Free Murder Al Fresco by Jennifer L. Hart

which…"
    Jones rose and stretched his back. "I've got it."
    I let Clayton splash for a bit, not caring that my all-black ensemble was sopping wet. Okay, so the little fantasy I had of a clean home and peaceful night wasn't going to happen, but honestly, I was so relieved to be home with Jones and Clayton that I didn't care if we had to exist in a garbage scow. Knowing they were both safe took a weight off my mind—a weight I hadn't even realized was pressing down on me.
    I sat on the floor and splashed with Jones's son until my backside went numb. The little guy put up a fuss when I pulled him out of the bath, but I sang some kiddie songs that Donna's girls had taught me. Clayton gurgled and laughed, probably the only soul who ever appreciated my singing voice.
    "How do you do it?" Jones asked from the doorway.
    "How do I do what?" Distracted by the complicated snaps on the pajama set—seriously, what sadist thought those things up?—it took me a minute to look at Jones.
    He leaned against the doorway, looking both sexy and totally befuddled. "You just know how to calm him, what he needs—instinctively. Every time he cries I panic because I don't know what's wrong."
    "First of all, I don't actually know, but I have been around children before, mostly Donna's. They're fun at this age, before they learn how to talk back. At least that's what Pops has always claimed."
    Jones forced a smile at the joke, but it didn't reach his eyes.
    "You've never been around children before, have you." It wasn't a question.
    "Not since I was one." His tone was dry.
    That made me sad for him. Maybe it was because I'd been so young when I'd given Kaylee up, but I'd always enjoyed little kids. Unlike some chefs who griped about having a kids' menu, during my time as a line cook, I tried to stick with simple, clean flavors that could be enjoyed by an uncomplicated and basically untainted palate. Children liked to know what they were eating, to not have foods smothered with rich sauces or heavy marinades.
    I carried Clayton over to Jones and transferred the little guy into his arms. "No time like the present."
    Jones's eyes went wide, but he took the boy, his shoulders bunching with tension.
    I pushed past him and went into the living room. Thankfully, Jones had taken the trash out. Although the white carpet was still stained and the toys made for some tricky maneuvering, at least the place smelled a little better.
    I poured myself a glass of wine while waiting for Clayton's bottle to heat. We really needed to see a pediatrician about his diet, to make sure he was getting the nutrition he needed, but I didn't want to mess with his diet until then. He already had so much change to adjust to. There was comfort in familiarity, and all three of us needed as much of that as we could get.
    With the bottle in one hand and my wine glass in the other, I made my way over to the couch where the two Jones boys were sizing each other up. To take my fiancé's mind off his anxiety, I asked, "Any thoughts on the case?"
    "I barely have any thoughts at all. My mind doesn't seem to be working properly." Malcolm took the bottle and offered it to Clayton. Clayton took it and stared up at his daddy, scrutinizing him the whole time.
    "You're overwhelmed. I get it, but I need to know what our next step should be?" I pressed.
    Jones leaned his head against the back of the couch. "Dissecting Chad Tobey's background. We need to determine if this was an accident or murder. If the latter, find out who had the means and the motive to kill him. And I want to track down the blogger who seemed to have a personal vendetta."
    "I'll handle the professional part, if you look into his personal connections," I offered.
    Jones made a face. "I don't like the idea of you getting involved in this. You're a chef, not a detective. If Chad Tobey was murdered, you could jeopardize yourself. This situation is extremely dangerous. We should let the police handle it."
    Part of me knew he was