Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé by Jennifer L. Hart Page B
Authors: Jennifer L. Hart
Ads: Link
called the pasta shop instead of just phoning my cell, and answered absently, "No, why?"
"You keep rubbing them."
"It's just the cold. Makes me feel kind of stiff all over. Did Jones leave a message?"
"He said he'd call back."
Curiouser and curiouser. "Okay then. Do you need any help up here before I make the rounds out front?"
Mimi shook her head. "I've got it. And we have a group waiting at the door."
"I'll go open up." After checking my cell one more time, I slid it into my back pocket and pasted on my game face. There were several people waiting outside. Some had come to the funerals, others just stopping in for a to-go container of spaghetti and meatballs on their lunch hour. I served for almost an hour. As owner and head chef, I had to ensure that everyone who walked through the door of the Bowtie Angel would have the best dining experience possible and hopefully let us feed them again.
"Where's Eugene?" Ursula Mulvaney asked as I dropped off her bowtie chicken and pesto. "I thought sure he would be here after the funeral."
"Oh, he and Aunt Cecily offered to help host the gathering at the seniors' center this afternoon."
Ursula looked down at her plate and then fluffed her frosted gray hair. "Can I get this to go?"
"Sure." I whisked the plate over to the counter where our Styrofoam take-out containers were stacked, smiling to myself. Ursula had the hots for my grandfather and conveniently forgot that he was taken. And she wasn't the only one. Eligible bachelors weren't exactly thick on the ground for the seniors in Beaverton, and there were a lot of lonely hearts hoping that because Pops and Aunt Cecily hadn't made anything official yet, there was still hope my grandfather was up for grabs.
I smiled and served and listened to about as much gossip as I could handle. Several people offered me condolences about Jones, as though it had been his funeral earlier that morning. My happy face was starting to crack around the edges. Though I'd trained myself to deal with being in the limelight, it didn't come naturally to me. I was an introvert by nature and had to overcome my own personality quirks to be a successful business owner. But add on the looks of pity that I was single yet again, and I was on the ragged edge.
"Hey, Little Bit," Mike Jefferies of Mike's Garage called out.
He sat with a group of guys we'd both known since high school. Mike knew full well I despised that nickname. He was just needling me. It proved how far I'd come that I was still smiling instead of handing him his man parts on a platter. "How's your mom doing?"
"She can complain and does. Mostly as how I'm a good-for-nothin' son who won't settle down and give her grandkids already. How's the 'Stang?"
"Snug as a bug in a rug and garaged for the winter." I sighed, missing my vintage wheels. The town car got me where I needed to go, but every time I parked, it was like docking an ocean liner.
"Heard about you moving out on Jones," Derek Gibbs said. "Tough break. Does that mean you're back on the market?"
"Nope. I'm focusing on my career." Something Derek wouldn't know about, since he'd been on unemployment since high school.
"Will your career keep you warm at night?" Derek slung an arm around my waist and pulled me in close. He smelled like a combination distillery and locker room.
I tried to pry myself loose, my temper rising. We didn't serve alcohol in the Bowtie Angel, but that didn't stop idiots from coming in drunk and causing trouble. "I've got a dog. Let go of me."
Mike looked worried, and he reached across the table, trying to help free me. "Come on, man. Let her go."
Derek opened his mouth to slur some other nonsense, when he was yanked up by the collar. He was so startled that he let go of me, and I backed away quickly.
Oh no. I thought. No, no, no, no-no. "Malcolm…" I began.
Jones wasn't listening. His eyes glittered with deadly intent as he dragged Derek out of the booth. The tables had all gone quiet—all conversation
"You keep rubbing them."
"It's just the cold. Makes me feel kind of stiff all over. Did Jones leave a message?"
"He said he'd call back."
Curiouser and curiouser. "Okay then. Do you need any help up here before I make the rounds out front?"
Mimi shook her head. "I've got it. And we have a group waiting at the door."
"I'll go open up." After checking my cell one more time, I slid it into my back pocket and pasted on my game face. There were several people waiting outside. Some had come to the funerals, others just stopping in for a to-go container of spaghetti and meatballs on their lunch hour. I served for almost an hour. As owner and head chef, I had to ensure that everyone who walked through the door of the Bowtie Angel would have the best dining experience possible and hopefully let us feed them again.
"Where's Eugene?" Ursula Mulvaney asked as I dropped off her bowtie chicken and pesto. "I thought sure he would be here after the funeral."
"Oh, he and Aunt Cecily offered to help host the gathering at the seniors' center this afternoon."
Ursula looked down at her plate and then fluffed her frosted gray hair. "Can I get this to go?"
"Sure." I whisked the plate over to the counter where our Styrofoam take-out containers were stacked, smiling to myself. Ursula had the hots for my grandfather and conveniently forgot that he was taken. And she wasn't the only one. Eligible bachelors weren't exactly thick on the ground for the seniors in Beaverton, and there were a lot of lonely hearts hoping that because Pops and Aunt Cecily hadn't made anything official yet, there was still hope my grandfather was up for grabs.
I smiled and served and listened to about as much gossip as I could handle. Several people offered me condolences about Jones, as though it had been his funeral earlier that morning. My happy face was starting to crack around the edges. Though I'd trained myself to deal with being in the limelight, it didn't come naturally to me. I was an introvert by nature and had to overcome my own personality quirks to be a successful business owner. But add on the looks of pity that I was single yet again, and I was on the ragged edge.
"Hey, Little Bit," Mike Jefferies of Mike's Garage called out.
He sat with a group of guys we'd both known since high school. Mike knew full well I despised that nickname. He was just needling me. It proved how far I'd come that I was still smiling instead of handing him his man parts on a platter. "How's your mom doing?"
"She can complain and does. Mostly as how I'm a good-for-nothin' son who won't settle down and give her grandkids already. How's the 'Stang?"
"Snug as a bug in a rug and garaged for the winter." I sighed, missing my vintage wheels. The town car got me where I needed to go, but every time I parked, it was like docking an ocean liner.
"Heard about you moving out on Jones," Derek Gibbs said. "Tough break. Does that mean you're back on the market?"
"Nope. I'm focusing on my career." Something Derek wouldn't know about, since he'd been on unemployment since high school.
"Will your career keep you warm at night?" Derek slung an arm around my waist and pulled me in close. He smelled like a combination distillery and locker room.
I tried to pry myself loose, my temper rising. We didn't serve alcohol in the Bowtie Angel, but that didn't stop idiots from coming in drunk and causing trouble. "I've got a dog. Let go of me."
Mike looked worried, and he reached across the table, trying to help free me. "Come on, man. Let her go."
Derek opened his mouth to slur some other nonsense, when he was yanked up by the collar. He was so startled that he let go of me, and I backed away quickly.
Oh no. I thought. No, no, no, no-no. "Malcolm…" I began.
Jones wasn't listening. His eyes glittered with deadly intent as he dragged Derek out of the booth. The tables had all gone quiet—all conversation
Similar Books
