Death of the Family Recipe (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 3) (17 page)

I nodded. "Is that it?"

"Something you want to ask?"

I blew out a breath and looked at the door again. "Is Rose my mother?"

Joe whispered. "I don’t have proof yet. But yes ma’am, I do believe she is."

My whole body tingled with anticipation, and I wanted to grill him on the spot but knew I couldn’t. "Okay, Monday. After my route. I’ll be there."

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my underwear, frowning at my reflection. Ted came out of the bathroom, looking sexy as hell wearing only pajama bottoms. "What’s with the face?"

I sucked in my stomach. "It’s already starting." I tugged at my bra which trapped my breasts like hostages. "You have to ask?"

Ted came up behind me and slipped his arms around my waist. "Babies need room to grow."

When I leaned against him and my tummy pouched more. "Yep with clown feet and big heads, they’ll need lots of room." I sighed and moved out of his arms. I took off my underwear and pulled one of Ted’s tee shirts over my head. Fanning out my arms I said, "See what you have to look forward to? I threw back the covers and crawled into bed. "Hope you like the baggy look."

Ted flipped off the overhead lights and got into bed. Spooning me, he put his hand on my belly and pressed against me. "I think it’s sexy."

"You think everything is sexy."

He nuzzled my neck. "How does it feel to be pregnant? To have our babies growing inside of you?"

I chuckled. "Besides being forever hungry and horny?"

He rolled me onto my back and looked at me. "Horny? You didn’t tell me that."

I laughed. "I needed to tell you that?"

Ted smirked. "I just thought I was irresistible."

I ran my finger down his chest. "You are, honey. But the hormones make you more irresistible."

He nestled into my breasts and put his hand on my belly. "What else?"

I combed my fingers through his hair. "It’s hard to describe. I feel full. Ripe. Like a plum that needs to be picked." I laughed. "You know, I could go for a plum or ten about now."

Ted gently rubbed my belly. "The baby books say we should talk to them. So they recognize our voices."

I raised my head. "You’re reading the baby books?"

Ted slid down and talked to my belly, "Hi babies, it’s Daddy. How you doing in there? Comfortable? Need some snacks? Mommy will make you any kind of cupcakes you want."

I laughed and smacked his head. "Get away from there."

He propped up on his elbows. "I’m having a chat with my kids, what's your problem?"

"And teaching them bad habits before they’re born? I’m not raising my kids on cupcakes."

He nestled next to me. "Bullshit. They’ll be baking cakes before they can walk."

"As long as they’re not using whiteboards and driving before kindergarten."

He brightened and put on his cave man smile. "We need to start the nursery."

I shook my head. "It’s too soon." Ted put on a pout. "And we aren’t knocking down walls and bringing in wrecking crews either."

He grunted. "Trying to ruin my fun?"

I laughed and pushed him away. "Your fun is what got us into this predicament in the first place."

Ted pinched my butt. "Seems to me I had your full cooperation and participation in my fun."

I put my hands behind my head and lay back. "We’re going to keep it simple. Paint the walls, buy some baby furniture, put together a few mobiles." I squinted at him. "Simple, you got that?" I stared at the ceiling and saw myself holding my babies while they cooed and gurgled — emitting that sweet baby smell. I sighed blissfully. Then my idyllic image was replaced with a giant me trying to navigate the food truck and unable to bend over and pull a pie out of the oven. I winced.

"What’s the matter?"

"Things are going to be different." I glanced at him. "They already are, huh?"

He stroked my hair. "That’s the nature of life, yeah?" I didn’t like the sound of that, and he laughed at my face. "We’ll work it out. Whatever comes." He nuzzled my neck. "And we’ve got lots of people to help. More than you need for a baseball team."

<<>>

Ted and his brothers had outdone themselves in the planning and execution of the new kitchen. No wasted steps, everything within reach, and one work station flowed into the next. And because of the extra storage and the walk-in fridge, it accommodated a lot more product for my business.

