Dying for Dinner (A Cooking Class Mystery) (7 page)

Regret? Denial? Longing? Anger?

They were all possibilities, and I suppose each was legitimate in its own way. It wasn't until after the initial pikestaff of shock settled, after my heartbeat racheted back and my stomach stopped jumping around as if it was filled with grasshoppers, that I realized I felt one thing and one thing only--surprise.

"Peter!" I congratulated myself when I managed to say his name without the slightest trace of breathiness, and because I knew emotions were unreliable, I stuck with the only thing I could count on--my logic.

"What on earth are you doing here?"

"It's nice to see you, too, Annie." Like we were old friends, he leaned forward and gave me a peck on the cheek. A wave of familiar, peppery aftershave enveloped me and a stab of memory came right along with it. Old Spice was Peter's favorite. I'd always put a bottle of it in his Christmas stocking.

I also remembered that after he told me he'd never really known what love was until he met the girl who worked behind the counter at the dry cleaner's, he'd stopped wearing good ol' Old Spice and switched to a pricey, metrosexual scent she picked out for him at the mall.

I pretended not to notice he'd switched back. Just like I pretended not to make note of the fact that he was once again dressed in khakis and a tan polo shirt, and not the black and white, sort of noir, maybe goth look I'd seen him in the day our divorce was finalized.

"You're here for lunch," I said, because of course that was the only possible reason he could be at Bellywasher's. "You're not at school. You should be at school. It's the middle of the day."

"It sure is, and summer vacation has started." I should have remembered this and he was kind enough not to point it out. "I don't start teaching summer school for another two weeks."

"Summer school?" It was the one thing he'd been adamant about back when we were married. Summer, Peter always said, was his hard-earned vacation time, and he didn't want to spend it teaching remedial chemistry to kids who didn't want to be there and weren't going to learn anyway. "You always hated summer school."

He shrugged. "The mortgage has to get paid," he said, and yeah, he was so casual about it, I couldn't help but bristle.

The mortgage, you see, had always been a bone of contention between Peter and me.

I wanted one. In the worst way. Because in the worst way, I wanted to own a home of my own.

Peter was a little more blase about the idea of home ownership. He finally gave in to my years of poring over the home section of the newspaper and sighing, and right before we separated, we started looking at (inexpensive) homes.

When our assets were divided, he took half of the down payment with him, and pulled my dream of home ownership out from under me.

Was I bitter? Absolutely! But this wasn't the time or the place.

I pasted on a smile. "Table for two?" Automatically, I checked behind him to see if Mindy--or was it Mandy?--was with him. "Or one?"

"One." As if to prove he was alone, he spread out his hands and looked around. "I hear the food's good here."

"It isn't good, it's fabulous." We were on firmer footing now, and I was in my element. I never get tired of talking about how wonderful Bellywasher's is. "The lunch crowd has thinned so you've got your choice of tables. You can sit over there if you want." I grabbed a menu from the bar and waved it toward the small table near the sandalwood screen that separated our entryway from the tables beyond. As I did, I caught Eve's eye. She was in the middle of saying something to Tyler, but when she saw who I was talking to, her mouth dropped open.

I could just about see the wheels turning in her head, and when she made a move to get up, I stopped her with a look. I had not one shred of doubt that she was about to come over and tell Peter to take his lunch business somewhere else. Call me shallow: I wasn't about to turn down a paying customer.

Call me curious: I was dying to know what he was doing here.

Because I didn't want Eve to get involved and say all the things I would have said to her ex-husband (if she had one) if he appeared out of the blue, I showed Peter to his table myself.

"How did you know about this place?" I asked him. "I can't believe it's just--"

"Coincidence? You know me better than that." When he sat down and looked up at me, his eyes gleamed. "I'm a science teacher, Annie. I don't believe in coincidence. I stopped at Pioneer this morning."

"The bank? My bank?"

"Apparently, it isn't your bank anymore. They told me you quit."

"You went to my bank? To see me?"

Back when we met, Peter's laugh was one of the first things I'd noticed about him. It was deep and rich, and it always had a way of warming through and through.

