Free Murder Al Dente: A Southern Pasta Shop Mystery (Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries Book 1) by Jennifer L. Hart Page B

answer. Since I wasn 't the kicking down the door type, I scuttled downstairs. Donna's potential buyers were parked curbside, a stocky man with huge shoulders helping his pregnant companion from the car.
    " Pssssst, Donna," I hissed under my breath, not wanting to scare the nice couple away. "I think someone is living in the house."
    The smile froze on her face. "What?"
    " The shower in the master bath was wet, and the door to the bonus room is locked."
    Donna cussed, a potent string of expletives that had my eyebrows creeping for my hairline, then dug in her bag. "Take my cell phone and call the police. There might be a squatter in there."
    Taking the phone, I glanced nervously at the house. "Does that happen a lot?"
    " Often enough. Now I have to go tell these nice people that they aren't going to view their dream house today. Fricking economy."
     
    * * *
     
    Donna and I waited while a pair of police officers searched the house. Though I didn't recognize either of them, they both knew Donna.
    " Whoever it was is gone." The statuesque female said. "The window in the bonus room is broken, which is probably how they got in. Was anything missing?"
    Donna shook her head. "Except for a few large pieces of furniture, the place was empty. No electronics or anything of real value."
    " So someone scaled the side of the house, broke a window, took a shower and left?" I asked. "Doesn't that seem a little coincidental?"
    The thin male policeman scowled as though I 'd spit on his shiny shoe. "Coincidental with what?"
    " The murder last night? What if this is where the killer was staying? The Tillman's live less than a mile away. Right across the lake, for crying out loud."
    " Crime happens, Ma'am. One is not necessarily related to another, even in a small community like this."
    Though he had a valid point, it seemed foolish to me that they wouldn 't even consider the possibility. "You could at least dust for fingerprints."
    " Andy, we had an open house here last weekend. Dozens of people came through the house, not to mention bank officials, carpenters, cleaning service employees, and the housing inspectors." Donna said.
    " DNA samples then. How many of them took a shower?" I stubbornly insisted.
    " We'll check into it." The woman spoke in a dismissive tone. Obviously tossing me a bone to get me to shut up and go away.
    Donna locked up the house and drove me over to the Bowtie Angel. We sat in the car for a minute . "What a headache." She pinched her forehead between thumb and forefinger. "Now I have to call the bank and notify them and arrange for someone to fix that window. Why did I think selling real estate would be easy?"
    I had no answers for her, so I leaned on my upbringing for the right response. When in doubt, feed them. "How about a bowl of pasta?"
    " Thanks, but my appetite has disappeared. Rain check, though."
    " I'll hold you to it." I opened my door, just as Jones's SUV slid into the space next to us.
    " Oh my God," Donna breathed as Jones emerged from the driver's side. "Who is that?"
    " Lizzy Tillman's half-brother."
    Donna 's eyes had grown to the size of duck eggs. "He looks like a fallen angel."
    He did at that, with that wavy dark hair that crept down over one eye, seriously sharp cheekbones, and a five o'clock shadow before noon. The accent was just a cherry on top. Was it any wonder he took up so much space in my brain, even with a killer on the loose?
    " Good afternoon, ladies." Jones said in his fantastic accent. I swear I heard Donna sigh.
    " Malcolm Jones, meet Donna Muller."
    The two shook hands.
    "You know what, I changed my mind. I'm totally in the mood for some pasta." Donna scrambled from her Subaru.
    Jones beat us to the door of the Bowtie Angel and held it open for us. "Wonder what changed your mind," I teased Donna. It was reassuring to see another woman as smitten with Jones, since I made an ass out of myself in front of him on a regular basis.
    " I'm married, not dead. Dear sweet Lord, Andy, that