Free Raspberry Revenge by Jessica Beck Page A

appreciate us nosing around behind him.”
    “Is there the slightest chance that our investigation bothers him more than he’s letting on?” she asked me.
    “Probably, but as long as we don’t try to beat him to the killer, we should be fine,” I said.
    “That doesn’t leave us with much that we can do, does it?”
    “We’ll just have to find a way to make do within our limitations. I’m not about to cross Jake without having a very good reason.”
    “I don’t blame you a bit,” Grace said. “Listen, if there’s nothing else we can do at the moment, I’ve got a few things still on my desk that need to be handled. Do you mind?”
    I glanced at my watch and saw that it was nearly time for Jake to come home. I knew if he got there first, he’d thaw a batch of the chili he loved to make, and I didn’t think my stomach could take another meal of it so soon. My only hope was to beat him home and cook something for us myself. “No, that works out fine with me. What does your day look like tomorrow?”
    “If I can get through this paperwork, I’ll be able to take off right about when you’re closing the donut shop for the day.”
    “Let’s meet up then and see if either one of us has been able to come up with something else to do that won’t burn too many bridges,” I suggested.
    “Good luck with that. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said as I left her place.

    Jake wasn’t home yet, and I didn’t really feel like cooking something from scratch. I pulled a frozen lasagna that I’d made a few weeks earlier from the freezer, being careful to avoid any skin contact with his blistering-hot chili, and started thawing it in the microwave. Momma probably wouldn’t have approved of anything short of a fresh home-cooked meal, but I wasn’t planning on telling her, so we were good on that front. The microwave oven timer beeped at me, so I knew that our meal was nearly ready. One more cycle at full power, and we’d be ready to eat.
    That was, if my husband made it home for dinner, which was anything but a given at this point in his investigation.
    When Jake was working on a case, he tended to get consumed by it, and I didn’t see why Harley’s murder would be any different. Just in case, I grabbed my phone and called him.
    He picked up on the second ring, which was a good sign.
    “Hey, Jake. Any chance you’ll be able to make it home for dinner?”
    “I’m two minutes away,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “If you don’t feel like cooking, I’d be happy to thaw out some chili for us.”
    “As much as I appreciate the offer, the lasagna is almost ready.” I’d dodged a bullet with my preemptive dinner strike, but I had to be careful not to let it show in my voice.
    “That sounds great, too,” he said, his cheeriness fading a little. I knew that he enjoyed my cooking, but I was going to have to let him serve us chili again soon. If marriage was nothing else, it was compromise.
    To make up for taking away his dining options, I got out some of the cheddar chive rolls that I’d made the same day I’d done the lasagna and thawed them after the lasagna was resting. The rolls were best fresh from the oven with gobs of melted butter on them, but they were pretty good thawed out as well, especially if the fresh version wasn’t available. That would put a smile back on his face.
    Jake walked into the cottage and paused at the door to take a deep breath. Before he could say anything, I asked, “Any word about George?”
    “Would it be okay with you if I just stood here a second and took in that aroma?” he asked gently.
    “Sorry,” I said, and I took in a breath myself. The defrosted lasagna and bread filled the kitchen with such a delightful aroma that it was a shame no one had ever tried to bottle it. “Are you hungry?”
    “I’m starving,” he said. “I skipped lunch.”
    “You shouldn’t do that,” I said as I handed him an empty plate. He filled it with more food than