Chicken Soup & Homicide (14 page)

Amy broke into a sprint in the foyer. "You can't stop me," she taunted in a singsong voice as she slid into the kitchen. Momentum, socks, and tile floors were a great combination. She was slipping on her boots when Carla made it into the room. Amy grabbed her coat off the rack next to the door and scooted outside before Carla could protest again. "I'll be back in a minute."

Outrunning fitness-fanatic Carla was a small miracle. She must've lost a lot of sleep over the mess Pitts had made of her life to lose a race. The cold air was like an invigorating slap in the face. It just made Amy angrier. By the time she stomped up the driveway and across the road, she felt like she could rip the door off of Pitts's car. Lucky for him, he rolled down the window.

"What do you think you're doing? Stop stalking me and my friends. Do your job and go find the real killer."

His grin made ice shoot up her spine. "Stalking killers is part of my job. So I am working."

"Carla wasn't in the civic arena at the time of the murder, and I'm sure if you tried, you can find me in plain sight on security cameras. But you'd rather sit outside my house, probably playing Candy Crush on your phone, and pretend you're doing your job. Preston Neale, whose life was ruined by Britton, was falling-down drunk backstage at the showdown. Have you figured out what he was doing?"

His left eye twitched. "People said investigating would be different in a small town. I didn't realize that meant having a Betty Crocker impersonator telling me how to run my case. I have found you on the security tapes, hanging around and making sure you're on camera. But that doesn't make you innocent." He leaned toward the car door. "You know what I think? You're hoping that telling me how to do my job will distract me from finding your link to the murder."

No. I'm hoping you'll find the actual murderer and leave me alone.
"News flash. I have no link to the murder. I barely knew Britton. Why would I want him dead?"

"To win the showdown."

The ridiculousness just got stupider. "You've told me that already. Remember? That proves my point that you are confused. For some reason you seem to think harassing people is work. Would you like to come in and see my trophy collection? I don't need to kill my competitors to win a cooking contest."

The car's window slid up. Snow arced from the back tires of the Impala as it pulled away. She wrapped her unbuttoned coat around her stomach and jogged back to the house. By the time she walked through the door, she was sweating. Anger—the internal self-combustion furnace.

"Carla? Where are you?"

Carla walked into the kitchen from the foyer. She swiped the back of her hand across her face in an attempt to wipe away the gray mascara-tinted lines of tears. "Right here. I was just watching through the windows next to your door to try to stay hidden. What did he say?"

Amy stomped snow off her boots onto the doormat. She frowned as she shrugged off her coat. Why had Carla been crying? "Apparently he's gone through security tapes and found that I was in plain sight while Britton was being murdered, but that still hasn't cleared me."

"Bruce thinks Pitts is grasping at straws because he has no solid leads." Carla ran her fingers through her hair, making it stand on end on the top of her head. "The good news for you is, he's obviously found proof that you didn't kill Chet. Even if he's pretending you had something to do with it, he knows you didn't do the stabbing."

Amy balled her hands into fists and growled. "He's not the only one that can play a rousing game of What If. He wants to throw out far-fetched murder schemes, what about him?"

Carla collapsed on the breakfast nook bench with a sigh. "I don't understand. What about who?"

"What if Pitts has something to do with Britton's murder? He's accused me of trying to divert his attention by pointing out more likely suspects to him. Maybe by pursuing us, he's doing the same thing, drawing attention away from his involvement in the murder."

Amy flipped on the stand mixer. Immediately the scent of maple filled the kitchen as the beaters whipped the butter and maple sugar. It smelled like breakfast in a sawmill, with the background aroma of sawdust from the construction. Sophie and her regular crew were busy in the small kitchen at the current Riverbend Coffee, working through the morning rush. Amy was hanging out in Maxson's former kitchen so she wouldn't get in their way. Maple blondies wasn't the sort of recipe she was supposed to be developing, but when she arrived that morning, they just sounded good. Warm and comforting, like a baked-goods hug. She was supposed to be working on soups, sandwiches, quiches, and casseroles to expand the coffee shop's small menu to full menu, cafe size. Lunch and dinner items that ranged from healthy vegan bean soups to decadent prosciutto and provolone rigatoni.

