Sinfully Delicious Read online

  “I don’t care.” Especially now that he made a point to tell me he had a very serious girlfriend. “Hunter Ryan is nothing but a memory. You need to accept that.”

  “I’ll accept it as soon as you do.”

  “Whatever.” I heaved out a sigh and turned back to the front of the restaurant. There were now three regulars lined up outside the door. “I’m going to open. You’d better prepare yourself.”

  “I’m always prepared. I’m like a Boy Scout that way. Perhaps you should prepare yourself.”

  “I’ve got everything under control.”

  “I FEEL LIKE I’M DYING,” I complained to my Aunt Trina about twenty minutes into the lunch rush. I’d barely made it through the breakfast rush, thinking things would get easier when more wait staff showed up.

  I was wrong.

  “You’re just not used to it.” Trina had short hair, the type popular in the seventies. She dyed it an unnatural shade of red. I’d never seen anything like it outside of a crayon box. She was blond like my mother, but I’d never seen a single photo of her without what she referred to as her Starburst of Love. I very much doubted that was a real color, but she insisted it was. “Things will get better.”

  She took a drag on her cigarette and flicked the butt out the back door. It was illegal to smoke inside an eating establishment in Michigan. Trina flouted that law every chance she got — as long as my grandfather wasn’t around to witness the dastardly deed. Right now he was up in my apartment. Again. He’d taken his newspaper. Again. I didn’t want to think about what he was doing up there. His absence was enough to embolden Trina, though, who didn’t bother stepping outside for her nicotine fix.

  “Have I told you how happy we all are to have you back?” she asked, beaming at me. She had a megawatt smile, her greatest asset. Unfortunately, the smile was often the only thing firing on all cylinders. “You’re my favorite niece.”

  “Uh-huh.” I didn’t believe that for a second. “I bet you say that to Alice all the time, too.”

  “She’s my second favorite.”

  “I’m going to ask her when I see her.”

  Trina lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “She lies. Don’t believe anything she tells you.”

  Brad, who had taken over cooking duty, snorted as he regarded his younger sister. He was the middle child — two sisters older, one sister and a brother younger — and acted as if he’d been overlooked his entire life. As the first boy in the family, I doubted that was true, but my perception meant nothing to him. All he cared about was how he felt.

  “If Trina is telling you tall tales, Stormy, you should run away now,” he instructed. “She’s a bad influence. In fact, I’ve warned my kids that they can’t hang around her.” He leaned forward, as if he was going to whisper, and then bellowed the rest of his story. “She smokes pot behind the storage building.”

  I stared at him for a beat, unsure what I was supposed to say. “Okay?” I managed.

  “I don’t smoke pot behind the storage building,” Trina scoffed. “Why would you say something like that?”

  “I’ve seen the butts.”

  “Well, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Trina turned her knowing gaze to me. “I smoke pot in the woods. Only an idiot would smoke out in the open like that. I store the butts close to the building so I can roll another joint out of them when I have enough.”

  I forced a smile. “How ... awesome.”

  “How do you even know what a joint butt looks like, Brad?” Trina challenged. “Only someone who knew from personal experience would be able to say with any degree of certainty what was in the ash tray behind the storage building.”

  Brad’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “I don’t smoke pot. It’s illegal.”

  “Actually, it’s legal in Michigan now,” I pointed out. “You can smoke it wherever you want.”

  “It’s not recognized on a federal level,” Brad barked. “She’s breaking the law.”

  “It’s more fun when I can wind him up before I do it,” Trina explained. “Don’t ruin my fun.”

  Working with family was such a joy. “Okay, then.” I tugged my shoes back on, ignoring the way my feet screamed. The new Skechers were supposed to help, but I’d had them less than a day before Hunter confiscated them. After what happened while I was wearing them, I no longer wanted a return on my investment. “I’m heading back in.”

  Trina offered up a haphazard wave. “Have fun.”

  My cousin Annie was holding down the fort when I rejoined her near the front counter. She was listening as some guy — I had no idea who — regaled her with a deer hunting story that would’ve bored me to tears in five seconds flat. She, however, kept a polite smile on her face and periodically nodded to let him know she was still listening.

  “And then that deer hopped up on two legs and tried to punch me in the face,” the man said, solemn. “It was like a movie.”

  I knew better than to ask but I couldn’t stop myself. “Have you seen a lot of deer boxing in movies?”

  “Not nearly enough.” He kept his gaze on Annie. She was willow thin, had no hips to speak of, and ran five miles a day. Her skin glowed as a result of healthy eating and exercise. She reminded me of one of those athletes they photograph for the front of fitness magazines. I wanted to hate her but she was just too pleasant.

  “There’s a new table coming in,” I said, grabbing menus from the slot at the end of the counter. “I’ll take it.”

  Annie nodded. “Sure. Chet and I are having a nice discussion.”

  It didn’t sound that way, but I was looking for an escape. The two women who took the corner booth on the far side looked like a good option.

  “Good afternoon,” I greeted them without looking at their faces. “Welcome to Two Broomsticks. My name is Stormy and I’ll be your server. Can I start you out with something to drink?”

