Free Something's Cooking by Joanne Pence

inwardly vowing to never again forget that he was a cop just doing his job. But his eyes were so beautifully blue….
    Her lips tightened. This reaction to him did nothing but irritate her. She felt like a schoolgirl, a real sucker for a uniform—even if it was a plainclothes one.
    Rico had replaced Joey on the sofa in front of the T.V., so she gestured toward the large wingback chairs nestled in a corner of the room.
    â€œNo other calls,” she replied finally, when they were seated. He quizzed her about the one she’d received—the exact words used, the voice, accent, anything special she could remember. The caller had used the term pigeon , and Paavo questioned her over and over about birds, stool pigeons, chickens, turkeys, fowls, fouls, foes, even badminton, until she was ready to scream, if not chirp or caw.
    â€œAll right,” he said, backing off. “Tell me again about any visitors you’ve had.”
    â€œI told you. I’ve stopped everyone from coming by except my sisters, my neighbor Stan, and you. That’s it. Others came by, but I didn’t let them in.”
    â€œWhat others?”
    â€œDelivery men, Edith from downstairs, the paper boy, people asking for money, a contributor to my food column—”
    â€œYou never mentioned that before.”
    â€œThe contributor? I told you I went to the Shopper to drop off recipes. You were too busy yelling about me going there to even ask me where I got the recipes.”
    â€œI never yell. But anyway, you’re saying this ‘contributor’ dropped off the recipes in person?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œIsn’t that unusual?”
    â€œEverything’s unusual about my food column. But since that newspaper article gave out my address, I guess anyone can find me the way he did.”
    â€œHe?”
    â€œA fair number of men contribute recipes.”
    â€œOh? So, why didn’t he just mail the recipes to the paper?”
    â€œI think he wanted to explain. This man, his name is Edward Crane, said he’s friends with another contributor named Sam Martin. Sam brings me ‘spoof’ recipes for breakfast foods, and signs his name as ‘Waffles’ for use in my column. If you’d ever seen my column, you’d know what I mean. Anyway, Waffles, or Sam, has gone toCarmel to work, and now Crane will be giving me the ‘spoof’ recipes.”
    Paavo just looked at her for a long time as if trying to sort out what she had just said. “A number of people mentioned your column and that sometimes it can be pretty…funny. Tell me more about these ‘spoof’ recipes.”
    â€œWell, for me, they started out as a joke, I mean, they’re really weird recipes—things like Chocolate Oyster Pancakes, or Peppermint Brains Soufflé. But Jon Preston, my publisher, liked them, and claimed a lot of readers wrote in and said they liked them as well. He insisted I publish the ‘Waffles’ recipes whenever I got them. As long as they’re popular, we’ve kept them up.”
    Angie caught his head shaking. She should feel insulted, but instead she laughed, imagining this whole recipe thing must sound like science fiction for all he understood about women’s food columns or male contributors to them. But he wrote down the names Edward Crane and Sam Martin, and said he’d have them checked out.
    â€œAre you working on anything else?”
    â€œI was given the go-ahead for an article on the mayor for a Los Angeles–based magazine. I haven’t been able to start it yet.”
    â€œThe mayor?”
    â€œHe’s a friend of the family. I’ve done several human interest stories on him already. It’s no big deal, but I guess he’s good copy.”
    Paavo leaned back in the chair, his expression thoughtful.
    â€œThat’s not what’s behind all this, Inspector.”
    He shrugged. “I’ll keep it in mind,