Too Many Cooks by Joanne Pence Read Free Book Online

water,” Angie said.
    As she went toward the kitchen, she noticed the bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was open. On the far wall, facing the hall, were large framed photographs. Angie walked down to the doorway and looked in. Covering the whole wall were black-and-white photos of a young Lacy. She had been a beautiful woman, one who easily could have been a model. In bathing suits and ball gowns, Lacy looked like someone ready to step into a Miss America pageant—with a good chance of winning. With her light, lustrous, probably red hair, amply curved figure, and surprisingly innocent face, she was an all-American dream. Angie stopped gawking, and rushed to the kitchen to get the water.
    â€œI couldn’t help but notice those photos of you. They’re beautiful,” she said. She handed the glass to Lacy, who was sitting up now.
    Haunted eyes lifted to Angie. “I think Henry’s the only person in the world who still sees me that way.”
    â€œBut you look just the same.” Henry patted her knee.
    â€œWere you a model?” Angie asked.
    â€œNo. I was just a secretary, that’s all, until I met Henry. Now I’m on top of the world.”
    On that note, Angie left.

5
    Paavo parked on the street , blocking the driveway of the house next door to Angie’s apartment building. He knew he wouldn’t be towed or ticketed for the illegal parking because the garage had long before been converted into an illegal “in-law” apartment. Two wrongs might not make a right, but at least they added up to one more parking space in a city where parking was harder to find than public restrooms, and sometimes more badly needed.
    He walked into the lobby and waved at Mr. Belzer, a man of about seventy-five years and retired. Angie’s father, who owned the building, had decided it might be wise to have a sort of caretaker in the lobby, watching the people who came and went. Mr. Belzer received his first-floor apartment free of charge in return for spending afternoons and evenings watching television in the lobby. At 10 P.M ., Belzer locked the lobby door and would only let in those people the residents had previously designated.
    Paavo stepped onto the elevator and rode up to the twelfth floor. Getting out, he moved toward the light beige door with gold-plated letters that read 1201. Angie’s place.
    She opened the door, a small woman with short brown wavy hair that had lots of golden strands—which tended to disappear and reappear according to her visits to the beauty parlor—big brown sparkling eyes, and a wide mouth that often curled up in a broad smile—just like now—for no reason except that she was happy to see him. He was so used to people looking either afraid or angry when he rapped on their door, he was still taken aback by Angie’s reaction, even after three months of knowing her.
    â€œYou’re here!” she said.
    â€œShouldn’t I be?”
    â€œI just tried to call you. The rudest man took the call. Calderon, was it? Just because I asked if he’d hurry up and find you was no reason to bite my head off.”
    Paavo couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly, thinking about Calderon’s reaction to her request. “Sorry.”
    â€œIt’s all right. You’re here, and I can help you with your case. That’s all that matters.”
    â€œYou can what?”
    As he took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a dining chair, Angie went into the kitchen and in a moment came back out, pouring a bottle of Anchor Steam Beer into a pilsner glass for him. “You must be surprised I already know. But he was a cook, so you know how that is. Poor guy.” She handed Paavo the glass, put the bottle on the coffee table, and clasped her hands. “Has the department alreadydecided to investigate, or are you here for a little insider information, so to speak? Frankly, for the newest and hottest San Francisco