Killer Comfort Food (A Farm-to-Fork Mystery Book 5) Page 4

  Angie shook her head. “Black’s fine. Look, Maggie, I need to say something.”

  “Of course you do. Everyone loves Bleak. I did tell you that when I invited you over, right?” Maggie sat at the small table and frowned. “I’m sure I told you. I wouldn’t have just told you to comply. It’s not like I have a speck of compelling power in me. Well, I guess being married to the police chief does give me a bit of credence here, but not much.”

  “No, I meant about keeping our discussion a secret from Ian and Allen. I just can’t promise that.” Angie sipped her coffee. It was just the way she liked it. Hot and dark roasted. “If that means we can’t talk, I’ll just have coffee with you and we’ll not talk about Bleak. It’s up to you.”

  Maggie stared at her for a long time. Finally, it appeared she’d agreed with Angie’s terms. “Okay. I understand your position. I’m just so worried about Bleak. I have to talk to someone, and well, Allen’s official position can get in the way of frank discussions.”

  “I get it. And if it doesn’t need to be an Ian discussion, I’ll hold back. Just don’t ask me to keep things from him. I don’t want to damage our relationship over a lie.”

  Maggie patted Angie’s hand. “You’re a very nice girl and perfect for our Ian. I won’t put you in a bad spot. Anyway, I found one of Bleak’s notebooks in her room last week, and she had written all this stuff about southern Utah. Like places runaways could stay and how far it was to Las Vegas and the towns in between. You don’t think she’s planning on taking off again, do you? She seems so happy. And I just got her weight up to normal. She was so thin when she came to live with us.”

  “Bleak seems happy at work. Felicia was saying she’s excellent at the front of the house. She’s a hard worker, and she’s talking about working full-time next summer and looking forward to our next retreat. I don’t think she’s planning on rabbiting anytime soon.” Angie thought about their last family meal at the restaurant. Bleak looked normal, chatting and teasing, and eating with the group. “I’ll make sure Felicia keeps an eye out for her, but if it’s just this, maybe she was thinking about visiting her family.”

  “You know, if she goes back, they’ll force her to stay—or worse.” Maggie shuddered. “I can’t imagine what her life had been like before she left.”

  Angie thought about Bleak’s aunt and the extreme measures the woman had gone to last summer to bring the girl back into the fold. “Look, I’ll talk to Hope. If Bleak’s planning something like this, she’ll know.”

  “Would you please?” Maggie’s hand shook a bit as she lifted her cup to her lips to sip. “I’m not sure what I’d do without her.”

  Angie studied the woman in front of her. “Look, maybe you should just come out and ask her. She’d tell you.”

  “And then I’d have to admit I was reading her journal.” Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know much about this mothering thing, but even I knew that was a line I shouldn’t have crossed. Who knows, maybe she just put that in there to see if I am reading her stuff? She could be testing me.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me,” Angie admitted.

  A door opened in the front, and Maggie’s eyes widened. She glanced at the clock and whispered, “She shouldn’t be home yet.”

  “Maggie? Are you here?” A man’s voice boomed through the house. “I’m heading out on a call and don’t think I’ll be home for dinner.”

  “We’re in the kitchen, Allen,” Maggie called back, clearly relieved it was her husband and not Bleak. She turned to Angie. “Can you just be here for coffee?”

  Angie nodded. “Talking about Bleak is normal, right? We both care about her.”

  “Some kid found a body of a woman out behind the park. Poor kid, he was sledding down the dirt hill where they were redoing the water lines, and…” Sheriff Allen Brown stopped short at the doorway to the kitchen. He stared at Angie. “Crap, you said ‘we’ were in the kitchen. Angie Turner, I didn’t expect to have you here in my house today.”

  “Are you telling me I can’t have visitors?” Maggie stood, her dark eyes flashing at her husband.

  “Of course not, dear, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. I should be more careful what I say when I come home.” He walked over and gave his wife a kiss. “I’m hoping you could keep this under wraps, at least until we find next of kin.”

