Cooking Up Trouble (3 page)

The rocky, potholed road
narrowed as it rose steeply up from the highway toward a promontory that edged the Pacific. The road twisted through a damp, forbidding forest, roller-coastering up knolls one minute, plunging into chasms the next. The sky had darkened and towering redwoods pressed in on Paavo in the small sports car. Still the inn was nowhere in sight.

He reached for the car’s heater control and turned it on. A line from a poem he’d read years ago came back to him. “This is the forest primeval.” He could scarcely see the tops of the redwoods overhead, and below, the ground was dank with ferns and moss.

If he knew Angie was all right, he would most likely enjoy this ruggedly beautiful setting. But the town’s animosity against the inn and its proprietors was ugly and potentially dangerous. Butz didn’t seem to be the sort to throw warnings about casually, and he’d given Paavo a clear warning.

Angie shouldn’t be here.

Damn it, that rankled. He had wanted this job and this place to be everything Angie had hoped for and needed. During the last two months, friends she’d had in the restaurant business had been murdered. She’d had to handle the aftermath mostly alone, since low staffing and high crime meant he’d had to put in too many hours at his job to help.

That she wanted him to spend time with her had been clear, even before her playing her afraid-to-go-alone-to-a-remote-country-inn game.

For some reason, though, the idea of going away with her had bothered him at first. Hell, there was nothing about Angie that didn’t get to him. He’d never been involved in such an offbeat relationship before.

He was a cop. What life could he offer her? He glanced around the interior of her Ferrari. Not much, if he stayed honest. This week, at least, they could give each other time without her family or his job getting in the way. Time for serious thought about this relationship and where it was going.

If anywhere.

The road suddenly veered out of the forest and cut a narrow ledge along the side of a high cliff. The terrain rose steeply on one side of the road while dropping straight to the ocean on the other.

As he reached a section where rocks and mud had slid from the cliff onto the roadway, he slowed to a crawl. There wasn’t any room to go around them, and he was forced to drive over the loose, slippery rocks. Tires spun and the car fishtailed slightly, despite the care he took and the death grip he had on the wheel. He glanced up at the cliff looming high overhead. The rains must have caused the slide. If more heavy rains fell, the road would be closed for sure, and the people at the inn cut off from the rest of the world.

Yet another reason to get Angie away from there as soon as possible.

As the road doubled back inland, rising steadily, a sharp curve brought him to the crest of the promontory. He stopped the car. Before him stretched an expanse of barren land. At the topmost point, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, a monstrous wood-framed house perched, gargoylelike, upon the landscape.

The house was shrouded in light mist. Dense fingers of fog crept over the cliffs from the ocean and inched toward the house as he watched.

Hill Haven Inn.

Paavo could understand why the locals said it was haunted.

A couple of cars were parked in the driveway. He pulled alongside them and went inside.

“Hello?” he called from the small oak-paneled foyer. His voice seemed to echo through the house.

Touches of faded gentility—from the intricately laid oak parquet floor to the stained-glass peacock window over a hand-carved staircase—told him this had once been a beautiful home.

He heard footsteps and turned in their direction. From the darkness of a side hall, he could see the shadowy figure of a tall woman with long blond hair worn in a single braid hurrying toward him. She stopped. “You aren’t the sheriff,” she said. Her words were softly spoken, her breath hushed.

He stared. The sight of her pitched him back to years earlier, before he’d become a cop. He almost spoke the name he hadn’t allowed himself to even think for nearly a decade, but then she stepped closer, into the light, and he saw he was wrong. “Excuse me for just walking in,” he said.

Her steps were featherlight, as if she were floating. Gray, clear eyes met his. “Who are you?”

“I’m—”

“Paavo!” Angie came in through the French doors at the far end of the drawing room. It’d been only three days since she’d met him at his tiny house to say good-bye. The memory of that good-bye made his skin warm under his black sweater.

She wore a little green stretch top that dipped in front lower than he quite approved of and hugged her ribs tight, and white slacks that flowed wide and easy down to funny lime-green shoes with thick wooden soles. Her short, wavy brown hair, streaked with gold highlights, was brushed back from her face in a loose, casual style. Seeing him, she paused just long enough at the door that her wide smile and sparkling brown eyes brightened the room. Although she tried to run toward him, her shoes made it hard for her to do much more than walk fast.

