later, he pulled his pickup into the driveway behind me. Sprocket woofed a hello and stuck his head through the fence for a scratch behind the ears. I promised to take him on a walk first thing tomorrow morning and then hurried inside ahead of Brandon.
The scent of roast beef filled my senses as I entered the kitchen. My stomach growled and I smiled. What man could resist homemade roast beef?
“Wow, something smells really good in here.”
The old cliché the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach filtered through my mind as I tossed my pocketbook on the counter and grabbed an apron off the hook just inside the pantry door. “I put a roast in the crock pot earlier today. Have a seat at the table, and I’ll whip up some corn bread to go with our meal.”
“I see you baked, too.”
What? Who baked? Not me. I turned to see him pulling a pan of brownies toward him. Panic gripped my throat and cut off my air. “Wait. I didn’t bake brownies.” I hurried across the floor to the kitchen table.
He motioned toward an envelope. “Looks like someone left you a note.”
I scooped it off the table and ripped the paper open. A card slid out. Flowers decorated the paper in bright colors. Thinking of you was inscribed on the front. I opened it and read aloud. “Love, Mom.” Even if my mother were still alive, this isn’t her handwriting. The thought took me by surprise. Whose was it?
Brandon popped a brownie from the pan. “See, they’re from your mom.” He brought it to his lips.
I reached out and stopped him. “No, they aren’t. My mother died in a rafting accident when I was a child.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me.
I nodded. “I was raised by my grandparents, who are dead now, too.”
Brandon placed the treat back in the pan. “Why don’t you call the police?” He wiped his hands of crumbs.
Yes, I needed to call the police. How could someone have left brownies in my kitchen unless they’d been in the house? How had they gained access? My heart thumped with fear, and I silently thanked the Lord above for keeping me safe.
“Do you want me to do it?” Brandon asked, pulling me from my thoughts and prayers.
I pushed up from the chair I’d sat in, unawares. “No, I’ll do it.” My hand shook as I picked up the receiver.
Dispatch answered. “Detective Howard, please.”
His gruff voice barked through the lines. I glanced at Brandon, who frowned at the pan of brownies.
“Detective, this is Claire Parker. Would you come to my house, now please?” I explained about the pan of brownies and then hung up with his promise to be right over and his demand that I not touch anything. “He’s on his way.” I informed Brandon.
He looked up. “You know, I think I’ve lost my appetite for roast beef. What do you say I order a pizza?”
“I agree. The meat might be tainted also.” The thought that I’d need to clean out all the containers in my refrigerator rattled through my mind as I continued. “But I’ll order the pizza. This was supposed to be my thank you dinner for helping me at Mitzi’s.” I picked up the phone and ordered a large pizza with everything. Pizza might be tomorrow’s meal, too; I also ordered a two-liter of diet soda and one regular for Brandon.
Then, I moved to sit back down. My gaze wouldn’t stay off that plate of brownies. A chill ran down my spine. Even the thought of pizza turned my stomach.
It was an ordinary aluminum pan; anyone could have gotten it and baked the brownies. But, why lie and say they were from my mother? Why not just say, I made you brownies?
The answer hit me in the gut, taking my breath away. Because they are poisoned. Just like the lasagna that killed Mitzi. Someone wanted me dead, just like my best friend. But why?
****
An hour later, sitting in my living room, I told Detective Howard—again—that I didn’t know who would want to poison me. I was truly tired of answering his questions. The detective had called in several other policemen
The scent of roast beef filled my senses as I entered the kitchen. My stomach growled and I smiled. What man could resist homemade roast beef?
“Wow, something smells really good in here.”
The old cliché the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach filtered through my mind as I tossed my pocketbook on the counter and grabbed an apron off the hook just inside the pantry door. “I put a roast in the crock pot earlier today. Have a seat at the table, and I’ll whip up some corn bread to go with our meal.”
“I see you baked, too.”
What? Who baked? Not me. I turned to see him pulling a pan of brownies toward him. Panic gripped my throat and cut off my air. “Wait. I didn’t bake brownies.” I hurried across the floor to the kitchen table.
He motioned toward an envelope. “Looks like someone left you a note.”
I scooped it off the table and ripped the paper open. A card slid out. Flowers decorated the paper in bright colors. Thinking of you was inscribed on the front. I opened it and read aloud. “Love, Mom.” Even if my mother were still alive, this isn’t her handwriting. The thought took me by surprise. Whose was it?
Brandon popped a brownie from the pan. “See, they’re from your mom.” He brought it to his lips.
I reached out and stopped him. “No, they aren’t. My mother died in a rafting accident when I was a child.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me.
I nodded. “I was raised by my grandparents, who are dead now, too.”
Brandon placed the treat back in the pan. “Why don’t you call the police?” He wiped his hands of crumbs.
Yes, I needed to call the police. How could someone have left brownies in my kitchen unless they’d been in the house? How had they gained access? My heart thumped with fear, and I silently thanked the Lord above for keeping me safe.
“Do you want me to do it?” Brandon asked, pulling me from my thoughts and prayers.
I pushed up from the chair I’d sat in, unawares. “No, I’ll do it.” My hand shook as I picked up the receiver.
Dispatch answered. “Detective Howard, please.”
His gruff voice barked through the lines. I glanced at Brandon, who frowned at the pan of brownies.
“Detective, this is Claire Parker. Would you come to my house, now please?” I explained about the pan of brownies and then hung up with his promise to be right over and his demand that I not touch anything. “He’s on his way.” I informed Brandon.
He looked up. “You know, I think I’ve lost my appetite for roast beef. What do you say I order a pizza?”
“I agree. The meat might be tainted also.” The thought that I’d need to clean out all the containers in my refrigerator rattled through my mind as I continued. “But I’ll order the pizza. This was supposed to be my thank you dinner for helping me at Mitzi’s.” I picked up the phone and ordered a large pizza with everything. Pizza might be tomorrow’s meal, too; I also ordered a two-liter of diet soda and one regular for Brandon.
Then, I moved to sit back down. My gaze wouldn’t stay off that plate of brownies. A chill ran down my spine. Even the thought of pizza turned my stomach.
It was an ordinary aluminum pan; anyone could have gotten it and baked the brownies. But, why lie and say they were from my mother? Why not just say, I made you brownies?
The answer hit me in the gut, taking my breath away. Because they are poisoned. Just like the lasagna that killed Mitzi. Someone wanted me dead, just like my best friend. But why?
****
An hour later, sitting in my living room, I told Detective Howard—again—that I didn’t know who would want to poison me. I was truly tired of answering his questions. The detective had called in several other policemen
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