Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,48

face-to-face with a tall man whose name tag said he was Sonny himself. He was about fifty, broad shouldered, and muscular, with a shock of brown hair, a face that wasn’t as handsome as it was agreeable, and eyes as blue as the Virginia sky. There was a slow cooker open on the counter in front of him, and when he leaned over it and breathed in deep, his smile was a mile wide.

“That smells fabulous,” I said, and Sonny rewarded me by grabbing a plastic spoon, dipping it into the barbecue sauce that bubbled in the slow cooker, and holding it up to my lips. I tasted and smiled my approval.

“That, darlin’, is some of the best barbecue you’ll have this side of the Mason-Dixon Line.” Sonny’s Southern accent was as heavy as his smile was contagious. He grabbed another spoon and took a taste for himself and when he was done, he smacked his lips. “Sonny’s ExtraSpecial Sweet and Tangy Sauce. If I put it on top of my head, my tongue would slap my brains out trying to get at it! We sell it by the pint jar.”

“And you know I’m going to buy a couple before I leave here.”

His smile sparkled in his eyes. “I’m counting on it, sugar!”

I liked Sonny, so even though I didn’t like cooking, or cooking classes, or even thinking about cooking or cooking classes, I hardly broke a sweat when I gathered my courage and said, “I’m actually here about cooking classes.”

“I could tell from the moment you walked in that y’all are a woman with excellent taste!” Sonny replaced the lid on the slow cooker and strode around to the front of the counter. He was dressed casually in blue jeans and a T-shirt that had pretend spatters of barbecue sauce on it along with the words Sonny’s Sauce, Sweet and Scrumptious , Y’all! His smile still firmly in place, he looked me up and down. “I know talent when I see it. Your friend there . . .” He sized up Eve with a practiced look. “She lives on takeaway and froufrou coffee. But I figure you as a woman who knows your way around a kitchen.”

I cringed. “I’m afraid you’ve got us mixed up. The only thing I know about my kitchen is where the phone is. I’m the one who’s always calling for carryout.”

He laughed. “I’ll bet you make a mean chili.”

“Jim does.” I said it before I realized he had no idea who I was talking about, so I added, “My fiancé. He’s the cook.”

“And you want to surprise him by showing him he’s not the only one in the family with cookin’ talent. Very smart!”

Now that I thought about it, it was a pretty good idea. Scary, but pretty good. Since I hadn’t had a chance to page through the magazine I . . . ah . . . borrowed from Beth, I looked for the easy way out. “I don’t suppose you have a class in making Scottish specialty foods, do you?”

“Never had a request for that one,” Sonny admitted. He crossed his arms over his massive chest and settled back against the counter where the barbecue sauce was cooking. “We’ve got plenty of other classes, though. How about learnin’ to make bread?”

“Tried it.” I didn’t want to elaborate. It was too embarrassing.

“Pastries?”

“If I bake them, I’ll eat them. Even the ones that turn out inedible.”

“Appetizers?”

That struck a chord, and I scrambled to remember everything I’d seen (and tasted) at Beth’s house the Friday before. I remembered what one of the women had said about a recipe that had come from Sonny’s class. “Oh, like those hokey-pokeys? That’s one of your recipes, right?”

“You’re darn tootin’.” He bowed, taking credit. “You like?”

“They’re so good!” I knew that for a fact because after I’d helped clean up the spilled champagne and broken glass, and things at the wine tasting had settled down, I’d eaten my share. “And easy to make.” Which I didn’t know for a fact, but it was what Beth, Glynis, and Celia had said. “That’s always a good combination.”

“Well, let’s get the latest issue of the newsletter and see when I’m offering that class again.” He started for the front of the store, greeting Eve as we passed. “I can get those by the gross,” he told her, pointing to the package of toothpicks she was holding. They were candy apple red, each topped with a little cascade of shimmery streamers. Each streamer