The Focaccia Fatality Read online

  There’s nothing like involvement in two murder investigations, and a grandmother who consistently walks on the wild side, to cause a girl to lose a bit of weight. I twirled in front of the mirror, studying the drape as I moved. Satisfied, and happy to not have to shop for a dress, I hung it up and skipped down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  After the bakery was closed and Samantha had gone for the day, BettyJo sauntered in. Chatting, we walked up the street to Mack and Mutt’s sandwich shop on the corner of our row of shops. I mentioned the dress I planned to wear and asked to borrow some jewelry from BettyJo to complete the look I wanted for the party.

  Excitedly, she said, “I have the perfect set. You’ll love it. When we get back, I’ll bring it over.”

  Chapter 2

  Mirrors tell no lies. The red dress fit so well, I realized how nice it is when a curvy girl finds apparel that doesn’t fight with her figure. I tend to eat bread, and exercise is the last thing on my agenda.

  I turned this way and that, admiring the dress and jewelry BettyJo had graciously loaned me. The chain was gold with rich ruby colored stones tucked into it. The largest of the stones was in a setting that pointed into my cleavage. The total look caused excitement to race through me. I turned around once more for a rear view as I heard a loud knock on the downstairs door. My apartment is above the bakery and the staircase is next to the back entry of it. I hurried down the steps to answer the summons. Outside, Porter stood dressed in a suit and topcoat that made him look handsomer than usual. I smiled and invited him in.

  “You look stunning in that dress, Melina,” he said and gave me the once over twice.

  I laughed happily and thanked him as I slipped into my coat and checked my small purse. Lipstick, keys, money and my driver’s license. I snapped the purse shut and tucked my arm into the crook of Porter’s elbow. “Let’s get this party started,” I said.

  His good humor lasted the entire evening. We drank, ate, and danced until I thought my feet would never be the same. The hour had grown late. Out on the nightclub patio, I heard his phone jingle from inside his jacket and waited quietly while he answered the call. He didn’t say much, but spoke in two or three word sentences, acknowledging the information he was given. I knew then and there that our evening of fun had come to an end.

  He tucked the phone into his pocket and gave me a disappointed look. “Duty calls, I’m afraid. Sorry, Melina. The evening has been great, and I’d like to take you out again if you’re willing to put up with me.”

  I gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, “I’d like that. I’ll get my coat.”

  Inside, other cops readied to leave with their wives and girlfriends in tow. So this was the life they’d had to adjust to? Momentarily, I wondered how many birthdays and other celebrations these cops missed because of their jobs.

  A police officer escorted me home while Porter responded to the scene of the crime. I hadn’t asked what the crime was, nor did I care. As long as it didn’t center on me and mine, I was fine with the situation.

  At the door, I thanked the officer for the ride home. He smiled, said it was no problem, and left. I heaved a sigh and went inside, made some tea and kicked off my shoes. I didn’t think I’d enjoy being part of a police family. It wasn’t my idea of what family should consist of. Aidan Sinclair’s face popped into my mind. He was the reason. I knew it as sure as I knew the sun would rise in the morning.

  My phone rang. Porter’s silky voice came across the line. “I wanted to check that you arrived home safe and sound. McGinty dropped you at the door, then?”

  “He did, thanks. Are you still at the crime scene?”

  “It looks like it’ll be a long night into a longer day. I had a great time, Melina. We’ll get together soon.”

  In the background I heard his name being called. He said he’d be in touch and hung up. I smiled, considered his thoughtfulness, and then headed upstairs to change. There was bread to be made for the morning crowd and while I’d left the dough to rise, it was time to undertake the baking process.

  A few hours passed without interruptions, but then, it was the middle of the night and who the hell would be apt to stop in now? I snickered at the idea and pulled loaves of miche bread from the humongous oven, a rectangular, country-style French pan loaf that smelled heavenly and tasted even better. I laid them on the cooling rack and pulled several loaves of marbled rye from within the oven and set them to cool beside loaves of pumpernickel and potato bread.

