Chicken Soup & Homicide - Culinary Competition Mystery #2

Chapter 22

(Carla)

The scent of melted mozzarella and roasted tomatoes made Carla's stomach growl as she slid onto the vinyl bench across from Bruce. They had talked so much their voices were raspy. It had been an intense day and a half since Amy played sneaky matchmaker. They were both tender from the flood of emotions that poured out as they alternated between talking and making love. Hunger finally drove them out of Carla's loft to find dinner at DiCenzo's Pizzeria because there wasn't anything edible in her kitchen. Watching her life fall apart hadn't left much time for grocery shopping lately. They could've gone to someplace a little nicer that didn't have booths patched with electrical tape, but the low-key atmosphere fit their mood. The day had been about casually easing back into the relationship.

The waitress brought paper plates and silverware bundles wrapped in disposable napkins. As Carla slid a set of utensils toward Bruce, she said, "I still think there's a good chance that being with me will permanently damage your career. Why would you do that?"

Bruce tapped his straw on the red Formica table to free it from the clear plastic wrapper. He tossed the straw into the glass of Coke like a javelin. "When you love someone, you'll do anything to protect them, even when there are risks. It was my choice to take on Pitts. Not only because you are my girlfriend but because he's also doing shoddy police work. That reflects badly on our whole department." He grinned at her. "So, you see, I'm actually protecting my career."

"I have a saying for you—how about if you love something, set it free?"

He raised one eyebrow as he unwrapped his silverware. "I've heard that one before. But I think you're supposed to be happy when it comes back, not chase it away again with a club."

She wadded up a straw wrapper and tossed it at him. She hated it when people used logic on her when she was being illogical. "I have not used a club on you. Yet. If this gets any worse with Pitts, you need to get as far away from me as possible. I don't want to see you have to make a career change just because I have bad taste in men."

"Hey, I'm not a bad choice!" He did a muscle-man pose that made his biceps bulge under his shirt sleeves. "I've always been told I'm quite a catch."

"No, you're not the mistake. But Chet was, and now Pitts has latched onto the connection like a lifeboat."

The waitress brought the pizza, balancing the steaming hot pie on a metal pedestal. She set it in the middle of the table and slid a serving spatula underneath a piece. "Enjoy! Let me know if you need anything."

"Okay." Carla was too hungry to worry about taking turns with the spatula. She slid a slice off the all-veggie side onto her plate, then blew on her tingling fingers. "Thank you."

"Yeah, thank you," Bruce said as he used the spatula to pick up a piece. There were so many kinds of meat piled on it that the crust bent from the weight where it wasn't supported by the metal server. When the waitress was out of earshot, he wagged his eyebrows at Carla, "Eat up, sweetheart. You're going to need some energy for the plans I have for later."

The comment made a lot more than her fingertips tingle. No matter how much her head told her to stay away from him because his career was at stake, her heart had missed him so much it felt like it would burst. Once the real killer was found, she was going to sucker-punch Pitts in retribution for all of the damage he'd done.

"Son of a bitch."

Carla looked up. She had been staring at her slice of pizza while she was thinking. "What?"

"Pitts is sitting in the parking lot watching us."

She followed his gaze. Sure enough, the familiar black Impala was sitting in the second row of the lot. He was too far away to see his expression in the shadows of the car's interior, but it seemed like there was a gleam of white teeth in the darkness. A predator stalking his prey.

"I'll be right back," Bruce said as he threw his napkin on the table and scooted out of the booth. "Stay here."

She watched him stalk out the pizza parlor's door. He hadn't bothered to grab his coat even though the temperature was well below freezing. This was her battle as much as his, and he wasn't going to face it alone. She grabbed her coat and waved at the waitress. "We'll be right back. Please don't clear off the table."

"No problem," the waitress called as Carla sprinted out the door. She ran through the parking lot while struggling to put on her coat, then stopped a few feet behind Bruce.

"You need to lay off this vendetta," Bruce snarled as Pitts got out of his car. "I don't know what you have against me or my girlfriend, but I've had enough."

"Oh, poor baby. Am I being a big old bully?" Pitts asked in a mocking, childlike voice.

"You know Carla didn't commit the murder." Bruce took a step closer. There was barely a foot between the two men. "And in case you haven't noticed, you don't have any allies at the station. Nobody wants anything to do with you. What a way to impress your new coworkers. Show them how lazy and incompetent you are by trying to pin a murder on innocent women."

Pitts took a quick step back. His fist shot out and connected with Bruce's jaw. Bruce didn't even flinch when the lightning-fast jab connected. It was like watching a statue being attacked. Pitts hissed as he shook his hand while Bruce just glared at him, still not moving, showing no sign of being fazed. A trickle of blood seeped down his chin. Without a word, Pitts hopped back into his car, which was still running, and slammed it in reverse. The back bumper crunched into a snowbank at the back of the lot. The car jolted forward. Pitts flipped them off as he tore past them.

Carla gently touched Bruce's forearm. "Come back inside. It's really cold out here."

He looked at her, but there was no recognition in his eyes. Just pure, dark hatred. Back inside the pizzeria, Carla slipped back into the booth while he disappeared into the bathroom. The other couple sitting in the window booth behind them stared at her wide-eyed. Watching Bruce take the punch must've looked like a scene from a Terminator movie. Hopefully, nobody had called the police to report the fight.

The waitress brought another round of Cokes even though both of their glasses were still full. "Do you need me to call the cops or an ambulance?"

"No." Carla looked at the bathroom door. "It was just a little misunderstanding. Everything's fine. Sorry to cause a scene."

"Not a problem. You should see it around here when the high school lets out. I think the kids can get kicked out of school for fighting on the grounds, so they take all of their battles here. I'm sure there's enough blood in that parking lot to give a CSI a nervous breakdown."

Carla smiled at the waitress, who was trying very hard to make the tense situation better. She appreciated the effort to lighten up the mood. Not every person would care. "I'm an ER nurse. I see lots of young men who didn't quite think things through completely."

They both turned to look at Bruce as he exited the bathroom. The waitress patted the table. "Let me know if you need anything, boxes, dessert, a shot of whiskey." She winked. "I keep some in my locker for rough shifts."

"Thank you. I may take you up on that offer."

Bruce slid onto the bench. "What offer?"

"To-go boxes, dessert, or a shot of whiskey. There's a good chance we'll need at least one of them. Or all of the above, considering what just happened. Why the hell did he hit you? Seems like you have a lot more reasons to sucker-punch him. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. He was quick but didn't have much power. I doubt I'll even get a bruise." He touched the slightly swollen spot on his lip. "I'll just grab a handful of snow when we leave to help keep the swelling down. As to why he punched me...I hit a nerve. That action was as good as an admission that he's framing you because he doesn't have any decent leads."