Chapter Eleven

You wouldn’t have any lamb chops, would you, Sam?” Kate knew better than to ask the question, but when it came to her love of gourmet cooking, hope continued to spring eternal.

Sam Gorman had been very good to her, stocking her favorite feta cheese and even some of her favorite teas. But when it came to perishables like unusual cuts of meat, he had to draw the line. Kate certainly respected his decisions as a businessman, but it never kept her from asking.

“Don’t suppose you’d settle for some nice center-cut pork chops instead?” Sam teased. “I’m a little low on lamb today.”

“Maybe some stew beef instead.” Kate followed Sam through the narrow aisles to the meat case.

“What else do you need? Potatoes? Carrots?” He was always helpful without being pushy, a trait Kate knew better than to take for granted.

“Just an onion. Then I should be set.”

Sam’s part-time cashier rung up her purchase, and Kate was almost out the door when she turned back to Sam. “Do you remember telling me about the stranger who came in here asking about Mavis Bixby? The young man who bought the knife?”

“Yes . . .” Sam looked hesitant.

“Did he happen to mention his name?”

“I don’t know that I recall. He paid cash, so I don’t have a credit-card receipt.” Sam wiped away an invisible speck from the counter.

“What about where he was from?” Kate persisted. “Did he say anything about that?”

“No, but he had a nasal accent. Midwestern. Not East Coast.”

Sam had done several tours of duty in the navy, Kate knew, and had met enough people from all over the United States to peg someone’s accent.

“Do you remember anything else about him? Anything at all?”

Sam looked reluctant to part with the information, but he did so anyway. “He seemed really angry with Mavis Bixby, for whatever reason. I wouldn’t have told him where she lived, even if she hadn’t left town.”

Kate thought of the long prison sentence some of the mobsters in Albert Baxter’s case had no doubt drawn. Their associates would have had good reason to be angry with Mavis if she’d helped put their bosses away. Obviously, one of them had tracked Mavis down to Copper Mill. Somehow Mavis had gotten wind of it and left before he got there. Kate would have liked to know how Mavis had learned that her cover had been exposed. If only Sheriff Roberts would be more cooperative. He could get Mavis’ phone records or find out if any of the mobsters involved in the case had been recently paroled.

“Sorry I can’t be more help,” Sam said. “You’re still worrying about Mavis, aren’t you?”

“Can’t seem to help it.” Kate shrugged. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Well, you’re good to care, Kate. Not enough people do these days.”

“Thanks, Sam.” She opened the door and waved good-bye. “See you later.”

KATE AND PAUL’S EVENING MEAL, shared in the cozy quiet of the parsonage kitchen, was one of Kate’s favorite times of the day. She’d learned early on that being a pastor’s wife meant sharing your husband with a great many people, and just as quickly she’d learned to treasure whatever time alone they did manage to find. Once Rebecca, their youngest daughter, had left home, the evening meal had become their regular “couple time.”

Kate hummed a favorite hymn to herself as she chopped the onion, potatoes, and carrots and browned the beef before assembling the stew. Along with her homemade beef stock, she threw in a few of her favorite spices for good measure. Her recipe was simple but flavorful, and she always made extra to share with friends and church members. Tonight, though, as she stirred the thick mixture and waited for it to come to a boil, she remembered the numerous plastic containers of Paul’s chili she’d stacked in the freezer. She looked down at the pot of stew in dismay. Where would she put the extra she always made?

Once the stew began to bubble, Kate turned back the heat. Thinking about the chili in the freezer reminded her of Paul’s fruitless search for his mother’s recipe. He’d been too busy the past few days to continue his quest, but she had some time while the stew simmered. Maybe she could find the recipe for him.

She reached for her recipe box on the counter and quickly flipped through its contents just in case, but to no avail. She’d have to tackle his study, then.

Kate rarely went into Paul’s study other than to run a dust cloth over the surfaces or vacuum when they were expecting company. Though Paul completed his day-to-day administrative tasks at the church, he preferred to write his sermons in the quiet of their home. So it wasn’t that she didn’t feel welcome in the room, but perhaps Paul felt the same way about her stained-glass studio in the third bedroom. As if it was a bit of a foreign land.

Today the study looked as if a tornado had hit it. The disarray was a clear sign that her husband was heavily engaged in developing a new sermon series. Books and journals covered the desk and spilled over onto the floor. His computer ran with a steady hum, and a dozen sticky notes had been posted around the edges of the monitor.

Kate thought longingly of the container of cocoa still sitting in the kitchen cabinet. If Paul would just let her help, he wouldn’t need his mother’s recipe. A small amount—a tablespoon at the most—and he’d have the flavor he was looking for in his chili. Still, Kate knew that pestering him would only frustrate him.

Kate’s grandmother, she of the secret chili ingredient, had never made a secret of her opinion that husbands were a necessary evil. And given the wild ways of Kate’s grandfather, she certainly understood her grandmother’s feelings on the matter, even if she disagreed with them. Nana had always said that God made Adam first as an experiment and then improved upon his first effort when he made Eve. Kate didn’t agree with that sentiment either, but she did wonder why it was so hard for good, strong men like Paul to accept help sometimes.

Kate decided to avoid the desk, since it posed the greatest temptation to her inner organizer. Paul had mentioned something about sticking the recipe between the pages of a book, but where to start? Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined one wall, and every available inch was filled with Bible commentaries, theology books, minister’s manuals, and even some novels.

