Killer Kisses (25 page)

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“It has
everything
to do with how you treat me. I’m an
inconvenience
to you—until there’s some sweet real estate deal you or your sleazy pals want in on. Well, this time, I leveled the playing field and gave them notice.”

His face turned crimson and veins popped out on the side of his neck. “They’ll
never
get it ready in six months. They’ll go bankrupt and have to put it back up on the auction block.”

“Says
who
?”

Spittle flew out of his mouth as he shouted. “Tony. When he wants something, he gets it. He’ll make sure they’re buried in debt and have to let it go.”

She slammed the glass down on the counter and turned on her heel. “You better be careful that thug doesn’t bury you first.”

CHAPTER NINE

~*~

Genie lifted a pot of coffee off the two-burner cook stove she had placed on top of the non-functioning range in the kitchen. Camping out in the Summerville Inn had
seemed
like a good idea in the beginning of November with a long spell of Indian summer to buoy them along. Holding hands, she and Jim examined every suite and dreamed about how they would renovate them. Sheraton or Hepplewhite furniture would be needed. Matching four-posters, wardrobes, night stands, writing tables, full-length mirrors, and vanities for the huge bathrooms were a must. They spent hours in the Summerville Public Library and the Historical Society, browsing books and researching architectural firms. They asked for references and identified construction companies and artisans who could balance the demands of new codes and regulations with preserving the historic nature of a structure.

Thanks to the home equity line Beasley granted her, they’d been able to get the humongous oil furnace up and running, albeit in a cloud of black smoke and curses from the repairmen. The electric company had reconnected the meter and the water had been turned back on. They had a roof over their heads, heat in the rooms they used, having closed off the heat vents in all but the kitchen and their bedroom to conserve funds, and she heard the faucet dripping behind her because they were putting off getting the plumbing repaired until they had more cash on hand.

She knew she was lucky—she had a home and a good man. The saints
had
heard her prayers. She knew she should be grateful but when December rolled in with a bitter cold snap, it nearly broke her spirit. She still hadn’t heard a definitive answer from the bank about the loan—and the application for historic status was sitting on some bureaucrat’s desk in Albany.

Cooking on a camp stove had lost its funky charm. The air mattress, although a fun place to create innovative desserts with Jim, had begun to leak and each morning she awoke with her butt on the hard floor. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, her bank account was nearly cleaned out, the home equity line of credit was down by half, and the insurance agent wasn’t returning her calls.

Jim came into the kitchen dressed in a down coat, boots, heavy gloves, and a hat that looked like it belonged in Siberia. His breath puffed white fog in the air. “The good news is we don’t
need
a refrigerator in this weather.”

Warming her hands over the camp stove, Genie didn’t have the energy to respond.

“The bad news is,” he continued, “things that we don’t want frozen have turned into rocks.” He rolled an egg toward her on the floor. “Set up the ten pins, I think we can bowl for omelets.”

Just as she opened her mouth to respond, pitiful caterwauls pierced the cold air. “That wasn’t me,” Jim said. “Was it you?”

She walked to the kitchen door and opened it. A rail thin black cat strolled in, sat in front of her and howled. Genie contemplated the noisy feline. “You chose poorly.”

The cat looked at her with large gooseberry green eyes and yodeled. Jim squatted down and petted the creature. “He feels like a bag of bones. Don’t we have some tuna in the pantry?”

Genie cast a guilty glance at the cat. “I was saving it for lunch.”

He gave her a wide-eyed look. “C’mon. I think I still have five hundred dollars credit left on one of my cards. Let’s splurge. Go out to lunch. Feed the puddy cat.”

She sighed. “You’re right. I was being selfish.” Her stomach rumbled. “Let’s do brunch. Eggs, waffles with maple syrup and bacon.”

“In bed?”

She punched his arm. “
That
will have to wait.”

They watched the cat suck up every drop of fish from the open can.

“What shall we name it?”

Jim touched his index finger to his lip. “How about Hoover? He eats like a vacuum cleaner.”

“He is a she.”

“Oh.”

She threaded her arm through his. “That cat must have been praying someone would take her in. Why don’t we name her Hope?”

~*~

Brunch at Sips Coffee Shop was over almost as quickly as it began. One minute her plate was full, the next it was empty. Owner Maggie LaMonica walked by with a pot of coffee and stopped to clear the table.

“Send that back to the kitchen,” Genie said with a straight face. “I didn’t like it at all.”

Maggie lifted the stack of dishes and flatware. “I’ll be sure to tell the cook.” She stopped and turned. “My short order guy is going on vacation for two weeks. I know you’re a CIA-trained chef—and this is
truly
beneath you—but would you consider helping me out for a bit? Just until he gets back?”

Genie bit her lower lip.
Was it that obvious that they were on the brink of financial ruin?

“Hey, forget I mentioned it.” Maggie turned.

Genie swallowed the huge glob of pride stuck in her throat. “Thank you. Yes, I’d
love
to do that. I miss having a real kitchen.”

Maggie almost dropped the dishes. “Seriously?”

“Yes—but only if you allow me to experiment and offer some daily specials that are different from your usual ones.”

“It’s a deal.” Maggie pushed the door into the kitchen and called out, “Earl, you’d better watch out. You may not have a job when you get back.”

Jim grinned, reached across the table, and grabbed Genie’s hand. “That black cat brought us good luck. We’ll eat for free for two weeks.”