That was then, and this was now. I told myself not to forget it and stared down at him, so anxious for answers, I was able to ignore his deep-throated chuckle and the way it tickled its way up my spine.

Peter opened his menu, but he didn't glance at it. He was looking at me as carefully as I was watching him. "I never thought you'd do something that foolish."

"You mean show you to a table and hand you a menu? Or are we talking about something else? Like the bank. Was that foolish?" I'd thought the same thing myself not twenty-four hours earlier, but somehow, hearing the sentiment coming out of Peter's mouth brought everything into perspective. "You can't possibly know what's foolish for me to do and what isn't. You don't know me anymore, Peter. You gave up the privilege of commenting about my decisions the day you cheated on me. Which also means that what I do and where I work . . . well, it's really none of your business."

"Sorry!" When I stepped away from the table, Peter grabbed my hand. "I didn't mean to ruffle your feathers. Knowing you, I was surprised, that's all. All those years of seniority . . . all those contributions to your 401(k) plan. You never would have done anything so out of character back when we were married. You must like this place a whole lot."

"I do." I cringed at the phrase and its connection to the past--and to Peter--and, anxious to fill the silence, I'd already opened my mouth to tell him about the daily specials when I realized Jim was standing just a couple feet away. He wasn't watching us. Not exactly. I mean he wasn't looking at our faces. He was staring at the place where Peter's hand and mine were linked.

I had nothing at all to feel ashamed of, but that didn't stop the guilt from seeping into every pore. I yanked my hand out of Peter's and backed up a step, distancing myself from him at the same time I gestured to call Jim closer. "There's someone I want you to meet," I told him. "This is Peter. Peter Capshaw."

It took him a moment to put the pieces together, but I knew exactly when they clunked into place. Jim can be cool, calm, and collected in the face of the worst kitchen calamities. This didn't exactly qualify, but his reaction was no different. His eyebrows rose just a smidgen and he stuck out his hand in a friendly enough greeting. Still, I couldn't help but notice that his shoulders were rigid.

"Good to meet you," he told Peter. Like I said, Jim is a born pub keeper. Throwing a line of bull when necessary is part of the job description. "You've heard about us, eh? Stopped in to see what all the fuss is about?"

Peter scraped back his chair so that he could get a better look at Jim. "Actually," he said, "I stopped in to see Annie. I was surprised to hear she'd left the bank, but I'm starting to get the picture." He slid his gaze from Jim to me, and I was tempted to tell him that whatever picture he was getting, it was one he should erase from his mind. Like where I chose to work, who I chose to work with was none of Peter's business.

"Well, I hope you don't mind if I borrow Annie for a second." Since Jim already had a hand on my arm and was piloting me toward the bar, this seemed an unnecessary statement. "We have business to discuss."

"Do we?" I asked, as soon as we were out of Peter's earshot. "Or was that a little caveman grandstanding?"

"Is that what you think?" There was a rag on the counter next to the sink where the glasses were washed, and Jim grabbed it and wiped off the bar. Even though it didn't need it. "Actually, I do have something to talk to you about." I could tell he was trying not to, but he couldn't help himself; he looked over to where Peter sat with his back to us. "What's he doing here?"

"That's what I'd like to know."

Yes, it would have been perfectly legitimate if I had said that, but it wasn't me talking, it was Eve. She scampered over to join us, her voice a harsh whisper. "Annie, that's Peter. What is Peter doing here?"

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, gathering my patience. "I know it's Peter. And I don't know what he's doing here," I said, and when I opened my eyes again, I gave both Eve and Jim a laser look. "The two of you didn't leave me alone with him long enough to find out."

"It's not that I'm jealous or anything. You should know that," Jim said.

"But, Annie, honey . . ." This from Eve, who shot a look over her shoulder to where Heidi was taking Peter's order. "This is peculiar."

"As peculiar as Tyler showing up here to talk to you?"

Tyler had left the moment Eve came to stand behind the bar with us, and in Eve's slightly warped way of looking at things, I guess that meant his visit didn't count. That would explain why she clicked her tongue. "We have had dealings with Tyler in the recent past," she reminded me. "We have not"--she repeated this with emphasis--"we have not had dealings with Peter. Not since the day we saw that weasel at the courthouse and you signed your final divorce papers."