  Neither of the women immediately spoke, and when I shifted my gaze to the one on my left I almost choked on my own tongue as recognition hit me like a fist in the face. “Oh, hi.”

  “Hello, Stormy.” She beamed at me as if we were old friends. “It’s been a long time.”

  “I’ll say.” I felt like an idiot. Phoebe Green was the worst person who ever lived. Okay, I’ll give you Hitler and anyone who appeared on a reality show, but Phoebe was right up there with them.

  We’d been sworn enemies in high school. I forgot how the animosity started, but it progressed to endless threats of hair-pulling and one-upmanship. When I was named homecoming queen (mostly because I was dating Hunter and he was voted king thanks to his position on the football team) she ran a smear campaign to make sure there was no repeat performance at the winter formal. She was standing on the stage with Hunter several months later, and they were forced to dance, something she endlessly rubbed in my face in the months that followed. Hunter always told me to ignore her, but it wasn’t easy. She spent two years stalking my boyfriend, trying to break us up via any number of horrible acts. She was one of the few people I was happy to put in my rearview mirror when I’d left Shadow Hills.

  And now I was waiting on her. Life could be so cruel.

  “Phoebe.” I felt as if I was drowning in quicksand. The longer I stood there, the smaller I felt. “I didn’t know you were still in town.”

  “Oh, I never left.” She gave me what I assumed she thought of as her friendliest fake smile. There was no warmth in her eyes, but there was amusement. She was enjoying herself far too much. “I’ve always loved this town and what it has to offer. I never wanted to leave. You, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to get out — and now you’re back.”

  “Now I’m back.” It took everything I had to keep from jabbing my pen in her carotid. Every nerve ending sparked with outrage as I recoiled at the thought of having to wait on her. “Do you guys need anything to drink?”

  “Iced teas would be great.”

  “For both of you?”

  “Absolutely.”

 
; “Okay. I’ll give you a second with the menus. I’ll be right back.”

  I was breathing hard by the time I slipped through the swinging doors. I was so wrapped up in the fact that Phoebe was on my turf that I almost missed Trina as she futzed around with the soda machine.

  “The CO2 is out,” Trina announced to no one in particular.

  “Then change it,” Brad shot back.

  “You know those tanks are too heavy for me. You have to do it.”

  “I’m cooking. I’m doing my job. The CO2 is your job. The problem with society is that nobody wants to work.”

  Trina’s eyes fired with indignation. “It’s your job.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Their yammering was more than I could take. “I’ll change the freaking CO2 tank if you go out there and take my table,” I offered Trina.

  “I don’t want to take your table.” Trina shook her head. “I’ll change the tank.”

  “But ... .”

  “No, no, no.” She patted my arm. “You need the money.”

  I scowled. Obviously my mother had been talking out of turn. Again. We were going to have to have a long discussion at some point. “Fine.”

  I filled the glasses with iced tea and returned to the booth. I was determined to pretend everything was okay, whether I felt it or not. “Here we go.” I delivered the iced teas and yanked out my order pad. “What will it be?”

  “I’ll have the chef’s salad with no cheese or ham, fat-free dressing on the side,” Phoebe said.

  That sounded like the worst lunch ever. “Great. And you?” I focused on her friend.

  “I’ll have the same.” The woman handed over her menu and I turned to leave, but Phoebe called out to stop me.

  “Actually, Stormy, it’s good that you’re here,” she supplied. “I’ve been trying to set up a meeting with your grandfather and he’s always dodging me. Now that you’re back, perhaps you can serve as a facilitator of sorts.”

  I was instantly suspicious. “A facilitator?”

  She nodded, that fake smile she’d been practicing in the mirror since she was three plastered in place. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m head of the DDA now.”

  I stilled. “The DDA?”

  “The Downtown Development Authority.”

  “I know what it is.” My temper was bubbling to the surface.

  “Oh, good, that will save us time.” Her smile widened. “We’re in the middle of a big push to beautify all the businesses. You know, add some flowers, and wash the windows, new coat of paint.”

  Two Broomsticks Gas & Grill hadn’t been painted since before I was born. I could see where this conversation was headed. “You want Grandpa to paint the restaurant. I’ll mention it to him.” I tried to make my escape again, but Phoebe was having none of it.

  “I was talking to Monica Johnson the other day — she’s my best friend — and we both think the restaurant would be lovely if he painted it blue. I think the town council would really enjoy that.”

  I couldn’t see my grandfather painting the restaurant any color that would make the town council happy — mostly because he made it his life’s mission to fight with it at every possible opportunity — but I managed to keep from snapping that out. “I’ll mention the color blue.”

  “You should really meet Monica. She’s relatively new to the area.”

  “Well ... if I have time.” I had no idea who Monica was, but if she was willingly hanging out with Phoebe something must be wrong with her. I had no inclination to find out what that something was.

  “You two have a lot in common,” Phoebe blathered on.

  Would this conversation never end? “How so?”

  “You used to date Hunter. Now she does. In fact, they’re very happy. Like ... really, really happy.”

  It was like a punch to the gut. She knew it would be. “How great for them.”

