Cooking Spirits: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (Angie Amalfi Mysteries) (2 page)

Stan also ate one, and wandered off to the kitchen as he
licked the chocolate off his fingers.

“This isn’t going the way I want, Stan,” Angie called. “What
am I going to do?”

“Tell you what.” Stan’s voice sounded muffled, his head
inside the refrigerator as he perused the left-overs. He always said he could
get better food eating Angie’s leftovers than at some of the most expensive
restaurants in town. “Why don’t I help you cook dinner tonight? After we eat,
you’ll feel a lot better, I’m sure.”

Despite his words, Stan couldn’t cook. “Go ahead and eat
whatever you’d like, Stan. Paavo’s coming over later, and we’re going out to
dinner.” She took another chocolate, this one a caramel chew, as she thought
about her handsome fiancé. She loved everything about his looks from his thick,
dark brown hair, to his high forehead, penetrating light blue eyes, high
cheekbones, and aquiline nose with a small jog in the middle where it had been
broken more than once. He was broad-shouldered, his body long and lean, and
everything about him exuded power and, to her, more sexiness than any one man
should possess.

The whirring of her microwave pulled her from her daydreams.

She reached for a third chocolate, a pecan butter cream,
her
favorite. Before this wedding was over, she will have
learned what was inside each chocolate just by looking at the swirls on top.
“This is all making me so nervous, I’m putting on weight. I haven’t even
settled on my bridesmaids yet. Do you know how many sisters and cousins I have?
And they all expect to be part of the wedding. At the same time, Paavo keeps
saying he wants a small wedding. You know how much he hates crowds. It’s a
nightmare.”

“It’ll all work out.” Stan put a placemat on the dining room
table and in another minute carried a plate with two pieces of Chicken Kiev.

“You can make yourself a salad or some broccoli as a side,”
Angie suggested.

“No, no. This is fine. I wouldn’t want to overdo it.” He cut
into a piece and hot, garlicky butter oozed onto his plate. One bite and he was
in heaven. “I tell you, Angie, if you were marrying me, I’d be home every night
for dinner.”

“I know.” One of the ironies of her relationship with Paavo
was that his busy schedule often caused him to work late into the night and
miss dinner. At the moment, he had no complicated cases that she knew of, which
meant he should have time to help with their wedding plans. “I hope, once we’re
married and living together, we’ll share more meals. That reminds me, I’ve got
to clear out some of my things so he’ll have room here.”

“Oh my God!”
Stan put down his fork
before he’d
finished,
a remarkable thing for him. “You
aren’t saying he’s moving into this apartment, are you?”

“Of course he is. I can’t fit into his house. It has only
one bedroom, one bathroom. Not even a dining room.”

“Angie, you can’t expect him to live in your father’s
apartment building!” Stan said
,
digging in again with
gusto to make up for lost time.

Angie had already recognized that it wasn't a stellar idea,
but she hated hearing Stan say it. “My father might own the building, but we’ve
always considered this to be my apartment. I’ll clean out the den and make it
Paavo’s ‘man cave.’ He’ll like that.”

Stan took another bite, savoring the rich flavors as he
digested the information. “But if you do that, where will you put your desk and
computer and all the books you have that you’ve used to start businesses?”

“For all the good that’s done me!” Angie interrupted. Now,
she was not only tired, but dejected as well. Her inability to create a
rewarding career for herself was one of the banes of her life. She had a talent
for cooking, but even though she had tried to become a cake baker, candy maker,
newspaper food columnist, restaurant reviewer, took part in a radio cooking
show
and
a TV cooking show, and on and on…nothing ever worked out.

Stan frowned as he savored the last bite of Chicken Kiev.
“It’s not going to work, Angie. As a man, I can tell you that Paavo will not be
happy here. If I were him, I’d hate living in your apartment. In fact, I’d do
everything I could to postpone the wedding just to avoid it. Just wait. He’s
going to try to back out of this. First step will be breaking dates with you,
and then he’ll start suggesting the wedding be postponed. You’ll see.”

“Paavo never breaks dates with me…unless he has no choice
because of a homicide, which is perfectly understandable,” she said, glaring
fiercely. “Fortunately, you’re nothing like Paavo.”