Suddenly, all the hassle, all the trouble he’d gone through to get here to her, was worth it. He grinned and left the foyer and the blond woman to hurry across the room to Angie.

She was in his arms, kissing him and talking all at once. It was all he could do to kiss her back. “Where have you been?” she asked. “I was so worried about you, and with everything else here—God, I was so glad when I finally heard the Ferrari and knew you’d made it safely.”

He heard a tremor in her voice and his arms tightened. “It’s all right now,” he said quietly into her dark hair. “What’s wrong? What’s upset you?”

She pulled her head back and stared at him. “We’ve been searching and searching all evening. Everyone said not to worry. But I should have known. From the time I saw that rat. I could just feel something was dreadfully wrong.”

“Slow down, Angie. What’s happened?”

“My boss, Finley Tay. He’s disappeared.”

“The sheriff’s here.” Moira Tay stood at the front door, holding it open.

Angie heard a car door slam and a moment later footsteps on the front porch. “Sheriff Clark G. Butz,” the big man announced. Keeping his teeth clamped on a Tiparillo, he tugged on the wide brim of his beige hat, which was covered with an ill-fitting plastic rain protector.

“I’m Moira Tay.” The tall blond woman shook his hand. “Thank you for coming.”

Butz sauntered into the drawing room. Only the movement of his puffy eyelids told Angie he was carefully observing everything around him. He waved his thumb over his shoulder and without looking back said, “That’s my deputy.”

A lanky fellow bounded through the door. He snatched off his hat and pressed it hard against his stomach. “Deputy Sparks here.”

Butz passed a slow glance over Angie, Paavo, and Moira. “That’s what’ll fly if he gets riled.”

Sparks gave an embarrassed smile at what was clearly a worn joke between them. Angie didn’t think the sheriff was in any position, though, to joke about anyone else’s name.

“Well, Inspector,” Butz said, facing Paavo, “I see you made it. If I’d known the phone call coming in was about this place, I’d have led the way here for you.”

“Call?” Paavo glanced at Moira. “I thought your phones were out?”

“They are. Quint, my…my gardener, went to a neighbor’s house out on the highway to phone the sheriff.”

Angie loudly cleared her throat.

Paavo glanced her way, then put his arm around her waist and guided her forward. “This is Angelina Amalfi,
the woman I told you about.” He introduced her to the sheriff and deputy.

“I’m here to work with Mr. Tay on his menu,” Angie explained to the sheriff.

He didn’t look impressed.

“Shall we sit?” Moira interjected. They did, the three men fidgeting uncomfortably on the stiff Victorian furniture. Angie sat next to Paavo, but forward on the seat, her hip against his thigh and her hand on his knee. That didn’t add to his comfort level.

“I haven’t seen my brother since last evening,” Moira began. “He often goes out after dinner for a nature walk, so—”

“A what?” Butz interrupted.

“A walk in the woods.”

The sheriff nodded.

“Anyway, around ten or so last night, Angie—Miss Amalfi here—thought she saw a rat in the kitchen and tried to find him.”

“Him, meaning Finley?” Butz asked. “Or the rat?”

“My brother.”

“I didn’t
think
I saw a rat,” Angie said. “I know I did.”

“I’m sure, Sheriff,” Moira said, “all she saw was a little field mouse. Angie lives in an apartment building in San Francisco. She’s not used to such things.”

Angie folded her arms. “I know the difference between a small mouse and a large rat. Besides, it was dead.”

“The mouse was probably so scared it froze in its tracks,” Moira said.

“Then why was it draped around a box of rat poison?” Angie asked.

“Hold it, ladies!” Butz said. “Are we here to discuss a man or a mouse?”

“I called you here to find my brother,” Moira said.

“All right, then.”

Angie clamped her mouth shut, annoyed that they wouldn’t listen.

