Too Many Cooks Read online

  “Good night, Rebecca. Good job with Dupries tonight,” he added, then felt like an ass. She didn’t want to hear, right now, about being a good cop. He knew the feeling.

  The door shut. He turned his back on the house and the woman in it and got into his car for the lonely drive home.

  15

  Angie had received calls for the past two days from so-called “friends” wanting to tell her about Paavo’s dinner with Nona Farraday.

  So that was the situation. One little meeting with the woman, and he was so smitten with her he’d dumped Angie like a fallen soufflé. It hurt. She’d never really been in love before, but she guessed she must be now. That was the only explanation for feeling so miserable.

  But Nona Farraday, of all people! Just because she looked as if she stepped from the pages of Vogue was no reason for Paavo to have his head turned like this. Nona would lead him a merry chase, toss him aside, and break his heart. It’d never work. Nona was only interested in good times and money—and not in that order. One evening out with her would blow Paavo’s paycheck for a week.

  Poor guy. Angie folded her arms and paced around her living room, just as she’d seen Paavo do time and again. She was going to have to save him from himself, she decided. She was the cause of his meeting Nona, after all. Naturally, she’d feel responsible for his misery. And a miserable Paavo wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his cases.

  She had to come up with some distraction, some way to keep Paavo’s attention on his work and off Nona. For Paavo’s sake, for Chick’s family’s sake, for the police department’s sake—and for her own.

  Paavo was typing up a useless interview with Eunice Graves, owner of Europa, when Yosh came into the squad room. He tossed his notebook onto his desk.

  “She’s done it again,” Yosh said.

  Paavo looked up. “Who?”

  Yosh took a deep breath. “Angelina.”

  “Angie?”

  Paavo had never seen Yosh scowl at him before. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “Don’t play innocent, Paavo. You know that every time we talk to a restaurant owner about Karl Wielund, she’s already been there. I was at Perestroika trying to get some information out of Vladimir Polotski, and he all but answered my questions before I even asked them.”

  “She knows these people. It’s just small talk.”

  “Small talk with someone who’s going out with the detective working on Wielund’s and Marcuccio’s murders.”

  “Was going out, Yosh. I’m not seeing her anymore.”

  “You’re not? Well, I guess that’s good. But these people don’t know that. They remember what they say to her and make sure they tell me the same thing. They all talk to each other, Paavo, you know that. Ask one a question, and fifteen of them chime in with the answer—and it’s always the same answer. God damn. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was Murder on the Orient Express, where they’re all guilty.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Paav, you got to do something.” From time to time, like now, Yosh’s jolly facade would slip. His face would grow serious, his dark eyes penetrating, and Paavo could almost see the wheels turning in his logical mind. And now, Paavo knew Yosh was right.

  “I can’t very well stop her from talking to her friends, Yosh.”

  “Don’t you hear what your partner is telling you, man?” Calderon said as he stepped nearer. “You got to do something about her. You can’t let your personal life mess up a murder investigation.”

  “My personal life isn’t messing up a damn thing.”

  “No? That’s not what I just heard Yosh say.”

  Paavo looked at his partner. He could see Yosh’s hesitation. While Yosh didn’t want to get involved in the constant bickering between Paavo and Calderon, at the same time, it seemed, he couldn’t dispute Calderon’s words. Paavo turned back to his desk, sat, and began going through some papers.

  “You got to face it, man,” Calderon said. He pulled out the chair by Paavo’s desk and straddled it backward, his hands clutching the top chair rail.

  Paavo just stared at him, the muscles in his jaws tight.

  “Look, man, hanging out with a cop is like a lark for her. She can have everything money can buy, but one thing it can’t buy is excitement. She’s just some bimbo who finds murder exciting. She wants to be in the middle of it—gives her a thrill, you know? Maybe more than you do.”

  “Get the hell away from me, Calderon.” Paavo’s voice was icy.

  Calderon stood and slammed the chair back against Paavo’s desk. “Just remember when you get dumped after she learns the filth and ugliness this job’s really about, remember we told you that you were being played for a sucker. This is the only family you got, the only one that matters. And don’t ever forget it.”

