Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

T he next morning, the bakery is overrun with overeager customers looking to get their mitts on, you guessed it, Lottie's infamous pumpkin pies.

The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery is loaded with bodies, all of them living thankfully. And even though we can't seem to keep those pies on the shelf, the cinnamon rolls and pumpkin spice cheesecake muffins aren't exactly standing still either.

Last night, Lottie threw out all of the leftover pies and started from scratch just in case someone tampered with her ingredients. She let me know that Noah and Cooper already sent a sample of the pie Peter Honeycutt was eating to the forensics team where they're conducting an analysis.

Personally, I'm still hoping the guy dropped dead from some rare defect. I'd hate to think there's a killer out there somewhere. And more to the point, I'd love to take myself off of Detective Cooper Knox's suspect list if there is a killer out there somewhere.

I try to busy myself by arranging a tray of freshly baked pumpkin spice muffins with cheesecake in the center when the door jingles. I glance up, and there he is—Detective Cooper Knox, walking in like he owns the place, carrying a white paper bag with the word Mangias emblazed on the side of it.

I can't help but frown for two reasons. One, Cooper knows I can't resist him. And two, Cooper knows just the sight of a bag from Mangias makes my mouth water almost as much as it does for him.

It's like he was born to torment me.

Mangias just so happens to be the cozy Italian eatery located across the street. And now that it's on my radar, I know where I'll be carb-loading this afternoon. I can practically hear the pizza calling my name.

" Ooh, Cooper's here," Lily announces before leaning my way. "Naomi told me all about how you handed him back to her on a silver platter. What's the matter with you, anyway?"

"I'd like to know myself," I mutter.

Suze steps up to the counter and plasters one of her fake smiles to her face. It's not her fault she's not hardwired to be nice. Somewhere down the family tree, there's definitely a relative responsible for all that venom—or an ex. Now that I think about it, my money is on her ex.

"How can I help you, Detective?" she asks. "How about a scone or a cookie perhaps? Or maybe you'd rather have a slice of Lottie's pumpkin pie? I'm sure Effie would be glad to prepare it for you." She looks my way. "Don't worry, Effie. I know where my loyalties lie."

I'm glad she's aware, although I'm not sure I know.

"Actually"—Cooper takes a moment to grimace, most likely at the thought of accepting a slice of poison pie from me—"I'm here hoping to speak with Effie. No pie needed." Or wanted apparently. "In fact, I sort of brought a peace offering." He holds up the bag.

I frown over at the handsome steed for cornering me so expertly.

"As much as I'd love to grace you with my company, I've got customers to tend to," I say just as another crowd barrels through the door. And boy, am I ever glad to see their half-starved faces.

"Effie, take your break," Lottie says, coming up from behind and grinning like a loon. "Looks like you've got a peace offering to accept."

I huff but can't help the smile tugging at my lips. "Fine, but if what's in that bag isn't amazing, I'm holding you personally responsible."

"It's from Mangias ," Lottie counters. "We both know it'll be amazing."

I walk over to the table near the window where Cooper has already settled and his eyes look as if they're twitching to make an arrest. Either that or they're twitching because he can't control his dirty thoughts about me. I'd much rather it be the latter. But with my luck, the former is on the table—right along with that bag from Mangias.

"My sister has Watson," I blurt as if that were even on his radar. "It's Serafina's day off and she thinks having Watson around might somehow prepare her for motherhood. Not that she's knocked up," I'm quick to quantify. "Geez, no. She's too much of a goody-goody for that. I doubt that boyfriend of hers is getting any action at all. And if my mother gets wind of the fact I'm out here starting rumors, she's liable to drag me back to Grimstone Heights by the hair and lock me in a closet. Not that my mother ever locked me in a closet—not for long anyway. Have I mentioned that I tend to ramble when I'm nervous?"

"So I've noticed." He flexes a smile that comes and goes and about three different women sigh in appreciation. "For you." He pulls out a sandwich, unwrapping it to reveal an Italian salami masterpiece. Thick slices of cured salami are layered with creamy provolone, tangy roasted red peppers, and a spread of pesto, all nestled between two halves of a crusty French loaf slathered with oil and vinegar.

My mouth waters instantly. It smells like heaven, and my stomach growls in response, reminding me that I haven't eaten since breakfast.

"As delicious as it looks, you know I can't accept that," I say, not entirely convinced of this lie myself.

"Why not?" He inches back and that dark scruff on his cheeks looks as if it's daring me to touch it.

Believe me, my fingers are tempted.

"It's still morning."

"It's afternoon," he counters and he can't seem to stop from frowning at me in that far too sexy way.

"Oh, all right, fine," I say, pulling the bag forward and unwrapping it like the early culinary Christmas gift it is. "You know I can't resist a good salami sandwich."

"I figured as much," he says. "And thought you might need a pick-me-up after last night." He leans in, those blue eyes of his looking serious as death. "I come in peace—with food."

I lean in and the scent hits me full force. "If your aim is to win me over with Italian deli meats, you're off to a good start." I take a big bite, and the flavors explode in my mouth. The salty salami, creamy provolone, and that perfect hint of garlic in the pesto make my taste buds do a happy dance. "Good grief, Cooper. This is incredible."

He gives a brief nod my way. "That's because I know full well that food is your love language."

I swallow another bite, trying not to look too eager, and offer him a look that says, you're not off the hook .

I think we both know he's here to give me the third degree. And maybe those silver bracelets I've inadvertently had my eye on—or more to the point, am trying to avoid. I hear the return policy on those isn't too friendly.

"You know, Effie, for someone who claims to be tough, you're pretty easy to please with the right food."

"It's not my fault you've discovered my weakness. Good food and cute dogs are my kryptonite."

"Kryptonite aside"—he leans in as a menacing scowl takes over his face—"we need to talk about what happened."

And just like that, my appetite disappears like a mobster in the witness protection program.