Midnight Cravings

“I loved that show.” Josie laughed, remembering that she even had a Mrs. Beasley doll once. “So, I’m guessing from your accent that you’re not from these parts.”

“Nope. Cleveland. How about you?”

“Manhattan. It feels like another planet.”

“I know what you mean,” Buffy agreed. “I like it. It’s so laid-back here. Very relaxing.”

Josie thought that forced relaxation was anything but relaxing, but she didn’t say it. “So, are you here for the chili cook-off? Representing Ohio with some Cincinnati-style chili, perhaps?”

Buffy shook her head. “Actually, I came to meet Beatrice Beaujold. She’s the one who wrote the manluring cookbook. I owe her a huge debt of gratitude.”

“You do? Why?”

“It’s thanks to her that I’m engaged to be married.”

“Really?” Josie asked, ever a sucker for romance, as long as it wasn’t close enough to break her heart.

“Because of her recipes?”

“I think so.” Buffy blushed. “He actually fell to his knees two bites into her sweet potato pudding at a Memorial Day picnic.” She shrugged. “All I can think is that it had something to do with the recipe because I sure didn’t see it coming.”

Josie was extremely skeptical, but she knew it was her job to foster this idea, not to discourage it. Rather than lie, she just remained silent.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I guess crazier things have happened.”

Josie smiled. “Congratulations. I hope you’ll be very happy.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s been nice chatting with you, but I need to go to my room to use the phone.”

“The rooms here don’t have phones.”

“What?”

“No phones in the rooms.”

Josie closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “So I’m guessing fax machines are out of the question.”

“Afraid so.” Buffy gave an understanding smile.

“It’s a little bit of a time warp, but I think it adds to the peaceful atmosphere.”

Josie sighed. This was not making her feel peaceful.

“Try the little hall just inside the front door,” Buffy suggested. “I think I saw a pay phone there.”

Josie thanked her and carried her things back into the hallway Buffy had described and set her heavy suitcase down. Sure enough, there was a pay phone, but it was about a hundred years old and the reception crackled like lightning before she even pressed zero for the operator. She fidgeted with the wire, trying to find a position in which the line was quiet enough to make a call, but it didn’t work.

Exasperated, she muttered an oath about tiny backward towns and put the phone down. God willing, there would be a working phone in her room. She’d go on up and make her call quickly so she didn’t miss Beatrice’s arrival. Satisfied with her plan, she went to pick up her suitcase.

It was gone.

How on earth had someone taken her suitcase? She had not been more than three feet away from it, and there was no one else around. How could someone have slipped in, taken the case and run off with it without her hearing a thing, all in the span of about a minute and a half?

She looked around, thinking someone must have moved it for some reason. It was no place obvious. She ran upstairs to check Beatrice’s room and her own, where she left the rest of her things. When she came back downstairs, she asked the girl at the check-in desk if someone who worked there had taken it to a back room, but she was only met with a blank stare and a contention that “We don’t have a back room for suitcases.”

“Is there a manager on duty?” Josie asked the girl, trying valiantly to keep her voice courteous even though she wanted to scream at the girl to wake up.

“There’s the owner. I guess you’d call her a manager.”

“Good,” Josie said, trying to take control of the situation. She thought of the check for Beatrice. The letter from her editor. “Would you please ask her to come speak with me?” she asked, her voice rising.

“Maybe she can help me get this sorted out.”

“Okay.” Smile. Nod.

Every muscle in Josie’s body tensed. “Could you do it now?”

“Oh. Okay.” She disappeared into a room behind the desk, and Josie took another look around the lobby. She covered the whole thing, everywhere she’d been. It was nowhere. She was about to go outside and check the wide wraparound front porch, when she was interrupted by a gentle Southern voice, like that of a character in Gone With the Wind.

“Excuse me, Ms. Ross?”

She turned to see a woman standing at the counter who looked like she was playing a Southern dame in a movie, her fingertips touching the forearm of one of the most shockingly handsome men Josie had ever seen.

