Thyme for Love (Cooking Up Trouble Book 1) Read online

  “Are you saying I shouldn’t be upset that Marc may have broken the law and spent time in prison?”

  “All I’m saying is to keep an open mind, and let God show you the path to take should it be true.”

  “Maybe God’s telling me to not get involved.”

  Kitty’s blue-veined hand rested on my knee. “We need to pray.”

  Minutes later, when my aunt finally said “Amen,” God seemed as far away as the most distant star. Why, even with Kitty’s words pleading for special insight regarding Marc and our future, was He so silent when I needed Him the most?

  She squeezed my hand. “You’ve been hit hard tonight. Maybe you should call in sick tomorrow.”

  She had no idea how much I wanted to heed her advice, but I couldn’t.

  Chapter 27

  I arrived in the kitchen a couple hours later, finding it as immaculate as it was when Marc and I blew out of there last night. First thing on my agenda was a triple-shot espresso straight up. By the time batter was mixed for lemon-blueberry muffins, I was on my second cup and able to see more clearly. I could only hope the caffeine buzz didn’t wear off until I’d had a chance to face Marc. I decided against checking my appearance in the pantry mirror out of fear I’d want to stick a bag over my head and grabbed a lemon instead. I ran the yellow fruit over the grater and breathed in the fresh scent as the zest fell into the batter.

  “I came to apologize.”

  I glanced up. Marc stood in front of me, his jacket hooked over his shoulder by one finger. Dark blotches underscored his eyes. I refocused on the mixing bowl. This wasn’t where he was supposed to make his entrance. I still had to write my lines for that scene.

  “Can we start over?”

  I raised my head. Big mistake. How could I resist those soulful eyes? Still, I pressed my lips together.

  “No one kisses like you kissed me last night without feeling something, April. We both know the spark’s still there.” He closed the door and tossed his jacket over a stool.

  Reason told me to pelt him with questions, but the message hadn’t gotten to the icicles around my heart before they melted. I let him tug me into an embrace. With the grater in one hand and the lemon still in the other, my arms awkwardly wrapped around him.

  “What do you say?”

  I couldn’t answer for my closed throat. Was I some kind of crazy woman? Wanting nothing to do with him one minute and the next, ready to fall into his arms forever no matter his the past?

  He leaned back and regarded my face. “Are you okay? You don’t look good.”

  “I could say the same about you. I pulled an all-nighter at the computer last night. There’s something I need to ask—”

  The door flew open. He released me so fast I had to grab the counter for balance. The grater hit the floor with a clatter.

  “Yes, Karl?” Marc’s impatient tone matched the tight smile on his face.

  I wanted to crawl under the sink and never come out.

  Karl’s questioning gaze darted from Marc to me, then back to Marc where it settled on a lipstick smudge above his shirt pocket. A smirk formed on Karl’s lips, but he quickly dissolved it. “Pedro’s missing.”

  “Seems the cage needs a new latch,” I said. “That bird’s escaped his pen one too many times.”

  Karl’s jaw stiffened. “The cage is missing too.”

  “Who on earth would steal that bird?” A vision of Ana spiriting away the colorful beast, cage and all, popped into my mind.

  “Beats me.” Karl shrugged. “I’ve got work to do. I hope he’s got a better home now.” His eyes twinkled as he faced the door. “Sorry for interrupting.”

  After the handyman left, Marc pushed the door closed and looked at me. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That we’ll be fodder for the Rescaté gossip mill within 15 minutes. How long before Kendall finds out and we hit the unemployment line?”

  “Make that 10 minutes.” He frowned. “I’m more concerned about Pedro. His disappearance could be connected to the missing pills.”

  “That’s a stretch. That bird talks more than a politician the day before an election, and what would he have to do with the murder?”

  “That’s what I mean. No one would take him for a pet, so he has to be missing for another reason.”

  I grimaced. “I’ve had too much caffeine this morning. It’s hard for me to think.”