  “Look, Allen, I don’t want to even know this…” Angie paused, a thought crossing her mind as quickly as her hand flew up to her lips. “Oh no. The body isn’t Susan Ansley, is it?”

  “How did you know about Susan being missing?” His gaze bore into her.

  “Barb asked me to try to help her find her daughter. Sunny is Susan Ansley. And before you find out and question my motives, Felicia and I went to talk to Jon Ansley about what happened to his wife.” Angie sighed. She knew telling the truth up front was better than waiting and trying to explain, but she hated the look that River Vista’s sheriff was giving her right now.

  “Sometimes I wonder what evil I did in another life to deserve you moving back into my town and ruining my life.” Allen went to a drawer and pulled out a plastic baggie. He then filled it with cookies.

  “Allen, that’s not nice to say to Angie.” Maggie stepped closer to her, showing girl-power solidarity.

  “May not be nice, but it’s true. Let’s just hope this woman isn’t Susan Ansley for all our sakes.” He nodded to them and stepped out of the kitchen. “Don’t wait up for me.”

  After the door had closed, Maggie turned toward her. “Now tell me what you know about Susan. You need to be covered just in case this woman is dead in my husband’s crime scene.”

  Chapter 4

  By the time Angie got up the next morning, she hadn’t heard if the body had been identified. She turned on the television as she made coffee, but there was only a short mention of the discovery and that further information was being held until next of kin was notified. She pulled on her coat and work boots and headed out to the barn. Mabel was inside, the cold morning too much for her. Felicia had bought her a sweater, but Angie hadn’t put it on the old hen, worried it would cause a heart attack when they caught her to put it over her head.

  “If the weather gets any colder, though, I might just chance it,” Angie told the hen as she spread feed down on the ground for her and refilled her water. She took a bucket over to Precious’s pen and refilled the water trough. Her water trough was heated so the water didn’t ever ice over.

  The black goat nuzzled her hand. “Good morning to you too, Miss Precious.” Angie filled the food trough with the corn mixture the goat loved and added a bit of hay for later. “What’s going on in the goat world today?”

  With a bleat, Precious rubbed her head against Angie’s hand one more time, then ran to the food trough.

  “That’s my girl.” Angie laughed. “It’s all about the food, right, Precious?”

  Angie had gotten Precious when she was just a baby, when the goat’s mother had been killed by coyotes. She’d found her up on a hiking trail in Celebration Park, and the goat had followed her back to the car, much to Dom’s displeasure. So now she had a Saint Bernard, an elderly hen, and a young goat for her private zoo. If she got to keep the farmhouse.

  She pushed the worry aside. For some reason, she’d been pulled into too many worries this week. She decided to call Barb and see how she was holding up. She had to be worried sick.

  Finished with the chores, once she got back into the house, she poured a cup of coffee and put a breakfast casserole into the oven. Felicia had left a new one to try in her fridge the last time she’d come over. And with the brunch workshop this week, Angie needed to get the review back to her friend so she’d know whether or not to keep it on the menu.

  She dialed Barb’s number and put the phone on speaker. A tired voice answered on the fourth ring. “What do you want this early?”

  “Oh, sorry,
I didn’t think you’d still be sleeping. You didn’t open the bar last night, did you?”

  “No, but my sleep schedule is all messed up because of the four nights I close at two. What do you want?” Now she just sounded grumpy.

  Angie thought about her question. If no one had told Barb about the body, she’d be the one breaking the news. But if they had, Barb should know whether it was her daughter or not.

  “Angie?” This time the voice was quieter, softer.

  “I was just wondering if you’d heard about who was found in the park.” Angie cringed—that hadn’t sounded as gentle as she’d hoped.

  “It’s not Sunny. Sheriff Brown called late last night to tell me.” The words were released like a breath. Then she laughed. “Hell, I’m not sure if I wanted it to be her, just to stop the wondering, or if I wanted my sweet girl to be alive somewhere, not realizing how many people were worried. I’m a bad person.”

  “You aren’t. You’re scared and worried.” Angie let out a deep breath. She’d thought it might be Susan Ansley’s body too. “Did he know who it was?”