Paavo didn’t get it. Why would Moira Tay try to deny any connection between a poisoned rat and her brother’s disappearance? Was it too obvious a warning, or too silly to be one? Or was she simply too close to see it?

On the other hand, Paavo couldn’t help but wonder if he was being too suspicious. Too much the big-city cop, as Butz might say.

“I wasn’t worried,” Moira continued, “when Finley didn’t come home last night. He enjoys meditation—sometimes does it for hours. He’ll occasionally fast as well, to achieve an even higher level of spirituality.”

“So your brother has stayed out all night before this?”

“A few times.”

One of Butz’s eyes twitched a couple of times before he turned again to Angie. “Where is your dead rat, miss?”

“It disappeared.”

“Just like Finley Tay,” he said.

Angie noticed Paavo’s blue eyes sparkle and his lips begin to break into a grin—until he caught her disapproving glare.

“Not only did the rat disappear,” she said, facing Butz again, “but so did the whole platter he was on, the one with the lentil-soy cutlets. Even the box of poison was gone.”

“Lentil what?” Butz asked; then before she could answer, he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Never mind. Who took it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Any guesses?”

“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say it was Miss Greer.”

“Hilda Greer?” the sheriff asked. “From town?”

“She’s a terrible person,” Angie said, not caring that
the sheriff knew her. “She wouldn’t let me go into the kitchen in the morning, or let me help with lunch or dinner. What does she think I’m here for?”

“Good question,” Butz murmured.

Deputy Sparks snickered. Paavo noticed that he’d been spending the whole time sitting across the room staring at Angie. Paavo put his hand possessively on her waist and glared back at the man. Sparks scrunched down in his seat.

Angie folded her arms and leaned back against the sofa.

Butz turned to Moira. “Is anyone else here besides you two, the cook, and the gardener?”

“Yes. The inn’s investors have all gathered to be sure that when we open in three weeks, all goes according to plan.”

“Investors? Hmm. So Finley Tay isn’t the sole owner after all.”

“That’s correct.”

“Okay, who are those investors?”

“We have Mr. and Mrs. Greg Jeffers. He was a house-painter until he married.” She hesitated before adding, “Mrs. Jeffers is wealthy.”

“I see.”

“Then there’s Chelsea Worthington; she’s a student, but her parents are well-to-do and saw this as a worthy investment for her. Reginald Vane, an electrical engineer from Vancouver, and Martin and Bethel Bayman. She’s a popular channeler, with quite a following.”

“A what?” Butz asked.

“She communicates with the spirit world,” Moira explained. “A spirit speaks through her body.”

Butz’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Cult stuff.”

“Not at all,” Moira said.

“Where are these fine people?”

“Some are up in their rooms, some outside looking for Finley. And I believe the Jefferses are having an OBE.”

Butz started to ask a question, then clamped his mouth shut and instead rubbed his chin, “Is your brother’s car gone, Miss Tay?”

“No.”

“Any reason to suspect foul play?”

“None at all.”

“Was anyone here who could have given him a ride into town?”

“No.” Moira looked dejected.

“What about those men finishing up the hot tub?” Angie asked.

“That’s right.” Moira’s voice sounded hopeful for the first time that afternoon. “They didn’t want to have to come all the way out here again on Monday, so they stayed late to finish up.”

“All right.” Butz stood up. “Get me the names, addresses, and phone numbers of those hot tub boys and we’ll check them out. Right now, I’d like to talk to the investors.”

Moira also stood. “I’ll get them for you.”

“Good. And don’t worry about Tay. He probably went off to town with someone and simply hasn’t come back yet. He’s a grown man, after all.”

“But, Sheriff,” Angie said, “what if he didn’t leave? What if he’s out there hurt?”

Butz slowly turned her way. “I’ve seen those swamis on TV walking on nails. Going through fire. They say they do it all through meditating. His sister here just said Tay knows how to meditate. And nothing out there’s as bad as nails or fire. Don’t you ladies worry none. He’ll turn up, fit as a fiddle.”

Paavo, his canvas carryall
slung over his shoulder, followed Angie up the stairs and across the second-floor gallery toward the west wing. A large oil painting of Hill Haven and the cliffs near the house hung prominently beside a brilliant stained-glass window. It proclaimed to one and all the beauty this house had once possessed.

