Murder Al Dente: A Southern Pasta Shop Mystery (Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries Book 1) by Jennifer L. Hart
Authors: Jennifer L. Hart
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I'm not investigating Jones."
" Why the heck not? Andy, just because the man is jaw-droppingly delicious doesn't mean he's as innocent as a newborn lamb. Gathering a little background info is just sensible."
" Because I have more motive to kill Chef Farnsworth than Jones!" Wait, that didn't come out right. "What I mean is—"
The bell jingled , and Emma Shaw strode in. Donna's eyes narrowed. She and Emma had been good-natured rivals from the moment of birth, a loony competition fostered by their mothers who shared a hospital room in the maternity wing. Donna had crawled first, but Emma walked sooner. Donna talked first, but Emma was potty trained sooner. In high school, Donna grew breasts and had a boyfriend, but Emma was valedictorian. Donna married and became a widowed, single mom, while Emma became a doctor. Both were successful career women with three children, white picket fences, and a burning desire to one-up the other. Seeing the two of them facing off was like watching a showdown between two passive-aggressive gunslingers.
" Emma." Donna nodded and then purposely turned back to her Styrofoam container of noodles and veggies.
" Hello, Donna. I heard about your daughter's unfortunate dismount. Everything's okay?" Emma needled. Her lips curled, and I was pretty sure a doctor wouldn't be so cavalier about a child's injury unless she knew the girl was all right.
Donna 's shoulders stiffened. "She's fine. Thanks for asking."
" Can I get you something, Emma?" I asked before Donna tried to stab the other woman with her fork.
" Yes, actually. I'm having a little party Saturday night, and I was wondering if you could cater?"
I barely refrained from rubbing my hands together in glee. "Sure thing. How many are you expecting?"
Emma and I went over menu options and pricing. Another catering gig was definitely good for business , and I was relieved that word of my involvement with Chef Farnsworth hadn't driven all the customers away.
" You two should come, to the party I mean. It would be fun to catch up." Emma smiled.
" Wouldn't miss it." Donna offered an artificial smile that melted away like butter in a saucepan the second her nemesis left. "Crap. I better go, since I now need to dig up some dirt on her by Saturday."
" Check at the post office. If there are any bed-wetters in Emma's closet, someone there will know."
" Smart thinking." Donna waved goodbye, and after her taillights disappeared onto Main Street, I saw she'd left me the Jones file. Crud muffins, if this was a test I would probably fail. On the one hand, I was certain Jones wasn't a killer. He'd been with me during the time of the murder. But how could I resist peeking into his past when it was so nicely laid out on the pages before me?
Simple, I couldn 't.
Aunt Cecily chose that moment to push through the doors and save me from myself.
"We have another pasta bar event," I told her, showing her Emma's receipt.
She nodded and then pointed to the kitchen door. "There is a phone call for you from a woman."
Odd, I hadn 't heard the phone ring. "Who is it?"
Aunt Cecily gave me a black scowl. "A woman," she repeated, louder as though I was hard of hearing. Or maybe stupid.
I sashayed into the kitchen and picked up the receiver. The ancient phone was attached to the wall by a cord. Just like everything else in the Bow tie Angel, the phone was prehistoric.
" Hello?"
Silence.
"Is anyone there?"
Still nothing. No dial tone, no heavy breathing, zilch.
Whatever. Hanging up the phone, I turned back to the pots of sauce and drying racks of pasta. "Aunt Cecily, could you come in here?"
Though it was probably akin to pushing a boulder uphill until the end of time, I had to try to reason with my aunt. She marched through the kitchen doors, looking small and scary like always.
"I need to talk to you about the business."
Her eyes became small slits in her ancient skull. "What about it?"
Clearing my throat I managed, "Well, there is a great deal of
" Why the heck not? Andy, just because the man is jaw-droppingly delicious doesn't mean he's as innocent as a newborn lamb. Gathering a little background info is just sensible."
" Because I have more motive to kill Chef Farnsworth than Jones!" Wait, that didn't come out right. "What I mean is—"
The bell jingled , and Emma Shaw strode in. Donna's eyes narrowed. She and Emma had been good-natured rivals from the moment of birth, a loony competition fostered by their mothers who shared a hospital room in the maternity wing. Donna had crawled first, but Emma walked sooner. Donna talked first, but Emma was potty trained sooner. In high school, Donna grew breasts and had a boyfriend, but Emma was valedictorian. Donna married and became a widowed, single mom, while Emma became a doctor. Both were successful career women with three children, white picket fences, and a burning desire to one-up the other. Seeing the two of them facing off was like watching a showdown between two passive-aggressive gunslingers.
" Emma." Donna nodded and then purposely turned back to her Styrofoam container of noodles and veggies.
" Hello, Donna. I heard about your daughter's unfortunate dismount. Everything's okay?" Emma needled. Her lips curled, and I was pretty sure a doctor wouldn't be so cavalier about a child's injury unless she knew the girl was all right.
Donna 's shoulders stiffened. "She's fine. Thanks for asking."
" Can I get you something, Emma?" I asked before Donna tried to stab the other woman with her fork.
" Yes, actually. I'm having a little party Saturday night, and I was wondering if you could cater?"
I barely refrained from rubbing my hands together in glee. "Sure thing. How many are you expecting?"
Emma and I went over menu options and pricing. Another catering gig was definitely good for business , and I was relieved that word of my involvement with Chef Farnsworth hadn't driven all the customers away.
" You two should come, to the party I mean. It would be fun to catch up." Emma smiled.
" Wouldn't miss it." Donna offered an artificial smile that melted away like butter in a saucepan the second her nemesis left. "Crap. I better go, since I now need to dig up some dirt on her by Saturday."
" Check at the post office. If there are any bed-wetters in Emma's closet, someone there will know."
" Smart thinking." Donna waved goodbye, and after her taillights disappeared onto Main Street, I saw she'd left me the Jones file. Crud muffins, if this was a test I would probably fail. On the one hand, I was certain Jones wasn't a killer. He'd been with me during the time of the murder. But how could I resist peeking into his past when it was so nicely laid out on the pages before me?
Simple, I couldn 't.
Aunt Cecily chose that moment to push through the doors and save me from myself.
"We have another pasta bar event," I told her, showing her Emma's receipt.
She nodded and then pointed to the kitchen door. "There is a phone call for you from a woman."
Odd, I hadn 't heard the phone ring. "Who is it?"
Aunt Cecily gave me a black scowl. "A woman," she repeated, louder as though I was hard of hearing. Or maybe stupid.
I sashayed into the kitchen and picked up the receiver. The ancient phone was attached to the wall by a cord. Just like everything else in the Bow tie Angel, the phone was prehistoric.
" Hello?"
Silence.
"Is anyone there?"
Still nothing. No dial tone, no heavy breathing, zilch.
Whatever. Hanging up the phone, I turned back to the pots of sauce and drying racks of pasta. "Aunt Cecily, could you come in here?"
Though it was probably akin to pushing a boulder uphill until the end of time, I had to try to reason with my aunt. She marched through the kitchen doors, looking small and scary like always.
"I need to talk to you about the business."
Her eyes became small slits in her ancient skull. "What about it?"
Clearing my throat I managed, "Well, there is a great deal of
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