  Marc picked up his jacket. “I supposed we’d better treat this as two unrelated instances until we know more.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You don’t by any chance have a clean shirt do you?”

  He tilted his head to one side. “I keep a spare in my office in case of a last-minute evening meeting. Why?”

  “Unless you like your pocket decorated with my Very Berry Parfait lipstick, you may want to change.”

  With the muffins in the oven, I began setting out the makings for a coffee cake. The kitchen phone rang.

  Marc’s commander-voice came through the connection. “Everyone’s upset that Pedro’s missing. Is it possible to take the break cart out early? Some of your fresh-baked goodies might help take minds off the bird.”

  “When they’re done baking, I’ll get right on it.”

  “I’m sorry Karl interrupted before we could discuss us.” Mr. Wonderful was back.

  My stomach tightened. “Do you have time to talk in private?”

  “Got a meeting in five minutes. Can it wait until lunch?”

  “Sure. I’ll hang here until you call.” I hung up and expelled a sigh that seemed to come from my knees. Time to earn some bread while I still had a job.

  Chapter 28

  My head still reeling between suspicions about Marc’s past, the birdnapping, and Karl walking in on our embrace, I rolled my cart into Rosa’s and Helen’s work area, and flashed them what was probably a cheesy grin. “Ladies, you’re my first stop.”

  Rosa scurried over. Wearing a cherry-red blouse and green pants, she looked like Christmas in springtime. “I heard about Pedro. I hope he not outside and lost.” Her gaze slid over the selection, then lingered on the yogurt and fresh fruit I’d substituted for the coffee cake. “It look good, but I can’t eat, thinking about Pedro outside and lost.”

  “I doubt he’s lost outside since his cage is gone too. We’re hoping whoever took him wanted him for a pet. The lemon-blueberry muffins are still warm from the oven. Maybe if you eat one, you’ll feel better.”

  “Si. You right.” She picked up a muffin.

  Helen approached the cart. “I love the cute way Pedro tilts his head before he talks. If only he’d learn some new phrases. I don’t know how Ramón stood the constant repetition.”

  Rosa swallowed a mouthful of muffin. “I love when Pedro flew into the service yesterday. I think he scared the señoritas, but he not mean.”

  Helen doctored her coffee with half and half from the thermal pitcher. “Yeah. Ramón’s bird wanted to attend the service while his fiancée didn’t.”

  “Ex fiancée, Helen. Besides, after I hear them argue, I’m surprised the señorita even serve food yesterday.”

  Helen brushed sugar off her maroon blouse. “What could be worse than any other argument we’ve heard between those two?”

  “You wouldn’t understood the words.” Rosa rested a fist on her hip. “They speak Español. It was a dizzy.”

  I quirked my head. “A dizzy?”

  “She probably means doozey,” Helen said.

  Before I could ask what a doozey was, Rosa nodded. “Si. Ana was furious. She tell him, ‘If I weren’t a God-fearing señorita, Ramón, you’d be dead.’ Then he say all he needed to do was make one phone call and she’d be . . . I don’t know the word. It mean sent back to Mexico.”

  “Deported,” Helen supplied.

  “Si. Deported. Next I hear loud crash and he say, ‘If you want to throw something, make it that ring. It’s terminado, Ana.’ Then I hear her crying and coming close to the door so I hurry awa
y.”

  Helen offered a wry smile. “Good thing. That’s what you get for eavesdropping.”

  It was all I could do to keep a straight face. For someone so quick to chide her friend, Helen had hung on every word, as did I.

  The rest of the break-run went without incident, but I didn’t care. Maybe Pedro’s birdnapping was a decoy—something to throw attention away from the truth. If Ana had been the one to break into the pantry, she must have overheard Kitty telling the chief about the pills, and then come back to the kitchen expecting me to be gone.

  I yawned. If I ever escaped from this nightmare, I might even go back to crunching numbers. At least with numbers I could figure out the answers.