Paavo stopped at the entrance to the room he and Angie would share. It was simply furnished and was eight-sided, with so many windows it felt as if they were in a tree house. Angie stood in front of the west window, the last glimmer of light from the setting sun behind her. The softly rounded contours of her cheeks took on a reddish glow from the sun, while her big dark eyes, cast in umber shadows, looked even deeper and larger. Her full mouth had a gloss of lipstick, and the golden highlights of her hair created a glow that framed her head. His breath caught, as it so often did when he looked at Angie in repose or in some unexpected setting where he could reflect on how beautiful and special she was to him.

He knew then, beyond doubt, that he’d been right to come here to spend this week with her.

“I hope you like the room,” she said, her outspread arms taking in the two plump rose-colored chairs facing a small fireplace, the king-size bed piled high with pillows. The walls were white, the floor uncovered hardwood.

He shut the door and walked toward her.

“There’s a fully mirrored dressing room through the door on the left, and a private bath just beyond it,” she said.

He dropped his bag on the floor.

“I guess that means you don’t want to see the dressing room?” She knew she was babbling.

“Come here,” he said, scarcely recognizing that choked whisper as his own.

Angie didn’t remember moving, or that he did, but in a moment she was in his arms. His hands rubbed against her waist, sliding under the edges of her green stretch top. She touched his face, scratchy with five o’clock shadow, and buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of his kiss.

They sank onto the duvet-covered feather mattress, the piles of pillows against the headboard. But in a moment, Paavo propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her, his gaze burning as his hand slowly, lingeringly slid from the side of her breast to her waist, her hip, her thigh, then back up again.

Angie couldn’t move, too languorous from the heat of his kisses, and too much in need of more. Slowly, she touched his broad shoulders and hard chest. He lifted her hand away and kissed the back of her fingers.

Why did he stop her? she wondered.

“I’ve got to talk to the sheriff,” he said. “Before he leaves. You look beautiful right there. Don’t go away.”
He kissed her again, then got up from the bed and carried his bags into the dressing room.

She felt like a balloon that’d been deflated. He had to talk to the sheriff in the middle of their big vacation welcome. Why didn’t that surprise her? She rolled onto her side. “Do you think the sheriff will have found out anything about Finley’s disappearance this quickly?”

“I don’t know,” he answered from the dressing room. “He made it clear earlier that this town doesn’t want the Tays or the inn here. The phone lines aren’t simply out of order, they were cut.”

“I can’t believe it.”

He stepped back to the bedroom, leaning against the door frame. His sweater sleeves had been pushed up to just below the elbows, his hair was mussed, and his mouth and eyes were soft. “The road signs to the inn have all been taken down. No one in town would even admit knowing about this place.”

“Maybe they were telling the truth. It doesn’t open for another three weeks.”

“Look at the size of this town, Angie.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing.” She knew she was being obstinate.

He gave the kind of cold stare he was a master at. The kind that made you ready to confess to any crime, because you were convinced he’d nail you one way or the other. “If your boss doesn’t show up tonight, I think we should leave.”

Her heart sank. This was what she was afraid of. All she had wanted out of this trip was to be alone with Paavo, to have him all to herself for once. Damn Finley Tay and his disappearing act, anyway! “You’re letting your imagination run away with you,” she said finally. Never mind that Paavo was the most coldly logical
person she’d ever met. “Finley will be here soon. It’s not a problem.”

“I hope you’re right,” Paavo said. “For now, I’ll take a quick shower and go back downstairs and see what the sheriff has to say before he leaves.”

“Okay. I’ll take one next. It should be dinnertime soon.”

He disappeared into the dressing room. She got off the bed and stood where she could watch him. Maybe Finley would show up soon and she could get on with her plans for Paavo.

She watched him take a clean shirt from his bag, then lift out a pair of Levi’s and some underwear. She watched him set his shaving things out on a shelf in the bathroom. She would have watched him take his shower, but she didn’t want to seem pushy.

