A Second Helping of Murder and Recipes: A Hot Dish Heaven Mystery by Jeanne Cooney

A Second Helping of Murder and Recipes: A Hot Dish Heaven Mystery by Jeanne Cooney

Author:Jeanne Cooney [Cooney, Jeanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.
Published: 2014-06-01T00:00:00+00:00


Part Three: Spoon a Discreet Amount of The Dish You Want Most of All

Chapter Twenty

After Buddy got carted away in handcuffs, I called his lawyer in Crookston, like he had asked. The guy assured me he would talk to Buddy first thing in the morning. Beyond that, he said, there wasn’t much anyone could do until Monday, when Buddy would make his first appearance in court. If he needed an investigator, he’d hire one then.

I disconnected, stuffed my cell phone into my purse, and entered the café. The place was pitch black and eerily quiet except for the hollow pounding of the furnace as it kicked in against the cold. I was pretty sure no one was around. If they were, the noise and lights accompanying the arrival of the gestapo would have rousted them. Just the same, I slipped off my shoes and stealthily climbed the stairs and padded down the hall to my room.

I got undressed, shimmied into my nightshirt, and tucked myself in bed. With my teeth chattering and my thoughts on the loose, I attempted to warm myself while developing a plan of action. It was tough going on both fronts. I raised my knees to my chin and wrapped my arms around my ankles, while my mind jumped around as if I’d spent the evening downing cappuccinos.

I may have drifted off. I’m not sure. But sometime during the night, I heard commotion, first downstairs, then in Margie’s bedroom. Whispering and laughing. Followed by bedsprings creaking. And after that, the crooning of Barry White.

I didn’t trust my ears at first, certain it was nothing more than a Motown dream, prompted by one of those late-night, thirty-minute television ads for CD collections. But it wasn’t a dream, though undoubtedly a CD, from which Barry White sang in his sexy baritone, “Can’t get enough of your love, babe.”

For a moment I considered pounding on Margie’s door and blurting out everything. But for what purpose other than to silence Barry White and the giggling and bed squeaking? And I didn’t really want to ruin Margie’s night, did I? After all, we couldn’t do anything about Buddy till morning. Besides, I was finally warm, all cuddled up in bed. And while I wasn’t sleeping soundly, I was resting. So I simply clicked on my bedside radio and cranked up the volume. Giggle, giggle. Squeak, squeak. “Can’t get enough of your love, babe.” Really loud.



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