  Lines of rolls awaited packaging. It took a while, but I got them all bagged and tied, ready for display. I glanced at the clock, yawned, and headed upstairs when the phone rang again. Geez, now who?

  Reluctant as I was to answer, I worried the call concerned Seanmhair. I picked up the phone.

  “Melina Cameron,” I said.

  “This is Mark Lyons, the Greenwood Apartment Complex coordinator. There’s been a fire and though no one was seriously injured, I was asked to call you to come over and get your grandmother.”

  Mind boggled at his words, panic ran through me as quickly as wildfire in a heavy wind. “Is she all right? I-I’ll be right there.” Without waiting for his answer and knowing he’d hardly tell me if she’d been hurt, I hung up, reached for my coat, grabbed my evening purse, and ran full tilt for the parking lot out back.

  My little Fiat flew through quiet streets until I came upon a mass of fire trucks and rescue personnel outside the complex where Seanmhair lived. My adrenalin was out of control as was worry for Sean. I parked at the end of the street and raced up the sidewalk.

  A paramedic loaded gear into the outer side section of the rescue. I recognized him from having been in the shop and as the man in charge when he turned as I laid my hand on his arm and asked, “Is Seanmhair all right?”

  His face soot smudged, his smile was pure white. “She’s over there. Scared, but fine. You’ve got one spunky grandmother, Melina,” Eric Monroe admitted with a shake of his head.

  I could only imagine the ration of shit she might have given the rescue team, and their firefighting cohorts, when they’d arrived and told everyone to leave the premises. I thanked him and searched the crowd for Seanmhair, who was short, round, and hard to find with so many people milling around.

  “Sean,” I said when I found her. I hugged her tight and then studied her bedraggled appearance. Smoke streaked her face as she looked at me with her bright blue eyes.

  She rose from the stone wall she’d been perched on and began to cry. Between sobs, she told me how the fire had begun on the floor above hers. She’d smelled smoke before the alarms went off and had called the emergency people to make them aware.

  “They got here fairly soon, but the building was smoking by then,” Seanmhair explained.

  I grinned a bit at her ‘smoking’ term. “Come home with me. We’ll get you straightened out tomorrow. It’s freezing out here, Sean. I don’t want you to catch a cold.” I put my arm around her shoulder and herded her toward the car.

  “I don’t have any clothes, I can’t leave,” she moaned.

  “Not to worry, we’ll figure something out. Come on, now, get in the car and buckle up,” I urged.

  One moment she appeared ready to bolt back to the complex, and the next she did as asked without a word. Once settled in the car, Seanmhair asked, “Could you check to see if Connor made it out of the building all right?”

  “Sure, you stay put. I’ll be right back.” I skirted the crowds of onlookers and residents alike in search of anyone who could give me the information. When Eric came into view, I took a chance that he’d be able to help me.

  “Do you happen to know if Connor Graham is all right?” I asked.

  He scanned the clipboard tucked under his arm, and then said, “He was taken to the hospital with smoke inhalation. Don’t worry, Melina, he’ll be fine. Now, go home, please.” He pointed to the gawkers and said with a smirk, “They make our job difficult, don’t be part of that difficulty.”

  “Sure thing
, thanks, Eric,” I answered and rushed back to reassure Seanmhair of Connor’s safety. Grateful for not having to be the bearer of bad news, I smiled at her look of relief when I shared Eric’s information. We drove home in silence.

  While Sean showered, I tossed her clothes into the washing machine and rummaged through the closet for a robe and nightie she’d given me some years back that I wouldn’t have worn unless it was the last thing I owned. I yanked the duo off the hanger and left them on the toilet seat for her.

  “There are some things here for you to wear,” I said.

  I heard her muffled answer and scooted from the room lest she step out of the shower in the nude. Nobody wants to see their grandmother in the altogether, nobody.