“Ms. Ross, I’m Myrtle Fairfield and this is Dan Duvall,” the woman said, in that quiet, sweet voice steel magnolias tended to have. “He’s with the police. I understand you’ve had a little problem with your suitcase. Mr. Duvall is here to help.”

She wouldn’t have pegged him as a policeman. He looked more like a movie star. He was tall, with wavy dark hair and clear eyes the blue of a summer sky. Faint lines fanned out from the corners, giving him the pleasant expression of a man who smiled a lot.

“Thanks for your concern, Officer,” Josie said, all too aware that she hadn’t had the chance to go to her room and freshen up since the two-hour flight and three-hour drive here this morning. Alarm bells went off in her head, giving her the foolish impulse to primp and make herself more presentable for this Adonis, even as she realized that she shouldn’t care what he thought of her personally. She wasn’t only irritated by her reaction to him, she was surprised by it. It had been ages since she’d felt that stir in her chest, but this kind of guy—one so gorgeous you just knew he had a stable of women to choose from—was not the kind of guy she wanted to start thinking romantic thoughts about.

He smiled, showing even white teeth and a dent that could almost be called a dimple. “Call me Dan,” he said. “Please.”

She swallowed. Hard. “All right, Dan.”

He took a step closer to her. He smelled good. Like Ivory soap and clean clothes. Somehow Josie found that reassuring.

“So your bag was stolen,” he said. “Were you hurt in the attack?”

“No, no, there was no attack.” She tried to will her pounding heart to calm down. “I wasn’t there.”

“You weren’t there.”

“No. Well, yes.” He had her flustered. This was bad. “I mean, I was just a couple of feet away. See, I set it down for a moment while I tried to make a call at the pay phone off the lobby. The phone didn’t work, so it couldn’t have been longer than a minute or so, but when I hung up, it was gone.” She tossed an apologetic look to Myrtle. “I’m sorry to trouble you with this. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” Please, please, please let there be a logical explanation, she prayed, returning her thoughts to the more important problem at hand.

“It’s no trouble,” Myrtle answered, but she looked very troubled.

“You say you left it over there?” Dan asked, indicating the hallway, where now there was a small crowd of people, apparently having a contest to see who could toss the most peanuts in the air and catch them in their mouths.

“Yes,” Josie said. “Right there where all the peanuts are on the floor now.”

Dan Duvall’s voice grew about one hundred and five percent less sympathetic than it had been when he’d first walked over. “And you weren’t keeping an eye on it?”

She swallowed a terse retort. “I got a little distracted for just a minute. But, as I said, I was only a couple of feet away.”

“You shouldn’t have left your things unattended. Anyone could come along and pick ’em up.”

“That seems obvious now.”

“Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around?” Myrtle asked, kneading her crepey hands.

“I’ll get the details,” Dan said, patting the older woman’s thin shoulder. “It looks like Lily Rose needs some help at the counter now.” He gestured toward the girl at the check-in counter, who was now looking fretful and fluttering her hands like birds in front of her as she tried to help an increasingly long line of impatient guests.

Myrtle gave an exclamation and bustled over to help poor Lily Rose, muttering about beer drinkers.

Dan Duvall smiled after her, then turned back to Josie, his smile disappearing, and asked for a description of the missing items.

She gave it to him, noticing that he didn’t bother to write any of it down. “There was an envelope in the side pocket that was clearly marked with the name Beatrice Beaujold,” she explained. “It occurred to me that maybe someone at the hotel had taken it up to Beatrice’s room, thinking it was hers, but it wasn’t there when I looked.”

“What was in the envelope?”

“Nothing very interesting to anyone but me. Beatrice’s bio and picture, and some flyers and information about this contest. My own notes.” She took a short breath. “A check for Beatrice. Her appearance fee from the brewery.”

“Well, it’s not like someone else could endorse it and cash it.”

“Maybe not, but she’s expecting to pick it up when she gets here.”

“I understand. You didn’t lose any cash?”

“No.” She tried to sound calm.

“Well, that’s good. I’m afraid I’m not sure how much we can do to help you,” he said, looking as if he didn’t want to do anything at all to help. “But we’ll certainly be on the lookout.”