He sniffed. “No. I tell you exactly what I’m thinking; Paavo
doesn't. He doesn't want to upset you so he’ll suffer in silence, growing more
and
more unhappy
every day until, finally, he'll walk
out on you!”

“Nonsense!” she said, but even as she said it, she knew Paavo
held things inside if troubled. He would turn quiet and distant instead of
blathering and complaining the way she did. When she first met him, she thought
he was cold because of that. Quickly, she learned how much he felt—sometimes
too much.

Stan put his plate, fork and knife in the dishwasher. “He’ll
deny it, but that doesn’t mean he’ll like being here.”

Angie fumed. How could he think he knew more about Paavo
than she did? And yet, Paavo never actually said he wanted to move into her
apartment, just that he agreed she couldn’t fit all her stuff into his little
house. “I’m busy, Stan. Why don’t you go home?”

He poured himself a generous glass of the
Beringer
petite
sirah
sitting on
the counter. “You can kick me out, but that doesn’t mean you should ignore my
advice.” Holding the glass high in the air, he headed out the door. “I’ll bring
it back next time.”

She folded her arms and sat back on the sofa, not sure if
she was more irritated at Stan or herself, as she glanced at the half-empty box
of chocolates. But she couldn’t stop the question reverberating in her head:
What
if Stan was right?

o0o

Homicide Inspector Paavo Smith walked into Katie Kowalski’s
house holding the hand of Katie’s young son,
Micky
.
Katie was the widow of Paavo’s first and long-time partner in Homicide, Matt
Kowalski. They had gone through the police academy together and had been best
friends.

After Matt had been killed in the line of duty, Paavo made
sure he visited Katie and spent time with
Micky
at
least one Saturday or Sunday afternoon each month, and often two or three times
a month. He particularly enjoyed taking
Micky
to a
park, to baseball games, playing sports with him, and doing at least some of
the things he thought Matt might have done with his son if he had lived.

Katie stood in the living room of the small house to greet
them. “Welcome home!” she said. “
Micky
, why don’t you
go wash up and change your clothes! You look like you fell into a pig sty!”

“Aw, okay. Bye, Uncle Paavo! Thanks for everything!”

“Bye, Mick! See you soon.”

Paavo faced Katie. “The field had a few mud-puddles from
last night’s rain, and
Micky
found every one of them.
Often on purpose.
But I think he’ll be feeling pretty
good about himself when he joins that T-ball team next week. If you’d like me
to take him, I’ll do my best to get off work on time so I can.”

Katie didn’t answer right away, but looked at the floor a
moment before lifting her gray eyes to his blue ones. “Paavo, I don’t know how
to say this. I appreciate all you’ve done for me and
Micky
,
but I’d like you to stay away…for a while, at least. I’ve met someone.”

His brow furrowed. He had expected this day would come, but
not so soon.
“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter, except that he’s not a cop. He’s a fine
man,
and good to
Micky
, and…” He
waited as she struggled to find the right words. “I need to move on with my
life. It’s too hard when I see you.”

She bowed her head and folded her arms tight against her
stomach. When she looked up at him again, her words poured out quickly and
pain-filled. “When you’re here, I remember too much. I remember Matt too
clearly. And you! When Matt was here, the three of us spent a lot of time
together, and when he was gone, I thought…” Tears filled her eyes.

“Katie,” he whispered.

She shook her head as if to shake off the emotions that
gripped her. “I knew there was no chance for me, that you never saw me that
way, but I thought if you ever broke up with Angie, that maybe”—she
shrugged—“but it’s not meant to be. It never was. Now this man, his name is
Daniel, he’s a good man. My head tells me to give him a chance. But my heart—as
long as you’re here, I’m stuck in the past. I can’t forget Matt. I can’t forget
you! So, I ask you, please give me time. Give me space.”

“I’m sorry, Katie. I had no idea.”

“I know!” She stepped closer to him. “You’re a good man.”
She cocked her head, her smile wry.
“Obtuse as all get-out,
but a good man.”

“What will
Micky
think if I just
stop seeing him?”