Instead of looking through each book one by one, she decided to scan the titles, looking for a likely prospect. That method, though, proved fruitless. After ten minutes Kate was ready to give up. She couldn’t see any possible reason Paul would have put his mother’s chili recipe in the HarperCollins Bible Dictionary or Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible. And the only book on any of the shelves with food in the title was Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. Hardly the place to stash a chili recipe.

Kate plopped down on the sleeper sofa and let her gaze run over the rest of the room. A red metal filing cabinet from their newlywed days, a style Kate liked to call “early seminary,” had been pushed into the far corner. Paul referred to it as his Magic Sermon Box, because it contained the manuscripts for every sermon he’d ever preached. Kate had been encouraging him for years to pick out the best of the best and submit them for publication, but he always declined, saying he didn’t have the time.

Kate rose from the sofa and went to kneel in front of the filing cabinet like a supplicant at the altar. Please let it be in here somewhere, she half prayed, half hoped. Perhaps he’d used it as a sermon illustration, and it was tucked neatly inside a manila folder.

She pulled open the top drawer. Unlike Paul’s office, his filing cabinet was neat as a pin—a credit to his secretary at their church back in San Antonio. Janice had even typed labels for each file, with the sermon’s title, biblical reference, and date. Truly, the old filing cabinet was a veritable archive of Paul’s career.

Kate flipped through the tabs, smiling with recognition at the titles of her favorite sermons. She resisted the temptation to pull one out and reread it. That pleasure would have to wait for another day. Instead, she forced herself to concentrate on what titles sounded like they might use a chili recipe as an illustration. Kate chuckled at the thought. She wondered if any other minister’s wife had ever found herself in quite this situation.

Once or twice she spied a likely contender—“Loaves and Fishes Revisited” and “Menu for an Upper-Room Experience”—but none of the files contained the recipe. Kate was lost in thought, so involved in her search that when the door to Paul’s study opened and he walked in, she jumped.

“Kate?” His eyebrows arched, and then he smiled his lopsided grin. “Has it come to this? You’re so desperate for reading material, you’re pillaging my old sermon files?”

He walked toward her and extended his hand. “Need some help getting up?”

Kate accepted his help gratefully. Her knee was still sore from her earlier race with Livvy through the library. “I’m not as young as I used to be,” she said ruefully as she got to her feet.

Paul, though, was having none of that. “You’re as young as ever,” he said, dropping a kiss on her nose, “and you always will be.”

Kate hugged him. “Well, your glasses probably need a good cleaning, but I’ll accept the compliment, thank you very much.”

“So what exactly were you looking for down there?” He glanced at the open file drawer. “My sermons are compelling, but they rarely drive anyone to their knees.”

“Actually, I was looking for your mother’s chili recipe.”

The smile slid from his face, and his arms loosened around her. “Kate, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I just wanted to help.” She didn’t understand why he was being so prickly about the whole chili thing anyway. Did winning the competition really mean that much to him? “Thank heavens for Janice. Those files couldn’t be any more organized.”

She’d meant it as a compliment to his former secretary, but Paul’s face darkened ominously. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Okay, okay.” She stepped out of his arms, more than a little annoyed. She’d only been trying to help. “I wasn’t criticizing you, just admiring Janice’s efficiency. The only other place they keep files that organized is at—” She broke off in midsentence. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

Paul moved behind his desk and sat down. “The only other place is where?” He looked at his wife. “Uh-oh. You’ve got that expression on your face again.”

“What expression?”

“The one that says you’re up to something, but it’s not completely devious. Only partially so.”

“I didn’t know my expressions were quite that specific.”

Paul laughed. “My dear, I’m pretty sure you have an expression for everything.” He laughed again when she scowled at him. “See what I mean? There’s the ‘I’m exasperated with my husband’ expression.”

If she’d been in the kitchen, she would have swiped at him with a dishtowel. Instead, she had to content herself with crossing her arms and turning up her nose. “And what does this expression mean?” she asked with a sniff.

Paul hauled himself back up out of his chair and approached her cautiously. He was, however, still smiling. “That expression says my husband better use his masculine charm on me pretty quick, or he’ll be eating a mighty cold supper.”

Kate couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess you’re right.” She stepped into his arms and hugged him again. “Now enough of this silliness. I have supper to finish.”

“It smells wonderful. Thanks for fixing it.”

“Better wait until you taste it before you get too excited. I wanted to do lamb chops with rosemary and a Greek salad, but this being Copper Mill . . .”

“We’re having what instead?”

“Beef stew.”

“I’m happy either way.”

“Which is something I appreciate about you.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“So what were you thinking to put that expression on your face?” Paul asked.

“Oh, that. Nothing much. I just figured out the way to locate Mavis Bixby once and for all.”

“And that would be?”

“Oh, we good detectives never reveal our secrets to amateurs.” She winked at him. “Supper will be ready in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kate was smiling when she shut the door to the study, leaving Paul to his own devices while she finished preparing the meal. Nothing frustrated her more than hitting a dead end when she was solving a mystery, and the puzzle of Mavis Bixby had been one dead end after another. Now, though, she knew where she could go to get some definitive information. And she planned to do so first thing in the morning.