Chapter Twenty-Four

Bacon scented the air in my kitchen. I followed the aroma as a person dying of thirst goes for the oasis. When I arrived at the table, it was stacked with pancakes, muffins, bagels, coffee, and the delicious bacon. Apparently we were having breakfast, again.

And I wasn’t alone.

“Why is it that you always seem to cook me breakfast after I’ve solved a murder?” I asked around the bacon crunching in my mouth. I knew it was rude, but I couldn’t pass up all that delicious greasiness. It had called my name with squeaky pleading. Right.

Bella whipped around from her position at the stove. She was wearing one of the aprons Ben kept hanging on the back of my pantry door. This one had a frog on it with the words KISS THE COOK under the cartoon drawing. He had four now, all different. And I’d also found a lamp that wasn’t mine sitting on one of my end tables. Along with two of my drawers in my dresser cleaned of my clothes and now stuffed with his. I had a feeling we were going to need to talk about this. And soon.

But it could wait until after I shoveled food into my mouth. About halfway through breakfast, I heard a big vehicle pull up out front and figured that maybe my dad was here with Martha. I had successfully avoided letting him sucker me into the big discussion about the investigation when he was here for the frame-sale thing. His pout over not being involved this time had still been something to behold, but I had endured plenty without having him hang over my shoulder. Still, it had been nice of him to hang around in case there had been trouble yours truly couldn’t handle.

So to say I was surprised to hear a knock on my door was a big understatement. My dad normally busted in without a single thought for privacy. I rose from the table, made my way to the door, and braced myself. If it was someone else coming to knock me in the head, I was going to take them down like I had Jackson. I still felt the hum of that kick in my leg. Woo-hoo!

I whipped the door open. There stood Detective Bartley, with Charlie right behind her.

“Um.” I cleared my throat, not feeling on even footing. Compared to what the detective wore, I looked the part of the slob in my ratty robe and a pair of house slippers I should have torn down to rags months ago. Bartley was dressed to the nines, with her hair done, nails painted, and suit immaculate. Let’s face it, I would never be able to meet her on level ground, so I should probably give that particular hope up.

“Ivy.” Looking over the top of her sunglasses at me, Bartley pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Are you going to let us stand out here all morning?”

“Oh, um. No, of course not.” I pulled the lapels of my robe more tightly together, valiantly fighting the good fight against running back into my bedroom and changing.

Charlie gave me a small wave as he walked past me, winking at me at the same time. I gave him a little hand flip, too, wondering what on earth they were doing together and why they were here this early in the morning.

The bacon must have led them back to the kitchen, because when I arrived, they were both chowing down. Bella had pulled up a couple more chairs, but Jared and Ben were now conspicuously (good word!) absent, although there was a Carrie’s Coffee box on the table with Snicker Doodles in it. I snatched it off the table and shoved it under the sink, hoping no one but Bartley saw my stealth.

“So what’s the haps?” I asked, going for nonchalance, yet fearing I had not pulled it off.

But Detective Bartley smiled at me, showing a whole lot of teeth, but in a nice way. “I wanted to thank you, Ivy.”

My face flamed up, I could feel it. I had never really been thanked before, or even acknowledged. This was a whole new thing for me. “You’re, um, welcome.” I hated the word “um” right now. Dammit. And the lilt at the end of the sentence? Yeah, it was there, too.

“Well, I wanted to let you know we have an award we want to give you.” She reached behind her to a very cool purse hanging off the arm of her chair.

Charlie clapped his hands as if he were the one getting some kind of honor, but I smiled at him despite his silliness. He had been a huge asset yesterday, taking care of the shop so I could get everything set up with Ben, Bella, and Jared. And he’d made my tills overfloweth. He was my new best male friend, to be honest, and I couldn’t have been happier. Not to mention the fact that he’d gotten rid of Jackie permanently by turning her in as a possible accomplice for Trev’s murder. Seems she was trying to get into more than one man’s pants around here lately, and agreed to deposit those towels at Bella’s Best for Jackson. Jackson who, it had come to light, had not intentionally killed Trev. He’d had a fit of temper and hit the other man with the statue I’d found in the living room. Apparently he regretted it for a moment before his sneaky brain had started working. At some point, he’d decided to blame it all on Bella to get her to depend on him. Yeah, that had backfired on him. And now he was going down for a long, long time, despite some of the townsfolk thinking he should be called innocent and reinstated as the golden boy. Idiots.