  “She’s not like that.”

  “They all are, damn it! I’m warning you.”

  Paavo slowly rose to his feet, eyeball to eyeball with Calderon. If possible, his voice had grown even colder. “Who made you my goddamn savior?”

  “Go to hell, Smith!”

  Yosh quickly stepped between the two. He put his hand on Calderon’s shoulder and turned the man as he spoke. “Thanks, Luis. It’s five o’clock. Time for us to go home. It’s been a long day. A long week.”

  “Well, I still got work to do,” Calderon said, as he walked toward the door. When he reached it, he turned and looked at a still-seething Paavo. “You know, man, pavo means turkey in Spanish. You’re really livin’ up to your name.” With that, he stomped out.

  “The problem’s with his wife,” Yosh said.

  Paavo spun around to stare at his partner. “Carlota?”

  Yosh nodded. “She said she’s had it. Same old story.”

  Yosh didn’t have to say any more. With a sinking heart, Paavo knew. All cops knew. Too much loneliness, too many nights Calderon’s wife had to stay alone when she needed him with her, too many promises that things would change that never did, too much danger, too much worry. “She walked?”

  Yosh nodded. “Took the kids and went to her mother’s near San Diego.”

  Paavo remembered the pained expression on Calderon’s face. He’d thought it was anger. Now he knew it went a lot deeper. “Hell.”

  If Carlota Calderon couldn’t handle this life, Angie didn’t stand a chance. He was glad he was no longer seeing her. It was much easier this way.

  “All right,” he said quietly. “I’ve got Angie out of my private life. Now she has to be out of my public one as well.”

  Yosh looked taken aback by his sudden change. “That’s what I was saying.”

  “I’d like you to tell the next restaurant owner you see that Angie and I split. Word will spread and they’ll believe you. You won’t have to worry about her interference anymore.”

  Yosh gave him a long look. “You sure about this, partner? I mean, she’ll hear as well.”

  “Maybe this way she’ll believe me. And yes, I want it done.”

  “Okay, it will be. Listen, Paav, why don’t you go home on time for once? Take it easy. It’s five o’clock now, anyway.”

  Paavo glanced at the pile of lab reports he had to read and notes he had to write up. “What the hell? Why not?” He grabbed his jacket and struggled into it as he walked toward the door.

  Angie’s heart pounded as she pulled the Ferrari into the red towaway zone in front of the Hall of Justice. Once she got over the shock of Paavo’s going out with Nona Farraday, she’d figured out what to do. Nona had gone too far this time, and Angie wasn’t about to sit back and play dead.

  Nona had always wanted whatever Angie had. That woman was the curse of Angie’s life, the bane of her existence, the dead fly in her chowder. Well, not this time. Paavo was hers—sort of—and she wasn’t about to let him forget it.

  To her surprise, she saw Paavo coming through the big brass doors. Was he getting off work at quitting time? He never did that. The thought that he might be doing it to go out again with Nona wasn’t beyond the rea
lm of possibility.

  He was walking down the granite steps when he looked up and saw her. Whatever she expected or wanted, it wasn’t the aloofness in his blue eyes.

  She got out of her car and forced herself to smile, a bright smile, as if her heart didn’t feel like lead. She waved, her arm high. “Perfect timing!” she called, hurrying around the car to the sidewalk.

  He continued slowly down the steps. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see you.” She held up her car keys, the Ferrari key ring glistening between her thumb and forefinger in silent invitation.

  But instead of taking them as he usually did, his shoulders stiffened. She wondered if he preferred Nona’s Mercedes 450SEL. How stodgy of him.

  “What’s this about?” he asked.

  “I haven’t seen you for a week. You’ve been working too hard. It’s Friday night. You have the weekend off; so do I, so…”

  “So?”

  Her high hopes sank. She took a deep breath. “I—well, do you remember when I rented a house in Bodega Bay a couple of months ago? And you said how much you liked it?”

