Free If Cooks Could Kill by Joanne Pence Page B

the singer.
    Love, Angie
    His own partner was one of the cowards. Paavo stared at him until he looked up. “What’s wrong with it, Yosh?”
    â€œTry it.”
    Paavo slowly walked to the coffee urn and poured himself a cup. From the smell alone, his stomach began to sink. He took a sip and nearly gagged. Rebecca Mayfield, the city’s only woman homicide inspector, stood beside him. She was an attractive blonde, intelligent, tall, and with a figure sculpted to near perfection by workouts at a gym. Everyone knew, including Paavo, about her “secret” crush on him. They also thought she was a lot better suited to him than Angie.
    â€œStrawberry?” he asked.
    â€œStrawberry-and-vanilla-cream-flavored coffee…as far as we can tell,” she said, her lips pursed.
    â€œIt’s awful.” Paavo’s cup joined everyone else’s on the table.
    â€œWait until you taste the sandwiches,” Rebecca warned, unable to suppress a smile.
    â€œWhat are they?”
    â€œThe watercress isn’t bad, if you like veggie sandwiches, which these guys don’t. But it was the pâté that really got to them.”
    â€œChrist,” he muttered.
    â€œYou call it pâté. To me, it’s chopped liver,” Calderon’s voice boomed across the room. Luis Calderon was Homicide’s resident grouch. A Jack Nicholson wannabe, he could have easily played the guy in a Stephen King movie who scared little boys and girls. “Tried to wash it down with that strawberry crap. Thought my damn tongue would shrivel up.”
    Rebecca patted Paavo’s arm. “I’m sure she meant well. It probably sounded very…romantic…to her. It’s excellent pâté, if you like that kind of thing.”
    â€œI can’t even think of where to send it,” Yosh finally got the nerve to speak up from behind his desk. “If we offered it to the guys in City Jail, it’d probably cause a prison riot.”
    The entire detail laughed.
    Â 
    Angie walked two steps from her car and stopped, staring down at one of her black Ferragamo pumps with high platform soles. Stan Bonnette, a slim, preppy-looking man in tan Ralph Lauren slacks and a suede Brooks Brothers jacket, stood beside her. She’d convinced him to go to Connie’s shop to buy his mother a birthday gift. “Before we go into Connie’s, Stan, I’vegot to get the heel of this shoe fixed. It feels loose.”
    â€œHow can you tell with those things? I think you need a blacksmith more than a shoe repair.” He laughed at his joke. She didn’t.
    â€œA shoe repair is right next door to Connie’s. Isn’t that handy? Let’s go inside.”
    Helen Melinger was concentrating on the sole of a man’s shoe when the two entered. “Hi, Helen,” Angie said. “How are you today?”
    â€œWell, look who’s here. What’s up, Angie? I saw your pal drag herself next door this morning. I guess she’s settling down a little, finally.” Helen’s greeting was good-natured as she swung the hammer down with a resounding clang.
    â€œI hope. I’d like you to meet a dear friend of mine, Stan Bonnette. Stan, this is Helen Melinger.”
    The two shook hands. Angie waited for “Love in Bloom” to sound. “Stan is my neighbor,” she chirped. “He’s a good friend. Of Paavo’s too.” Heaven forbid Helen get the wrong impression about the two of them.
    â€œOh, nice.” Helen scarcely looked up. Her muscled arm swung again. Clang!
    â€œHe works in a bank.” Angie pretended not to see Stan scrunch his face up and cringe with each blow.
    â€œIs that so?” Helen glanced up at the clock. Two P.M . “Banker’s hours are getting shorter every day, aren’t they?”
    â€œIt’s my day off,” Stan said petulantly. He was sensitive about his work habits, or lack thereof. “Why don’t