Page 19 of Justice for Daesha

“Smells great,” Daesha agreed.

“I’ll put the cheese on top and stick it back in for ten. We can eat our salads and it should be ready just about on time.” He knew she was watching him as he sprinkled the shredded cheese all over the top of the pasta, so he tried to look like he knew what he was doing. When he had it back in the oven, he pointed to his little dining table. “Let’s eat our salads.”

They’d no more than tied into the salads when Daesha asked, “So, did you ask about the files? I mean, about the other guys looking at them?”

“Yep. My supervisor said have at it, and two of the guys volunteered. Maybe they’ll see something we haven’t.”

“I hope so. We need a break in the case.” That was all she said about it, just went back to eating, and Amos felt sad for her. She wanted to know who killed her sister, and he understood that.

When he pulled the pan out of the oven that second time, it was beautiful. The cheese was melted and golden. He filled Daesha’s plate, then filled his own and sat down. One bite and he couldn’t believe it. It was delicious, and he’d made it!Fuck a bottle of wine. I owe Cynthia a whole case, he told himself. He was reveling in his accomplishment when Daesha said, “Funny, I never pegged you as a guy who knew how to cook.”

Amos just hung his head and shook it. “I can’t. I got this recipe from a coworker’s sister. She’s a chef in Louisville. I’m glad she took pity on me and gave me something I could actually make.”

“Well, you did a good job,” she said and patted his hand. Amos felt ten feet tall.

They ate until they were almost sick. “Whew! I’m stuffed!” Daesha announced. “I’ll help you clean up and?”

“Absolutely not. You’re my guest. I’ll take care of it. Won’t take but a second.” He found some storage containers in the cabinet and filled them. “And you take one of these with you when you leave, okay? You can have this for lunch tomorrow or Friday.”

Daesha was sitting on the sofa, looking through a car magazine. “I’ll do that! Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.” The aluminum pan had been a stroke of genius. Amos threw it in the trash, scraped everything else down the garbage disposal, and in minutes, he was ready to start the dishwasher. Making his way to the sofa, he sat down beside her. “Whatcha reading?”

“Did you know that fuel injector cleaner only does sixty percent of the job? And that your fuel injector should be professionally cleaned at least annually?”

“I did not know that,” Amos said, feigning surprise.

“I didn’t either, but I do now.” She closed the magazine and dropped it back onto the coffee table. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t think to pick up any dessert.” He wanted to kick himself for that.

“I don’t need it anyway. So what are you up to for the rest of the week?”

“I’m hoping to see you tomorrow night, and the next night, and the day after that,” he said, trying to be honest.

“Oh.”

Something about her tone startled him. “Is that not a good idea?”

“Um, it’s just that, uh, I have to work Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights.”

“Work? The clinic is open at night?”

She shook her head. “No. My other job.”

“You have another job?” That was news to him.

“Yeah. I do.”

Amos waited, but she said nothing. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “So, where is this other job?”

“At a bar.”

“Oh, you bartend?”

“No.”

A nervous little laugh escaped his lips. “You’re not going to tell me you’re the bouncer, are you?”

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