Chicken Soup & Homicide (30 page)

"No." She disappeared back inside. I watched the sign flick from open to closed. Okay, I guess it was my show. Though I tried to tell myself that she was demonstrating faith in me, it was more likely I'd been assigned all the undesirable grunt work, like slaving over a pot of boiling water to feed Lizzy and her rich friends.

Or maybe I was just bitter. The Tillmans lived five miles outside of town, up on a hill that cloaked itself in fog every morning. The road turned to hard-packed dirt, and I bumped along, cursing the shitty suspension on the van. I ascended slowly, wondering if I'd gotten lost. I double-checked the directions Lizzy had scrawled down on her order, then consulted my GPS app on my phone. Not that there was anyone I could ask or even anyplace to turn around. Thick forest and sheer drop offs scratched that possibility off the list. I could call Lizzy's house and ask for directions, but dying from exposure seemed like a better option than admitting I'd gotten lost in my hometown.

Finally the road evened out, and I peered through the windshield at large wrought-iron gates and the mammoth stone edifice beyond. I could even see a gargoyle perched on the roof. Wow, very "off with their heads." No wonder Lizzy was such a pill. She had an entire estate worth of people to boss around.

I saw no way around the gate but a little button below a speaker. I climbed from the van and pushed the button.

"Hi, I'm with Bowtie Angel pasta shop, here to cater for the…er…event." Shoot, I really should have asked so I knew what was going on up here.

An androgynous voice crackled over the intercom. "Drive around to the south entrance. The kitchen is in the right wing."

There was another way in. Of frigging course there was. "Where's the south entrance?"

"Circle around to the left."

Muttering, I backed out and drove around to the south entrance. The road had been freshly paved here and led serenely down the hill. Next time I saw Lizzy I was gonna tell her she had a big ugly pimple on the tip of her nose for payback.

I was third in line behind a refrigerated truck and a furniture truck. Table and chair rentals probably. On the other side of the hedge maze—I kid you not—a flurry of activity took place on the sloping front lawn. Tents were being set up, and strands of twinkle lights decorated the lower limbs of giant conifers. Fairyland in the making.

I parked the van behind the right wing and scrambled out. The ground squished beneath my sneakers, but it wasn't completely sodden. No doubt Lizzy had men with hairdryers on standby to remove any unwanted moisture from the guest's shoes.

Rapping three times on the back door, I squared my shoulders and donned my most professional demeanor. Okay, so I was the hired help, but it was good to show my face and let the townspeople know how much I'd grown and changed. Andy Buckland, the consummate professional. What a class act.

The back door opened, and the smile slid right off my face. "Kyle?"

My ex was just as surprised to see me. "Andy? What are you doing here?"

Dag-nabbit, I'd been doing a really good job
not
thinking about Kyle. Okay, maybe he'd crept in to the periphery of my thoughts once or twice, but still, he wasn't the center of my world anymore. If I could only get my mouth to spit those exact words out.

"Kyle? Who's there?" Lizzy appeared behind him. When she saw me on the steps with my mouth hanging open like a freshly caught bass she tucked her arm through Kyle's elbow. A flash of reflected light caught my attention, and I gaped at the rock on her finger. My gaze flew to Kyle's, and he looked away. Add it all up, the rock, the proprietary way she clung to him, his discomfort at seeing me, the party.

The party
. Oh cripes, I was catering their engagement party.

MURDER AL DENTE

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