  A pot of tea and a few petite scones and jam awaited Sean when she left the bathroom. Her color was better, her fear gone, and a wee smile curled the corners of Sean’s lips when she noticed the goodies.

  “You didn’t need to go to any trouble on my account, Melina. I’m fine, really I am.”

  I waved her comment away. “Have some tea. It’s decaf, so you can have more than one cup, if you wish.” I watched her tuck into the scones and grinned. All was well.

  Two scones later, Sean leaned against the back of the sofa and sipped the last of her tea. “Where shall I sleep?”

  “In my bed. I’ll take the sofa. It’s important that you’re rested, because you won’t want Connor to think you’re a wreck, right?”

  “I think I’ll sleep right here, on this comfy sofa,” Sean said with a smile.

  I opened my mouth to argue when she said, “Not a word. I won’t put you out of your own bed. That’s final. Now give me a blanket and a pillow and go to bed.” Sean glanced at the wall clock. “You look tired and we’ll need to open the shop in a few hours.”

  I huffed at her stubbornness and did what she asked. When I returned to the living room, Sean had tucked her plumpness into the corner of the sofa and snored softly. I wasn’t the only one who’d reached my limit. I left the pillow on the coffee table, draped the blanket over her, and kissed her forehead before tossing her clothing into the dryer and tiptoeing into my own room.

  * * *

  Sleep was fitful. I tossed and turned until the alarm sounded. It was going to be a trying day. I could feel it in my bones. Seanmhair’s clothes tumbled in the dryer to get the wrinkles out while I quickly showered and dressed for the day.

  I’d no sooner finished drying my hair when I heard a sharp rap on the bathroom door. “Are you done in there?” I heard Sean say.

  Giggling at the thought of her tapping her toes while waiting to pee, I swung the door wide. I bowed slightly and said, “Yes, ma’am. It’s all yours.”

  She gave me a sweet smile and a wink as she scooted into the small bathroom, closing the door quickly behind her. So used to living alone, it hadn’t occurred to me that she’d be up and about, waiting for her turn in the bathroom. I gathered her outfit and undies and brought them to the door.

  “Your clothes are on the doorknob. I’ll be downstairs,” I called through the door.

  Chapter 3

  I’d hardly had a moment to rest as the week flew by and I prepared the order for the Gallagher’s party. Mrs. Gallagher had called mid-week to say her guests had no allergies, which made me happy. She added breadsticks to the list and said she looked forward to seeing me.

  Seanmhair had stayed at my place until hers was ready to return to. After four days or so, she’d gotten the news that she could go home. In between everything else, I’d helped her get reorganized. Smoke damage is as bad as fire itself. Smoke ruins furnishings, clothing, and all household goods need a good cleaning or complete replacement. Happily for Sean, the damage hadn’t been as severe on her floor as it had been on the ones above her.

  A few trips to the shopping center, one to the mall, and Sean was ready to move back home. The building complex owners had been hard at work getting the building up to fire code and had covered most of the costs of cleaning all the apartments afflicted with smoke and fire. Sean, a believer in renter insurance, had filed a report with her insurance company. Pleased to think she was all set, I left her at the door, heaved a wicked sigh of relief, and drove away.

  I’d readied the dough for the Gallagher’s shindig. Breads and rolls baked and it wasn’t long before all of it was ready for delivery. I raced upstairs and changed into my outfit, a chef’s white garb.

  With a half hour to spare, I packed the baked goods into the car, stuffed the invoice into my purse, and drove toward Bridgeman Street. Weaving through the back street toward the Gallagher residence, I noticed how many area homes sported Christmas decorations. Colored lights crowned entryways, danced along wrought iron fences, and Christmas trees stood in the wide Georgian style windows of magnificent east side houses. Suddenly, I yearned for the house Seanmhair and I had lived in for the majority of my years after my parent’s unexpected deaths. Sean had raised me and we’d always set up a tree in the formal parlor, added old family folk art ornaments and lights, and I’d teeter on the highest step of the ladder to place the angel on the very top of the tree. I sighed, turned right at the traffic light, and rolled into a neighborhood of people with generations of old family money.