She slid the mixer control to high to whip the butter until it was soft and pillowy. The whine of the engine along with the hammering and clanging of the construction workers mimicked the atmosphere in her mind. Hopefully Carla and Shepler were having a romantic, worry-free time at their hotel, because she was worrying enough for all three of them. The idea that Pitts was involved with the murder had materialized in her mind out of thin air, but she had spent a good part of the night tossing and turning thinking about it. Finally she decided that was the longest of the long shots because it was very unlikely that he would've made contact with Britton while he was still alive. Pitts had only recently moved to Michigan and didn't seem like a gourmand who would hang out at Cornerstone.

Then Alex didn't crawl into bed until after 1:00 a.m. At least he had been in his office downstairs for the three hours before that instead of at Quantum or wherever. She picked up a wooden spoon and banged out an awkward rhythm on the metal counter. One more layer of noise to overload her brain and shove out the thought that her husband could be cheating on her.

"Oh my god, it smells awesome in here."

Amy whirled around. Sophie was peering into the mixer bowl. With all of the noise and distracting thoughts, Amy hadn't heard her come in. Or Sophie was also a ninja in her spare time. "I found some maple sugar on sale at Columbo's, so I thought I would try making blondies with it." She held up her hands. "I know—I'm supposed to be making soups and sandwiches, but these just sounded good."

"No protest from me, as long as you write down the recipe so I can make them."

"That's what I'm doing." Amy held up the notepad where she was scribbling down measurements and ingredients. "Anything I make here is for Riverbend."

Amy lowered the beater speed and spooned flour into the mixer bowl. A small white cloud rose above the rim. She slid the speed adjustment lever a bit more into the slow range. The recipe wouldn't work right when Sophie tried to make it if part of the flour ended up floating away.

"I have a proposition for you," Sophie said as she handed the bottle of vanilla extract to Amy. "I love having you here right now. So I was wondering if you would like to continue working on a regular basis once the café opens. It would just be part time, and you could set your hours, but I was thinking it would be nice to have some extra help in the mornings to get all of the breads and casseroles made ahead of time for the lunch and dinner rushes."

A job. Amy hadn't had one since leaving Elegance Salon almost three years earlier, after she had discovered the world of competitive cooking. Food was her passion, but hanging out in her own kitchen day after day had become a bit boring. Now that Alex was barely around and Carla was spending her free time with Shepler, it was lonely too. She talked to the dog more than people, and that was only after she lured Pogo out of his newest favorite hiding spot, under the couch in her craft room, with homemade dog biscuits. Working at a café would let her indulge her craving for human contact, and she'd still be around lots of food. The daily grind of a job might not be much of a grind at Riverbend. "Let me think about it. It has been so nice coming in here to hang out with you and your employees. I just don't want to say yes and then put you in a bind if I change my mind. There's so much going on right now I'm not really thinking straight."

"I understand. No pressure. If you don't want to do it, not a big deal. I need to hire quite a few new people anyway. Just thought I'd ask in case you want the position."

"So I get first dibs?"

"Yup."

"Can I have first dibs on whatever you're making?" Trisha asked as she walked into the kitchen. She nodded at Sophie. "Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I just left the herbs you ordered in the other kitchen, and your assistant said you were over here. What's in the mixer? It smells divine."

Amy couldn't help but smile. The morning was getting better by the second, and there was nothing like a compliment to offset a funky mood. "Maple blondies. They should be done in about forty-five minutes, if you'd like to sample them."

"You bet I do, but unfortunately I can't hang around that long. Hopefully I can stop back later, when I'm done with my deliveries." Trisha handed a yellow receipt to Sophie. "I brought basil, thyme, dill, and parsley. Is there anything else you wanted?"

"Not that I can think of." Sophie looked at Amy and raised her eyebrows. "Is there anything you would like for a recipe?"

