Chapter Eleven

"Ally? What the hell?"

I popped upright, brushing my hands against my jeans as I pulled an apologetic smile. "I saw a window of opportunity," I quipped.

"You're inside a dead man's house!" hissed Jack, placing his fingers on the windowsill and leaning in. He glanced down and jumped before blowing out a breath, apparently very much relieved he was wearing gloves.

"I know." I swallowed, realizing how impetuous the move was. I, on the other hand, was not an impetuous person. I was perpetually careful and diligent. I thought things through and researched all the pros and cons until I was sure of a decision. So where did the sudden determination to climb inside come from? Desperation. "I'm going to look around," I said.

"I don't know if that's a very good idea."

I glanced over my shoulder at the books and papers I saw everywhere. "I'm in here now," I said with a shrug. "Jack, I need to find out why someone wanted to kill him. Someone who made it look like I could have done it. I know there must be something here that can lead us to the real killer."

Jack stared at me for a long moment. "Be quick then," he said. "I'll keep a lookout."

I nodded, turning away from him quickly before I lost my nerve. The living room looked well used, and somewhere I could easily imagine Edwin spending his down time. Judging from the piles of books, he liked to do most of his reading in there. With my leather gloves still on, I picked up the books, examining the spines. Lots and lots of cookbooks and books about food and travel. I shook them but nothing fell out from between the pages. Setting them down, in roughly the same haphazard pile I found them, I began to examine the paperwork scattered all around. There were various bills, paid and organized by date order — Edwin probably meant to file or shred them but now, he never would — and a few letters from magazines regarding his subscriptions. I replaced them and moved on to the second table at the far end of the couch.

There was an invitation to a dinner party, and another one for a wine tasting out of town; both were dated to happen in two weeks’ time. A couple of foodie magazines were stuffed with interesting recipes — I temporarily wondered if now were the right time to consider a new subscription for me — and some brochures for food trips that looked very interesting. Was it bad that I had plenty of interest in these too? I wondered if Sophie might be persuaded to take a trip with me before she had her baby.

The next letter was eye-catching. A commission from a large-circulation magazine offering Edwin a decent sum if he would take a trip to the city for his angle on their seasonal spring food. It was something I would enjoy reading, and for a moment, I wondered if Edwin and I had more in common than I previously thought.

There were two more pieces of paper but neither were nasty nor threatening notes. One was a page from the community college enclosing a check for a lecture he'd given; but the other was an email, and it made me pause.

The editor of the Calendar Times had forwarded my email inviting the newspaper to send a food critic and added his own note that the restaurant was new and had a good history. It would be good publicity to see the new town restaurant reviewed. He added that Edwin could book a table and I’d promised to reimburse the cost for two once the newspaper provided the receipt. Edwin added more notes of his own. "Promising menu," I read out loud, "Chef is from Calendar. Good pedigree. No nuts policy! Great! Call Sally." Then there were some date notes and finally, a tick mark against one of them. I recognized it as the date when Edwin and Sally came in. I contemplated taking a photo of the notes with my phone but decided against it. There simply wasn't anything in the email or his notes that made it look like anyone had a grudge against Edwin.

I looked around for a desk or a computer, but couldn't see one.

"Anything?" asked Jack from the window.

"Nothing suspicious but he wrote a nice note about Belle Rose. I'm going to see if there's a home office."

"Hurry. I'll check for anyone coming."

The very last thing I wanted was to be caught in Edwin's house. I hurried out of the room, going through the open doorway into a small hall. At one end, it opened into a wider vestibule and what looked like the front door to the house. Off the corridor was a kitchen, not too large but very well equipped, including a large, full, wine rack. I turned away, looking for a desk.

The other door led to a dining room overlooking the front yard but there didn't seem to be anything to see beyond a nice collection of antique plates hung on the wall. I guessed the bedrooms and bathroom were located upstairs. I hurried up the stairs, careful that my shoes didn't leave any marks on the carpet.

A master bedroom, made up in welcoming hues of gray and white with a big, antique bed, was behind the first closed door. The second room was neater and clearly had been largely unused but had a desk and a laptop. I opened it, surprised when it immediately came to life and displayed a password box. I had no idea what password Edwin might have used, and nothing to guess from, so I closed the lid. Instead, I glanced through the paper notepad that was at its side. He hadn't recorded any threats but there were a lot of notes about recipes, food, and new ingredients to try. I closed it, turning my attention to the slots that spanned the back of the desk. Various bits of paper were deposited there, anything from old bills to receipts, but no threats.

When my cellphone rang, I jumped and pulled it out from my pocket, Jack's name flashed on the screen.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Upstairs. I'm looking through Edwin's desk."