  Why I felt increasingly dismal, I couldn’t say. I only knew that I did and couldn’t shake the feeling. I wondered if Aidan Sinclair had anything to do with it. With a mental head slap, I mumbled, “Get a grip and pay attention to what you’ve got to do. Pining over someone who doesn’t give a shit about you won’t solve a thing.”

  The rear entrance of Vincent Gallagher’s stately residence lay at the far end of his driveway. Before the crowd arrived, I figured I’d unload the goods, and then park my Fiat down the street. I hustled bags and trays into the kitchen. As with many houses in the area, this kitchen had been upgraded to accommodate today’s cook. I hesitated to think Mrs. Gallagher even made toast, but one could never tell for sure.

  With the car parked a block away, I hurried back to the house and set about filling trays and bundling rolls into baskets. Mrs. Gallagher showed me where to place the breads and asked if I’d hang about to refill as needed. I’d been aware that I was supposed to do so, and agreed without mentioning Vincent’s request.

  Guest after guest, couple after couple, arrived. I stood near the kitchen end of the hallway to watch beautifully dressed people enter the house and idly drop their coats into the hands of a doorman who’d been hired to deal with that particular job. Lawyers, congressmen, senators, and the like arrived first, followed by those I thought were friends and relatives. When most of the guests had come in and began to wander through the enormous rooms, I moved farther back into the hallway where lighting was dim and I wasn’t quite so visible. After all, I wasn’t a guest and was happy about it. Put it down to shyness or signs of inferiority. Either way, I didn’t like to hobnob with the rich and famous.

  I’d started to turn toward the kitchen when two more guests arrived. I inhaled sharply, my breath caught in my throat. A beautiful woman, draped in a white ermine fur cape and dressed in a sparkling, long black gown, entered the foyer. She laughed and coyly turned to the man behind her. He walked with a slight limp and used a cane as he progressed into the space behind her. Aidan Sinclair stood dressed in a suit that I bet cost more than my shop earned in a week. His handsome face and gorgeous smile wasn’t lost on me or the woman he was with. My heart sank, right down into my shoes. So much for I’ll be back in the morning to ask you to marry me again, the shithead.

  Abruptly, I stomped into the kitchen, liberated a glass of wine off the tray a waiter carried, and gulped it in one clean swallow. If he’d hesitated another second, I’d have taken another. I glanced around, saw everyone staring, and laughed out loud before I said, “Good cheer to you all, let’s get this party underway.”

  The crew of six worked feverishly to deliver food to the long tables set up in various locations of the house. Three of the crew then proceeded to carry trays of drinks t
hat were greedily taken and downed by guests. Smoked salmon, finger foods, and sandwich fillings lay on every table along with pans of hot foods, next to the breads and rolls I’d made. The atmosphere was one of gaiety and laughter. For everyone but me, that is. I fumed over Sinclair and his date. The man had a real nerve sending me a card and then showing up at a party with another woman. From the edges of doorways and far corners of rooms, I kept an eye on all that went on. Occasionally, I spied the blonde beauty chatting or hugging those she knew. Sinclair often seemed across the room instead of at her side. Considering the amount of food being consumed, I assisted the staff however I could. It wasn’t my job, but I was reluctant to run into Sinclair, so I remained kitchen bound whenever possible.

  One of them, Jake Henderson, came through the door and said with humor, “These people are ravenous, Melina. You need to fill these baskets again. I think they starved all day in order to eat here.”

  “You’re probably right. Hand them over.” I caught them as he handed the trays to me across the counter. Rolls filled two of the small trays, and I added sliced focaccia bread before I handed them back to Jeff. “Can you put these out and check on the bread?”

  He gave me an odd look and asked, “Are you avoiding somebody? You’ve hardly left the kitchen all night.”