  “No. At least he didn’t tell me. The woman was younger than Sunny, dark hair and five-foot-nine. Some other mother is grieving today. I’m still in limbo.” She sighed. “Look, I need to try to get some more sleep or I’ll be a mess tonight. Thanks for calling to check on me.”

  Angie couldn’t think of a response, but then she didn’t have to as she realized Barb had already hung up on her. She glanced around the kitchen. Tomorrow she’d have to go in to work and start her week. Today, she was home and her mind was a tangle of worry. Everything was jumbling together, and the best thing she could do for that was cook. She took her coffee cup over to the built-in bookshelves in the kitchen that held all her cookbooks and ran a finger across the spines. She definitely wanted to bake something, maybe make a casserole or some soup. Her breakfast still had twenty minutes before it was ready, so she had plenty of time to find a few new recipes to try out.

  Her finger stopped on a small black spine. Maybe this was another of Nona’s recipe books. Angie pulled it out and opened the cover. Not a cookbook, but a journal. And the writing wasn’t Nona’s. She closed it and found a name written on the front cover. Property of Kathleen Corbin. Turner was added in another color of ink.

  This was her mother’s journal.

  She took the book and her coffee back to the table. As she read the first entry, Angie realized the words had been written when her mother was a teenager. Angst about entering high school. What classes to take. What career to focus on. Her dreams. Angie read the first five entries, then set the book away when the oven beeped, telling her the casserole was done.

  Her mom had gone to school in River Vista too. She’d attended the old high school, though. The building had been torn down and Ian’s farmers’ market took up the parking lot on most weekends. Angie had gone to the new high school, which had now been turned into a middle school and another new high school had been built. Generations after generations of families had lived and loved in River Vista.

  Angie ate her breakfast, staring at the book while she did. When her phone rang, the sound made her jump, she’d been so lost in thinking about the girl who’d turned into her mother and how much they’d been alike.

  “Hey,” she answered the phone, still thinking about the treasure she’d found.

  “Hey yourself.” Ian paused. “Did I catch you cooking?”

  “Actually, no. I haven’t started yet. I’m just eating breakfast, why?” She glanced down at the plate and was surprised to see the food already gone. She’d been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t even realized she’d eaten.

  “I was checking in to see if we’re still on for tonight. I hear you’ve had a tough weekend.” His voice was calm and warm. One of the reasons she loved the guy. He knew just how to deal with her moods.

  “I’d love to see you. Did you make reservations?” Angie liked researching where she was eating beforehand so she could glance at the menu and not get lost in the choices when she arrived.

  “I did. We’re going to Canyon Creek. I saw Sydney in Boise last week, and she mentioned how much she’d like to show you their menu this season.” He paused. “That’s okay, right?”

  “I’d love to chat with Sydney tonight.” Angie realized she meant it. “And you.”

  “I don’t mind playing second fiddle to a talented chef like Sydney.” He laughed as she tried to take back the order of the words. He cut her protests off. “I’ve got to go. Allen wants to talk to me about Maggie. He’s worried about her.”

  “She called me yesterday, and I went over to have coffee with her.” Might as well say it up front, Angie thought.

  “Really? That’s a good step. Last time we had dinner together, Maggie was so worried about cooking for you she burned everything. Maybe our next dinner there will be at least edible.”

  “She seems to be warming up to me.” That felt like a distraction from the truth, even to Angie.

  “You can’t know how happy that makes me.” He said something to a person in the office. “Allen’s here. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Tonight,” she agreed, but then found herself talking to dead air again. Didn’t anyone say goodbye anymore?

  Angie took her plate to the sink and put the leftovers away. Then she set her mother’s journal back on a shelf behind her kitchen desk. One place where Dom couldn’t find it and chew the covers as well as some pages. Then she grabbed two recipe books and started making a list for her mise en place. Hopefully cooking would do the trick.