"Get out now! A police cruiser just pulled up to the front yard."

My heart thumped. If I were caught in a murdered man's home, I would have a tough time explaining myself. I couldn't think of anything else to make me look even guiltier in the eyes of the police. I ran out of the room, hurrying down the stairs as fast as I could without tripping. I spun around the corner, racing for the rear living room. I slithered out of the window, head first, landing in an unsightly heap on the ground. "Jack?" I whispered. "Where are you?"

My jacket had disappeared from the patio and I couldn't see where Jack was but I heard footsteps coming around the side of the property. I darted into the bushes, going forwards as far as I could before dropping into a silent crouch.

From my vantage point, I could make out a pair of legs and the hem of a leather jacket. The legs turned and I shrank lower, crossing my fingers that I couldn't be seen.

"There's an open window. A cat might have gotten in and set off the alarm," said a voice I recognized as Detective Logan's. "Do we have the number for whomever is supposed to be looking after the house?" He waited, then said, "Call them and get them to shut the window and make sure the property is properly secured. I'm going to head back to the station." The feet turned on the patio, taking a few steps forwards.

Something tickled my nose and I felt a familiar feeling build up. I clamped a hand over my mouth and nose, stifling the oncoming sneeze.

The feet stopped, and turned.

I didn't dare breathe. If Detective Logan stepped forwards, he might have seen me. Or Jack, wherever he was. I had to hope Jack managed to get further away from the house than I did but I didn't dare turn my head to check. All I could do was stay as still as a rock.

After a long moment, during which I thought my thumping heart would give me away, Detective Logan turned and walked off. A minute later, an engine started and I waited anxiously for the sound of a car driving away. I stayed still until I couldn't hear it anymore. Part of me wanted to hide behind the bushes until nightfall, when the dark would conceal my exit, but without my jacket, it was just too cold. Shivering, I stepped out of the bushes, brushing off stray leaves and twigs that clung to my sweater. "Jack?" I hissed, trying to find a balance between whispering and talking normally. "Jack, where are you?"

To my left, more bushes rustled and Jack stepped out. "I really thought Detective Logan was going to catch us," he said. His cheeks were red with cold and he was breathing hard. When I shivered again, he hurried over and wrapped my jacket around my shoulders. I stuffed my arms into the sleeves, still shivering as I struggled with the zipper. Jack took over with steady hands and zipped it up to my chin before grabbing my hand, and pulling me out of the garden along with him. Instead of turning towards the front of the house, we turned right, hurrying away in the opposite direction.

"I am never doing that again," I said when we crossed the road onto the next block.

"I thought Logan would surely catch us!"

"I have never broken into a house before!"

"You should have seen how you slithered out of the window like a cat burglar." He rested his hands on his legs, catching his breath, before laughing. "I've never seen anything like it, and I lived in LA!"

His laugh was infectious and I couldn't help joining in. When we finally calmed down, I said, "I don't know what came over me! I think I was just so positive there had to be some kind of evidence to implicate someone else but there wasn't. Detective Logan has probably already examined the house and knows that."

"Or he already took what he needed if there was anything to find."

"Am I being crazy?" I asked, wondering if I were.

Jack shook his head. "No."

I smiled. "Thanks."

"Anytime. Let's go to my house. It's closer than your apartment and I need something warm to drink. We need to confine our illegal activities strictly to the summertime. It's too cold right now for breaking and entering."

"I swear, I am never doing this again, no matter what the time of year."

"That works for me too." We picked up the pace, and I realized I was following Jack as he navigated the streets with ease. After ten minutes, we arrived at his house and he let us in, stepping through first, then standing back so I could enter. "Hot chocolate?" he asked. "Coffee? Something stronger?"

"Chocolate, please." The house was pleasantly warm but I still didn't stop shivering for several minutes. Jack fetched a soft, cream, wool blanket from the leather chair by the window and tucked it around my shoulders. I sat at the big island, watching him put a pan to the stove and melt ingredients together, stirring and checking it periodically. When he realized I was watching, I glanced away, noticing the camera had been moved to the island. Several sheets of typed paper were underneath it. By the time he placed a glass mug of thick, dark hot chocolate into my hands, I felt like my normal self. I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes with pleasure. "This smells amazing."

"It's my secret recipe."

I sipped, almost scalding my lips as the silky, rich chocolate slid over my tongue. "You should bottle it, sell it, and make millions."

Jack laughed. He pulled up a stool next to me and sat with his own mug. "I don't want to share this recipe with just anyone."

"Are these new recipes?" I asked, nodding to the papers.

"Ah, kinda."