There was the sound of smashing glass in the corner and Dan Duvall’s eyes jerked to the scene. His mouth went tight.

“’S’all right,” someone called, waving a feeble hand. “’N’accident.”

A muscle ticked in Dan’s jaw.

Josie tried to get his attention back. “Do you want me to write the description down?” she asked, trying to sound helpful although she was annoyed at how little concern he was showing for her loss. “So you don’t forget?”

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll let you know if it turns up.” He gave a short nod and turned to go.

“Wait a minute.”

He turned back, his face a mask of patience. “Ma’am?”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

He raised an eyebrow, apparently waiting for her to elaborate.

“I mean, that stuff is really important to me, even though it isn’t particularly interesting to anyone else. I need it back.” She thought of the letter Beatrice’s editor, Susan Pringle, had written. She’d barely had a moment to glance at it, but the first paragraph had mentioned there were some “special challenges” when handling Beatrice in public. It had also said that there was some “confidential material” in the letter and that Josie should be careful not to let it go astray, but before Josie had been able to read further, her flight had been announced and she’d put the letter away.

She’d intended to read it on the plane, but the flight had been turbulent, and as soon as she’d gotten off the plane, she’d had to drive a car, and…well, she just hadn’t gotten to read the note.

At the time it had seemed so offhand it hadn’t occurred to Josie that it was any more important or confidential than any personnel file. Now her mind reeled with imagined possibilities.

“I really need my briefcase back,” she emphasized. “Should I go to the police station and fill out an official report?”

“You could,” he said, a hint of slow molasses in his accent. “But there’s really no point.”

“It would make me feel better to know it was properly reported.”

“You’re reporting it now.”

“I am,” she said, trying to keep from gritting her teeth. “But are you?”

He gave a maddeningly lazy smile. “Why, yes, ma’am. I am. I don’t have time to go into the station to take your report right this minute, but I’ll file it as soon as I can.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, suspecting he was patronizing her. “Look, there were some really important papers in that envelope. I’d feel better seeing someone commit this report to black and white right now.” Though she thought better of it an instant later, she couldn’t resist adding, “The way most police would.”

“I see.”

“So where is the station house?”

“Corner of Elm and Magnolia. But we’re really shorthanded. If you go in they’ll just have you wait until the chief of police gets in and that’s—”

“Good,” she said, her voice tense. “I’m eager to speak with him.”

He smiled again. Not a friendly smile, but an amused one. On a different person, under different circumstances, it might have been boyish, mischievous. “I’ve got a feeling you may change your mind about that,” he said.

“I won’t.” She gave a polite smile and turned to leave the room. A minute later, she stepped into the muggy sunshine and walked purposefully out to the street. God knew where she was going to go once she got there, but she had the feeling that Dan might be watching her, smugly assuming she’d get lost, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her standing on the sidewalk wringing her hands and trying to figure out which way to go.

Luck was on her side. As soon as she reached the sidewalk she saw that the sign on the nearest cross street indicated it was Elm. So she kept on walking, as if she’d lived here all her life and knew just where to go.

When she was safely out of sight of the inn, she slowed her pace and looked around. The street was about twice as wide as the little suburban street she’d grown up on, and it was lined with tall, shady oaks. Enormous Victorian mansions faced out, looking for all the world as if they had been drawn by Walt Disney. As a matter of fact, the people looked like that, too. A couple of older women stood on either side of a garden fence, each wearing floppy hats and gardening gloves, talking and smiling and nodding to Josie as she passed.

It was hard to reconcile the fact that she’d been robbed, since she felt so completely safe walking through the streets alone. It was a feeling she wasn’t entirely familiar with, since part of her was always on alert when she walked in the city.

By contrast, the pace was so leisurely in this town that Josie actually felt as if her own heart rate had slowed to about half its usual pace, despite the urgency of getting her things back. Why bother to pound any faster? it probably thought. There’s nothing in Beldon to get excited about.

Where the houses stopped, a large, verdant stretch of woods started. In Manhattan, this kind of change signaled dangerous isolation, but in Beldon it was just a pleasant break before a lovely little row of storefronts with apartments over them. The shops all had elaborate colonial facades and were painted in vivid colors. The quaintness was so uniform that Josie wondered if there was a penalty for having a plain building.

