Wrong Poison, page 19
“When are you going to tell him ‘Yes?’” I asked, a little surprised by my own bluntness.
“Already did.” Shy smile. “Figured he should know I was all-in, whatever ended up happening.”
“Oh, that is wonderful!”
She held out her arms, and we hugged.
Connery yowled.
“Is he going to be okay with the other fella in your life?” I asked, nodding to the cat.
“We’ll figure it out.” She nodded to the fire with another relieved smile. “Since we’re going to get the chance.”
“We weren’t going to let it end any other way,” I assured her. Now that we were safe, it was okay– even wise– to believe we’d been certain to find a resolution. “And now we get to plan a wedding.”
“Well, yes. But first, you get to go home to that wonderful Scotsman of yours.”
“Throwing me out because your man’s coming over?”
“You caught me.” A really adorable blush. “Shabbat dinner is over, and he wants some couple time.
“Good thing.”
“The best. Happy Feast of the Archangels.” She held out a card and a small box of candy.
“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “Your card– and some of those nice Swiss truffles– are sitting in my desk at home.”
“I always say you shouldn’t have, Grace, but this year, I’m not kidding. Keep the truffles after all this.”
We shared a laugh.
“You’ll still get the card, though,” I assured her.
One more laugh and happy hug, and I took off for my own, actually pretty great, life. I was in the car, driving the few blocks home when the hands-free lit up. A new and different unfamiliar number. It could have been a spammer, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t.
“Hello?”
“Well done, Grace.”
Unmistakable voice. I hadn’t been her student for nearly twenty years, but Professor Munroe’s praise still warmed me.
“Thank you, Professor.”
“I assume the other matter has been handled, as well.”
“In a very satisfactory and bloodless fashion.”
“Bloodless?”
“Yes. No one person knew enough of the details to be a threat. And the actual killer is being punished for another crime, so some form of justice is being done.”
“Justice is a very good thing.”
“I think so too. You’ll know all the details later, but he’s likely to end up in prison for a corruption scheme and bring down several others with him.”
“Excellent. There’s no need to leave bodies across the landscape.” Her tone was back to the usual warm and wonderful. “Unless we’re being paid for it, of course.”
“Of course.”
“At any rate, Grace, I’m quite proud of you.”
“I’m really glad to hear that.” She had no idea how glad.
“Happy Feast of the Archangels a bit early, Grace. The Mothers are well pleased.”
“Happy Feast of the Archangels to you, Professor. Hope you enjoy the roses.”
“I absolutely will now.” She sounded as relieved as I felt. “I should probably send you some, as well.”
“Please don’t. Michael would notice that.”
“Ah, the Scotsman. No, we can’t trouble him. So just accept my compliments and know you’ve done good work.”
“More than enough, Professor.”
More indeed.
CHAPTER 31
THE (FUDGE) FEAST OF THE ARCHANGELS
And so, the conquering heroine heads for home.
Well, that’s a bit excessive, but I sure felt pretty darn victorious. The Book safely destroyed, secrets kept, friends protected…and Obedellia Winch’s murderer facing at least some kind of punishment. Even if it probably would end up as a relatively short time-out in Club Fed.
After a mess like this, you take your win where you get it.
Scotchie met me at the door, pinning me to the wall as usual, for a thorough sniff and face-lick. He seemed more interested than usual in my scent, and I wondered for a moment if he picked up something from the burning Book. But come on, it’s a dog.
Once I was properly greeted, Scotchie followed me to Daniel’s room to help Michael and I tuck him in, happily draping himself over the foot of the bed to watch his boy.
Michael gave Daniel a kiss and left, but I stayed for a while to watch him doze off in a sugar overload haze. There’s still a lot of baby in his round face, especially when he sleeps, and he still snuggles up to me like he did when he was tiny.
I spent longer than usual watching Daniel and treasuring the moment. Before I knew it, he would be a spiky teen like Corinna’s Imani. I hoped he’d still love and need me. At least a little.
