Chicken Soup & Homicide - Culinary Competition Mystery #2

Chapter 4

(Carla)

Carla pulled into her designated parking space under the long metal awning. The roof helped the residents in the lofts keep their cars from fading in the summer sun or being buried under a foot of snow. Now her Nissan Juke was protected, but she had to brave about twenty feet of swirling snow and arctic windchills to make it into the building. She shielded her eyes with her hands and looked up at the second floor. The lights were on in her condo. She glanced to the left at the visitor parking area. Bruce's truck was barely visible under the parking lot lamps that were dimmed by the winter storm. What a nice surprise after a short, but insanely busy, shift in the emergency room. She had been dating Bruce Shepler, a detective with the Kellerton PD, since August, when he investigated a murder and threats made against her best friend, Amy.

She wrapped her scarf around her neck and steeled herself for the cold trek. At least she would be able to have some fun warming up and winding down from the stressful evening at work. A few minutes later she opened the door to her condo. The lights in the living room were dimmed to a cozy glow, and Bruce was stretched out on the sofa, studying the screen of his phone.

"Hey there," he said as he stood. It was the middle of the night, almost 3:00 a.m., but he was still wearing his work clothes. The gray slacks were a bit wrinkled but still hugged his muscular thighs. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned a few inches, revealing a sprinkling of golden chest hair. He even made rumpled and tired look sexy.

"What are you doing here?" She dropped her overloaded tote bag on the floor in the entranceway and hung up her coat. The coat tree wobbled a bit under the weight of the heavy black wool garment. "I thought we were just having breakfast together in the morning."

He shook his head as he wrapped her in a warm hug. "Amy found another body. Chet Britton."

Carla pressed her forehead into Bruce's chest. This couldn't be happening again. Poor Amy. "You're kidding. What happened?"

"She opened the door of an industrial freezer during the soup competition, and his body fell out. Somebody stabbed him." He rubbed small circles with his palm on the small of her back. "Amy said you told off the chef at the expo yesterday...that you used to be involved with him."

She leaned back and stared into his emerald-green eyes. "True on both things, but why does that matter?"

He raked his hand over the beard stubble on his chin. "For one thing, I have a conflict of interest since you have a history with the victim. I had to turn the case over to a new guy that just transferred here from New Jersey. I didn't like him before, and I really don't like him now. He found out about the argument from one of the chefs that witnessed it. Pitts is already theorizing that you stepped up the argument to murder. Please tell me you have an alibi for where you were between noon and 5:00 p.m."

No. Freakin'. Way. She couldn't be a suspect. The pint-sized asshole was bad enough when he was alive. Getting pinned as a suspect for his murder was like a parting shot from the morgue. "I left the expo at 11:30. Came straight back here to do some laundry and take a nap. I left around 5:30 to go to work."

He grasped her hand and led her to the sofa. She used to have an uncomfortable, but stylish, red leather sofa. After she started dating Bruce, she replaced the straight-backed, hard-as-a-board piece of furniture. The new black leather couch was more sedate, but the overstuffed cushions were much friendlier for relaxing and snuggling together. She sat beside him and laid her head on his chest over his heart. She just wanted to listen to his heartbeat and let his body warm her. The conversation was quickly plummeting into uncomfortable territory.

"Are there any security cameras around the building or parking lot here?"

She sat up and looked him in the eye. "Not that I know if. I've never noticed any. Security isn't one of the perks of living in a real industrial loft."

"Damn it. This isn't good." He rubbed his fist over his chin. "Pitts is going to jump on that. Hell, I would too if I thought I was looking at a legitimate suspect."

Legitimate suspect. The phrase pinged around her mind. "Pitts? Is that the detective handling the case?"

"Yes."

"So because of my argument with Chet, he's looking into me. I get that. If he finds out we used to be lovers, I'm going to look even worse." She placed her hand on his thigh. "Please tell me this guy will keep looking for more concrete proof of the murderer, that he won't just target me on circumstantial evidence."

Bruce leaned his head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling. "Something just doesn't feel right about him. He keeps his bad-cop persona on all the time. I don't like him, and I really don't trust him. He seems like the type that will do anything, maybe even manufacture evidence, to get a conviction to advance his career."