Pies & Peril (11 page)

Amy smiled sweetly.
"But you're an experienced baker. Consider it a culinary challenge."

"
It would be much easier to just have the actual recipe to work from."

"
There is a negative zero percent chance of me getting one of her recipes. I barely know her husband, and I think Mandy Jo's dislike of me rubbed off on him. Plus, the only time I have spoken with another member of her family was when I had to peel her horny cousin off my husband at the funeral. I can't just waltz into Kevin's house and raid Mandy Jo's recipe box."

She crossed her arms and waited. What kind of passive
-aggressive retort would he come up with now? His eyes bugged out, despite the glaring mid-day sun, and his spray tan seemed to fade a bit. Had he figured out how absurd his request was?

"
Kristi is looking for me," he whispered. "Something must have come up at the bakery. I need to go."

Amy turned around as Elliot sprinted past her. His wife was standing on the main sidewalk. Her expression was rather blank as a breeze tugged a strand of burnt orange hair from her messy topknot. Had
she sent Elliot a distress call with hand signals behind Amy's back or had he used her as the excuse to get away from the sticky conversation?

*   *   *

Carla tossed her cell phone on the kitchen counter, so she wouldn't make a snap decision and dial the number before thoroughly considering all of her options. She was in the middle of an internal battle. Should she call Bruce and invite him over? Or spend a quiet night by herself? The hospital had called a few hours earlier asking her to trade shifts with another nurse, so she had an unexpected night off. The first thing she did was buy groceries. She had resorted to vending machine cookies and chips for her lunch the previous night, which even to her standards was worse than the usual frozen entrees she scarfed down in between patients. Now her kitchen counter was covered with grocery bags full of more frozen meals and the supplies to make a few quasi-homemade dinners for one. Or two.

The need for food was satisfied. Now she craved something, more precisely, someone
, else. Bruce had invaded her life like a fast moving infection, but she didn't want to find the medicine that would drive him away. Staying nonchalant and aloof while talking about him to Amy was getting difficult. Hell, it was hard to tell herself this was just another casual affair. Her happily single until dead motto was in danger of being kicked to the curb by the impressively muscled detective. The naughty clandestine affair they'd had two years earlier burned itself out in a few weeks without even a wisp of lingering smoke left behind. No second thoughts. No what ifs. No regrets. At that time he had said he didn't have the time or desire to be in a committed relationship either. His job was demanding and stressful along with forcing him to work odd hours. Very much like her job in the ER. They were kindred spirits who had found each other a second time. Now it all felt different. It seemed like they were both taking the fledgling relationship seriously, whether they intended to or not.

After marrying and then divorcing her high school sweetheart
, she had vowed never to fall for a guy so hard ever again. It wasn't worth the pain and heartbreak. When she got too old and tired to work third shift in the emergency room, she would switch to days and grow old with a herd of cats to keep her company. At least that's what her plans were until she did Amy the favor and cozied up with Bruce again.

That did it. She had thought of him for too long. She snatched her phone off the counter. He picked up on the second ring.
"Hey, beautiful."

"
Hey, yourself. What are you doing?"

He exhaled.
"Whatever you want."

Zing. Who needed a treadmill when he could send her heart rate skyrocketing?
"Well were you planning on doing something before I called? I don't want to interrupt."

His voice was like smooth, smoky whiskey when he said,
"Ordering pizza or some other kind of take-out for dinner."

"
It's serendipity. I just bought groceries. Why don't you come over, and I can make dinner?"

"Sounds good to me. I'll be there in about half an hour."

Carla looked at the grocery bags then glanced down at her outfit. Yoga pants and a tank top. Not date night attire.
She haphazardly tossed the frozen entrees into the empty freezer and stashed the bag of shelf-stable foods in the small cabinet pantry that came with the condo, but she barely utilized. She sprinted to her walk-in closet. The casual outfit was tight and a bit skimpy, but was more gym rat than sexy. A pair of jean shorts and a chili pepper red halter top would send the correct message. Bonus that the shirt was the same color as the tomato sauce she would be making. She was far from graceful or accomplished in the kitchen. Drips and spills were a frequent occurrence when she stepped up to the stove.

She changed into the new outfit then made a stop in the bathroom to apply fresh lip gloss and
a spritz of tropical flower-scented body spray. Still a few more minutes before Bruce was due to arrive. Arranging groceries was a better way to occupy herself than fiddling with her hair in nervous anticipation of Bruce's arrival. She rearranged the meals in the freezer, separating them into stacks categorized by main ingredients – chicken, beef or vegetables. Then she retrieved the bag from the pantry and pulled out the ingredients she would need to use for dinner from the other staples. Amy would be appalled to see she had bought a pound cake from the store bakery, but baking really wasn't her forte. Little, individual hot fudge trifles made with store-bought cake, jarred hot fudge sauce, and whipped cream from a can were a private indulgence that she often made after struggling through a chaotic shift. Usually she cut the cake into cubes and froze small, one-serving size bags of the chunks so she could thaw them in the microwave. Tonight the luscious components would make dessert for two.

When the doorbell rang she sucked in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. It didn
't help to calm the crackling excitement racing through her body. She opened the door and smiled at the cop with the six-pack abs holding up a six-pack of beer. "You didn't need to bring anything. I have beer and wine."

He
winked. "I thought you were supposed to bring booze for the hostess when you got invited to a dinner party."

Carla shut the door.
A trace of musky aftershave drifted behind him. As she took the beer and walked into the kitchen she said, "I don't think it's a dinner party when there are only two people involved."