Worry about that when I get there, I supposed.
After this ugly donnybrook, it felt like a luxury to contemplate something in the far future. A luxury to realize I was going to have one.
Once Daniel was asleep, I went into the kitchen, where that good California cab was breathing, just waiting for us. If Michael and I hadn’t earned a good glass of wine tonight…
Earned it more than he ever needed to know.
I took the clip out of my hair, poured two glasses, and headed into the living room.
Michael was on the couch, jacket off, tie loose, looking at his phone, his expression a little dazed.
“Morton Winch turned himself in for the Alcott outlet mall development scheme. Just got word from your old pal Marisol at the U.S. Attorney.”
“Really.”
“Really. She thanks you for getting her out of book club. She and her wife are taking us to dinner sometime soon.”
“Great idea.”
“Definitely.” Michael gave me a sharp assessing look for a moment, before taking a breath and shrugging. “That makes life a lot easier. With Winch and the outlet mall in the mix, I should be able to negotiate a pretty decent deal for my client. I may not even need to fight with Judge Burdette.”
“Not a bad ending.”
I handed Michael his glass.
“Not bad at all.” He patted the cushion beside him. “Sit down and relax for a while, Tweety.”
I sat.
We clinked and drank, our eyes holding as we did.
This was the time it was hardest not to tell him, when we were close, when he looked at me with that bottomless love and respect. Like he would trust and cherish me no matter what.
And I knew, a dozen years in, that he would. As I would him.
The motto of the Scottish Clan Adair is Loyal Unto Death for a reason.
“C’mere.” Michael put his glass down and leaned back on the couch, reaching for me.
“Don’t have to ask me twice.” I put mine down, and let him pull me in, enjoying the warmth as he wrapped his arms around me. I rested my head on his shoulder, and he buried his face in my hair.
For a few breaths, we stayed twined together, no reason to say anything. Wonderful.
“Do I need to know why Morton Winch suddenly decided to come forward?” he asked finally.
“Nope.”
“So there’s no particular reason he decided to turn himself in to your old classmate in the U.S. Attorney’s Office?”
“Um…”
“After a little encouragement at the ice cream social, say?”
I snuggled in a little closer. “Let’s just say I hear things, and I was able to administer a bit of encouragement based on that.”
“Fair enough. There’s nothing I’m going to need to know about?”
It is a very good thing to be married to a man who understands sometimes it is more dangerous to know than to not know. Especially if he happens to be the defense attorney you call when you’re really in trouble in New Haven County. Even better that I wasn’t going to need him. Professionally.
“Not even a little,” I assured him.
“Good.” His arms tightened around me. “I don’t say it enough, Tweety-Bird,” he said, his tone the soft low one he reserved for me. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
The knot that had been in my stomach since I saw the red line on Mrs. Winch’s eyelids was finally relaxing. It was really over. We were safe. All of us.
“If you were into something dangerous, you’d tell me.”
“I would.” …never unless I had absolutely no other option.
“And I’d help you. Whatever it was. You’re my wife, and the mother of our son, and I’ll protect you.”
“I know.” I slipped my hand into one of his and laced fingers. It was far more likely I would end up protecting him, but I was more than happy to stay in his happy cocoon of assumptions for the moment.
“Just needed to say it.” Michael kissed the top of my head. “Sorry to be a Neanderthal.”
“The Neanderthals were actually a very advanced civilization…and possibly even matriarchal.”
“Matriarchal is good. I know who’s the real steel here.”
“Yeah?”
“I was pretty impressed today.” He pulled back enough to look in my eyes. “Maybe you should be doing less copy editing and more arguing.”
“Ya think?”
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to second-chair once in a while…”
“Second-chair?”
Michael gave me a sheepish little smile. “Maybe guest-star?”
“I’m teasing. I like it.”
“Yeah?” His smile widened. “Good. I liked seeing you argue instead of staring at a screen for a change.”
