...With A Side Of Murder by Plimp Imogen

Author:Plimp, Imogen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Murder for All Seasons Publishing
Published: 2022-07-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

I gave Lorenzo the rest of the weekend off.

I got to the bistro by 3:00, feeling fifty pounds lighter. Nothing could dampen my mood—not even Jenny’s shattering a coffee pot and then accidentally slicing open a five-pound bag of flour, spilling its contents all over the kitchen floor (it was a bit damp at the time, rendering the flour nearly impossible to clean up).

Jenny still seemed upset—although she wasn’t nearly as weepy as she had been the day before. Now that Lorenzo had explicitly tied his guilt to collusion with Jake, I wondered more than ever what was bothering her. Heeding Rhoda’s advice, I kept mostly mum on the matter. But I quelled my concern by asking her sneaky, open-ended questions that might nudge her toward confiding in me. Maybe she wanted to talk about what was on her mind! You know, “any plans for tomorrow night?” or “any favorite first date restaurants?”—that kind of thing.

But no dice.

Finally, Jenny asked—rather apologetically—if it would be alright for her to hide behind the bar and refill the garnish tray. I let her go, leaving me to peel a mountain of farm-fresh carrots and ginger root all by myself. (Now that it was seasonably cold out, I wanted to add a nice, light, carrot ginger soup to the appetizer menu.)

I was chopping carrots and tossing them into a massive colander when Rhoda arrived for work, the bringer of news: “Your ex-hubby is at the bar, Luce,” she said, unraveling her flannel scarf.

“…Andrew?”

She rolled her eyes and unbuttoned her overcoat. “Oh, don’t tell me you ran off and married—then divorced—another impossibly eligible bachelor … and didn’t even spill any of the details!”

Indeed—and even though we weren’t open yet—Andrew was out front, sitting at a corner seat (and looking terribly uncomfortable) while, across the bar, Jenny silently sliced limes into wedges—her lips pursed, her eyes glued to her paring knife.

So that’s: Jake, Nan, and now Andrew who’d brought their dirty laundry out to air at my place of business, I thought bitterly. Who—or what—was next? And currently most pressing: What did Andrew want from me?

I took a deep breath, stifled my vexed frustration, and headed his way. “Out on bail?” I asked as I hopped up onto the barstool next to him.

“Yep,” he said—and puckered his lips. I detected resentment.

I didn’t want to think about how much bail had cost him… Never mind! I reminded myself. No longer my problem! I took another deep breath—and magnanimously reached out to rub his back. “…How are you holding up?” My voice was thick with affection.

He let out a long exhale. “I’m alright, for a guy whose oldest friend just got offed.”

From the other side of the bar, Jenny sniffled.

Cautiously, Andrew leaned in and lowered his voice. “…Mac, do you think we could…?” He tipped his head toward the hallway and trailed off, eying Jenny warily.

“Yeah. Sure.” I jumped up and led him down the hall, past the kitchen—where Rhoda had donned an apron and taken over my carrot soup—and into the nook by the door to the back alley.

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