Page 57 of The Rainbow Recipe
“Well, they looked pretty grand there for a while. But it’s beginning to sound like they had the world’s worst accounting department—or they were running a scam. A pity we can’t feed Lawless Jane some really tasty tidbits so she’d quit gnawing on the targets of her prejudice and work on real clues.”
“Lawless Jane.” Larraine snorted in derision. “I’m agonna sue that bitch’s camouflage pants off. I’m talking to Jax next. I want him to tell me what the libel and slander laws are all about. This job is a lesson in lawyering, for sure.”
“Don’t talk like that in front of your constituents,” Evie advised in amusement. “You’ll lose your cool cred.”
Larraine pointed at her. “If I do nothing else, I’m making all the changes I can before they vote me out two years from now. You need to get your air-headed cousin to start a restaurant and hire all colors of folk and ugly people. We’ll start a trend.”
“Licensing laws,” Evie reminded her. “How will you keep your council from keeping out anyone they don’t like?”
Larraine grinned evilly. “Because I know how to dig dirt. We need zoning laws to keep them in line, but that council ain’t touching nothing without me.” The mayor sauntered off on her high heels before Evie could tell her that Pris hated restaurants and would be a really lousy restaurant owner.
Uglypeople? As contrasting to Beautiful People, right. A market ofrealpeople instead of upscale ones would suit Afterthought. A Citizens of the World Café!
Once that empty lot was cleared of debris...it would make a lovely outdoor café and green space to counter the gothic courthouse and Victorian office buildings on the next block.
And the school was right down the street. A bakery, maybe? A bakery school—forrealkids. Pris could do that.
Not if people thought she had poisoned KK.
Jane the Blogger Bigot needed to be muffled or pulled into the fold. What made her tick? Could Jane have set that fire? Why? It didn’t make sense. Of course, none of this made sense.
Evie pulled out her phone and called Pris. “Let Jax handle Larraine’s problems. We need to tackle yours. Be ready to go to the hospital when I get back there.”
Pris hung up on her, but she’d see the light eventually.
“Miss Lawson hasn’t hadmany visitors. She’ll be delighted to see you.” The nurse looked Dante up and down, apparently equally delighted to see him, as well she should be. He was wearing his professorial duds of tweed coat, elbow patches and all, and still looked like a hunk out of a fashion magazine.
Pris decided the woman wasn’t worth kicking. Any female in her right mind would drool over Italian shoes.
Feeling invisible beside theconteand his giant bouquet of mums and carnations, Pris stayed in his shadow as they were led down the hospital corridor. She gave Evie the evil eye as they passed her in the waiting room, but her cousin was spaced out, communing with the dead. Pris shuddered. The hospital was probably full of ghosts.
Stiff and in obvious discomfort, Dante swung along on his crutch, holding the flowers in his free arm. Pris grinned and screened out his mental cursing. She didn’t know if he was deliberately thinking obscenities for her sake, or if he wasn’t aware that his thoughts escaped when upset. The very proper conte had an expressive vocabulary.
As they approached Jane’s door, Evie jumped up and began asking the nurse questions about another patient. Pris wasn’t about to inquire how her cousin knew who else was here. Distracting the nurse allowed Dante and Pris to enter Lawson’s room without anyone catching the patient’s reaction to her visitors.
“For me?” the patient asked in surprise, sounding girlish instead of surly—obviously seeing only Dante.
“A gift from La Bella Gente, signora,” Dante said, as coached. He even threw in his best Italian accent for good measure.
“Why?” Jane immediately became suspicious. That’s when she spied Pris. “You! Are you here to murder me too?” She reached for her call button.
Setting the vase on the stand, Dante moved the button out of reach. “Miss Broadhurst is innocent. She’s here to find the real killer now that you’ve driven Bella out of town.”
Pris waited with interest to see how Jane reacted to being the hero of her own story. She’d been the one to suggest this approach. To her amusement, the blogger’s limited mind almost literally froze. She emitted no coherent thoughts, only panic.
“I was right. You disconnected her narrative.” Just a little proud of herself, Pris nudged Dante toward a chair. “Let me take it from here. Find a way to put up that foot.” She settled on the bed’s edge so he wouldn’t do the gentlemanly thing and insist that she take the chair.
He narrowed his eyes and growled at her—which she found damned sexy. At the same time, he brushed against every object within Jane’s reach, practicing his little used psychometry.
“Evidence,” he reminded Pris.
Right. Reading Jane’s mind and proving her thoughts were two different things. Pris signaled Evie, who sauntered in while the would-be journalist was still hyperventilating.
“No wonder you blog, Jane,” Evie said as she rearranged the flowers and pulled out a bent one. “It must be frustrating to be speechless just when you have so much to say.”
Pris bit back a chuckle. “She’s getting angry. Keep it up.”
Her cousin propped herself on the other side of the bed. “I was there, Jane. I told the sheriff that the fire spreadafteryou left through the kitchen. What happened? Did you forget to leave the route to the door clear and had to turn back? The accelerant went the wrong way?”