It didn’t take much convincing for me to agree with Zelda that we should shut down for the month of December. For once we could enjoy the holidays without the stress of work. I could do some baby planning. Zelda could spend some quality time with Eric. And Joe and I could delve further into Rose’s life. If she was my mother, I wanted to know everything about her — and what happened to her.

However, because we were shutting down during December, I insisted we work Black Friday weekend. There were plenty of local malls where crazed early Christmas shoppers would be standing in lines to get the latest tech gadgets or toys for their kids. No way, was I passing up that potential gold mine.

All four ovens were going with pies and cobblers while we wolfed down pastrami sandwiches from Billy’s. Zelda peered into the empty takeout bag. "Any more sandwiches?" I shook my head. Zelda chomped on a dill pickle. "You think you can handle a whole month off?"

The timer buzzed, and I pulled the pumpkin pies out of the first oven. Breathing in their spicy scent I said, "God, I love pumpkin pie."

Then the other timers buzzed and Zelda hopped off her stool. She pulled the apple pies out of the second oven and set them on the cooling rack. "You love the smell of any kind of pie." She stared at me, her oven-mitted hand on her hip. "So? What are you going to do for four whole weeks?"

I pulled the apple cobblers out of the next oven — they bubbled and oozed perfectly. "I don’t know — this and that."

Zelda pulled the pumpkin muffins out of the last two ovens and set them on the back counter to cool. "Bullshit, you’ve got something planned. I know that look."

I slid two baking sheets with mini cheesecakes into the oven, adjusted the temperature and set the timer. I looked at her and laughed. "Calm down, I’m not going to start a restaurant while you’re gone, if that’s what you’re worried about."

Zelda slid two baking sheets of apple turnovers into the oven, closed the door and set the timer. She plopped back onto her stool and said, "Admit it, you’re up to something."

I refilled her coffee cup, then refreshed my tea. "Just because you’re always up to something doesn’t mean I am." I shrugged. "I don’t know. I’ll probably just take it easy."

She squinted at me. "You? Take it easy? Since when do you do that? You can barely sit through a movie without shampooing the rug."

As much as I loved Zelda, her ability to read me was really annoying sometimes. I snagged a couple of muffins from the back counter and set them down in front of her. "Like you said, plans are fluid, right? You don’t know if you’ll be home for Christmas and I don’t know what I’ll do for a month with nothing to do." I peeled back the paper on the warm muffin. "Probably bake a lot of cookies. Read those baby books. Plan the nursery. Get plastic surgery…"

She smacked me with an oven mitt. "I’m serious, Scotti, you need to take it easy."

I crossed my eyes at her. "So what’s the deal, are you on Ted’s payroll now?" I threw out my arms. "I don’t know what I’m going to do. Matt wants to learn some baking techniques, maybe we’ll do lessons. It could take a whole month just to do the Christmas shopping for Ted’s family." I blew the hair off my forehead. "I’m an old married pregnant lady now. Whatever I do will probably be boring as hell."

Zelda ate her muffin and made a face at me. "Yeah, right."

I got up and checked the pies on the back counter. "What we should be talking about is the big week and even bigger weekend ahead of us. How about we focus on that?"

Zelda drank her coffee and stared at me. "Fine. But I’m keeping an eye on you."

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Oh, okay I better behave then."

"You think just because I won’t be here, I can’t watch you?" She smirked. "I’ve got eyes everywhere."

Thanksgiving week started with a bang and just kept banging. No matter what we had to offer, people bought it up and asked for more. From the looks of it, our pies and cobblers would be gracing many a Thanksgiving table. And I have to say, that made me bubble with pride. On Wednesday, we had to wrap it up early because we ran out of just about everything. All we had to offer the guys at the Foothill station house was coffee, cocoa and a limited choice of muffins. They grumbled, but none of them walked away empty-handed.