“I liked it too.”
“Not that you’re not good at the other stuff…”
“It’s okay. I know you respect my work.”
“You’re pretty amazing.” His admiring gaze was pretty amazing. “I’ve never seen anyone handle Judge Burdette like that. And you got me the hearing, too.”
“I have special skills.”
I was joking, but his expression was serious.
“You sure do.” Admiration, and something else, in his tone. “I’m just glad you’re on my side…and the side of the angels.”
If there is anything on earth hotter than a good-looking man who respects you as a professional, I don’t know what it is. It was how Michael won me in the first place, and it never fails.
And he knows it.
I picked up my glass and nodded to his. “Adair and Adair then.”
He took his glass with a grin. We clinked and drank.
“Now, about those special skills,” he said, a familiar hot glow kindling in his green-gold eyes. “We can finish the wine later.”
It was only much later, after I'd enjoyed Michael's other special skills, slipped into the kitchen, and made a new batch of fudge, that I caught something else.
As I surrendered to the sugar hit of that first wonderful bite, the smooth chocolate melting on my tongue, I remembered the note in Michael’s voice, the gleam in his eyes…and that comment about being on the side of the angels.
Only then did I wonder if he was referring to more than my expertise with precedent.
I took another bite of rich silky fudge. Since it was now officially the Feast of the Archangels, and everything was safely settled, I might as well have another piece.
As for Michael and me, we could burn that bridge when we came to it.
DEATH BY CHOCOLATE FUDGE
(BASED ON ORIGINAL HERSHEY’S COCOA RECIPE)
3 cups sugar
2/3 cup cocoa
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 ½ cups milk
¼ cup butter (half stick)
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ cup chopped nuts (my grandmother would throw them at you, but go ahead if you’re into that!)
Line eight-inch-square pan with buttered paper. Mix sugar, cocoa, and salt in a heavy saucepan, then stir in milk. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly until the mixture reaches a full rolling boil. Then cook without stirring until sugar reaches soft ball stage (236-238 degrees Fahrenheit). Remove from heat. Add butter and vanilla without stirring. Once mixture is lukewarm (110 degrees) beat with wooden spoon until candy is thick and loses its gloss. Stir in nuts – if you must – and turn out into a lightly-buttered eight-inch square pan. Mark in pieces while warm, cut when cold and firm.
Makes enough for one hit mom and her clueless family.
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About the Author
Nikki Knight likes to describe herself as an author/anchor/mom…not in that order. An award-winning radio news anchor, she’s a longtime weekend morning fixture at New York’s #1 news station, 1010 WINS.
She started her career as a teenage DJ at her Western Pennsylvania hometown radio station, and worked her way up through newsrooms in Pittsburgh, Vermont, and Connecticut, never losing her love of the work – or her hatred for snow.
The first Jaye Jordan Vermont radio mystery, LIVE, LOCAL, AND DEAD, was published in February 2022 by Crooked Lane Books. As Kathleen Marple Kalb, she writes the Ella Shane historical mystery series for Kensington. Her Jaye Jordan short stories have appeared in DEADLY NIGHTSHADE: Best New England Crime Stories 2022, CRIMEUCOPIA: Tales from the Back Porch, and DARK AND STORMY NIGHT, and online at Tough Magazine, Mystery Tribune, and White Cat Publications, among others. She was a 2022 Derringer Finalist and the Jaye Jordan story "Bad Apples" was an Honorable Mention in the Black Orchid Novella Award Contest.
Read more at Nikki Knight’s site.
About the Publisher
Charade Media, LLC specializes in one thing and one thing only...great, mind-bending whodunnit mysteries. Our books are light, easy to read, and will make you smile...not to mention get you excited to solve the case. We take pride in selecting only the best mysteries to tickle the funny bone, raise a few hairs, and get your inner Sherlock moving into overdrive.
Nikki Knight, Wrong Poison