That question was answered, though, when she got to the police station. It was a redbrick box, with nothing to distinguish it except a cement sign over the door that read, in block letters, Police Station.

Josie took a short, bolstering breath and opened the creaking wooden door to go inside. There were three empty desks, a single bookshelf with volumes with titles such as Beldon Police Report, April ’72—August ’73, and a plain, round clock with black hands that told her it had taken approximately seven minutes for her to walk there from the inn.

This was one small town.

“Hello?” Josie called out. “Is anyone here?”

There was a startled exclamation and the clanging of metal before a man called, “Hello? Who’s there?”

“No one you know,” Josie answered. “Just a visitor to the town. I’m looking for the chief of police.”

“Er, he’s not in.”

“Who are you?”

Long pause. “I’m…uh…Deputy Fife…er. No, Deputy Pfeiffer.”

“Well, could you come out and talk to me, Deputy Pfeiffer? I have a robbery to report.”

“Don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“I’m not. Do I have to be from here to report a crime?” she asked, annoyed. What was it going to take to get someone to act responsibly around here? Or just to act?

“I’m a little…indisposed.”

She counted to five before saying, “Look, Deputy, I’m sure you’re very busy, but would it kill you to come out and have a word with me?”

A moment passed before he said, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Another moment passed. “I’m locked in.”

“What?” She didn’t even bother to hide her astonishment.

“Well, uh, I was cleaning one of the cells and I let the door shut behind me.” A beat passed. “Can you let me out?”

“How?” Amazing. As if she didn’t already have enough to handle, now she had to free the police from jail. It was incredible. This was like a bad sitcom.

“I, uh, left the keys in there on the wall.”

She looked around at the walls. There was nothing on them except the clock, some FBI Wanted posters that looked to be several years old, and a Vargas Girl calendar that was, on closer inspection, from 1959.

“I don’t see any keys hanging on the wall,” she called.

“Must have left them in my desk, then,” the voice returned. “See the desk by the door? One with the pinup-girls calendar?”

“Yes.”

“Try the top drawer.”

She couldn’t believe she had to release the deputy from a jail cell before she could report her stolen bags. How in the world did she end up in this ridiculous town? Why wasn’t it rife with criminals, since the police were so inept?

If she weren’t an honest person she’d consider robbing a bank right about now.

In fact, if things with Page-turner didn’t work out after this weekend, she’d keep it in mind, she thought wryly.

“I’m looking,” she said, opening the drawer. There were some pens and pencils, a couple of paper clips bent out of shape, a pack of cinnamon gum, a set of handcuffs and a cracked black-and-white photo of a handsome young man in a police uniform, flanked by what appeared to be his proud parents.

Josie lingered on the picture for a moment, wondering who the man was and what his story was, then set it down.

“Find them?” the voice called from the back.

“Not yet.”

“Look in the back of the drawer.”

She pulled it out as far as it would go, then reached in. Sure enough, she snagged a set of keys on a large brass ring. “I think I found them,” she said, slamming the drawer shut just as the front door creaked open and Dan Duvall came in.

“Officer Duvall,” she said in a clipped voice, closing her hand around the cold set of keys. “I thought you were too busy to come into the station.”

For a moment he didn’t speak. He looked at her, then at the key ring in her hand. Then he asked, “What the hell are you doing going through my desk?”

Chapter Two

CHOCOLATE PUDDING

(from page 86 of The Way to a Man’s Heart by Beatrice Beaujold)

Chocolate makes you feel like you’re in love…or in lust. The better the chocolate, the better the lust….

1 cup sugar

¼ cup cornstarch

½ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon pure chili powder

8 oz. bitter chocolate, chopped

2 egg yolks

2 2/3 cups milk

2 tablespoons butter

2 teaspoons vanilla

In a heavy saucepan, whisk together sugar, cornstarch, salt and chili powder. Then add chocolate.