"
It can always turn into a party when beer is involved." He slid his hands down her sides and settled them on her hips as she swung open the refrigerator door. She shoved the clanking six-pack inside and whirled to face him. He waggled his eyebrows. "Ulterior motives. I have them."

She wriggled closer. Thank god the air conditioning was cranked up. His hands were so hot it felt like they were melting through the back pockets of her shorts. As he nibbled down the side of her neck she spotted the pound cake on the counter
and thought about Amy. Might as well get the stuff about murder suspects out of the way so she could enjoy the rest of the evening without feeling guilty. "Speaking of motives, Amy stopped by yesterday. She was doing her civic duty and had dropped off some frozen meals at Kevin Pierce's office. I know she's under a lot of stress after finding a body and then receiving the threats, but she thinks Kevin is having an affair with his secretary. If that's true, knowing how malicious Mandy Jo was, it could've been safer for either one of them to kill her than risk the paybacks."

He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the countertop.
"I haven't caught wind of an affair. Maybe you're right about Amy seeing into things because she's stressed out, but I'll dig a bit and see what I can come up with. It certainly isn't unusual for a hubby to get rid of his nagging wife so he can upgrade to a newer model."

"
There's one more thing," she said as she slid closer to him again. She wanted to help Amy, but she didn't want to distract him too much with the case. Not at that moment. "Have you ever thought of the possibility that the murderer and the person threatening Amy could be two different people?"

He laughed.
"You're full of theories today, or is this more of Amy's doing?"

"
Amy thought of it, but I do think she could be right. Somebody could be tired of losing to her in the baking contests, so they're trying to scare her away from the pie contest redo next month."

"
Are cooking competition competitors that ruthless? The department is taking the notes as death threats. That's a serious offense."

Carla
's stomach rumbled. She needed to make dinner so she wouldn't run out of energy later. As she bent to retrieve the pasta pot from the lower cabinet beside the refrigerator she said, "Amy has won things like a refrigerator and cheese for a year in other contests. I wouldn't think the couple hundred bucks to win the Summer Festival competitions would be worth the risk of going to jail. It's hard to imagine a person getting that wound up over a pie, but you know people do some very bizarre things."

"
I know that." He shook his head. "There have been so many times I've wondered what people were thinking when they committed a crime and how they thought they wouldn't get caught."

"
Maybe they weren't smart enough to plan beyond the actual crime and consider the consequences."

"
True. Does Amy have any idea who the person sending the notes could be, if it isn't the murderer?"

"
I don't think so, but she's bound to come up with something soon. She has a pretty vivid imagination, so I hope you don't end up on a wild goose chase following her theories."

"
It won't hurt for me to poke around a bit. Just tell Amy to be careful. If there really is a second person sending the notes, there could be two people after her if Mandy Jo's killer thinks she's onto them." Bruce moved behind her again as she emptied the jar of spaghetti sauce into a saucepan. He draped his arms around her waist. One hand slipped lower and settled in the front pocket of her shorts. "What can I help with?"

She
swallowed and pointed at the collection of liqueur bottles on the small, mirrored cart she used as a bar in the living room. "Grab the vodka. I'm making spicy vodka sauce with pancetta."

He
kissed her shoulder as he released her to trek to the cart. The bottles clinked as he poked around looking for the correct spirit. He held up a bottle in each hand. "Vanilla or regular?"

"
What do you think?"

He set the vanilla-flavored variety back on the cart.
"I
hope
it's the normal stuff, but I never know. You do hang around with a rabid foodie. I took a date to a fancy restaurant once, and she ordered scallops with vanilla sauce. It smelled like fish cookies."

"
Ewww." She took the bottle from him, twisted off the cap, and poured a few glugs into the pan with the tomato sauce. "Sounds like something Amy would order and then make me try, because it's innovative or a new trend. I just want food that tastes good, but she'll try anything because it's rare or unique."

"
I promise. I'll never make you try weird foods."

He nuzzled her neck as she emptied the package of pre-cubed pancetta into a hot frying pan. The sizzle matched the sensation of molten blood pulsing through her veins. She gasped when he gently nipped her earlobe.
"Thank you."

"
For promising to never make you eat funky food?" He forged a line of tiny, gentle kisses across the back of her neck. "Or doing this?"

"
Both." A splash of water sizzled and sputtered on the glass of the flattop range. The pasta water was boiling, but she had been so busy trying not to self-combust she hadn't realized it. "Can you hand me the package of pasta?"

He sighed.
"I suppose now that you've started cooking you can't put dinner on hold?"

"
It'll be done in a few minutes." She grabbed the box of linguine from him. It rattled like a maraca as she tried to pry open the cardboard flap. She was shaking like she had drunk a pot of coffee. "Good things come to those who wait."

He
leaned back on the counter behind her. She dumped the broad strands of pasta into the boiling water. Concentrate. There weren't many dishes she was good at, but the vodka sauce was one of them. Deep down she wanted to impress him, just a bit, with her cooking. Great. Now some kind of repressed Martha Stewart tendencies were surfacing in her. This man was twisting her life around in unbelievable ways. Like an extreme carnival ride that left her disoriented and dizzy.

"
Hey, what's this for?" he asked as he held up the jar of fudge sauce that was destined for the pound cake.

"
Dessert. Hot fudge and pound cake trifles. They're my specialty."

The jar
's lid popped when he unscrewed it. He stuck his finger in the gooey, thick sauce then dabbed a bit of it on her lower lip. "Do we have to use it on the cake?"