Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,67
piling up on my desk like snow-drifts in Alaska. Bank deposits hadn’t been made, and that meant we were losing out on interest. As little as it was, we needed every penny. If I didn’t do something and do it fast, the well-oiled machinery of the business side of the restaurant was going to grind to a halt, and soon.
I might not feel like tackling the Bellywasher’s checkbook, but never let it be said that Annie Capshaw is not nose-to-the-grindstone.
I left Celia’s and by the time I got back to Old Town Alexandria, it was already late. Back in colonial times and even in the Civil War era, Old Town was a bustling Potomac port, just on the other side of the river from Washington, D.C. These days, its quaint cobblestone streets are lined with shops and restaurants and the entire town is a haven for tourists and weekend partiers. The area is an ideal spot for a pub like Jim’s. But there’s a downside to its popularity, too. Even on the best of days, parking is difficult. On Friday nights, it’s a nightmare. In living color. And 3-D. I tried to be patient as I circled the block three times, but let’s face it, being locked in a sauna and then having someone tell you that another someone wants to kill you . . . well, that tends to take the starch out of even the most plucky of detectives. By the time my virtue was rewarded and I found a parking space and dragged myself around the block and down the street to Bellywasher’s, I didn’t even care that I had to step aside and wait for a large party to leave the restaurant. Large parties mean big business. That lifted my spirits, sure enough. Besides, standing and waiting gave me a chance to rest, at least for a bit.
No sooner was I inside the restaurant, though, than every trace of fatigue disappeared. Jim was standing behind the bar. Eve and Tyler were there, too, and so was—
“Alex!” I couldn’t cross the room and get over to the bar fast enough. Even as I practically tripped over my own feet, I caught Alex in an enormous bear hug. Just to be sure he was real and not some figment of my steamed-in-the-sauna imagination, I pulled myself out of his arms and gave him a careful look, then I hugged him again. “This is wonderful!” I didn’t need to tell Jim and Eve. They were watching and smiling up a storm. I slipped onto the bar stool next to Alex’s. “OK, somebody tell me what’s going on. You didn’t escape from jail or anything, did you? Did somebody smuggle you a file inside a cake?”
I was going for funny, but of course Tyler didn’t appreciate the joke. He’s that kind of cop. He was at the end of the bar and Eve was standing next to him with her hand on his shoulder. When someone called her over to ask for clarification about one of the menu items, she got to work and Tyler explained what was going on.
“You’ll be happy to know that Alex is out on bail,” he said. “With any luck . . .” He measured what he was going to say against the temptation of saying too much. Then, in a very un-Tyler-like moment that pretty much proved that, like the rest of us, he was relieved to have Alex back where he belonged, Tyler threw caution to the wind. “With any luck, all the charges against him are going to be dropped.”
My breath caught behind the ball of mixed disbelief and excitement in my throat. I pressed a hand to my heart. “That’s fabulous!” With one hand, I patted Alex’s shoulder. With my other hand, I reached across the bar, grabbed onto Jim’s, and gave it a squeeze. “Explain. Somebody tell me what happened. Tyler, did you guys finally find the real killer?”
“No such luck.” Tyler’s words cast a pall over the celebration. He grimaced. Jim frowned. Alex was deep in thought. He had a frothy dark beer in front of him, and he sipped it and licked the foam from his lips.
“Nectar of the gods!” Alex crooned, and as quickly as the mood darkened, it brightened again, and we all laughed. Beer was such a simple pleasure, and it was such a joy to watch Alex savor it! “They finally know I didn’t do it, Annie,” he said. “The medical examiner says the