  He nodded. No fond memories lit his eyes, only wariness and reserve.

  She swallowed hard and went on. “Well, I was able to rent it for the weekend. So I did.”

  His brows furrowed. “You rented the house?”

  She nodded.

  “For us?”

  She nodded again.

  “Without asking what my plans were?”

  She twisted her hands. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  A meter maid came zipping down the street toward them on her motor scooter, the book of parking tickets in her hand flapping in the breeze. She looked like the witch on the bicycle in The Wizard of Oz.

  “You’d better get out of here,” he said.

  “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, you can always fix a ticket.”

  “No, I can’t, and no, I won’t.”

  Her cheeks burning, she put her keys in his hand and slid into the passenger seat. “So what are you waiting for?”

  He frowned but climbed into the driver’s side and started the motor just as the meter maid stopped behind them.

  “Hey!” she yelled, standing in the street, as they pulled away from the curb. He waved and kept going.

  Angie sighed and leaned back against the plush leather seat. “I’m all packed.”

  “Is that so?” Paavo knew his voice was cold and emotionless and disliked himself for it. But wasn’t this for the best?

  He glanced over at her. Her eyes were questioning, and a worried frown puckered the space between her brows. Seeing her look that way ate at him like an ulcer. It wasn’t her fault she was the way she was. He knew her intentions were good and impulsive. She was just being Angie.

  The truck in front of him suddenly stopped and turned off its motor, double-parking in the middle of the street. Almost too late, Paavo saw it and stomped on the brakes. Swearing under his breath, the thought struck him that he couldn’t even drive right when this woman was around. He looked at her, ready to vent his frustration and unhappiness, but with her nearness the words stuck in his throat.

  He pulled around the truck and continued toward…what? He didn’t know or care. He took a deep breath. Concentrating on the road, he said, “Look, Angie, I know you meant well, but I was planning on working this weekend. It’s a good time to catch up on the paperwork.”

  “But you’re still getting over being injured. You need to rest, not push yourself. We can go away and try to forget about death and cooks and restaurant murders for two days. Just be together.” And in love, she wanted to add, like before, like the one time you told me you loved me.

  She leaned closer and ran her cool fingers along the side of his hair, lightly brushing against his ear, then settled them along the back of his neck. An electrifying reaction shot through him and settled somewhere below the seat belt.

  He drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m fine.”

  “Fine enough to spend the weekend at a beautiful house in Bodega Bay?”

  “I’m too busy.”

  “Can we at least have this evening together? Dinner, perhaps? Is that too much time for you to spend with me?” She smiled, but he heard the slight catch in her voice.

  Her fingertip traced his hairline. The rose-petal perfume on her wrists smelled stronger now. Roses would always remind him of Angie. He glanced at her. He liked the subtle brown and gray blend of shadow on her eyelids, the winged effect of her brows, even the mascara that made her already thick and long lashes look more so. He could get hopelessly lost in her large Mediterranean eyes.

  “I’ve got to work tonight as well.”

  “Do you?”

  His hands tightened on the wheel. She was sexy, flirtatious, and could be maddeningly coy, like now. But he also knew she loved him—or thought she did. For the moment at least. She’d get over it. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  The realization that he felt sorry for her stung more than she wanted to admit. She blinked back tears. There had to be another woman. He was sorry that she’d be alone and miserable while he was…she shut her eyes against the vision of him and Nona in bed, twisted in those disgusting black satin sheets Nona found so sexy. And heaven only knew what kind of Frederick’s of Hollywood negligee Nona would—

  “Stop the car!” she shouted, twisting around to look out the passenger side window. They were in the right neighborhood. Yes!

  He slammed on the brakes, causing the car behind him to do the same. “What is it?”

  “I need to buy something.” She could scarcely hide her smile.

  “What?”

  “Even though we’re not going to Bodega”—she gave him a look she hoped was filled with innocence—“I don’t want this trip downtown to be a complete waste of time.”

  “Look, it’s impossible to find parking around here. Your car could be towed.”

