Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (25 page)

BOOK: Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery
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In
TOO MANY COOKS,
Angie’s talked her way into a job on a pompous, third-rate chef’s radio call-in show. But when a successful and much envied restaurateur is poisoned, Angie finds the case far more interesting than trying to make her pretentious boss sound good.

Angie glanced up from the monitor. She’d been debating whether or not to try to take the next call, if and when one came in, when her attention was caught by the caller’s strange voice. It was oddly muffled. Angie couldn’t tell if the caller was a man or a woman.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Henry said.

“Pat.”

Angie’s eyebrows rose. A neuter-sounding Pat? What was this, a
Saturday Night Live
routine?

“Well, Pat, what can I do for you?”

“I was concerned about the restaurant killer in your city.”

Henry’s eye caught Angie’s. “Thank you. I’m sure the police will capture the person responsible in no time.”

“I’m glad you think so, because—you’re next.”

Henry jumped up and slapped the disconnect button. “And now,” he said, his voice quivering, “a word from our sponsor.”

Angie Amalfi’s latest job, developing the menu for a new inn, sounds enticing—especially since it means spending a week in scenic northern California with her homicide-detective boyfriend. But once she arrives at the soon-to-be-opened Hill Haven Inn, she’s not so sure anymore. In
COOKING UP TROUBLE,
the added ingredients of an ominous threat, a missing person, and a woman making eyes at
her
man, leave Angie convinced that the only recipe in this inn’s kitchen is one for disaster.

She placed her hand over his large strong one, scarcely able to believe that they were here, in this strange yet lovely room, alone. “But I am real, Paavo.”

“Are you?” He bent to kiss her lightly, his eyes intent, his hand moving from her chin to the back of her head to intertwine with the curls of her hair. The mystical aura of the room, the patter of the rain, the solitude of the setting stole over him and made him think of things he didn’t want to ponder—things like being together with Angie forever, like never being alone again. He tried to mentally break the spell. He needed time—cold, logical time. “There’s no way a woman like you should be in my life,” he said finally. “Sometimes I think you can’t be any more real than the Sempler ghosts. That I’ll close my eyes and you’ll disappear. Or that I’m just imagining you.”

“Inspector,” she said, returning his kiss with one that seared, “there’s no way you could imagine me.”

Cold logic melted in the midst of her fire, and all his careful resolve went with it. His heart filled, and the solemnity of his expression broke. “I know,” he said softly, “and that’s the best part.”

As his lips met hers, a bolt of lightning lit their room for just a moment. Then a scream filled the darkness.

Food columnist Angie Amalfi has it all. But in
COOKING MOST DEADLY,
while she’s wondering if it’s time to cut the wedding cake with her boyfriend, Paavo, he becomes obsessed with a grisly homicide that has claimed two female victims.

“You’ve got to keep City Hall out of this case. As far as the press knows, she was a typist. Nothing more. Mumble when you say where she worked.” Lieutenant Hollins got up from behind his desk, walked around to the front of it, and leaned against the edge. Paavo and Yosh sat facing him. They’d just completed briefing him on the Tiffany Rogers investigation. Hollins made it a point not to get involved in his men’s investigations unless political heat was turned on. In this case, the heat was on high.

“Her friends and coworkers are at City Hall, and there’s a good chance the guy she’s been seeing is there as well,” Paavo said.

“It’s our only lead, Chief,” Yosh added. “So far, the CSI unit can’t even find a suspicious fingerprint to lift. The crime scene is clean as a whistle. She always met her boyfriend away from her apartment. We aren’t sure where yet. We’ve got a few leads we’re still checking.”

“So you’ve got nothing except for a dead woman lying in her own blood on the floor of her own living room!” Hollins added.

In COOK’S NIGHT OUT,
Angie has decided to make her culinary name by creating the perfect chocolate confection:
angelinas.
Donating her delicious rejects to a local mission, Angie soon finds that the mission harbors more than the needy, and to save not only her life, but Paavo’s as well, she’s going to have to discover the truth faster than you can beat egg whites to a peak.

Angelina Amalfi flung open the window over the kitchen sink. After two days of cooking with chocolate, the mouthwatering, luscious, inviting smell of it made her sick.

That was the price one must pay, she supposed, to become a famous chocolatier.

She found an old fan in the closet, put it on the kitchen table, and turned the dial to high. The comforting aroma of home cooking wafting out from a kitchen was one thing, but the smell of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory was quite another.

She’d been trying out intricate, elegant recipes for chocolate candies, searching for the perfect confection on which to build a business to call her own. Her kitchen was filled with truffles, nut bouchées, exotic fudges, and butter creams.

So far, she’d divulged her business plans only to Paavo, the man for whom she had plans of a very different nature. She was going to have to let someone
else know soon, though, or she wouldn’t have any room left in the kitchen to cook. She didn’t want to start eating the calorie-oozing, waistline-expanding chocolates out of sheer enjoyment—her taste tests were another thing altogether and totally justifiable, she reasoned—and throwing the chocolates away had to be sinful.

Angie Amalfi’s long-awaited vacation with her detective boyfriend has all the ingredients of a romantic getaway—a sail to Acapulco aboard a freighter, no crowds, no Homicide Department worries, and a red bikini. But in
COOKS OVERBOARD,
it isn’t long before Angie’s
Love Boat
fantasies are headed for stormy seas—the cook tries to jump off the ship, Paavo is acting mighty strange, and someone’s added murder to the menu …

Paavo became aware, in a semi-asleep state, that the storm was much worse than anyone had expected it would be. The best thing to do was to try to sleep through it, to ignore the roar of the sea, the banging of rain against the windows, the almost human cry of the wind through the ship.

He reached out to Angie. She wasn’t there. She must have gotten up to use the bathroom. Maybe her getting up was what had awakened him. He rolled over to go back to sleep.

When he awoke again, the sun was peeking over the horizon. He turned over to check on Angie, but she still wasn’t beside him. Was she up already? That wasn’t like her. He remembered a terrible storm last night. He sat up, suddenly wide awake. Where was Angie?

Angie Amalfi has a way with food and people, but her newest business idea is turning out to be shakier than a fruit-filled gelatin mold. In
A COOK IN TIME,
her first—and only—clients for “Fantasy Dinners” are none other than a group of UFO chasers and government conspiracy fanatics. But when it seems that the group has a hidden agenda greater than anything on the
X-Files,
Angie’s determined to find out the truth before it takes her out of this world—for good.

The nude body was that of a male Caucasian, early forties or so, about 5'10", 160 pounds. The skin was an opaque white. Lips, nose, and ears had been removed, and the entire area from approximately the pubis to the sigmoid colon had been cored out, leaving a clean, bloodless cavity. No postmortem lividity appeared on the part of the body pressed against the ground. The whole thing had a tidy, almost surreal appearance. No blood spattered the area. No blood was anywhere; apparently, not even in the victim. A gutted, empty shell.

The man’s hair was neatly razor-cut; his hands were free of calluses or stains, the skin soft, the nails manicured; his toenails were short and square-cut, and his feet without bunions or other effects of ill-fitting shoes. In short, all signs of a comfortable life. Until now.

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