apparently on his way to the street. When I pulled out of the alley, he was gone. Or he may have been hiding between the buildings.”
“Any chance it was—”
“It wasn’t Ian,” Patty said in a definite voice, referring to Eden’s ex-boyfriend.
“Hey, Justin?” Eden called, loudly enough to be heard over the music. Her brother came out of the pastry room, stainless-steel spatula in hand. “Patty said there was someone hanging around the van last night when she left. Maybe you should take a look at it, see if he tried to pry the doors open or something.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He put the spatula down on the counter nearest him and headed for the back door. “Any chance it was Ian?”
“Patty says it wasn’t,” Eden answered wearily.
A few minutes later he was back. “Nothing. Maybe just a homeless guy looking for a place to sleep.”
“Probably,” Patty agreed.
“But maybe you should park out front on the days you’re working late,” Eden said. “And keep an eye on your surroundings, all right?”
Patty sniffed. She was the designated lecturer.
“For your safety,” Eden added. Ever since Reggie—her and Justin’s older sister—had started maternity leave, Patty had all but declared herself a full partner in Tremont Catering. Granted, they needed her. She was dependable and honest, and without her Justin would be in deep trouble. But she did have a few quirks, control issues being at the top of the list.
“I’ll watch myself,” she said. “And I am positive it wasn’t Ian. This man had dark hair.”
Eden gave a quick nod of understanding before she walked into the dry storage area. She hated that Patty was so aware Ian would be her number-one suspect. Eden very much liked to keep her private life private. It was her own fault, though, that Patty was so well-informed on the ex-boyfriend front, since Eden had taken a strip off his cheating hide when he’d had the audacity to show up at the kitchen with flowers and an apology, delivered with the perfect combination of sincerity and humility.
Eden hadn’t budged, and after a few words it became clear that he didn’t think coming on to Vanessa, his best friend’s wife, in the guest bedroom at a dinner party counted as cheating. He had, after all, been drunk, and they hadn’t done anything but a little kissing and groping. It was all a big misunderstanding. Surely Eden could see that? His friend understood, so why didn’t she? Shattering her trust? No big deal. Being drunk? Hell of an excuse.
Eden dragged the stepladder from one end of the metal shelving units to the other and started climbing so she could get two large cans of fire-roasted crushed tomatoes. After a stressful childhood with a father who said anything to keep people happy, then did as he damned well pleased, she had no tolerance for subterfuge, lying or “misunderstandings.” Which was why she didn’t care how many bouquets of flowers or apologies Ian sent her way.
They’d dated once before and he’d left her, shortly after college. It’d taken her a long time to get over him. When he’d appeared back in Reno six months ago, he’d come to see her. Apologized for being such a short-sighted jerk. Asked her back into his life. Eden had taken a chance, thinking they’d both grown and that Ian had dealt with whatever issue had caused him to leave her in the first place.
And the flame had burned hot.
Now, thanks to him, it had abruptly gone out, and that was it. Over was over, and he needed to get that through his thick head.
Unfortunately, Ian hated to lose. That probably made him a good lawyer. It also made him a pain in the ass.
Amazing just how quickly things changed once a person discovered that the guy who was supposed to be watching her back was actually more interested in someone else’s boobs.
“WHAT DO YOU mean, you aren’t taking the cooking lessons?” Nick stared at his stubborn grandfather, who stood next to the patio door of his small apartment wearing his favorite plaid flannel shirt and baggy police tactical pants. A couple quail ran across the courtyard lawn outside.
Gabe pulled the door open. The quail instantly took cover in a juniper bush. “Why in the hell would I want to take cooking lessons?” he asked as he grabbed the bag of seeds off the bookcase by the door.
Because I want to take them.
“Lois says you guys need to eat better. This is one way to do that.”
“I’m eating just fine.”
“You’re downing too much salt and fat. She said your blood pressure has redlined a couple times. If you don’t start eating right, she’s going to sentence you to the cafeteria.”
“When did this happen?” Gabe asked, shaking his head before reaching into the bag and tossing a handful of seeds out into the grass.
“What?”
“When did I hit the point in my life when I have to be treated like a damned child?” He didn’t look at Nick, just threw more seeds, his movements jerky. Angry.
Nick didn’t have an answer for that. His grandfather was a seventy-five-year-old heart-attack survivor. After the heart attack it became apparent that living alone in his north Reno home was no longer a possibility, so Nick had helped him sell the house and move into the Candlewood Center, an assisted-living facility that would allow him the most personal freedom. It cost a bundle, but Gabe had made a huge profit on the house, which allowed him to pay the fees and still have money in the bank.
Not a bad outcome, except for the part where Gabe resented being told what to do.
He did okay with community living, and had made several friends. But while he happily played poker, took the weekly trip to the golf course, sat in front of the huge TV and ate low-sodium popcorn while watching sports with his friends, he steadfastly refused to partake in the meal plan offered by the facility.
After Gabe had balked, so had a couple of his new buddies. Their rebellion was driving the woman in charge of health care in Gabe’s block of apartments crazy as their blood pressures inched up. Fortunately, Lois was no pushover and had come up with this cooking-lesson angle as a way to get the guys to eat healthier meals.
And when she’d mentioned her plan to Nick—in hopes that he’d convince his grandfather, the ringleader, to cooperate—he’d had the happy suggestion that perhaps she’d like to contact Tremont Catering, which was less than a mile away, and see if they could rent their large kitchen for the lessons. It made more sense than trying to squeeze all the participants into the relatively tiny cafeteria kitchen at the facility.
The only downside was that instead of simply renting the kitchen, the Tremonts had insisted on being involved with the lessons. Nick would have preferred to have the place to himself, in order to snoop around while Lois did her thing, but this was definitely better than nothing.
“I’m not going to live forever,” Gabe said, pushing the door shut. Little quail heads appeared out of the juniper. “But while I am alive, I want to eat decent food.”
“That’s what the class is all about. Taking stuff you love and making it healthier.”
