Lethal Lasagna by Rhonda Gibson

fountain of tears that I poured upon him.
    Then anger consumed me. Someone had taken the life of my best friend, and thus far, had gotten away with it. I gently pushed away from Brandon.
    “Feeling better?” He asked, handing me a tissue.
    How does one delicately blow one’s nose in front of the man she’s just drenched with tears? Plus, answer a stupid question without being sarcastic?
    “Excuse me.” I sniffled and moved to Mitzi’s small bathroom. I turned on the overhead fan and blew my nose like a woman with a faulty drip.
    Then I returned to the bedroom. Plastered on what I hoped was a sweet smile and said. “Much better, thank you.”
    The man burst out laughing. I couldn’t believe him. Here I had cried all over his shirt, and he was laughing. I stared in wonder.
    And then he snorted.
    The shocked expression on his face sent me into giggles. His cheeks filled with red and his ears looked like scarlet lollipops. Anyone watching us would have thought we were insane as we both filled Mitzi’s house with laughter.
    Just as she would have wanted.
    The thought comforted me.
    “What’s this?” Brandon asked, picking up the story I’d found in the drawer.
    I scooped up the bookmarks and cards. “It’s a manuscript Mitzi was working on.” Should I toss them out or box them for Jake?
    “No it isn’t.” His head was lowered, soft locks of brown hair begged to be touched. I wadded up a postcard and then focused on spreading it back out.
    “It isn’t?”
    He didn’t answer for several moments. “Nope, I’ve seen her handwriting and this isn’t it.” He held the paper up for me to study.
    Why hadn’t I noticed that? Mitzi’s writing was more flowing, less blocky. “Then whose is this?”
    He pulled it back toward him. “Do you think her son would mind if I hung on to this for a little while?”
    “I’m sure Jake won’t care.”
    While Brandon read, I finished cleaning out the drawer. Her date book sat off to the side. I picked it up put it in my purse. There wasn’t a lot left, and I really didn’t want to do anymore today. I glanced over at him. Black mascara marred his blue t-shirt from my cry fest earlier.
    He looked up. His gaze met mine and he grinned. “Sorry. I got involved in this story. Whoever wrote it is good.”
    “Mitzi good?”
    Brandon scooted to the edge of the bed. “No, Mitzi had talent but she didn’t write mysteries. Her stories were more along the line of young adult.”
    I sat down beside him. “That’s a part of her life I wasn’t involved in. Were her stories good?”
    He folded the papers down the center and unfolded them again. “Her stories were sweet. She wrote about princesses and knights.” A soft laugh escaped him. “Only her princesses weren’t weak. She usually had the knight in jeopardy and in need of rescuing.” His eyes took on a far away look. Sorrow filled his face.
    Was that the face of a man who’d lost a friend or the woman he loved? I didn’t want to focus on the thought that he might have loved Mitzi as a man loves a woman. I patted his knee. “How about you and I go get something to eat?”
    He nodded and stood. “She really was a special lady, wasn’t she?”
    “Yes she was.” I couldn’t contain the question that screamed through my mind as he led the way down the narrow hallway and to the front door. “Were you two romantically involved?”
    Brandon turned with his hand on the doorknob. A soft smile touched his lips. “No, we were friends.”
    I felt happy to know Mitzi and Brandon hadn’t been involved. It shouldn’t have been important to me, but it was. His words made my heart flutter, and the look on his face said he knew how I felt.
    Embarrassed, I muttered, “Come, on. I’ll meet you at my house in ten minutes for a home cooked meal.” Then, I walked past him with my cheeks feeling as if someone held a heater too close to them.
    “Right behind you.” Brandon pulled the door closed after us and locked it.
    Ten minutes