The Maverick - By Jan Hudson Page 0,63
short while. A few minutes later, she was surprised to see Greg Gonzales come in with two women, one older, one younger.
She hurried to the door to meet them. “Hi, Greg. Good to see you.”
He introduced his mother and younger sister, Donna, who appeared to have Down syndrome. Cass greeted them warmly and seated them near the window. “Greg, life has been pretty hectic for me, but I plan to spend tomorrow afternoon making the rest of my selections, and I’ll have my choices ready for you by Monday.”
“Sounds good. I’ve been telling Donna and my mother about the chili here, and Mama’s been itching to come and steal your recipe.”
“Oh, Greg!” his mother said, chuckling.
“I don’t like chili,” Donna said, screwing up her face. “But I like hamburgers.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Donna,” Cass said. “Our hamburgers are really, really good. Some say the best in Texas.”
Donna beamed.
“Let me take your drink orders, and I’ll send over a waiter right away.”
Martin Sevier from the POAC board brought his family for dinner, as did Sunny’s former partner in Homicide. It seemed to be old home night with the number of friends and regulars who showed up.
Cass stood with her hand on the bar and smiled as she looked out over the diners, listened to the buzz of conversation punctuated by laughter. The smells of chili and onions and sizzling meat were as familiar to her as her own reflection, as were the kitschy decorations on the walls. These sights and sounds and smells were woven into the fabric of her life, and they comforted her. She rubbed her fingers over the bar’s smooth wood, where so many fingers had touched before.
Dear God, she loved this place.
CASS FELT CONSIDERABLY BETTER when she said goodbye to the last of the staff and made her final walk through Chili Witches. She glanced toward a corner, catching a movement there, and froze when she saw the Senator sitting at the table, a coffee cup in front of him. No matter how many times she encountered him, she would never get used to seeing a ghost.
“Good evening, Senator. What brings you here?”
“Do I need a reason to drop in?” He looked a bit sad.
“Things are off between Griff and me.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. I like him.”
“Mom doesn’t. She’ll be delighted.”
“He truly loves you, you know. If I had to guess, I’d say Griffin is your soul mate, your destiny. You’ve been very good for each other. Listen to your heart, Cass.”
“But he lied and came here to use me for his own ends.”
“Did he? Are you sure?”
The Senator was gone.
And she was confused.
Suddenly weary to the bone, she set the security alarm, locked up and went upstairs. She gathered all her house samples together and put them in her tote bag by her laptop. After she undressed and pulled on her boxers and a tank top, Cass fixed herself a bowl of strawberry ice cream with chocolate sauce and pecans, and curled up in bed to eat it.
What exactly was the Senator trying to say to her? Soul mates? Destiny? Sounded like so much hokum. Griff was a warty toad. Sure, he had her going for a while, and he was hell on wheels in bed, but great sex wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. It couldn’t replace respect.
She yawned. Setting her bowl aside, she turned out the light and pulled the covers over her head.
SOMETIME DURING THE night Cass was jolted awake by a pounding on her door. “Dammit, Griff!” she yelled. “Go away!” She covered her head with a pillow to drown out the noise, and slapped at her alarm clock, which was going like crazy.
Her phone began to ring, joining the other raucous ringing and clanging and beeping going on.
What was that smell?
She jolted upright and grabbed her phone. Hank Wisda.
When she answered, he yelled, “Get out, Cass! Get out! Hurry! The place is on fire!”
She began to cough as smoke seeped into the room.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cass ran for the exit, grabbing whatever she could on her way. The smoke grew thicker, and she heard Hank still pounding on her door. Yanking it open, she fell outside. Flames shot up behind her.
Hank yelled, “Quick! Get as far away as you can!”
“Call 9-1-1!”
“Trucks are on their way. Go! Go!”
She ran out to the parking lot. Thankfully, her purse was one of the things she’d grabbed, and she fished out her keys as she ran. Quickly unlocking her car, she