She allowed herself to enjoy a tiny thrill of excitement. Her
own
kitchen. Not a Sous chef. The
executive chef
for Sips Coffee Shop. She closed her eyes and imagined herself in her chef’s jacket and pants, whisking up an amazing variety of soups, appetizers, entrees, and desserts—all at reasonable prices.

A woman’s voice intruded into her fantasies of butternut squash bisque, goat cheese and leek tart, strawberry crepes, and sweet potato French toast.

“Miss King? Miss Genie King?”

She blinked. A short brunette with large hips made larger by her down coat stood next to the table, her nose bright red from the cold. The woman’s voice sounded familiar. “Do I know you?”

“We’ve only spoken on the phone. I’m Amanda—with your insurance company?” She pulled her purse off her shoulder and put her hand inside. “I heard you were here and I thought I’d give you the news in person.”

Genie braced herself. “That can’t be good.”

The woman sighed. “In cases of suspicious fires, we are
obligated
to examine all possible causes, including the home owner’s potential involvement.” Amanda paused and looked Genie in the eye. “We hired our own arson investigator.”

Dear God.
Genie hoped they didn’t think
she
set the fire. She and Jim could have died in the blaze. She opened her mouth to protest, but the woman put her hand out like a traffic cop. “I know what you’re thinking. But it’s standard protocol. After extensive research, our arson investigator ruled you out as a suspect.”

Her breath came out in a long whoosh. Genie hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it almost the whole time the woman had been talking. Amanda continued. “I regret to inform you that the adjuster has determined that your house is not salvageable.”

Jim squeezed her hand. Hot tears welled up in her eyes and she felt her lower lip tremble.

“Between the fire, the water damage, and the subsequent temperature drops, it was totaled. Minus the land, the company has decided to pay you the value of your damaged property.” She handed Genie an envelope. “I’m sorry. I wish we could have saved your home.”

Genie watched the woman leave the restaurant through blurry eyes.
Dammit. It just wasn’t fair. How much was a person supposed to take?

She withdrew the papers from the envelope, looked down and gasped.

Jim leaped to his feet. “What is it? You look as if you’re going to faint.”

Without a word, she handed him the check.

He ran his fingers back and forth across the numbers.

 Genie leaped out of her seat and began jumping up and down. “Call the architect. Get Restoration Hardware on the line. We can start the renovations!”

Jim grabbed her and swung her around, knocking into empty tables and chairs. He stopped dancing. “There’s something we have to do first for our lucky charm.”

Breathless, she could barely speak. “What’s that?”

“We can buy Hope a
lot
of cat food with five hundred thousand dollars.”

~*~

Richard Heade could scarcely believe his eyes when he read the insurance company’s report to the Fire Investigation Team. Not only had Genie King been absolved of any wrong doing, but they paid her a ridiculous amount of money for the house. Who knew the dump was worth that much? Tony Aiolfo had been certain that torching her home would push her over the edge and force her into selling the inn. He’d even returned to New Jersey to await the call from Beth offering him the Inn at a fire sale price.

Instead of falling into a pile of manure and drowning, those idiots had come out smelling like the New York State flower—all thanks to the crook’s not-so-well-laid plans. Pacing his office, Rich rearranged his trophies, and then straightened framed photographs of himself with various dignitaries.

What was he going to tell Tony the Wolf?

CHAPTER TEN

~*~

Genie shouted through the serving window. “Order up.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Maggie hustled into the kitchen after seating yet another out-of-town couple. “You know, all I wanted was for you to fill in for two weeks. I never expected you to stay on after Earl went AWOL and turn this place into a celebrity food show.”

Genie put a hand on her hip. “You mad at me?”

Maggie grinned. “Hell, no! We’ve gotten rave reviews from local papers, and now I suspect that Mr. and Mrs. Incognito out there, just might be food critics for a New York City newspaper.”

Jim looked up from chopping vegetables. “Does this mean we can hire another kitchen assistant? This woman is
killing
me.”

Genie shook a spatula at him. “Back to work, slacker.”

He bowed at the waist and lowered his voice in an imitation of Boris Karloff. “Yes, mistress, as you wish, mistress.”

She laughed and turned back to speak to Maggie, only to find Webster Bond in her place, looking serious. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” She motioned Jim over to her side. “Whatever you say to me, he should hear, too.”

Web pulled out a notepad and a pen. “I’m on the Fire Investigation Team. It’s been three months and we still have some unanswered questions. Both the Fire Department’s Arson Investigator and the insurance company agreed that it was an intentional blaze. The cigarette lighter had no prints and the propane tank was expertly set up—so it was someone who had experience.” He frowned. “We have the wrappers you found. One of them had a piece of chewed gum in it—but we can’t match the DNA to anyone in state or FBI databases. And we can’t test everyone who’s in Summerville to see if we get a match.”

Jim grimaced. “Don’t you hate it when ethics stand in the way of getting the job done?”

Web nodded. “So, our job is to narrow down the suspect pool to the most likely offenders.”

Genie tapped her spatula on her palm. “Don’t you have a list of convicted arsonists? Couldn’t you look at them?”

“We’ve already started. A large number of them had to be eliminated because they have alibis. Incarcerated or dead firebugs aren’t very helpful.”

“There’s something about the gum wrappers that’s been bugging me.” Jim shook his head. “It’s like it’s right in front of me and I can’t see it.”

“Genie, do you recall the day you pulled into the SPD and honked your horn at me?” Web asked.