Anyway, Detective Bartley finally found whatever it was she’d gone hunting for and whipped back around to me. “Just a little token of our appreciation.”

My eyes bugged while my palms became sweaty. Taking a deep breath, I reached for what looked like an overly stiff manila envelope. What could it be? Had they given me a commendation? A special thank-you plaque for all I’d done for them over the past several months? Wouldn’t that be something else?

Of course this was my life, so I wasn’t too surprised when I opened the thing, drew out the plastic-covered paper, and read, “To the world’s most nosy woman. Life would be easier if you’d mind your own business, but since you haven’t and won’t…thanks.”

Looking up into Detective Bartley’s sparkling eyes, I bit my tongue until I almost drew blood. Bella came over from the stove to see my prize and whacked me on the back. I did draw blood, then. Nice. “Thwanks. Thwanks awot, Bartwee.”

“Oh, Ivy. I think you can call me Debbie now. And you’re welcome.” She snickered, I gave a weak smile, Charlie clapped his hands, and Bella laughed outright.

Okay. Okay! It was funny. I started laughing, too, until I heard some banging and a loud thump in the front of the house. What the hell?

“Could you excuse me for a moment?” I got up and put my napkin on the table, not waiting for anyone to give me leave. It was my house, after all, police or no police.

When I stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, I just knew my eyes popped out of my head. I could tell you for certain my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, making it impossible to do anything but gurgle like an idiot.

I heard someone snicker behind me. I had barely enough restraint to turn around but not snarl in case it was Bart…Debbie. Since it was Bella, I did let myself snarl. Her boyfriend was helping my dork of a boyfriend…

Peeling my tongue away and chewing on it a second, I marshaled myself, then yelled, “No fricking way in hell! I draw the line here. I draw the line! Get it out! Get. It. OUT!”

“But, Ivy,” my erstwhile boyfriend actually tried to wheedle me. Two good words, but so help me God I could not even think of enjoying them.

“Out, now. Or I’ll get the lighter fluid.”

“I think she means business, man,” Jared, the slightly sane one, said. “Maybe we’d better…”

He’d probably trailed off because I could almost literally feel flames of righteous fire shooting out of my head and my ears. I was that mad. “Maybe? Maybe!” I shouted like a fishwife with too much merchandise to sell. “Try definitely.” I’d pulled myself back and barely whispered the last words with deadly intent.

“Garage?”

“Add a ‘b’ there to come up with garbage, and you’ve got it right.” I stalked toward Ben, and he prudently backed away.

“Am I still welcome?” he asked, giving me a cheesy smile. “You did say I could move in, right?”

I crossed my arms, appearing to think about it, just to get his goat. When really I couldn’t wait for him to move in now. We’d figure out how everything was going to work. I’d encouraged him to keep his apartment at least until the lease was up. Which was why I was so baffled to see this monstrosity here.

If you haven’t clued in yet, he and Jared were trying to move the duct-taped couch into my house. That was absolutely not happening, with a capital NOT.

“The couch goes,” I finally said.

“I’ll take it back immediately.”

“How about I go get the lighter fluid for real? We’ll burn it right out front.”

“That would be illegal,” Debbie said, coming up behind me, with Charlie hot on her heels. What was it with them? Tell me they weren’t an item.

But then I didn’t have time to follow that thought trail any farther because my dad and Martha pulled up in a huge RV. I had a feeling this one wasn’t a rental, because it had caricatures of Stan and Martha on the side, with their names underneath. The artist had made Stan nutmeg brown. I had to laugh because it was so typically Stan. Of course, I tried not to think about the shit hitting the fan once he found out Ben was going to be “shacking up” with me. But then that would be typical Stan, too, and I was confident I could deal. Maybe.

I put all that away as I invited them in for breakfast, too. Second breakfast for those of us who had already eaten.

I stood next to Bella, helping her flip more pancakes and laughing. The kitchen was stuffed; some people overflowed out into the living room. But I was happy. I had all the people around me that meant something, or would mean more soon. And the ugly couch was back in the big truck Jared had borrowed from his brother.

Life didn’t get much better than this morning. Then again, this was my life and there was always tomorrow.

A word about the author…

Misty Simon loves a good story and decided one day that she would try her hand at it. Eventually she got it right. There's nothing better in the world than making someone laugh, and she hopes everyone at least snickers in the right places when reading her books.

She lives with her husband, daughter and three insane dogs in Central Pennsylvania, where she is hard at work on her next novel or three.

She loves to hear from readers, so drop her a line at misty@mistysimon.com