Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,47
that way. There was no sign of Edward Monroe, thank goodness. “He’s seems really excited about having Michael on board as CFO. He said it’s going to take a real load of day-to-day worries off his back.”
“He did?” Chip wrinkled his nose and behind his thick glasses, his eyes squinched. “Glynis says—” He caught himself and cleared his throat.
Like all detectives everywhere, I knew exactly what that meant. Chip’s common sense had momentarily gotten the best of him. Too bad. Because I would have loved to know what Glynis said about Michael’s promotion.
Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t pretend I already did.
“I know. That’s what she told me, too.” I raised my eyebrows and laughed, sharing the confidence with Chip. “And after all that stuff a couple weeks ago about how Michael almost got fired . . .”
Like I’d done, Chip looked toward the front door of the rec center, and call me too imaginative for my own good, but I swear he was looking for Edward, too, and when he didn’t see him, relief swept across his expression. “He never really would have done it,” Chip confided. “Edward talks a good game. You know, hard-nosed. But then, he has to, doesn’t he? He’s running a major corporation and he can’t afford any screwups. But when push came to shove, he wouldn’t have given Michael his walking papers. Edward’s not that kind of guy.”
Eager to hear more, I inched forward. “What kind of guy is he?”
“Edward?” Again, Chip glanced over my shoulder toward the rec center. When he looked back at me, I practically heard his smile screech. That’s how stiff it was. “Edward’s a great guy,” he assured me. “He was a loving husband, and he’s a good friend. A really good friend. I’d better get to the game,” he added, backing away. “The kids are waiting.”
It wasn’t until he was all the way over at the soccer field that I turned back to my car.
That was when I realized Edward Monroe was standing outside the rec center watching us both.
Nine
BELLYWASHER’S IS CLOSED ON MONDAYS, SO THE next Monday instead of catching up on restaurant paperwork or staying at home to tackle the mountain of laundry waiting for me, I talked Eve into rescheduling her appointment with her aesthetician and I did something I have never done before of my own free will: I went to a cooking store.
And not just any cooking store—Sonny’s, in Reston.
We stopped just outside so we could look over the gingham curtains that framed the front window, where stuffed teddy bears dressed as chefs worked at a pint-sized stove, served from teensy silver trays, and sat at a teddy-sized dinner table. “Cute,” I decided.
It was. Sonny’s shop was not as elegant as Très Bonne Cuisine. It was not as ultramodern or (from what I could see as I stepped inside the front door and took a quick look around) as expensive. What it was, though, was down-home delightful. We stepped inside and into the old-time general-store decor, and saw at once that Sonny’s was as country as Très Bonne Cuisine was sophisticated. Jacques . . . er . . . Norman would have hated every inch of it. I, on the other hand, did not feel the least bit intimidated. In fact, I took a deep breath, and was rewarded with the incredible aroma of barbecue. I let that breath out slowly, and I swear I felt the cooking-induced tension that always assails me in such places melt like a pat of butter in a hot pan. “This is the most comfortable and at home I’ve ever felt in a cooking store,” I told Eve. “Even when I did my stint as manager of Très Bonne Cuisine.”
Of course, I don’t think she heard me. Eve was already checking out a display of party favors, and I had the uneasy feeling we’d be having the wedding souvenir discussion again soon.
No matter. At least not right then. I followed my nose, savoring the scent of barbecue all the while. That shouldn’t come as any surprise. I didn’t have to be a good cook to have good taste, or to know that good barbecue is right up there on my gotta-have-it list with any form of chocolate, any flavor of cheesecake, and juicy hamburgers—as long as there’s a slice of cheddar melted on the top and a side of fries to go with them.
I found myself all the way at the back of the shop and