“He loves you,” Katie said. “You’ll see him again, and spend
time with him again in a few months.
But not now.”
Her
tears flowed freely. “Can you understand what I’m saying? Can you forgive me
for being so selfish?”

“I understand, Katie.”

He turned to leave.

“Paavo.”
She put her hand on his
shoulder, and when he turned around she put her arms around him. She held him
tight, as he did her. She cried, and his heart broke for what had been in the
past, and would never be again. He held her a long moment, then stepped back.

“Good luck to you, Katie. I hope it works out and you find
happiness.” He put his hand on her cheek, brushed aside her tears, and then
left.

 
o0o

Paavo sat in his car. His hands gripped the wheel, but he
didn’t start the engine. He should see Angie tonight, but Katie’s words were
too fresh, too painful. He had no idea that she ever considered such feelings
towards him. Obtuse, she had called him.
Maybe so.

Now, as much as hearing she wanted to start fresh and find
someone else to love heartened him, another part of him cried that it was wrong,
that she was Matt’s wife and always would be. Matt had been a six-foot-five,
two hundred fifty pound lug with a laid-back competence and professionalism
that Paavo admired, and a sense of humor that made him a fun guy to be around.
How could anyone ever supplant his best friend in her life?

At the same time, he understood completely what she was
saying. His visits to her and
Micky
had kept Matt
alive in his mind as well. He had never really gotten over Matt’s death. They
had been best friends as well as partners, and Paavo had made sure that he
never grew that close to his current partner, or to anyone else in Homicide. In
a sense, he feared ever again going through the sadness, bitterness, and even
guilt that had plagued him after Matt’s death. Matt had been alone when he
died, and Paavo always felt he should have been with him, been there to protect
him, to save him.

Now, he held himself back from others in Homicide. He was a
colleague, but little more.

He called Angie and told her something had come up, that he
couldn’t make it tonight. She sounded disappointed and troubled. She tried to
question him, but he had no answers, and soon ended the conversation. The last
thing he wanted to do was upset her, but tonight he needed time alone; needed
time to think.

Chapter 2
 

NOT MUCH REMAINED to identify.

The next morning, Paavo and his partner, Toshiro
Yoshiwara
, stood in an alley in the Financial District,
surrounded by high rise offices with restaurants, delis, bars, and a myriad of
shops filling the ground floors. The alley mainly existed for garbage pick-up.

They had seen many dead bodies in their time, but none as
mangled as the poor sap before them. The brightness of the morning sun, the
beauty of a new day, seemed bizarrely at odds with watching the medical
examiner’s team pull body parts, piece by piece, from a garbage truck. Even
hardened crime scene investigators struggled to keep their breakfasts down.

Earlier, one of the scavengers on the route had been
wheeling a dumpster back into place when his partner operating the garbage
truck told him to climb up to see why it seemed to be straining. The scavenger
saw the human legs and feet—jeans and a man’s soft leather slip-ons—slowly being
sucked into the trash compactor. He screamed for his partner to cut the power,
but it was too late. Only one foot had been saved.

Blood dampened the ground in front of the dumpster as well
as the metal inside, making it appear as if an altercation had taken place
right there, and the victim had been tossed into the dumpster to die.

“We won’t be able to tell anything until the medical
examiner’s team sorts all this out,” Paavo said, although from the color,
hardness and lividity of the foot that hadn’t been smashed, the death had
occurred a few days earlier. He tried to find jacket or pants pockets to look
for a wallet or other identifying papers, but the material had been badly
shredded. At the moment, neither pockets nor their contents were identifiable.
Finally, he peered with dismay at the mess that was their crime scene.

Things had been quiet in Homicide before this call came in.
Almost too quiet.
It had given Paavo time to confirm the
decision he had made last night after listening to Katie Kowalski—that Katie
had been right. She did need to move on with her life, and so did
Micky
. And so did
he
. If she met a
good man, one who would be a good husband to her and a father to
Micky
—a full-time dad, not someone who visited once a
month—so much the better for both of them. Paavo would find some way, in time,
to continue to be a part of
Micky’s
life, and to be
there to make sure the boy was well-treated, safe, and happy. He was good with
that.