"I didn't think we'd made plans to update the dessert menu," I said, struggling to think of our most recent conversations. So much had happened, I wasn't sure I was thinking about anything clearly anymore, but I couldn't remember talking about updating the menu.

"Actually, this is a project I'm currently working on," he said. He set down his mug, standing to reach over the island and grab the camera. He pressed a button and it powered to life. He turned it so I could see the viewing screen. As I watched, he scrolled through dozens of photos of beautifully presented cakes, puddings, and desserts.

"These are amazing!" I gasped, my mouth literally watering. I took another sip of the chocolate, closing my eyes for a moment and relishing the perfection of its taste.

"I haven't shared these with anyone except my editor. I'm writing a cookbook," he explained.

"Seriously? Wow!"

Jack beamed, a little color filling his cheeks. "Do you think so?"

"Absolutely! I'm so impressed. Have you been working on these in your spare time?"

He nodded. "Every chance I get. I had a lot written before I moved here but some of it had to be redone. This move was the perfect opportunity I needed to get clear head space and find the time to work on the book."

"I knew there was a reason you took the job. I couldn’t afford someone with your experience and culinary skills. You're too good to be working in a small-town restaurant." Another thought occurred to me: did that mean Jack planned on leaving Calendar when his book was finished? My stomach dropped at that unhappy thought.

"That, and I needed a new job," said Jack. "You remember what the reporter said earlier? About lashing out in the kitchen?"

"Yes," I said. I'd forgotten about that but now I realized there was more to it than a clash of high tempers.

Jack took a long sip of the chocolate and licked his lips. "I was happy at my job for a while. As you know, I worked my way up, getting promotions, making a name for myself, lots of good bonuses. Late one Friday night, I got a call that a customer wanted to meet with me. It happens occasionally and I didn't mind stepping out of the kitchen. It turned out the customer was an editor. She ran a lifestyle publishing firm and was looking for new talent. She told me she loved my desserts and gave me her business card, insisting I get in touch."

"And you did," I filled in.

Jack grinned. "I did. She told me to write up a pitch and deliver it. I did but I couriered it to her with a cake I baked. She called me that afternoon and offered me a deal. I got to working on the book, trying out recipes, rethinking them, and testing them. I couldn't be happier and everyone I worked with was really pleased for me."

"So what happened?" I asked.

"My boss happened," he said, his eyes flashing with anger. "Like everyone else, he made out like he was really happy for me. I took a few days of vacation time to work on a tricky pastry; and when I came back, a dessert I created exclusively for the book was on the lunch menu, during a shift I didn't work. I thought it was a coincidence that someone else came up with my idea. I took the recipe out of my book and forgot about it. Then, a few weeks later, there was another one of mine. Again, I didn't think much of it. We'd been talking about a particular honey in the kitchen so I figured my boss just had a brainwave, like I did. So like before, I took the recipe out of my book."

"Did it happen again?" I asked.

"Yeah, but not so subtly the next time. My boss went on vacation with his family for a week and the chef at his other restaurant came down with mono. The head chef asked me to fill in until he could get a temp. When I showed up, he showed me the menu, and I nearly exploded. Each one of the six desserts was one of mine! I asked him where the recipes came from and he said it was something the boss had been testing out. He told me they'd been on the menu for a month. My wonderful boss had been stealing my ideas."

"Oh, no," I groaned.

"Yeah." Jack shrugged. "I'd been working on the ideas during my breaks, just toying with some notes. He must have taken my notepad from my bag and copied them."

"That's deplorable."

"No, what's really worse is I waited until his whole vacation ended, quietly steaming, to confront him. He told me he was the big shot and no one would ever believe me. He said I should shut up or he'd make sure I never worked again. I quit on the spot and went home. I sat dejectedly in my kitchen and thought I'd never get another job. Then I saw your ad and everything made sense. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how unhappy I’d become in LA. Sure, I could surf every weekend but I was usually too exhausted from all the late nights and anti-social hours. I wasn't living the life I wanted. I wanted to write my book. I wanted a dog and to watch the seasons change. So, you see, we both came here for a fresh start."

"How is your life now?" I asked, holding my breath, barely ready for the answer.

"Life," said Jack, fixing me with a smile. "Is pretty great." He took another long sip, and a smudge of chocolate remained on his lower lip. Without thinking, I leaned in and brushed it off with my finger. As I began to withdraw my hand, he caught it with his and locked eyes with me. My breath hitched in my throat, my heart thumped, and he leaned forwards and kissed me with his chocolate-flavored lips. I heard the soft thud of his feet hitting the floor as he closed the distance between us. Wrapping my arms around him, I pulled him closer and the kiss deepened. He held me against him, kissing me so softly and sweetly, in a way I was sure I'd never been kissed before.