As she sat on the bed listening to the water running in the bathroom, she ran her fingers over the satiny duvet, the lace on the pillow coverings, the indentation where Paavo’s head had lain. Here she was, miles from home, her boss was missing, the house was supposed to be haunted, and all she could think about was that the bed in this room seemed to be about the size of the Queen Mary. And she was ready to pull up anchor.

She was ninety-nine point nine percent certain that she was head over heels in love with this man and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. This time together would make or break their relationship, of that she was certain.

As such, this might be the most important week of her entire life, deciding her whole future.

She could handle it.

Then why were her palms perspiring?

Outside lights illuminated the driveway well enough that Paavo could see Butz standing beside his car talking with a stiff-looking middle-aged man. As soon as Deputy Sparks started the car’s engine, the man gave a bow and turned back to the inn. Butz reached for the car door handle.

“Sheriff,” Paavo called. Hurrying toward the sheriff, Paavo registered the stranger’s slicked-back brown hair, black suit, black bow tie, and white shirt as they passed. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Butz rested his elbow on the top of the car. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you found out anything about Tay’s whereabouts.”

The sheriff shrugged, his eyes slowly going over Paavo. “Well, I’ll tell you,” he said. “The more I look at it, the more convinced I am that the fellow just took off.”

“Why?”

“Well, one of these people here said they saw him talking with the hot tub boys by their car.”

Paavo was surprised. “Who was that?”

“It was that big blond guy. The one with the muscles. Jeffers, his name was.”

“Jeffers.” Paavo wondered why this Jeffers hadn’t mentioned that fact to Moira or Angie earlier.

The sheriff leaned his backside against the door of the car. Sparks shut off the engine. “In fact,” Butz said, “Deputy Sparks thought he saw Finley Tay riding through town this very morning. Ain’t that right, Sparks?”

“Sure, Sheriff.”

This was a new one, Paavo thought. “He’s sure of that?”

“Let’s say he saw a skinny guy with long brown hair worn in a ponytail.”

Paavo nodded, then spoke quietly, stating the obvious to Butz, but not letting his own suspicions show. “This area is a mecca for aging, displaced hippies. How many of them fit that description?”

“Plenty.” Butz pulled out a Tiparillo and lit it. “That’s why marijuana’s the second biggest crop in the area. Right after lumber. Hell, these days with what’s happened to the timber industry, maybe it’s the first biggest crop. But that’s exactly why the folks in this town wouldn’t care what happened to someone like Tay. We don’t want his type here. These dope-smokers killed our livelihood, and with the spikes they put in trees, they’ve even killed some of our neighbors when their saws hit the spikes. They say earth first. We say home and family first.”

“That’s why you’re not doing anything to find Tay,” Paavo said.

“Well, goddamn, Inspector, I resent that. I do. Does this look like I ain’t doing anything?” Butz spread his arms wide, taking in the whole of Hill Haven Inn and the promontory it stood on. “I spent damn near an hour here. Only to learn that even these so-called investors—like that gray-haired boozer—don’t think Tay’s hurt at all. All he talked about was Tay’s money troubles.”

“Which one was that?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Bayman, I think. Martin Bayman. In fact, he said he lent Tay a lot of money for the inn, and he’ll lose it if the inn doesn’t open. He wondered if Tay might have taken them all for a ride.”

“A con?” Paavo asked.

“Could be. Anyway,” the sheriff continued, “when I get back to the office, I’ll contact his bank and credit card companies. If anyone tries to get at any of his accounts, we’ll learn about it right away, then track him down.”

“What about doing a search out here in the meantime?” Paavo asked.

Butz’s eyes narrowed. “After forty-eight hours someone can file a missing person report if they want. Even then, I’d have to get some of the townspeople to help search an area this size. Right now, I’ll tell you frankly, I don’t think I’d be able to get three men to join me. If Finley Tay’s disappeared, the last thing anyone in this town would want to do is to find him. Second to last is to help anyone connected with this wacko group. If you’re smart, you and your lady will get into that fancy car of yours and go right back home. Like I’m doing. Big Pacific storm’s headed this way, and I want to get off this damn hill before the rains hit. That’s when this whole hilltop turns into one big water slide. Why else would a nobody like Finley Tay be able to afford this place?”