  By lunchtime, she had a sausage and white bean soup bubbling on the stove. Two loaves of sourdough bread set on the counter cooling, and Angie had set aside her starter to develop for the next time she baked. She wrote down the recipes in her journal with notes on where she’d found the original recipe and what tweaks, if any, she’d made to it. Most of the time, she’d made major revisions. Or she would have by the time she’d tested the recipe two or three times. The next time she wanted to make a red sauce with the soup, not as thick as a chili, but giving it more of a tomato base to add even more flavor. Sometimes the tweaks made it better, sometimes not. But you never knew until you tried. She closed the journal and set it aside, next to her mother’s. Angie hadn’t kept a diary during high school. Too much angst to deal with as a teenager. Especially one who had lost her parents so young.

  She wasn’t hungry yet, but she knew she needed to eat. Dom stared at the bread, hoping for a slice just for him. Instead, she slipped on her tennis shoes and grabbed his leash. She needed the exercise as much as her dog did. “Come on, Dom, let’s go for a walk.”

  A backpack with two bottles of water and a couple of doggie treats, along with another collar and another lead already packed, sat by the back door. Angie added her set of keys to the bag and her wallet, and they were ready to go.

  When she and Dom were finishing their walk and heading toward the parking lot, a familiar dog bounded up to greet them. Angie glanced up at the man on the other side of the leash. He looked pale and gaunt. “Mr. Ansley, how are you today?”

  He looked at her like he didn’t recognize her. “Oh, Miss Turner. I should have expected to see you here. Did you come to throw salt into the wound?”

  “Not sure what you’re talking about, but I’m here to walk my dog.” Angie moved to the side to let him and Timber pass.

  He rubbed his face. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s been a bad couple of days. Did you know they found a body?”

  Angie nodded. “I heard yesterday afternoon. I’m glad it’s not your wife.”

  He barked a laugh. “I should have known you’d have all the details, not like those people in the grocery store. They look at me like I’m a serial killer or something. You just hate me because of the land deal.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Angie thought about what she’d just said. “Okay, so may
be I hate you a little. I really don’t want to move, and the company you’re representing is making that an issue.”

  “The company my firm is representing. I’m on leave, remember.” He smiled, but the emotion didn’t hit his eyes. “I just wish life would go back to the way it was before I took on this project. Susan would be home, griping about the women in her yoga class, she’d be taking care of Timber, and I’d be working too many hours.”

  “Susan didn’t like you working for the Taylor Farms account?” Angie glanced down at Dom, who was ignoring Timber and his attempts to play.

  “She thought it was slimy, especially since I was doing the recon before anyone was offered contracts on the land. She thought the company should take over the land where the old meat packing company used to be.” He shrugged. “She really didn’t like me talking to your neighbor and her granddaughter. She said that was why lawyers had a bad name, trying to get the cheapest price for land that had been in the family for years.”

  Timber, bored with Dom’s unwillingness to play, pulled on his leash.

  Angie smiled. “Someone wants to get going.”

  “Yeah, he’s been locked up in the house too long. I guess my time off will give me time to get him out and about”—he glanced up at the sky—“as long as we don’t get another snowfall soon.”

  “Have a good walk. And I’m glad it wasn’t Susan.” Angie moved toward the car.

  He turned to watch her; she could see him still standing there. He left as soon as she reached the car. Had he been waiting to make sure she got into the car safe? Great, now even the bad guys in her life were watching out for her. She drove home, thinking about mothers and daughters.

  Ian showed up at the house right at six. He was nothing if not a man of routines. But that wasn’t a bad thing. Angie had made him a basket to take home with him. Two quarts of the soup, one almost frozen and one from the fridge, along with a loaf of the bread. Her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Potter, was in California for the winter, and her granddaughter, Erica, hadn’t come back from winter break yet. They were typically the recipients of Angie’s testing days, as long as the recipes turned out tasty. Angie could count on Ian taking some of the product off her hands since he wasn’t much of a cook and had lived on ramen and SpaghettiOs before they’d started dating. The good thing was, since she worked four nights a week, she didn’t usually have to cook much at home unless she was trying out a new recipe. With what she had in her freezer, and Ian taking her out for dinner dates, she probably didn’t need to cook for months. If she didn’t want to. The problem was, she loved to cook.