Cooking Spirits: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (Angie Amalfi Mysteries) Read Free Page B

his
surprise, found his fiancée on the line. She almost never called him at work,
knowing he didn’t like to be disturbed.
    “I’m sorry to call,” Angie said, “but I’ve been worried
about you. You sounded upset on the phone last night. Is everything all right?”
    “Fine.”
    She waited a moment, then said,
“Oh?”
    “Really.”
    “Okay.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, I called
because I’ve been thinking about our living arrangements after the wedding. I
know you’ve agreed to move into my apartment, but what if we found a house we
could afford to buy? What if I went house-hunting?”
    Of all the things he believed she might have been thinking
about with their upcoming wedding, their living arrangement afterward wasn’t
one of them. “House-hunting? Why?”
    “I want to make sure that staying in my apartment is right
for us,” she said.
    He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not. He owned a
small bungalow in San Francisco’s outer Richmond district. He had gotten it at
a decent price because it had no garage, no view, needed work, and was tiny.
Angie’s shoes couldn’t fit in it, let alone the rest of her possessions. She
had a much larger apartment, but it was in her father’s building. And Salvatore
Amalfi didn’t like his baby girl marrying a cop. He wanted her to marry a
doctor, a lawyer, or—god-forbid—a political up-and-comer. Anyone
but a guy who ran around the streets of San Francisco with a gun and a target
on his back.
    Sal was even unhappier about their relationship since Angie
had a propensity for putting herself in danger because of Paavo’s cases.
“What’s this new concern, Angie? Where did it come from?”
    “Nowhere,” she said.
    He didn’t believe that one bit.
    She continued, “I’m open to change, that’s all. This may be
a good time to buy. Do you object?”
     “Of course not, if that’s what you want to do.” The
high price of San Francisco property mixed with Angie's expensive taste flashed
before his eyes, making him glad debtor’s prison was a thing of the past. “But
we’ve got to be able to afford what you find. Us, Angie, not
your father.”
    “Good. I'm here with Cat, and we’re going to look at houses.
I love you and want you to be happy. You know that don’t you?”
    “Of course,” he said, realizing that since she was with Cat,
she had already made up her mind about house-hunting. They soon said their
goodbyes.
    Paavo shuddered at the thought of Angie and her realtor
sister together. They rarely saw eye-to-eye, but when they agreed and put their
heads together, anything could happen—including dashing off to Rome, Italy,
where they went not long ago and caused one of the more harrowing episodes
Paavo had ever experienced.
    “What’s going on, Paavo?” Yosh asked. “You look worried. Is Angie already spending all your money? You aren’t
even married yet.” Yosh , a six-foot tall Japanese-American,
built like a sumo wrestler, had married his first love when in his early
twenties.
    “She’s going house-hunting,” Paavo answered.
    “I thought your living arrangements were settled.”
    “Did you say house-hunting?” Bo Benson spun his chair around
to face Paavo and then leaned back in it.
    “I’m afraid so,” Paavo replied.
    Bo and Paavo had been the confirmed bachelors of the group.
Bo loved women and loved dating. Date many and often was his way of thinking. In
his early thirties, smart, good looking, African-American, sharp dresser, he
hadn’t been tied down yet, and had no plans to be. He liked to joke that Angie
had worn Paavo down. Not exactly, but even when Paavo tried
to break it off, Angie kept coming around. She was convinced he needed
her, and a convinced Angie was a force of nature.
    Not that he particularly minded , if
truth be told.
     “You had a good deal going, moving into Angie’s fancy
penthouse,” Bo said. “Why blow it?”
    “Maybe he doesn’t want to be her kept man,” Luis Calderon
chimed