waiting for an answer from him, she headed back inside to get the two additional deliveries she had to make: one to the Wayside Inn Bed & Breakfast, and the other, a special order, to the Train Depot.
A few minutes later, Caleb slid the tray for the inn into the specially designed rack in the van. “Amber, I really think you should reconsider about Chief Evans.”
She faced him, her expression serious. “Caleb, if you want to remain friends, and I hope you do, you’ll not mention the police chief or your unfortunate choice of occupation in my presence. Comprende?”
The cop nodded.
“All right, then. I’ll see you around.”
She left him standing in front of the house where she rented a second-floor apartment.
Caleb went back to the waiting squad car and got in the passenger seat.
“She’s still pretty steamed at you, Chief.”
“I gathered as much from your frantic waving. What’s she doing?”
“Making deliveries. I can’t believe you’ve been here for three months and you haven’t had one of her honey pecan rolls.” The cop smacked his lips together. “Delicious.”
“So I’ve heard.” Paul pulled onto the street to head back to the station. “She shouldn’t leave spare keys on her vehicle. That’s just inviting trouble.”
Caleb broke the sticker seal on his treat and counted his cookies. Two. He glanced at the chief sitting next to him.
“What?” asked Paul.
“I only got two.”
“Two what?”
“Cookies. She said I had to share.”
“Cookies?” In a flash, Paul knew just where one of her deliveries would be made. For the last month, Sutton and Jonathan had been raving about the Cookie Lady at their after-school program. She came once a week. From their description—soft and funny, and “she smells good”—that from Jonathan—he’d come to the conclusion that the Cookie Lady was a sixtyish grandmother who spent her retirement baking cookies for the town’s kids.
If, as he suddenly suspected, Amber Montgomery was the Cookie Lady…Jonathan was partly right. Paul could claim firsthand knowledge of the soft part. But the Amber he’d met smelled like beets, beef and lemon meringue. And there’d been nothing funny or entertaining about last night.
Breaking off a teeny, tiny bit of chocolate chip cookie from the large treat, Caleb offered it to Paul.
“What’s this?”
“Well, she said I had to share. But if she knew you were the person in this car, I don’t think she’d want you to have any.”
Paul snorted. “You’re probably right.” He glanced at the sliver. “This is your idea of sharing?”
Caleb bit a piece of his much larger cookie, closed his eyes and moaned. “I’d marry that woman in a heartbeat if she were interested.”
That comment earned him a quizzical look.
“She doesn’t date.”
Paul grinned. “Maybe you’re not her type.”
Caleb smiled back. “That may be so.” He waved the last bite of the first cookie at Paul, then popped it in his mouth. “But I’m the one with the cookies.”
Chapter Three
Amber’s trademark honey pecan rolls went to the inn, then she dropped off a baker’s box filled with miniature versions of the sweet rolls to the Train Depot, a gallery in town that showcased model trains and railroad memorabilia.
Amber’s little business was growing. Soon it would be time to consider expanding, maybe finding a space to rent or building a Web site. But she liked being a small, one-woman operation. That way, she didn’t have to depend on anyone else. Self-sufficient. That’s how she described herself.
And that fit in more ways than one.
Appetizers & More by Amber didn’t have any employees. But Amber did have two faithful college students who, for a flat fee and a meal, helped her out with some of the larger events.
“Oh, no!” She’d forgotten to check on Dana last night. She couldn’t recall seeing her at the police station. So maybe she’d gotten away before the police roundup.
If she got caught in the dragnet, Dana probably got as much of a kick out of it as that little man Silas.
Amber didn’t like or trust cops. The only reason she tolerated Caleb Jenkins was that she’d gotten to know him first as a fellow runner and then as the instructor in a karate class she’d taken shortly after moving to Wayside. It had been almost six months before she found out what he actually did for a living. By then, she’d learned to trust him. A little.
That thought led her right back to Paul Evans, and her mood soured.
The Cookie Lady couldn’t greet the kids at Sunshine and Rainbows looking or acting like Oscar the Grouch. So she deliberately forced out of her head all thoughts of a tall, broad cop with steely blue eyes.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
But she did make a quick cell call to check on Dana.
“Wasn’t that a riot? Those old folks really tore up the place. Hey, what happened to you?”
Amber quickly explained about getting caught in the roundup.
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I gathered up all the serving utensils and your knife kit. A knife is missing, though. I looked everywhere.”
Amber rolled her eyes. Her best—translation, “most expensive”—carving knife was safe and sound…in police custody. “Don’t worry. I know where it is.”
“Whew, that’s a relief. That’s the one thing they teach us to guard like Fort Knox.”
Amber made a note to get Dana a good wrap the next time she went to her favorite cook’s supply store in Portland. Just like barbers and beauticians, every professional chef traveled with a personal kit that carried the tools of the trade. Amber had seen it all used, from heavy-duty toolboxes purchased at hardware stores to carryall bags that looked like sling packs. She preferred wraps that had slots for every knife and easily rolled up.
Of course, that numbskull police chief wouldn’t know anything about what a chef needed to do her job. He just made assumptions, and probably would have snatched her kit as evidence if Dana hadn’t rescued it. Amber assured Dana she’d swing by the college, pick up her knife kit and give Dana her pay.
“And I’ll add a little something extra,” she told the young woman. “When I asked you to help, I didn’t know I needed to provide combat-duty pay.”
Dana laughed. “Hey, I’m not gonna turn it down. I’m
