That evening, as Maxi worked the phones for the flower shop, typing away at her home computer, Kate staked out the Más-Buchanan kitchen, baking batch after batch of cookies. While simultaneously researching tricks and techniques for making the perfect sourdough.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t put her hands on the real thing for another twenty-four hours. Until Francine Junior Junior had time to adjust to her new home in Maxi’s kitchen cupboard—and leaven a bit of flour.
In the meantime, Kate made do by reading every sourdough how-to she could lay her hands on—from professional strategies to hacks from home chefs. She had a library’s worth of cookbooks piled on the counter. She’d even bribed Michael into parting with the family iPad so she could access a few online resources.
His price: a post-dinner batch of cookies in the flavor of his choice.
As a result, Michael, Javie, and Elena were conducting high-volume, high-stakes negotiations in the den, while Oliver supervised from the sofa.
The sound of the doorbell sent them into overdrive.
“Pizza guy!” Michael hollered.
“Pizza man, pizza man!” Javie sang, jumping up and down.
“Piz-za!” Elena exclaimed.
“Got it!” Peter called, heading for the front door, still in his dress shirt and suit pants.
He’d barely made it through the door that evening when Maxi informed him he was on dinner duty. So he’d shed his jacket, pulled off his tie, and ordered pizza.
“Gordian knot solution,” he happily informed his wife. “And the kids can help me set up out back.”
As they all sat around the outdoor table, Maxi glanced over at him and grinned. “You, mi amor, are a wonderful Italian chef. I love it when you cook.”
Esperanza, a small smile on her face, delicately cut her slice with a knife and fork.
“Hey, I’m a regular Renaissance man. I cook, I deliver baked goods, I put away the bad guys.…”
Maxi looked at him meaningfully. “How did I get so lucky?”
“Well, if that impressed you, I’m going for broke now. Remember how we were having so much trouble finding any information on His Majesty Stewart Lord back in the U.K.?”
Maxi and Kate nodded as Javie reached over and snagged another piece of bacon and sausage pizza.
“Turns out Lord’s not his real name. His birth name is ‘Larde’ with an e. Paul Larde. Known around the old neighborhood as Roly Paulie.”
“Did he have a record?” Kate asked.
“Some small-fry stuff when he was a teenager. Petty theft. Loitering. Joyriding. Sounds like he was more of a wannabe than anything else. And he already had quite the gift of gab. Always managed to talk his way out of any serious charges. Then, when he was nineteen, his mother passed. Didn’t have much of an estate, but the old lady had a nice burial policy. Some kind of holdover from the father’s pension plan. Anyway, it was supposed to cover her expenses, with any remainder split between Paul and his sister, Mary.”
“I think I know where this is going,” Maxi said, taking another piece of veggie pizza and carefully placing it on the paper plate in front of Elena.
Oliver, stationed on the grass near the girl’s chair, didn’t beg. But he happily accepted any morsels surreptitiously slipped to him. And claimed anything that fell on the ground.
Peter smiled. “Yup. Somehow, Paulie-boy got his hands on that check and both he and it vanished. Sister never saw either one again.”
“Did she file charges?” Kate asked.
“Didn’t see the point, apparently. She knew Paul well enough to know that money was long gone. Rest of the relatives had to pass the hat to bury the mother.”
“That’s awful,” Maxi said.
“But true to form,” Kate added.
“So that real estate empire, he started it with stolen money?” Maxi breathed. “What happens to it now?”
“Barring a will, which we can’t find any trace of, his sister gets it all.”
Maxi giggled.
Kate grinned. “I know, right?” She raised her water glass. “Here’s to karma!”