"No, those sound fine." Amy peeked into the bowl. All of the flour had been absorbed into the butter and eggs. She shut off the mixer so the batter wouldn't develop gluten and get tough. "Although I could use some cilantro and oregano for home. You wouldn't happen to have any extra with you? I get so spoiled in the summer when I can walk out my back door and pick all of the fresh herbs I want from my garden."

Trisha tapped the screen of her smart phone. "I always bring a few extra bundles with me, and I have both of those in the truck. They're yours if you want them."

"Oh please. That will save me a trip to the market."

Trisha nodded. "Have you ever tried growing herbs indoors in the winter? I have a bunch of minigardens that I just potted up. Alice Goodrow is making custom-glazed pots for me. The gardens are pretty cute, if I do say so myself. All you need is a sunny spot for them to hang out, and you can have fresh herbs for the rest of the winter."

"Those sound fantastic. I would love one…or two or six." Amy clapped her hands together. The house always felt so sedate after the Christmas trees and wreaths were gone. Some vibrant herb plants scattered around would help counteract the winter dreariness. "I know the perfect place for one, in the middle of my breakfast nook table. A double-duty centerpiece. I love it! When can I stop by to pick one out?"

Trisha tapped her phone screen again. "How about tomorrow around lunchtime? I don't have any deliveries to make then, so we can have lunch together
if
you promise to bring some of the blondies you're making right now."

"That would be great. I'll see you tomorrow." Amy scraped down the side of the mixing bowl with a silicone spatula. Maybe if Pitts was still playing nice guy with Trisha, he had dropped his guard and told her something about the case. Some new information to go along with the container herb gardens would be nice. "And I promise I'll bring some of these."

Carla sat on the end of the king-size bed to take off her shoes. The shiny black stiletto pumps looked sexy as hell, but they hurt like hell too. Her feet were used to padding around in cushioned, ergonomically designed work shoes made specifically for nurses. Luckily, dinner was at the French restaurant in the lobby of the hotel and not a two-block walk away. Her feet had protested, but she survived the outing. She tossed the shoes next to the dresser on her way to the hot tub.

"Shall we give this a try? A nice long soak sounds perfect to me right now."

No response. She turned on the faucet and sat on the edge of the platform surrounding the two-person tub. Bruce was staring out the window. The view was spectacular, high above downtown Detroit, but she doubted the twinkling lights of the skyline were keeping him from acknowledging her question. She adjusted the water temperature and tried again. "Hello? Are you up for trying the hot tub now?"

He turned around. Carla shivered even though steam was rising from the hot water filling the tub. It was like he wasn't even looking at her. She was a transparent ghost to him. Obviously his mind was still far away from the luxury hotel room they were in. The perfect getaway that they'd been planning for weeks wasn't going like she'd hoped. More strain and tension instead of romance and relaxation. Finally Bruce answered, "Sorry. I was thinking about something. The hot tub sounds good."

"I can see you were thinking." She crossed the room to stand in front of him. "And I think it's time to get your mind off of whatever is bothering you. You've been far too serious today. This is supposed to be a getaway for both of us, not quiet time for you to ponder a case." She turned her back to him. "Can you unzip my dress?"

She gasped as his warm breath touched her shoulder. Slowly he pulled down the zipper. It had taken her a month to choose the perfect little black dress to wear to dinner. She'd even had the sleeveless sheath with the keyhole neckline tailored to fit her like a glove, but the effort seemed silly now. Bruce had barely looked at her as they ate mussels in champagne sauce and blood orange crème brûlée at the fancy restaurant. She slid the dress off her shoulders and wiggled a bit to ease it over her hips. The fabric puddled around her ankles. She was left standing in the bits of black silk and lace that made up her bra and panties. Hopefully that would turn the evening around. She closed her eyes and listened for any sound that would give away what Bruce was doing. All she could hear was the water splashing into the tub.

Carla looked over her shoulder and her heart thudded. He was looking out the window again. "What are you doing? I'm standing here in skimpy underwear, and you're admiring the view out the window?" She stalked to the tub and slammed down the faucet lever. "What is going on? This crap about me murdering Chet sucks, but why can't we enjoy ourselves…right now?"