I didn't need the reminder. I steered the conversation back to where it started. Or at least to where I wanted it to start. "Which doesn't explain what Tyler was doing here."

Eve could roll her eyes with the best of them. "Annie, are you forgetting? We keep tripping over him when we're investigating our cases."

"But he wasn't here to talk about Greg's murder. If he was, he would have asked to see Jim because Jim is the emergency contact for Tres Bonne Cuisine. Or he would have talked to me if he wanted to know what I may have noticed at the shop last night. Or because he wanted to gloat about something he'd noticed that I hadn't. Or just to tell me to keep my nose out of places where it doesn't belong. He didn't do any of that. He didn't even order lunch, or a Pepsi from the bar. All he did was talk to you."

"Why, yes, I suppose you're right." Eve tried her best, but it wasn't good enough. A smile broke across her expression. "Tyler and Kaitlin have postponed their wedding," she said.

This was a surprise, and while I processed it, I thought about everything it might mean. The implication hit like a Metro train. "Oh, no!" I backed away, both my hands out to keep the idea at bay. "You and Tyler . . . that doesn't mean that the two of you . . . you can't be serious."

"You are such a worrywart!" Even though it didn't need it, Eve smoothed a hand over the pink blouse that matched the stilettos that added three inches to her already towering height. "Tyler stopped in. Just as a courtesy. He said he didn't want me to hear the news through the grapevine. He said he thought he owed me that. You know, as a friend."

"Uh-huh." I crossed my arms over my chest and stepped back, my weight against one sensible, flat-soled shoe. "You and Tyler were never friends."

Eve's lips thinned. "Which doesn't mean he can't stop by for a chat now and then," she said before she gave me that look only a best friend can get away with--the one that pinned me to the floor, demanded the truth, and pretty much screamed
You ain't getting away with nothing, girlfriend.
"Is that why Peter is here to see you?"

"Now, now, ladies." He really didn't have to step between us, but Jim did anyway and I was grateful. This wasn't a discussion I wanted to have with Eve in Belly-washer's, not with Jim standing by and Peter in the wings. "We'll talk about all this later, why don't we. When there aren't any customers about. For now . . ." He looked around, scrambling to find something for Eve to do. "If you could check with Damien and see if the crab cakes are ready for table five, that would be a godsend."

Of course she agreed. But not before she raised her perfectly arched eyebrows in a look that promised we had a lot to talk about.

We did.

As soon as I could sort through what the hell was going on.

"I didn't know he was coming," I told Jim the moment Eve was gone. It wasn't as if I felt obliged to provide some sort of excuse, I just wanted to be up front with him. "I'm not especially happy to see him."

"Of course I know that, Annie." His smile came and went. "And I'm sorry if I came across like some antediluvian throwback. You have every right to talk to anyone you like. More right to talk to him than others, I suppose." Again, he looked Peter's way. "He's not what I expected."

"Really?" I looked that way, too, and while I was at it, I elbowed Jim in the ribs. "You thought he would have cloven hooves, horns, and a tail, right?"

Jim grinned. "I didn't think he'd be that nice looking. I mean--" Like most guys, he was embarrassed to admit he even noticed what other guys looked like. But then, Peter's hard to ignore. Not that he's drop-dead gorgeous or anything. He's not. He's not as tall as Jim. He's not as broad in the shoulders. I suppose he's technically not more than average looking, but somehow, for Peter, that's more than enough.

He's got dark hair and a great smile. He's got a rugged, square chin that I used to think indicated strength of character, and a kind of swagger that has less to do with his opinion of himself than it does with self-preservation. When you teach chemistry to hormone-driven teenagers, you'd better be all about attitude. Or they'll eat you alive.

"He's a fine-looking bloke," Jim finally said, because really, there was no way out of it. "You must have made a handsome couple."

"Handsome is as handsome does." Just so he didn't forget it, I stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on Jim's cheek. "What Peter did to me . . . no way does that qualify as handsome."

"Neither would me marching over there and dragging you away from him. Not if I wasn't telling the truth. I really do have business to discuss with you."