  “They wouldn’t dare.” She raised her nose. “My father’s good friend owns the city’s towing service.”

  He shook his head. Around the block, he saw a couple of cops sitting in a squad car in a legal parking place. He pulled up beside them, lowered Angie’s window, and, leaning close to her, flashed his badge at the officers. “You leaving here soon?” he asked.

  “Right now, Inspector,” the driver answered. Then, eyeing the Ferrari, he asked, “Is this a remake of Miami Vice or what?”

  Paavo didn’t say a word but simply backed up a bit to give the squad car room to pull out, then parked.

  “This will just take a minute. Come on,” Angie said as she leaped from the car.

  He took a deep breath before following her. They walked along at a good clip—he was a fast walker—and they were almost past Le Peignoir when Angie grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him into the shop and right up to the counter.

  “Oh, my God,” he whispered. She watched his chin sag as he realized he was surrounded by women’s silk, satin, and lace underwear. He glanced at the left wall and moved back one step. On it were displays of underpants, dozens upon dozens in white, black, paisley, floral, and every color and pattern in between. High-cut, bikini-cut, flutter-cut, and some string versions that were so skimpy they might have been called no-cut. He turned his head to the right to see rows and rows of bras. All around him were racks of teddies, camisoles, negligees, dressing gowns, robes, and on and on until Paavo appeared dizzy from looking at them all.

  The shop reeked of floral sachets. The scent of dried flowers mingled with the air so thickly they could almost taste it. Paavo turned a little green.

  “I love this store,” Angie announced as she lifted a lacy see-through bra and ran it against her hand. “I buy all my underwear here.”

  His frantic gaze told her he’d noticed.

  “Look at this.” She picked up a white satin garter belt, held it up to look at it, then lowered it to her hips. His eyes followed. She turned to face him, still pressing the garter belt against her. “These are
so much sexier than pantyhose, don’t you think?”

  “Ah, well.” His voice seemed to catch.

  A pretty young saleswoman came by, looking from one to the other. “Would you like some help?”

  “You have my size on file. Angelina Amalfi. I think I’ll take one of these.” Angie handed her the garter belt. “My friend, Inspector Smith here, has no opinion. But he’s in Homicide, so I guess he only knows about dead bodies.”

  The saleswoman looked with interest at Paavo, then smiled broadly. Angie saw the color drain completely from his face. She almost felt guilty.

  “Actually,” she continued. “I really came in here to pick out something especially pretty to wear to bed. A black negligee, I think. Or maybe a red one. Hip length. In case I go away for the weekend.”

  “Miss Amalfi,” Paavo said, “I think it’s time you tell the lady the truth.”

  Angie glanced up at him. He’d spoken the words in a voice too full of glee at his own cleverness. She held her breath. One shoe had dropped. The next was poised for a fall. “The truth?” she asked.

  “That she needn’t bother to fill your request. In fact, she may as well throw away your file. You know San Quentin has standard issue for its prisoners.” He pulled out his badge and showed it to the shocked saleswoman. “She’s right. As you see, I am in Homicide. And now that I’ve caught up with her, she’s under arrest.”

  “He’s joking!” Angie squawked.

  “It was so nice meeting you,” he said to the saleslady as his grip locked on Angie’s arm. The saleslady’s shocked expression leaped from him to Angie, then she turned and ran into the back room of the store.

  Angie got in the car beside Paavo. He could almost see steam pouring from her ears after being embarrassed in one of her favorite shops. And the damned part was, she’d managed to make him feel guilty about it even though every part of him knew he’d been justifiably provoked.

  The car seemed even smaller than it had on the trip over here, and he knew why. She knew exactly what she was doing in dragging him into that high-priced boudoir. His thoughts were on her and how those damned frilly pieces would look and feel—how she’d look and feel with them on—and how he’d feel taking them off her. Damn woman. It wasn’t right she should get under his skin this way. Clever and manipulative—wasn’t that what Calderon and Yosh and Rebecca all said about her? And those were the good things.