I’d traded in my jeans and tee shirts for drawstring sweat pants and a baggy sweatshirt. Much better for bending and of course, breathing. Daniels gave me a thorough once over. "Is it me or are you baking a special kind of bun?"

I passed him his coffee and grumped. "Shut up or I won’t give you the last two pieces of pumpkin pie."

Daniels stuck his face in the window. "You saved pie? For me? I’m touched." He snaked his arm through the window. "Gimme."

I held the paper sack out of his reach. "One piece is for Davis. And I’m going to call her later to make sure she got it, too."

Daniels twisted his lips and frowned. "You drive a hard bargain, but I agree to your terms." I passed the bag through the window, and Daniels tucked it under his suit jacket. "So, when is the blessed event?"

I sighed, resigned to the fact that I wasn't going to convince Daniels his observations were wrong. "May. But keep it under your hat."

He sipped his coffee then grinned. "I thought you had that special glow."

I frowned and flapped a hand at him. "Why are you still standing here? I don’t have anything else to give you."

Daniels glanced over his shoulder then muttered, "Got a call from Joe Enders today. Seems he wants my help in getting a couple of cold case files." His little blue eyes studied me. "Said it’s a favor for you."

I twitched and shushed him. "Keep it down, will you? Yeah, it’s for me."

"What’s it about?"

"It’s personal and keep your big yap shut."

Daniels’ cheery expression clouded. "You in some kind of trouble again?"

I clenched my teeth and shook my head. "No. But I’m not going to explain. Help or don’t but shut your damn mouth!"

Daniels studied me for a few seconds. "Okay Scotti my dear, make sure the next time you swing by you have something besides coffee and cocoa, eh?"

I locked the service window, then went around the front and got into the cab with Zelda. She stared out the window as Daniels retreated into the building. "What was that all about with Daniels?"

"The usual banter."

Zelda threw me a sidelong glance. "Something about your nothing special plans for December?"

I pointed to the road and said, "Just drive."

<<>>

On pins and needles I walked into Joe's office, anxious to learn what he'd found out about Rose Hanson. He jumped out of his chair the minute I walked into the room. Hustling me back out the door he said," You ready?"

"Are we going somewhere?"

He led me by the elbow to the Lincoln. "Won’t take long, we’ll be back lickety-split."

He got into the driver’s seat and I buckled my seatbelt. "Where are we going? What’s this about?"

He put the car in gear and backed out of the drive. "When we get there."

We drove in silence as Joe navigated the big Lincoln into Burbank, past the airport and almost to North Hollywood. When he turned into the entrance of a cemetery, my mouth went dry, and I had to gnaw on my fist to keep from heaving. After the nausea passed I said, "Why are we in a cemetery?" Joe patted my hand but said nothing and stared straight ahead. But I knew exactly why we were there — Rose Hanson was dead. "Shit."

Joe took his time driving through the winding roads as though we were on a pleasant afternoon drive. When we came to a grassy area near a big fountain, he rolled the Lincoln to a stop. I got out of the car, queasy and weak-kneed. The flowers were a sweet taunt to my roiling stomach and twittering birds made me want to cover my ears. "No…Joe, I don’t want…"

Quietly he said, "Yeah, you do.

He took my arm and led me to a gravesite under a big pine. The small placard was dusty and unloved. It was among a cluster of many — like labels of people who once lived but weren’t entitled to any space now that they were dead. Rose Marie Hanson 1966 – 1989. No beloved daughter, sister or mother insignia. Just her name and the dates during which she’d been on Earth.

I sunk down into the grass. My mother died when I was four years old. All the years spent fantasizing about finding her and asking her why, were wasted. She was gone before I could even form the thoughts. Anger and disappointment bubbled up inside me and I plucked grass out of the soft ground. "You could’ve just told me. What’s the point of bringing me here?"

Joe struggled to kneel down next to me then put his hand on my shoulder. "Because someday, you’ll want to know where she is. Maybe bring her flowers. Have a chat, set a spell."