  “So, do you want to meet her?”

  “Sure. We’ll set something up.” This time there was no stopping me when I turned to retreat to the kitchen. Phoebe called out to get me to stop, but I pretended not to hear her. My heart was pounding by the time I made it into the kitchen and found two salads waiting for me on the counter. “What’s this?”

  My cheeks were burning and I thought for sure I would have a few minutes to collect myself before having to face Phoebe again.

  “Those are the salads they ordered,” Brad replied.

  “But I didn’t even put in their orders.”

  “They always order the same thing.”

  “They always ask the same thing, too,” Trina offered. “They want Dad to paint the restaurant blue. He said the only way he would do that is if Smurfs take over the world and force him.”

  I was still trying to wrap my head around the salads. “But I didn’t even put in the order.”

  “They’re ready anyway.” Brad’s smile was tight. “Take them out. If you’re not fast enough, she’ll come back here to complain and watch us work, and nobody wants that.”

  “Nobody,” Trina echoed.

  It was the one time I’d ever seen them agree on anything. Still, I was feeling helpless when I shifted my eyes to the left to gauge an encroaching figure. Grandpa had obviously finished his afternoon trip to my bathroom.

  “You know what fun is?” he asked me as I fought to catch my breath.

  I watched with unveiled interest as he lifted the turkey from one of the salads and licked it before placing it back on the salad.

  “Did you just ... ?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he said, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  For some reason, the small act of defiance made me feel better — even if it was a gross violation of food regulations. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

  “Don’t mention it, Dolly.”

  The nickname made me smile. He’d called me Dolly on and off since I was a kid. I was the first female grandchild. He’d spent more time with me than some of my other female cousins. The boys still reigned supreme, but I was hardly the forgotten grandchild. “I guess I should take this out.”

  “Definitely,” Grandpa agreed. “While you’re out there, tell her the only way I’ll paint this restaurant blue is if she tells me the exact color of her boyfriend’s balls so I can make them match.”

  My mouth dropped open. “I can’t tell her that.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell her when she stops in tomorrow.”

  His reaction made me laugh. “I’m taking the salads out now.”

  “When you’re finished, you can knock off for the day. You’re still getting used to the pace.”

  That was music to my ears. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  6

  Six

  I was still agitated after my shift ended, so I went upstairs to take a long shower. By the time I was cleaned up and dressed, it was midafternoon and I had absolutely nothing to do.

  People always say they want to live in a quaint town. The problem with that is they never take into account the realities of doing so. Sure, everybody knows everybody and there’s a charming feel to almost every interaction. Even when people hate each other for some perceived slight from twenty years earlier, the insults are more amusing than dangerous.

  In Shadow Hills, for example, people carried guns regularly, but almost nobody was ever shot. There was the occasional drunken sign-shooting contest, of course, but those only garnered warnings from the police department. Nobody ever died. In the city, if you saw a gun you ran in the other direction. In Shadow Hills, you greeted the individual carrying the gun with a warm cup of coffee and “oohs” and “aahs” over what a nice piece it was.

  On the flip side, half the people in the city couldn’t pick their neighbors out of a lineup. In Shadow Hills, neighbors knew every secret — and it wasn’t always pretty.

  I tried to distract myself with cleaning the apartment. I’d barely messed it up, though, so it took only twenty
minutes. I had nothing to unpack because I didn’t own anything other than a few changes of clothes and an old castle sculpture that I’d carried since I was a teenager. I had nothing to do but sit around and stare at the walls. I considered running to the hardware store to paint over the dull cream color, but I decided that seemed like too much work.

  I couldn’t get the situation with Roy out of my mind. Grandpa was acting squirrelly. Heck, he idled at squirrelly. He was acting completely out of sorts. He hid from Hunter and then pretended otherwise, a move he had to know would ultimately backfire. It wasn’t as if Hunter would simply give up because he stopped by once and Grandpa wasn’t around.

  I knew Grandpa was incapable of killing anyone. Probably. He’d threatened more than a few people during the course of his life. The instances before I was born were still related — accompanied by gales of laughter — around the family dinner table. As far as I knew, though, he’d never followed through on a threat.

  As for Roy, he was a jerk. That’s the one thing everyone could agree on. He was bombastic, sexist, misogynistic, racist, and occasionally ageist. He was lecherous to the point of making any female in his vicinity uncomfortable. He wasn’t an overt groper, but he had no problem patting a shoulder or rubbing a back without invitation. And his eyes invaded every personal space imaginable. He made everybody uncomfortable. But was that enough to kill him?

  I decided to head down to his real estate office. My mother pointed out the office regularly when I was a kid. She would then curse under her breath. She was no fan of Roy, who apparently enjoyed messing with fellow real estate agents. She’d repeatedly called him “an unethical ass.” My mother fancied herself an “Earth first” hippie and lover of all mankind (unless you were her daughter and regularly screwed up), so that was saying something.

  I wasn’t surprised to find a crowd hanging out in the small park next to Roy’s office. I recognized a few of the faces well enough that I could put names to them. I would need a gentle reminder on a few others. Two or three were strangers.