“He wasn’t very helpful, was he?” Moira Tay was waiting in the foyer when Paavo entered the inn. The way her hands were clasped in front of her, her voice so serene and slow, and with her all-black, floor-length clothing, she reminded him of a nun. But then, when he lifted his gaze to hers, the image was shattered by the bold, knowing look she gave him. A look much like that of the woman he’d known many years ago.

The wind had kicked up to almost gale force, and the storm the sheriff had talked about was sure to strike soon.

“He thinks Finley took off,” Paavo said.

“I don’t know what to think.” Moira’s only sign of agitation was the twisting together of her long fingers with their short, unpolished nails. “Dinner’s ready. Won’t you join us? Everyone’s in the dining room.”

Good, Paavo thought. He’d finally get to meet the mysterious investors. Just then a lightning bolt shot across the sky, followed almost immediately by a loud peal of thunder.

“Let me see if Angie’s ready. We’ll be right there.”

It must have been the sound of their footsteps on the hardwood floors that caused all eyes to turn toward the doorway, Paavo thought, as he and Angie stepped into the dining room.

“Hello, Angie,” a plump young woman called. “I saved a place for you and your friend right next to me.”

“Thank you, Chelsea,” Angie said. Paavo’s hand stayed at her back as they crossed the room to the table.

Woodpaneling covered the lower half of the walls, topped by redflocked wallpaper and a series of small seascapes. An enormous crystal chandelier hung over the massive mahogany dining table, and smaller tables along the walls bore colorful vases of dried wildflowers. But by far the dominant feature was a portrait of an old man with muttonchop sideburns, hung so it was seen as soon as one entered the room. One of the original owners of the house, Paavo suspected.

“Good evening, everyone,” Angie said. Paavo held her chair out for her as she sat. “This is Paavo Smith. He’s also from San Francisco.”

The investors murmured their hellos. Paavo sat next to Angie and beside him, seated at the head of the table, was Moira.

She nodded at him in greeting.

“You look pretty tonight, Angie,” said Chelsea, seated next to her.

Pretty was an understatement, Paavo thought. Angie had blown him away in her red silk jumpsuit and matching
high, spiky heels. Dangling diamond earrings flashed big bucks with each saucy turn of her head. That she’d gone to such trouble just for him made her even more beautiful in his book.

“It’s nice to have someone to dress for,” Angie replied to Chelsea’s compliment, with a smile in Paavo’s direction. He rested his wrists on the table, and she reached over to place her small, smooth hand atop his large, rough one. The heat from her touch seared all the way to his toes.

“Yes,” Chelsea murmured, “I know exactly what you mean.”

Paavo tried not to let his skepticism show as he took in Angie’s new friend. She reminded him of an upside-down turnip. Her purple sweatpants amply filled the seat of her chair, while her purple sweatshirt rose to narrow, pinched shoulders. Heavy, unkempt red hair sprawled over her shoulders, springing from a head way too small for the rest of her.

She leaned forward to better see around Angie and smiled at him. “I’m Chelsea Worthington,” she said. “From Malibu.”

“Nice to meet you,” he replied.

Chelsea’s dumpiness was in counterpoint to the flamboyance of the older woman seated across the table from her. The woman’s turquoise caftan, dotted with silver starbursts, was topped by a turquoise turban with a large crystal in the center of it. A short fringe of wiry gray hair crinkled out from under the turban, framing a face that had clearly been tanned once too often. Her cheeks had the look of dried, minutely cracked leather.

She stared intensely at Paavo, her gaze almost as charged as her hair. Then, to his surprise, she stood and raised her arms, a little like the pope giving a benediction.
“I am Bethel Bayman. And this,” she indicated the man at her side, “is my husband, Martin.”

She sat down, and they exchanged hellos. Paavo remembered Moira telling the sheriff a famous channeler was in the group. So that was she.

“Cheers.” The fifty-something man beside Bethel lifted his water glass in his left hand as if he were toasting them, while at the same time standing and reaching across the table with his right hand to shake Paavo’s. Paavo, too, stood.