ulterior motive. That quiche sounded good.”
She thought for a moment, taking a mental inventory of what she had on hand. Everything but cream. She’d have to run to the store for that.
“What time do you go to work in the morning? Or if you want to come by after work, we could have it for dinner?”
“Dinner sounds good to me. I don’t want to have to rush off to work.”
That sounded better to Kate too. She could run out in the morning and bake it in the afternoon so it would be just made when he came by.
“What time is good for you?” she asked.
“I’m usually home by six and will need to jump in the shower so I don’t stink of fish.”
Kate laughed. He didn’t smell like fish at all, though after working around it all day, she didn’t blame him for wanting a shower.
“Why don’t you just come by whenever you’re ready then. Anytime is fine.”
“All right. I’m off to hit the shower now. See you tomorrow.”
“Thanks again for the lobster.” Kate watched him go and then went to find her mother’s recipe. She’d emailed it to her after Kate had raved about the quiche.
Kate stopped working the next afternoon around four and set about making the lobster quiche. First, she made the pie crust and then the custard filling. It really was a simple recipe. She just sauteed a little onion in butter, then added a splash of sherry and the chopped lobster. She let it cool then dumped it all into the pie shell and poured in the mixture of eggs and heavy cream. A sprinkling of grated swiss cheese over the top and it was ready to go into the oven.
About forty-five minutes later, her nose told her the quiche was done. When she checked, it was perfectly golden brown, and she set it on the counter to cool. When they were ready to eat, she would pop it back into the oven to warm up. She showered and made a simple tossed salad to go with the quiche.
She still had about an hour before Jack was due to arrive, so she opened her manuscript up again and dove back into the story. It was going much faster now that she knew where the story was going, and it was almost like a race to get it all down. The hour flew by and before she knew it, there was a knock on the door. She put her laptop away and went to let him in.
When she opened the door, she got a whiff of something nice. Jack had splashed on some aftershave, and it smelled great. He wore a hunter green button-down shirt and jeans, and his hair was still a little damp. He handed her a bottle of chilled chardonnay.
“You didn’t have to bring anything! The lobster was more than enough.”
“My mother always said it was rude to show up empty-handed. I’m happy to open it if you feel like a glass?”
“Sure, that’d be great.” She handed him a wine opener and two glasses. While he was pouring the wine, she put the quiche in the oven to warm up.
Then she opened a can of roasted salted nuts and poured them into a dish. Jack handed her a glass of wine, and they sat at the island.
“The quiche won’t take long to heat up,” she said as she reached for a cashew.
“I’m in no hurry. How’d the writing go today?”
“Great actually. Did you know that anti-freeze used to have a sweet taste? They’ve changed it now so that it’s bitter, but my killer had access to an old jug that was stored in a garage. She added a little to the victim’s orange juice every morning until he got sick and died of natural causes. No one suspected a thing.”
“Should I be worried about that quiche?” Jack laughed. “Is that really true, about anti-freeze?”
“It is. There was a woman they discovered was a black widow—she killed two husbands with anti-freeze and then tried to frame her daughter for it.”
“You must have some interesting search histories on your browser.”
Kate laughed. “I know. It’s funny, I went to a writer’s conference with a friend a few years ago, and on the way to the airport we were brainstorming the best way to kill someone for her story. We got some looks from the other people in the shuttle van—until we told them we were writers.”
“You should write a mystery about a mystery writer who is