Free Something's Cooking by Joanne Pence Page A

though.”
    She shook her head, then looked at him a moment before speaking. “Did you have lunch?”
    He jerked his head toward her. “I never eat—”
    â€œI am a food columnist, after all,” she said as if that were an explanation as she disappeared into the kitchen. She returned almost immediately with a mug of hot coffee. While he sipped it, she made him an enormous cold cuts and cheese sandwich.
    â€œYou’ll be less difficult on a full stomach,” she said in response to his questioning look as she handed him the sandwich.
    He paused, as if contemplating how anyone could call him difficult, then began to demolish his lunch.
    There was a knock at the door. Now what? Paavo stepped toward the door as Angie and Rico stood clear of the entry.
    The detective peered through the peephole, glanced back at Angie, then with an oddly amused expression on his face, swung the door open all the way.
    Rico took a step backwards into Angie, who nearly lost her balance. Scrambling to see what was going on, she peered around Rico’s arm toward the doorway.
    There, filling the lower half of it, stood her mother, Serefina Teresa Maria Giuseppina Amalfi, all five-foot-one, one hundred fifty pounds of her. She entered the room like the HMS Queen Mary lumbering from its berth.
    â€œMamma,” Angie whispered, her hand going to her throat.
    Serefina slowly took in Angie and the two men beside her, and clearly found them all wanting.
    â€œI’ll be outside,” Rico muttered as he slipped out the door.
    Coward, Angie thought. “Mamma,” she said, “what are you doing here? I thought you were in Palm Springs.”
    Serefina stared at her a long moment, then crossed the room and dropped her handbag on the coffee table with a thud. She took off her neckscarf, then her overcoat, revealing an expanse of white polka dots against a navy blue background and hefty, black walking shoes. Her black hair was pulled straight back into a bun.
    â€œ Che pasticcio! ” she said, reproach emanating from every outraged inch of her.
    â€œMamma, what did I do?”
    â€œ Dimmi! I ask you that!” She looked at Paavo. “Who’s this?”
    Paavo cleared his throat.
    Angie came to his aid. “This is Paavo Smith, Mamma. Paavo, my mother.”
    â€œMrs. Amalfi,” he held out his hand, “nice to meet you.”
    â€œHah!” came the response. He pulled back his hand.
    â€œAngelina! You don’t talk to your mother or your sisters. I came myself to find out what’s going on.”
    â€œI telephone you, Mamma!”
    â€œHello, good-bye. That’s a phone call?”
    Paavo tried to interrupt. “I think I’ll be going—”
    â€œ Aspetti! ” Serefina ordered. She studied Paavo, top to bottom, then looked back at Angie. “What does he do?”
    â€œHe…he’s a homicide inspector.”
    Serefina’s eyes widened as her gaze jumped from one to the other. “Homicide? So you are in danger, Angelina!”
    â€œNo, Mamma. There’s nothing to worry about, believe me. Don’t worry.”
    â€œHow can I not worry when my baby has strange things blowing up under her very nose? Living alone here this way. It’s not good, Angelina!”
    â€œPlease, Mamma! It’s all right. Just go back home.”
    â€œGo home? Dio! You’re talking to your mother this way!”
    â€œLadies,” Paavo began again as the two stood wringing their hands and looking at each other, both on the verge of tears. “If you’ll excuse me—”
    Angie spun toward him. “How can you think of leaving when my mother is so upset?”
    â€œWell—” he began.
    â€œAngelina, poverina! ” her mother wailed. “Does he always want to run out on you like this?”
    Paavo’s face tightened.
    â€œHe’s assigned my case, Mamma. That’s all.”
    â€œThat’s all?”