Murder with Collard Greens and Hot Sauce by A. L. Herbert

Murder with Collard Greens and Hot Sauce by A. L. Herbert

Author:A. L. Herbert [Herbert, A. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2019-01-15T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter 22

“Was that handsome Cuban fellow there?” Momma inquires as soon as I walk into the kitchen at Sweet Tea.

“He’s Dominican. And no, Alex wasn’t there,” I respond, before asking, “What are you doing here?” It’s late afternoon and Momma has usually left Sweet Tea by now.

“Like you,” Wavonne interjects, “she’s nosy, and came by to see if you had a rendezvous with Alex while you were at Monique’s house.”

“Well, like I said, he wasn’t there. At least I didn’t see him.”

“You are going to reach out to him and offer your condolences, aren’t you?”

“Just as soon as you make me that Bundt cake, Momma.”

“Don’t nobody make Bundt cakes anymore,” Wavonne says. “What is this? 1972? Maybe you guys can go to the discotheque in some go-go boots while you’re at it . . . you know, relive your glory days.”

“The seventies were not my glory days, Wavonne. I’m not that old. I was a child when discos were all the rage,” I protest. “Now, can we change the subject? We’re opening for dinner shortly, and I still see greens that need to be chopped.”

“That’s my cue to leave.” Momma grabs her purse from the stool next to her. “I’m going home . . . will see if I can’t find that Bundt pan of mine.”

I roll my eyes. “Bye, Momma.”

“Later, Aunt Celia,” Wavonne says.

While the kitchen door swings closed behind Momma, I walk around to the other side of the counter and examine the heap of leafy collard greens that were delivered this morning from one of the few local farms left in the county.

“They’ve been washed?” I ask Tacy, who’s standing next to me with a chopping knife in his hand.

“Three times.”

“Good. Nothing worse than gritty greens.” I turn to Wavonne. “Let’s grab a few knives and help Tacy with the chopping. Our supply was starting to run low at lunch, and these will take a couple of hours to simmer.”

I’m sure Wavonne had planned to duck into the break room and surf on her phone until we open, but she grabs two knives, albeit very unenthusiastically, hands one to me, and keeps one for herself. The three of us begin using the knives to remove the stems from the individual leaves and lay them on top of one another in piles.

“So, what else happened over at Monique’s?” Wavonne asks, and I realize why she gave me so little grief when I asked her to help with the greens—she wanted to stick around and get the gossip.

“Not much,” I say. “I arrived, got my supplies, thanked Lena for them . . . oh, and Nathan was arrested.”

“What?! Why didn’t you tell us that when you came in?”

“Like I had a chance with Momma’s hounding me about Alex and Bundt cakes.”

“Girl, you better spill some tea.”

“Jack was there.”

“Jack Spruce? Your law enforcement admirer that you’ve been stringin’ along for years so he’ll keep givin’ you inside info?”

“I have not been stringing him along, Wavonne. I genuinely like him. I just don’t feel that way about him.



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