Read Online A Dish Best Served Cold: An Italian Kitchen Mystery (Italian Kitchen Mystery, An) by Rosie Genova - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rosie Genova
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down a tumbler in front of me partially filled with a clear brown liquid.
“Isn’t that an Eric Clapton song?” I sniffed the glass and took an experimental sip. Almonds. He’d wisely poured me amaretto instead of whiskey—one taste of whiskey and I’d be under his kitchen table.
He swirled his drink, an amused look on his face. “What do you know about Eric Clapton?”
“Please,” I said, waving my hand at such ignorance. “I listened to ‘Layla’ at my mother’s knee.”
He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Wouldn’ta pegged your mom for a Clapton fan.”
“Ah, she’s full of surprises.”
“She don’t like me much.” He took a sip of his drink, his face thoughtful.
“That’s not so. You’re a very likable guy.”
“Maybe.” He looked down and swirled the whiskey in his glass. “But I’m not Tim.”
“No, you’re not. And for that I am grateful.” I took another sip of the sweet drink. “Now, my nonna, on the other hand, is Team Cal all the way.”
He smiled. “She’s a pistol, that one.”
“She sure is. I just wish she didn’t—ahem,
go off
all the time—around me.”
He laughed and shook his head, and I had the satisfaction of knowing I was involved with a guy who laughed at my jokes.
“S’cuse me a second,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I just wanna check the weather.” He swept his finger across the phone and held it up for me to see. That angry red swirl that had been hovering over the coast was heading out to sea.
“Thank God,” I said. “I think we’re through the worst of it. And up north all they’ll get is a thunderstorm.”
“You still can’t be too careful with hurricanes,” he said quietly.
I stared down at my glass and took another sip for courage. “Was it terrible?” I rested my hand on top of his.
He turned up his palm, linked his fingers in mine. “
Was it terrible?
you’re asking me.
Terrible
don’t begin to describe it,
cher
.” He shook his head slowly, back and forth twice, as though he still couldn’t believe what he had seen. “The panic. The smells. People dyin’ in their own homes. All those ‘X’s painted on houses to show where there were bodies.” He stared down at his glass. “And me, I lost everything. My woodworkin’ business, my house, and then my wife and—yet I’m one of the lucky ones. ’Cause I got outta there alive. And what y’all saw up here on the news? That wasn’t the half of it.”
I tightened my grip on his hand. “Tonight in our garden, when you were under that tree—was that like a flashback of some kind?”
“Guess you could say that, yeah.”
“But here we are, safe and sound. Back in Oceanside the most we’ll have to deal with is some water in basements and spoiled food.”
Cal stood up and pushed in his chair. “A man’s dead, Victoria. We didn’t escape unscathed.”
“No, I guess we didn’t. Thanks for talking with me. And thanks for rescuing me and my computer from the storm.” I stepped into his arms and rested my cheek against his chest. “It’s been a long night,” I said through a yawn.
He hugged me a little closer and kissed the top of my head. “It sure has. And you need to get some sleep.” He lifted my chin and pressed a light, quick kiss on my mouth that ended any wondering I might have had about how the evening would play out.
I followed him down a short hallway (also painted white) where two bedrooms sat across from each other. He gestured to the smaller of the two.
“You’ll be in here. Just give me a minute to tidy it, okay?” He slipped inside, leaving the door open a crack and giving me a glimpse of yellow walls.
So not everything in the place is white.
I glanced across the hall at the closed door of his room. What would Cal’s room be like?
You can find out,
a little voice said.
One quick turn of the knob before he comes back. Go ahead, take a peek,
it urged. I took three baby steps across the hall, close enough to reach the
“Isn’t that an Eric Clapton song?” I sniffed the glass and took an experimental sip. Almonds. He’d wisely poured me amaretto instead of whiskey—one taste of whiskey and I’d be under his kitchen table.
He swirled his drink, an amused look on his face. “What do you know about Eric Clapton?”
“Please,” I said, waving my hand at such ignorance. “I listened to ‘Layla’ at my mother’s knee.”
He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Wouldn’ta pegged your mom for a Clapton fan.”
“Ah, she’s full of surprises.”
“She don’t like me much.” He took a sip of his drink, his face thoughtful.
“That’s not so. You’re a very likable guy.”
“Maybe.” He looked down and swirled the whiskey in his glass. “But I’m not Tim.”
“No, you’re not. And for that I am grateful.” I took another sip of the sweet drink. “Now, my nonna, on the other hand, is Team Cal all the way.”
He smiled. “She’s a pistol, that one.”
“She sure is. I just wish she didn’t—ahem,
go off
all the time—around me.”
He laughed and shook his head, and I had the satisfaction of knowing I was involved with a guy who laughed at my jokes.
“S’cuse me a second,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I just wanna check the weather.” He swept his finger across the phone and held it up for me to see. That angry red swirl that had been hovering over the coast was heading out to sea.
“Thank God,” I said. “I think we’re through the worst of it. And up north all they’ll get is a thunderstorm.”
“You still can’t be too careful with hurricanes,” he said quietly.
I stared down at my glass and took another sip for courage. “Was it terrible?” I rested my hand on top of his.
He turned up his palm, linked his fingers in mine. “
Was it terrible?
you’re asking me.
Terrible
don’t begin to describe it,
cher
.” He shook his head slowly, back and forth twice, as though he still couldn’t believe what he had seen. “The panic. The smells. People dyin’ in their own homes. All those ‘X’s painted on houses to show where there were bodies.” He stared down at his glass. “And me, I lost everything. My woodworkin’ business, my house, and then my wife and—yet I’m one of the lucky ones. ’Cause I got outta there alive. And what y’all saw up here on the news? That wasn’t the half of it.”
I tightened my grip on his hand. “Tonight in our garden, when you were under that tree—was that like a flashback of some kind?”
“Guess you could say that, yeah.”
“But here we are, safe and sound. Back in Oceanside the most we’ll have to deal with is some water in basements and spoiled food.”
Cal stood up and pushed in his chair. “A man’s dead, Victoria. We didn’t escape unscathed.”
“No, I guess we didn’t. Thanks for talking with me. And thanks for rescuing me and my computer from the storm.” I stepped into his arms and rested my cheek against his chest. “It’s been a long night,” I said through a yawn.
He hugged me a little closer and kissed the top of my head. “It sure has. And you need to get some sleep.” He lifted my chin and pressed a light, quick kiss on my mouth that ended any wondering I might have had about how the evening would play out.
I followed him down a short hallway (also painted white) where two bedrooms sat across from each other. He gestured to the smaller of the two.
“You’ll be in here. Just give me a minute to tidy it, okay?” He slipped inside, leaving the door open a crack and giving me a glimpse of yellow walls.
So not everything in the place is white.
I glanced across the hall at the closed door of his room. What would Cal’s room be like?
You can find out,
a little voice said.
One quick turn of the knob before he comes back. Go ahead, take a peek,
it urged. I took three baby steps across the hall, close enough to reach the
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