Murder Al Dente: A Southern Pasta Shop Mystery (Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries Book 1) by Jennifer L. Hart Page B
Authors: Jennifer L. Hart
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of an almost kissing couple. There was a crummy black and white printout of the award-winning picture, and even though highly pixilated, it was intimate enough that I grew uncomfortably warm. Jones had perfectly captured the lust, the desire that radiated between the man and the woman.
I 'd thought the entire file had been about Jones, but the next page was a bullet point fact sheet of a Norman Burrows. Multiple charges for drunk and disorderly, resisting arrest, indecent exposure, and two DUI's that resulted in a suspended licenses. I chewed my lip as I read through what amounted to a rap sheet. Donna must not have realized this was in with the sheaf of papers she'd passed me. This wasn't the sort of thing your everyday average citizen was privy to, and I wondered if Norman Burrows was another suspect in Chef Farnsworth's murder.
My cell phone rang, and I squeaked before slamming the folder shut. Then rolled my eyes at my own stupidity. It was a good thin g I didn't play poker because even little a guilt ate me alive.
" Chill out, dummy," I muttered a second before answering the phone.
" Andrea," Jones breathed into the phone.
" You can call me Andy," I said, and could have kicked myself. I liked the way he said my full first name as if he were savoring the way it tasted. And no one else called me Andrea. It was like our little secret code. Or maybe I was just a nitwit.
" I know I am able. I simply choose not to," he said.
" Okeydokey." Who was this femme fatale and what had she done with Andy Buckland?
" You're cute," Jones said in a way that made me feel a little less like an idiot.
" You're not so bad yourself." I smacked my palm against my forehead, hoping to knock a few brain cells together. "So, what's up?"
" I was wondering if you would like to go hiking with me tomorrow. There's a waterfall I intend to photograph near the Linville Gorge."
I worried my lip and considered his invitation. Of course spending more time with him sounded divine, but I 'm more of a mall walker than an actual hiker. Air conditioning is my friend. Did I really want Jones to see me sweating bullets so soon in our relationship? Hell, did we even have a relationship?
" Are you still there?" Jones asked.
I realized I 'd been quiet for an unusually long time. "I was just checking my schedule." Atta girl, make him think you are in demand. The sad truth was that other than dropping Roofus off at the vet to have his teeth cleaned, my calendar was wide open. "Looks like I'm free."
" So glad you could fit me in," he purred.
Oh hell- o that was definitely flirting. I used my illegally obtained file to fan my flaming face. Pops was shuffling out the door, and I hurriedly asked, "What time?"
" It's a bit of a drive, so I'll pick you up around eight."
" I'll be ready." I hung up in a hurry and scurried to open the door for Pops, who was wearing dark glasses to counteract his dilated pupils. "Everything go all right?"
Pops grunted as he wedged himself into the car. "Another new prescription. Not that it'll make a difference. I've got old eyes, nothing much they can do about that."
" Do you really think you ought to be driving?" I asked.
He didn 't say anything, which was answer enough. Pops knew he shouldn't be behind the wheel.
" I'm not ready," he said hoarsely. "Not ready to be old, to not drive."
I didn 't say anything, couldn't get past the lump in my throat. I hated to do this to him. Pops was so proud. And the logistics about him no longer driving…how would he get around? Beaverton was a small community, but Pops lived on the outskirts of town. Who would take him to the doctor's office, grocery shopping, or to the pasta shop to harass Aunt Cecily?
The answer I knew should be forthcoming was not one I was ready to live with. After all, Pops had taken me in when I needed it, rearranged his whole life for me. A good granddaughter would bear that mantle stoically.
But committing to staying in Beaverton scared me to death. It was
I 'd thought the entire file had been about Jones, but the next page was a bullet point fact sheet of a Norman Burrows. Multiple charges for drunk and disorderly, resisting arrest, indecent exposure, and two DUI's that resulted in a suspended licenses. I chewed my lip as I read through what amounted to a rap sheet. Donna must not have realized this was in with the sheaf of papers she'd passed me. This wasn't the sort of thing your everyday average citizen was privy to, and I wondered if Norman Burrows was another suspect in Chef Farnsworth's murder.
My cell phone rang, and I squeaked before slamming the folder shut. Then rolled my eyes at my own stupidity. It was a good thin g I didn't play poker because even little a guilt ate me alive.
" Chill out, dummy," I muttered a second before answering the phone.
" Andrea," Jones breathed into the phone.
" You can call me Andy," I said, and could have kicked myself. I liked the way he said my full first name as if he were savoring the way it tasted. And no one else called me Andrea. It was like our little secret code. Or maybe I was just a nitwit.
" I know I am able. I simply choose not to," he said.
" Okeydokey." Who was this femme fatale and what had she done with Andy Buckland?
" You're cute," Jones said in a way that made me feel a little less like an idiot.
" You're not so bad yourself." I smacked my palm against my forehead, hoping to knock a few brain cells together. "So, what's up?"
" I was wondering if you would like to go hiking with me tomorrow. There's a waterfall I intend to photograph near the Linville Gorge."
I worried my lip and considered his invitation. Of course spending more time with him sounded divine, but I 'm more of a mall walker than an actual hiker. Air conditioning is my friend. Did I really want Jones to see me sweating bullets so soon in our relationship? Hell, did we even have a relationship?
" Are you still there?" Jones asked.
I realized I 'd been quiet for an unusually long time. "I was just checking my schedule." Atta girl, make him think you are in demand. The sad truth was that other than dropping Roofus off at the vet to have his teeth cleaned, my calendar was wide open. "Looks like I'm free."
" So glad you could fit me in," he purred.
Oh hell- o that was definitely flirting. I used my illegally obtained file to fan my flaming face. Pops was shuffling out the door, and I hurriedly asked, "What time?"
" It's a bit of a drive, so I'll pick you up around eight."
" I'll be ready." I hung up in a hurry and scurried to open the door for Pops, who was wearing dark glasses to counteract his dilated pupils. "Everything go all right?"
Pops grunted as he wedged himself into the car. "Another new prescription. Not that it'll make a difference. I've got old eyes, nothing much they can do about that."
" Do you really think you ought to be driving?" I asked.
He didn 't say anything, which was answer enough. Pops knew he shouldn't be behind the wheel.
" I'm not ready," he said hoarsely. "Not ready to be old, to not drive."
I didn 't say anything, couldn't get past the lump in my throat. I hated to do this to him. Pops was so proud. And the logistics about him no longer driving…how would he get around? Beaverton was a small community, but Pops lived on the outskirts of town. Who would take him to the doctor's office, grocery shopping, or to the pasta shop to harass Aunt Cecily?
The answer I knew should be forthcoming was not one I was ready to live with. After all, Pops had taken me in when I needed it, rearranged his whole life for me. A good granddaughter would bear that mantle stoically.
But committing to staying in Beaverton scared me to death. It was
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