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AT SIX-THIRTY, GORDON arrived at the apartment to find Angie in the kitchen. He sniffed, trying to identify the aromas. Onions, mushrooms, and that’s as far as his ability to discern ingredients went. He noted the dining table set, an open bottle of wine and two glasses on the counter. “Is there an occasion?”
Avoiding his gaze, she ducked to check whatever was in the oven. “Felt like something different,” she said to whatever she was cooking.
He knew better than to push. “I’m going to change. Do I need to dress up?”
“Just be comfortable.” She rose, and he noted she wore shorts and a tee, so unless she planned to change, too, it wasn’t going to be an elegant meal. At least as far as attire went. It sure smelled good.
He changed into jeans and a tee, and padded barefoot to the dining room. “Can I pour you a glass of wine, or are we waiting for dinner?”
“I’ll take one now, thanks.”
He brought her a glass and hiked a hip onto one of the stools at the counter. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
As if nothing actually meant nothing when uttered by a woman, his wife included. What he’d wanted when he’d come home was a cold beer, but he’d settle for wine. He sipped from his glass. “Heard from the cops in Evergreen,” he said. “They’ve made an arrest.”
She stirred something in a pot on the stove. “Bud’s case? What can you share?”
“You were right about Bud’s side piece being involved. She ran to Boston, but she couldn’t hide.” He met her gaze, hoping for a hint of a smile.
“And Bud?” she asked.
“He’s claiming total ignorance, but my money says he’ll be booked as an accessory. It’s all up to the lawyers now.”
“Well, that’s good news. Anything about Mayor McKenna?”
He relayed what Mrs. McKenna had said.
Her eyes popped wide. “A brain tumor? That’s terrible. What’s going to happen now?”
“I’m supposed to meet with Jeremiah Illingsworth of the town council before tomorrow’s meeting. Guess I’ll find out then whether he’s going to follow the request to keep the status quo.”
“Salads are in the fridge,” she said, as if she hadn’t understood the implications of his statement.
He fetched them, brought them to the dining room where they both sat. Angie raised her glass.
“To changes,” she said.
Did that mean she didn’t want the interim mayor to keep him on as chief? He returned the toast, remembering this was Angie. His wife. The person he’d promised to share his life with, and that included being able to discuss things—off-limits work situations excepted, of course.
“What changes are we toasting?” he asked.
“Megan called today.”
He took another sip of wine. “What did she say?”
“She’s giving up our event business. She’s moving to be with Justin. Permanently. As in they’re going to get married.”
Gordon wasn’t surprised. “That’s great for her—them. I’ll bet Rose and Sam are thrilled.”
Angie laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure Rose will have a huge reception. Their ward and their grandson together in a whole new way. But not until spring.”
“Where do you fit in? Are you going to take over the business?”
Angie worked on her salad before answering. “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. Would you be mad if I quit? Imelda is interested in taking over from Megan, and she asked if I’d stay on, but I got the feeling she was being polite. That she had someone else in mind already.”
“You’ve already said juggling both jobs is a strain. I have no problem with you dropping the extra catering gigs.”
“It would mean a loss of income. We want to buy a house, whether it’s here or in Pine Hills. There’ll be so much involved. Moving. Furniture. Maintenance. Taxes. Having less money would put a strain on the budget.”
“If we do move, you’ll have to give up Megan’s business anyway. Would it be better to tell Imelda you’re easing out of it gradually, so she has time to adjust? So you can help her break in her new cook?”
“You’re probably right.”
They finished their salads, and while he cleared, Angie served the rest of the meal.
“Baby chickens?” he asked when she set his plate in front of him.
“Game hens. With onion and mushroom gravy.”
So, his nose had been right about that one.
“Mashed potatoes and broccoli au gratin,” she added.
Gordon forked up a bite of the potatoes and mentioned that Solomon wanted the recipe. “I told him it was your decision.”
Angie hiked a shoulder. “I can call Mary Ellen. It’s not a secret, and I’m not worried that she’s going to go into the mashed potato business.”
They ate in relative silence, Gordon’s mind whirling between police work and his future. The loss of Angie’s catering income wouldn’t put much of a strain on their budget, but if they moved to Pine Hills—a premature assumption—she might not be contributing a significant amount to their income for some time. He’d have to crunch the numbers assuming he’d be the sole provider, and when Angie found work she liked doing, it would be a bonus. Not income they should rely on from the start.
After he and Angie dealt with cleanup, she folded the dish towel and looped it over the oven door handle. “What if the interim mayor doesn’t want to keep you on as chief, and Pine Hills doesn’t offer you the job?”
A question he hadn’t been willing to face. He took her hands. “Worrying about it now won’t do any good. Let’s see what happens after the town council meeting.”
“I’m not a big fan of uncertainty,” Angie said. “I’m going downstairs to my office to work on menus for the final events before Imelda is in charge.”
Gordon flipped on the television, sipping the last of his wine and channel surfing while he tried to sort all the uncertainties. He had to agree with Angie. Not knowing could be worse than getting an answer you didn’t like. At least then you had a direction, could plot a course of action.
He muted the set and called Solomon. “How did the search go? I tried to include enough small items so you could look almost everywhere instead of just for a garden rake.”
“Which we found, by the way. The one clean tool in his truck, which sent up skyrockets. It’s reasonable to expect a yard maintenance truck to have garden tools, but one clean one? It’s on its way to CBI for a forensic exam. They’ve impounded his car, too. Pretty sure there will be enough trace in the trunk to charge him. Meanwhile, Moose is spending the night in lockup.”
“You’re burying the lede again, Ed. What did you find in the trunk?”