Cooking Up Trouble Read Online Free PDF Page B

stuff.”
    “Not at all,” Moira said.
    “Where are these fine people?”
    “Some are up in their rooms, some outside looking for Finley. And I believe the Jefferses are having an OBE.”
    Butz started to ask a question, then clamped his mouth shut and instead rubbed his chin, “Is your brother’s car gone, Miss Tay?”
    “No.”
    “Any reason to suspect foul play?”
    “None at all.”
    “Was anyone here who could have given him a ride into town?”
    “No.” Moira looked dejected.
    “What about those men finishing up the hot tub?” Angie asked.
    “That’s right.” Moira’s voice sounded hopeful for the first time that afternoon. “They didn’t want to have to come all the way out here again on Monday, so they stayed late to finish up.”
    “All right.” Butz stood up. “Get me the names, addresses, and phone numbers of those hot tub boys and we’ll check them out. Right now, I’d like to talk to the investors.”
    Moira also stood. “I’ll get them for you.”
    “Good. And don’t worry about Tay. He probably went off to town with someone and simply hasn’t come back yet. He’s a grown man, after all.”
    “But, Sheriff,” Angie said, “what if he didn’t leave? What if he’s out there hurt?”
    Butz slowly turned her way. “I’ve seen those swamis on TV walking on nails. Going through fire. They say they do it all through meditating. His sister here just said Tay knows how to meditate. And nothing out there’s as bad as nails or fire. Don’t you ladies worry none. He’ll turn up, fit as a fiddle.”

5
    Paavo, his canvas carryall slung over his shoulder, followed Angie up the stairs and across the second-floor gallery toward the west wing. A large oil painting of Hill Haven and the cliffs near the house hung prominently beside a brilliant stained-glass window. It proclaimed to one and all the beauty this house had once possessed.
    Paavo stopped at the entrance to the room he and Angie would share. It was simply furnished and was eight-sided, with so many windows it felt as if they were in a tree house. Angie stood in front of the west window, the last glimmer of light from the setting sun behind her. The softly rounded contours of her cheeks took on a reddish glow from the sun, while her big dark eyes, cast in umber shadows, looked even deeper and larger. Her full mouth had a gloss of lipstick, and the golden highlights of her hair created a glow that framed her head. His breath caught, as it so often did when he looked at Angie in repose or in some unexpected setting where he could reflect on how beautiful and special she was to him.
    He knew then, beyond doubt, that he’d been right to come here to spend this week with her.
    “I hope you like the room,” she said, her outspread arms taking in the two plump rose-colored chairs facing a small fireplace, the king-size bed piled high with pillows. The walls were white, the floor uncovered hardwood.
    He shut the door and walked toward her.
    “There’s a fully mirrored dressing room through the door on the left, and a private bath just beyond it,” she said.
    He dropped his bag on the floor.
    “I guess that means you don’t want to see the dressing room?” She knew she was babbling.
    “Come here,” he said, scarcely recognizing that choked whisper as his own.
    Angie didn’t remember moving, or that he did, but in a moment she was in his arms. His hands rubbed against her waist, sliding under the edges of her green stretch top. She touched his face, scratchy with five o’clock shadow, and buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of his kiss.
    They sank onto the duvet-covered feather mattress, the piles of pillows against the headboard. But in a moment, Paavo propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her, his gaze burning as his hand slowly, lingeringly slid from the side of her breast to her waist, her hip, her thigh, then back up again.
    Angie couldn’t move, too languorous from the heat of