Murder Al Dente: A Southern Pasta Shop Mystery (Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries Book 1) Read Free Page A

together after all. Considering his vehicle was still in working order and mine wasn't, I leapt at the offer. "That'd be great. Do you know where the Bowtie Angel is?"
    " Main Street, correct?"
    " Yeah, it's my family's pasta shop. I'll set you up with the best homemade baked ziti you ever tasted."
    His car smelled like new leather and male spice. On our way into town, we passed the damn tractor.
    Jones only smiled.
     
    * * *
     
    The sky let loose as we turned onto Main, rain dumped by the bucketful into the street. Jones, God love him, slowed down even more until I pointed out the turn to our destination. The town was a throwback to an era long before McDonald's and Walmart had sprung up like demented Whac-A-Moles. No franchises were allowed within the city limits. The only drive-through was the Oakdale Elementary school on the corner of Broad Street and 8 th .
    " Well, here we are," I announced unnecessarily as he pulled the SUV up in front of the Bowtie Angel. I peered through the windshield and the pouring rain, trying to see the two-story house-turned ice cream shop-turned pasta bar, from a stranger's point of view. The white vinyl siding and brick red roof were the original colors. A brand new Coca-Cola machine stood sentinel outside the front door, under a smaller second section of roofing that ran perpendicular to the larger covering, encouraging people to stop for a cold beverage or to huddle out of the rain. A red and white striped canopy covered the rarely used outdoor porch with a mess of little round wrought iron tables and chairs too small for the average American butt.
    During the warmer months, Aunt Cecily would plant fresh herbs in the built-in rectangular boxes, staples for the unique sauces and breads trademarked by the pasta shop. Now they sat empty, as if they too mourned the loss of my grandmother. A five -foot long ceramic angel with spaghetti-like hair, sporting a bowtie and holding a welcome banner flew over the door. Her smile had always looked creepy to me, and the Carolina sun had bleached her yellow hair to almost white. But Nana had been so proud when she'd brought the damn thing home from ceramics class, and Pops didn't have the heart to take it down.
    " Guess you should come in so we can get you that ziti." Southern hospitality demanded no less, but in all honestly, the last thing I wanted was for Jones to witness whatever unique brand of crazy might be hatching beyond that red door.
    " Another time perhaps. I'm already late for my scheduled appointment." He pronounced the word the British way, shed-u-eld . Color me charmed.
    " Where are you from?" I had to know what region on the globe cultivated such a delicious accent.
    " New Zealand, originally. Though I consider myself more a citizen of the world."
    " Huh." Well that was a dumbass thing to say. I cleared my throat.
    "Well, thanks for the ride."
    Jones actually climbed out and circled around to help me down. W ater dripped from his dark hair onto his collar, yet he still looked so unruffled. My skin tingled where our hands touched, and our gazes met for a sizzling instant. A herd of butterflies let loose in my stomach as he escorted me under the awning. "See you around." My voice came out higher than normal, a little breathy.
    " I'll look forward to it." With a smile, he was gone. I sighed like a silly schoolgirl as his taillights disappeared into the gloom.
    Turning, I gasped at my reflection in the plate glass window. Bedraggled would have been a step up from the mess staring back at me. Hair plastered to my scalp, ripped flannel shirt worn jacket style, hole in the knee of my jeans. "No career, no man, no reason to get out of bed in the morning , " the outfit screamed. I was a walking testament to a woman who'd given up. Add to that the lines of strain that had formed around my eyes and mouth plus that not-so-fresh-from-a-car-accident feeling…ugh. Not a pretty picture.
    Vanity could take a backseat though, the way it usually did.