Page 31 of Ruthless Cross

"Maybe they were both just clever enough to hide their crimes. You've asked me a number of times why I don't seem to like Arthur. There was something about him I just didn't trust, but I also had no facts to back up my instincts. I know you liked him and respected him. In fact, everyone I know feels that way about him, so maybe I was wrong."

"Or he was also very clever. We should eat. This salad looks good."

"I'm sure it's delicious," she said, picking up her fork. "Melissa is an incredible chef. We met in cooking school and became instant friends. We've worked in some of the same restaurants and followed each other's careers. She became the executive chef here six months ago, and the crowds have doubled since then. She's really great with seafood. She brings out unbelievable flavor."

"When did you decide you wanted to be a chef?" he asked curiously, taking a forkful of salad that was bursting with flavor.

"I started cooking a long time ago. My mom, even on her good days, was not great in the kitchen, so I took over that job. I was making all our meals from about age twelve on. It was a good distraction for me. It also made me feel like I was in control of a small part of my life. Cooking became my stress reducer, my escape, my passion, and I was good at it. When my mom ate well, she was less erratic. I felt like if I could get some good meals into her every day, our lives would be better. It probably wasn't ever about that, but it made me feel good to think so."

"You mentioned you have an apartment. When did you stop living with your mom?"

"I moved out three years ago, after she started working at the Piquard Museum. She was really happy and riding a wave of good health and sanity. It felt like she was normal, and I could leave her. But I didn't move too far away. I still saw her a lot, at least until she met Arthur, and then it was all about him. She has always been a person who needs a lot of love. I think she had that…for a while, anyway."

He saw the sad glimmer in her eyes and wanted to chase it away. "Let's get back to food. What's your specialty?"

"Well, I work at Bouffage, which is a French restaurant, and I'm very good at classical French dishes."

"But…"

"How did you know there was a but?"

"Because I'm starting to know you. So, continue…"

"I'd like to have my own restaurant one day, and not the vegan restaurant Arthur was trying to get me into. If I was going to run my own kitchen, it would be a mix of California and Italy."

"What does that mean exactly?"

"I fell in love with Italian cooking when I spent a month in Italy. But I also love California and its devotion to farm-to-table, fresh, organic ingredients. I want to blend the two. I can see my restaurant in my head. It will have a magnificent pizza oven in an open kitchen and the dining room will be lined with brick and wood. On the menu will be incredible pasta, of course. But I'll contrast the earthy dishes with fresh, light, seafood entrees."

"It sounds amazing. When can I go?"

"Right now, it's just a dream. Maybe it always will be. I probably should have taken the offer I had."

"No. You have to stick to your dreams."

"That's what I think, too. Maybe one day I'll be more willing to settle, but not yet."

"You'll never settle, Callie. It's not who you are."

"You've known me for a day."

"And yet I'm right, aren't I?" he challenged.

She gave a helpless shrug. "I guess I'll find out."

Chapter Eight

The salmon had been justas delicious as she'd expected, and with her stomach full, Callie felt a lot better than when she'd left the hospital. She could always count on a good meal to change her mood, even one she hadn't cooked herself. But it wasn't just the food that had lessened her stress; it was Flynn.

He was an interesting man, far more complicated than his blond good looks and charming smile might imply. He'd been abandoned by his father and suffered tragedy in the loss of his girlfriend. Those were two horrific events that she wouldn't wish on anyone. But Flynn had taken control of his life. He'd turned his father's bad deeds into his own good ones. And then he'd found a way to let go of the past.

But now he was back in the art world and she had a feeling his respect for Arthur was also going to take a big hit. She hated that the man who had been a second father figure to Flynn might disappoint him, too, but she couldn't stop whatever revelations were coming. In fact, she needed to bring those revelations to light so they could find Arthur's killer and get her mother off the suspect list.

She sipped the last of her wine as she shook off thoughts of her mother alone in the hospital room. She was safe. And she was probably asleep.

Flynn had certainly asked her some brutal questions about her mother. No one had ever dared to question the accident that had taken her dad's life. Maybe some had thought it, but certainly no one had ever asked her point blank the way Flynn had.

She should hate him for that. She should be angry with him for a lot of his assumptions. But, oddly, she found herself liking him.

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