Whisk egg yolks and milk together and gradually whisk into chocolate mixture. Bring mixture just to a boil over moderate heat, whisking constantly, and boil 1 minute, whisking. Remove pan from heat and whisk in butter and vanilla.

Divide pudding between 6 ramekins or small custard bowls. Chill and serve.

“Your desk?” Josie asked, looking around at the other desks. “I didn’t go through your desk.”

In the back, there was the faint sound of Deputy Pfeiffer clearing his throat.

Dan strode over to Josie and took the key ring from her hand. “My keys,” he said, in a low, controlled voice, “were in my desk.” He thumped his hand on the desk in front of her. “So I repeat, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Deputy Pfeiffer—” whom she dearly hoped outranked Dan Duvall “—locked himself in a cell back there and asked me to get his keys for him so he could get out. I’m doing just that.”

Dan looked incredulous. “Deputy Pfeiffer?”

She felt her face grow warm, even though she hadn’t done anything wrong. “Yes, Deputy Pfeiffer,” she said, gesturing toward the open doorway in the back. “He locked himself in and asked me to get the keys for him.”

“Oh, I’ll bet he did,” Dan said, shaking his head. Then he laughed. He actually laughed.

At her.

“Just what’s so funny?”

“Usually, people like you are begging me to lock the troublemakers up, they’re not coming in and springing them.”

“I’m not springing anyone. I came in here to file a proper report and I found your deputy locked in.”

A long moment stretched thin in silence while he looked at her in a way that made her skin tingle from head to toe.

“Honey, I don’t even have a deputy.”

Horrible realization came over her like a bucket of cold water. “Oh, my God.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t you think it was a little strange that the deputy was locked up in a cell?”

“Yes, of course.” It was hard to defend what was, in retrospect, such an idiotic action, but she tried.

“But so far the police department has been so efficiency-challenged that nothing about it could surprise me.”

“Well, we keep the criminals locked up here in Beldon. What do they do with them where you come from?”

She pressed her lips together for a moment. “All right, I get it. Who is he really?”

Without averting his eyes from hers, he called, “Tell her your real name, Deputy.”

After a moment, the voice answered, “Henry Lawtell.”

“What are you in for?”

“No good reason!”

Still holding her gaze, Dan said, “Henry’s in jail for the third time this year after drinking a trough of beer and riding his motorcycle into the statue of Alexander Beldon in the town center. Naked.”

“Oh.”

The corners of his mouth twitched as if he was trying not to smile. “Didn’t the name Deputy Pfeiffer sound familiar to you?”

Deputy Pfeiffer. Deputy Fife. Of course it did, she just hadn’t made the connection. Suddenly, it seemed painfully obvious. Humiliation burned in her cheeks, made worse by the fact that she knew he could see it.

“You all right, Ms. Ross?” He stood up and made a show of ushering her into his chair. “You look a little flushed. Guess you’re not used to the heat down here.”

“I’m fine.” She shrugged her arm out of his warm grasp. “We have heat in New York.”

He gave her a long gaze, which made her wonder if it was an offense to snap at a police officer in this town. She wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of playing out her own Mayberry Midnight Express.

“Different kind of heat,” he said.

“Bring her back here so I can get a look at her,” Henry called from his jail cell. “She sounds real cute.”

“Oh, she is,” Dan drawled, looking her over so brazenly that she felt as if she’d been touched.

But she didn’t want to be touched, she reminded herself. She had a lot of troubles to deal with right now; she definitely didn’t need to add a man to the mix. She already knew she didn’t have good luck with men—there was no point in even trying.

Too bad her body didn’t agree with her mind on that. Every time she looked at Dan, her pulse quickened and her nerves sprang to life. Even now, the flush in her cheeks flamed so hot she thought her eyelashes might get singed.

“But she’s a pain in the ass,” he added.

Josie stood tall, hoping he didn’t notice her agitation. “This is hardly professional behavior, Officer.”

“No?”

“Certainly not.”

“Sweetheart, if I were to behave professionally, I’d have slapped the cuffs on you the minute I walked in and saw you going through my desk and stealing my keys in order to release a prisoner.” One side of his mouth curled into a smile. “That what you want?”