“Talking about cooking, are you?”
The way Jim saidcooking made my knees weak. He pronounced it likekook.
Kooking.
It was adorable.
Maybe he wasn’t a bad guy after all.
“Actually, we were talking about crime.”
Eve always was one to lay her cards on the table. Jim, it seemed, was more into the poker-faced approach. He settled himself in the booth across from us. His beer was the color of chocolate and the foam on top was as thick as whipped cream. He took a sip and grabbed a pretzel from the bowl in the center of the table.
After another sip of beer and a bite of pretzel, he cleared his throat. “So you think Beyla killed Drago?”
“Nobody said that. Not exactly.” I felt like somebody had to give the amateur detectives’ version of the surgeon general’s warning. Before we said something we might regret later, we had to make sure all our bases were covered. “We’re not accusing Beyla of anything.”
“Sure we are!” So much for subtlety. Eve waved away my attempts at being impartial. “She hated the man. Pure and simple. She couldn’t stand his guts.”
Jim cocked his head. “And you know this, how?”
“We don’t know it,” I interjected before Eve could get us in any deeper. Somebody had to retain some sort of standards. “We don’t know anything about Beyla and Drago’s relationship, except that she says she didn’t know him, and we know that’s not true. We saw them fighting in the parking lot the night Drago was killed. And even though she says she didn’t, we know she met him even before that night.”
Jim didn’t have to ask-I knew what he was thinking.
“I did some research,” I confessed, and I wondered if Jessica Fletcher ever felt as foolish as I did at that moment. Did anyone in Cabot’s Cove ever come right out and say that she was nothing but a busybody? At least now Jim knew there was more to me than just bad cooking-he knew I was nosy, too.
“I went to the library,” I continued, because there didn’t seem to be much point in not explaining myself. “I went through the microfiche and checked the local news stories. I found one about the opening of Drago’s art gallery.”
“Beyla was there,” Eve interrupted. “She was in a picture with Drago.”
“That’s very good.” Jim took another sip of his beer. “Did you think of doing that bit of research on your own?” He aimed the question at me, not at Eve, and for a couple seconds, I hesitated. What was it called when you told lies about people, libel or slander? Could Jim be angling for a piece of the pie when he turned around and reported what I’d said to Beyla, and then Beyla turned around and sued me for it?
My cautious side urged me to keep my mouth shut, but another part of me told me that I didn’t have to worry. Not about Jim.
It was the part of me that I usually didn’t listen to. As usual, I was tempted to tell it to shut up. Except, there was something about this guy. There was warmth in his hazel eyes. There was understanding in his smile. There was his I’m-so-smokin’-I-might-start-a-fire smile, but I ignored that part for now.
I told my cautious side to get lost and took a leap of faith.
“We Googled Drago,” I explained. “That’s how we found out about the gallery in the first place.”
“And then we went there,” Eve said.
A muscle tensed at the base of Jim’s jaw. “Not a good idea. If Drago was up to no good, it’s probably not safe to go poking around into his business.”
At the time Eve and I visited Arta, I didn’t think it was a good idea either, but hearing Jim challenge what we’d done brought out a strange defensiveness in me. “No one got hurt,” I told him. “And nothing much happened at the gallery, except that we met Drago’s partner.”
“And we found his office trashed,” Eve reminded me.
“Drago’s office? Vandalized?” Jim cocked his head, thinking. “You’ve really been hard at work at this. You’ve gotten a lot farther than I have.”
“You?” For reasons I can’t explain, the thought of Jim spending any time thinking about Drago’s murder struck me as extraordinary. He was a chef, not a detective.
I reminded myself that I wasn’t a detective, either. I was a bank teller, and if I was smart, I wouldn’t forget it.
“You don’t mean you’re investigating Drago’s murder, too?” I asked hesitantly.
Jim laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly call it investigating,” he said. “But I admit, I’m curious. It’s not every day a man is murdered in the parking lot of the place you work. As a matter of fact…” He sat back, his right arm thrown casually across the back of the booth. “I’ve been wondering if you two had anything to do with the murder.”
I would have laughed if it was funny.
And if I hadn’t picked that exact moment to take a sip of my wine.
I choked and coughed, and felt along the bench for my purse so that I could pull out a handkerchief. Of course, I couldn’t put my hands on it-at least not right away-so I settled for pulling in a few calming breaths. “Us? You think we-”
“I didn’t say that.” Just like I had, Jim distanced himself from anything that sounded even remotely like an accusation. “But you have to admit, you two have been acting mighty suspicious. There was that bit with Beyla and the pasta sauce.”
Eve shot up in her seat. “She tried to poison Annie!”
“And the part about how you told the police one thing and now you’re telling me something else,” Jim added.
“That’s because in this case,the police,” Eve gave the words a sour emphasis, “is Tyler Cooper, and Tyler Cooper is the biggest horse’s patootie this side of the Chesapeake. He said I wasn’t smart enough. Smart!” She snorted. “Like that Kaitlin what’s her name is any smarter than me. And another thing-”
I knew I had to do something before what had been a conversation about murder turned into one about Eve’s love life.
“We didn’t exactly lie to the police,” I explained to Jim. “We tried to tell the truth. Tyler wouldn’t listen.”
“So we decided to investigate on our own.” Eve pulled back her shoulders, her body language saying that it was all her idea and she was mighty proud of it.
“You certainly did.” Jim turned in his seat, just enough to put me fully in his sights. “And you’re certainly having some success.”
It might have been a warning, but I chose to think of it as a compliment. I felt my spirits lift in a way that my yeast had never raised my bread dough.
“You’ve found out a great deal. I’ve wondered about it all, too, but I didn’t know where to begin. You’ve done a great job.”
Thatwas a compliment, pure and simple, and it warmed me down to the tips of my toes.
Jim pinned me with a look. “And here I just thought you were sticking your nose where it didn’t belong because you were guilty. I never dreamed you were actually investigating.”
I wasn’t sure what he was talking about until I remembered how I’d looked through Beyla’s workstation that afternoon before lunch. And Jim’s, too.
My cheeks got hot. “You saw me.”
“I was on my way back into the classroom. You weren’t exactly being subtle.”
My hot cheeks got hotter. “You must think I’m awful.”
“As a matter of fact, I think you’re-”
Whatever Jim thought of me, I didn’t have a chance to find out. Eve’s cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID and answered.
“Sure,” she said. “Ten minutes. See you there.”
“Got to go,” she said. “Meeting Tony.” She gave me a meaningful look, and I snapped to. Eve was sitting nearest to the wall, and in order for her to leave, I had to slide out of the bench. I made a grab for my purse, and this time, I found it exactly where it should have been the first time I looked. I stood. She shimmied out and I sat back down.