Cheddar Off Dead Read Online Free PDF

him on to superstardom. That was in the
Trib
about a week ago.”
    Parker scowled. He knew, from our previous association, that I had once dated Angelo. “I remember that he was a suspect in a murder investigation.”
    â€œNot really. We know who the real murderer was. Anyway, he sent me that, so I hung it up. He wants me to be proud of him, I guess.”
    He stared some more at the article with its prominentpicture. It was a flattering shot: Angelo in a long black coat and a blue wool scarf, standing on the Clark Street Bridge; in the background boats could be seen chugging busily down the Chicago River. His black curls hung to his shoulders, and his dark eyes studied the camera with that special intensity of his. Women all over Chicago had probably fallen in love (and searched for him on Google). Parker looked as though he was about to say something else, but his phone rang, and he spoke tersely into it. Then he flipped it off and turned to me. “Let’s go. I’ll drop you at work, then I have to get back to the scene.”
    I nodded and went into the kitchen. Parker and I both bundled up again in our winter gear, and he studied some ornaments on my little Christmas tree, pretending not to be peeved about Angelo. Then he said, “Where is this place? Is it that little storefront right next to the Village Hall?”
    â€œYes. Haven of Pine Haven.”
    â€œFine.”
    We were both gloomy in the car. In Parker’s case, it was probably because he had to solve another murder. In mine, it was because (a) I couldn’t forget the sight of a prone Santa Claus in the polluted snow and (b) Parker had not spoken again about second chances, nor did he seem particularly fond of me at the moment. What else was new?
    Parker flipped on the radio, clearly uncomfortable with our silence. Gotye was singing “Somebody That I Used To Know.” He was right at the part where the lover feels rejected and mistreated, and his pained voice echoed through the car. Parker flipped it off again with a flick of his wrist. “I thought there might be Christmas carols,” he said, not looking at me.The song lingered in my head, though, because my brain holds on to music, absorbs it, and replays it, even when I’m sleeping.
    I was scowling by the time we arrived, and I didn’t look at Parker when I said, “Thanks for the ride.” I opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The snow had stopped falling, but the ground was covered with about three inches of white accumulation.
    â€œBe careful,” Parker said. “It’s slippery.”
    I stole a glance over my shoulder and saw that Parker had gotten out of the car.
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    â€œI need to speak with your employer.”
    Not two months ago I had been in a similar situation with Parker; we had feared, due to a bizarre set of circumstances, that someone would poison me. Now it was happening again, I realized: outside forces were controlling my life, dictating my movements in the name of safety. Feeling like a prisoner in shackles, I followed Parker through the snow.

CHAPTER THREE

    P arker got there first and opened the door; he held it for me, and I stalked past, stomping my boots on Esther’s entry rug.
    â€œOh, Lilah—you’re a bit late, aren’t you?” asked Esther, her white hair disheveled and her face red from the ovens. She was toiling over a tray of bacon-wrapped scallops; we were doing a home wedding reception that evening.
    Her husband, Jim, gray bearded and blue jeaned, worked beside her, his expression serene as he split figs with an expert hand, then began filling them with ricotta and drizzling honey on top. The more tense Esther got when under pressure, the more Jim seemed to grow calm. He was a good influence on us all when the schedule grew hectic.
    Around the corner on the same big work space were Gabby and Nicole, two culinary students who worked forEsther