  A little before noon, the kitchen phone rang. Seeing it was Marc, I poised my hand above the receiver. Maybe it would be better to wait until after work for our discussion, or even after supper. What about tomorrow? A vision of another sleepless night crept into my foggy brain. I grabbed the receiver before I could change my mind. “Kitchen. April Love.” Not my usual “Hi Marc” I’d been using with him.

  “Want to catch a sandwich in Lake Geneva? You choose the restaurant.”

  He was making it sound like a date. Hardly what I had in mind. “I’m not really hungry. Can’t we just meet to talk?”

  “Not even Popeye’s? You always liked—”

  “I was there with Kitty a few days ago.”

  “Okay, but I’m starved, and this is the only free time I have. You can tag along while I eat.”

  A half hour later, I sat in Marc’s Escape with him at the wheel and me wishing I were anyplace else. I let him do most of the talking. His mom was planning a visit in July, and she wanted to have a girls’ night out with me. Was he delusional? Or was I? Maybe this was a new tactic. Pretend I’d agreed to renew our relationship, and it would turn out to be the truth. My chest ached, and I slumped against the seatback. After I asked Marc about the post, I doubted he’d still want me around. Was knowing the truth worth losing the only man I ever loved? If I left Rescaté, would Marc be accused of killing Ramón? The pretend game was beginning to look good.

  I studied his profile, enjoying the maturity the lines around his eyes had given him over the past eight years. I never thought I’d like a beard on any guy I dated, but on Marc it suited him. My friend Lonny back in Atlanta would call it sexy. A tiny scar still nicked his right eyebrow. An injury he once told me happened when he was around five and fell while carrying a glass. Canoga Lake wasn’t big enough for the two of us, and I sure didn’t want to go near Chicago. Too close to Dad. Maybe I’d apply to cook on a cruise ship. A ship headed for Singapore. The further away from this place the better.

  We stopped at a deli for sandwiches to go, then walked two blocks to the Riviera dock. Although the day had warmed to near seventy degrees, the grounds were free of people except for the guys readying the excursion boats for summer. We circled the structure and passed the deserted beach off to our right. Marc pointed to a bench across from the Polaris, an early 20th Century yacht now owned by the excursion boat cruise line. “How about there.”

  We settled on the seat, and I took a deep breath. The familiar fusion of fresh lake air and motorboat exhaust escorted me on a mental excursion back to a time when my biggest worry was who my college roommate would be. Across from us a pair of brawny young men worked behind plastic sheeting on the Polaris, while off to the right in front of the Water Safety Patrol shed, was the infamous spot Marc and I had met.

  “Aren’t you eating?”

  I glanced at him. He had wrapped his mouth around his sub, about to take a bite. “I was just remembering.”

  He moved the sandwich away from his face. “Good memories?”

  I stared at my turkey and Swiss. “Yeah. The best.” I needed sustenance, but how could a girl eat when she felt like something one of Kitty’s cats had dragged in? The aroma of spices and oil from Marc’s lunch wafted to my nostrils. My stomach lurched, and I closed the wrapping around my food. “I think I’ll save my lunch for later. Too many samplings this morning.”

  “Suit yourself. I wonder who swiped Pedro.”

  I rested against the bench back and stretched out my legs. “I have a theory.”

  “Only one?” He popped a potato chip into his mouth.

  “Maybe two, but one seems more reasonable than the other.”

  He playfully nudged me with his elbow. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

  “Ana.”

  “Not her. How could she handle that cage?”

  “You didn’t see her hefting stacks of plates in the kitchen the other day.”

  “But why her?”

  “Maybe she’s in the country illegally and Ramón knew it. She likely has an apartment key and a keycard. What if at the luncheon she overheard Kitty telling the chief the pills were hidden in the kitchen?”

  Marc sent me a look that had “yeah, right” written all over it. “Okay, so let’s say she poisoned Ramón with those pills. That still doesn’t explain why she’d take Pedro.”

