a successful candidate for marriage.

It was impossible not to like Alex. He was like a big, friendly bear, all smiles and hugs. In fact, the only fault I could find with him was that, like his cousin, he loved to cook. I didn’t hold it against him. In fact, I’d become inordinately fond of what he called his “broken biscuit cake,” a concoction of chocolate, nuts, and crumbled cookies. So much so, in fact, that I was a little worried about fit when I went to try on my wedding dress that morning.

Alex is also a skilled craftsman. He’s a carpenter and a plumber. He’s good at painting and hanging wallpaper. There was even talk about him being an expert when it came to laying carpet. As his wedding gift to us, Alex had arrived four weeks earlier and was remodeling Jim’s house.

Who could ask for more?

Curious, both as to what Alex had been up to and why he hadn’t answered when Jim called him that day, I got up and tried for a look in the front window again, but even before I did, I knew I was wasting my time. When I heard Jim inside, I pretended I was taking a look at the pots of herbs he’d put out on the porch railing to catch the afternoon sun.

“That’s a bit daft, isn’t it?” Jim wasn’t talking about me and the plants. In fact, I’m not sure he even noticed that I was pretending to mess with the rosemary and the mint. He was lost in thought. “Alex isn’t here,” he said. “I left early this morning. I thought he was still asleep. But . . .” As if trying to work through it, he shook his head. “His bed isn’t slept in. He went out last night and I thought he’d come home after I was already in bed. Apparently not.”