  “It would if you saw her sending the appetizers flying like tiny Frisbees when Pedro squawked out ‘Ana loves you.’ The woman has a temper. She could have returned to the kitchen yesterday, hoping to find the capsules. When I was still there, she went to Plan B and apologized for her bad behavior. To get me out of the building, she made sure I was distracted enough to forget to lock up and insisted on walking out with me. Once I’d gone home, she returned and found the pills. Maybe on her way out, she took the bird as a distraction.”

  Marc nodded. “It’s possible.”

  “What’s yours?”

  “Mine’s not as detailed, but I think Cousins might be involved. He’s made no bones about wanting Galvez’s job. If things like ransacked kitchens and missing birds happen while I’m interim director, it looks like I’m not in control.”

  “What do you know about his background?”

  “He worked in the private sector until a couple years ago. He’s never liked me. Guess he figured I took the job that should have been his.” He let out a long breath. “Let’s forget Rescaté and Ramón for now.” He took a bite of his sub and scanned the dock. “Seems like old times coming here.”

  “Too bad we can’t turn the clock back.” I took a chip from the bag he held out and directed it into my mouth.

  “No reason why we can’t make more memories now, even better than the old ones.”

  I couldn’t avoid the conversation any longer. Unable to look at him, I kept my gaze pinned to the Polaris’s bow. “If we don’t unpack the baggage we’ve created since we were last together, we can’t make good memories.”

  “Baggage?”

  “Yeah, starting with answers about your past eight years.”

  He put the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and crumpled the foil wrapper in his hand. “It’s pretty boring. School and work. That’s about it.”

  I shot a prayer upwards for the right words. “Last night I found something on the Internet about you. I don’t want to ask about it, but I have to.”

  He dropped his wrapper into the bag. “What’d . . . you . . . find?”

  I faced him and wished I hadn’t. I could handle the washed out complexion, but the earnestness in his eyes almost did me in. I gathered up courage from somewhere deep down. “Did you go to prison while you were in California?”

  Marc stared at me as if I’d grown an extra head.

  “I found a post about you on the California Christian University forum last night.”

  “Someone said I did time in prison?”

  “Not exactly. The guy said that you were serving a sentence for moral failure at a place called SACC. There’s a Santa Alicia Correctional Center . . .” I tore my gaze away from his face that had gone from pale to crimson. “Just tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You have to ask me that?”

  “Sometimes Christians stumble. Marc, you can tell me the truth.”

  “You really think that’
s where I’ve been?” His voice sounded more robot-like than human.

  “It appears that way.” I brought my gaze back to him. Seeing the moisture in his eyes, my insides turned to quicksand. “I don’t know.”

  He tossed his lunch bag toward a garbage can.

  “Two points. Good shot.” I offered a weak smile, which he didn’t return.

  “Since you’re so savvy on the Internet, why didn’t you check the database for California inmates before jumping to this conclusion?”

  “You can find out if someone’s been—”

  “Let’s go.” His left brow twitched so fast I thought it was going to pop off his face. He jumped to his feet and marched across the dock toward the arched exit.

  I scrambled off the bench and hoofed after him. How would I know inmates’ names were on the Internet? No one I knew had ever been in trouble with the law except for an occasional speeding ticket.

  The distance between us widened and I sped up. Marc wasn’t getting the last word. He was going to tell me the truth for once. Even if it meant admitting he’d done time. But what if he hadn’t been in prison? The posting didn’t exactly say that he had. Would he suggest I check the database if he were an ex-con? Hardly.

  I caught up to him halfway to the car. “I’m sorry, Marc. I jumped to conclusions. Can we get together tonight and talk about this?”

  He halted and turned. His painful stare ripped through me like a serrated knife.

  Filleted and chastened, I dropped my gaze. “I guess not.”

  “April, I think it’s a good idea not to be involved with each other beyond work.”

  I lifted my chin and chopped the air with my hand. “What would you expect me to think when you’ve been so evasive? It was only a question.”

  He began walking at a slower pace. “Let’s head to the office before I say something I’ll really be sorry for.”