What I saw of his home, both inside and out, reinforced my impression of him as Peach Coast’s Bruce Wayne. The classic A-line brick structure was the anti-bachelor pad.
His kitchen was awesome. Standing at the threshold, I marveled again at the high ceiling and the black, white, and silver surroundings. The modern appliances were arranged for the chef’s comfort and convenience. The endless counter space offered more than enough room for food preparation.
“You know, for a hobby, you certainly take your cooking seriously.”
He gestured toward my Devil in a Blue Dress pendant. “As seriously as you take your hobby.”
Warm accents kept the contemporary space from crossing the line into cold and sterile. Crimson dish towels hung from hooks, garnet-and-emerald potholders rested beside the black stovetop, and gold curtains covered the window above the sink.
A quick survey of the tidy kitchen revealed how busy Spence had been even before I’d arrived. He’d mixed the ingredients for the chicken and cut the green beans. The oven was warming, and a pot of water was heating on the stove.
“What can I do to help?”
Spence turned toward his center island, on which he’d arranged the ingredients he’d need for the menu, baked chicken and peaches served with Georgia green beans. We’d bought most of the ingredients, including the chicken, yesterday. “I have everything under control. Just keep me company.”
I swallowed a sigh of relief but felt compelled to push the issue. “That doesn’t seem fair. You’re doing all of this because I asked you to.”
“We’re doing all of this to help Jo.” He gave me a half smile. “Besides, I don’t like help in my kitchen. Too many chefs…” He left unspoken the rest of the well-known maxim about culinary conflicts.
“Well, in that case, let me get out of your way.”
Chapter 9
I settled onto one of the matching white barstools near the island. “The deputies questioned me again today.”
Spence gave me a sharp look as he placed peach slices on top of the boneless chicken breasts. “Whatley and Cole? They questioned me too. I’d thought Jo had been exaggerating about the deputies’ interest in her, but now I see why she’s so concerned. They have focused on her as their top suspect.”
“Just because the murder happened in her store. That reasoning is weak at best.” I glanced again at the ingredients as I pondered the gravity of Jo’s situation. Would my librarian coworkers be able to give us insight that would help clear her name? Did I know the right questions to ask? I unclenched my fists and rubbed my damp palms against my slacks.
Spence sprinkled brown sugar, ginger, cloves, and lemon juice over the chicken and peach slices. I’d read about the entrée on the internet. Peaches and chicken sounded like a weird combination to my New York City sensibilities. But since Spence was doing me the enormous favor of hosting this event, I planned to smile and clean my plate.
A wave of warm air wrapped me as he opened the nearby oven to insert the chicken. “The only motive they have for Jo seems to be a disagreement she and Fiona had over the bookstore event.”
I set the alarm on my cell phone for half an hour, the cooking time for the chicken dish. It was the least intrusive way I could think of to help. “What disagreement?”
Spence straightened away from the oven. “Something to do with the placement of Fiona’s books in Jo’s store.”
“Oh, come on.” I thought my eyes would roll right out of my head. “As a motive for killing someone, that theory sounds like a nonstarter. What are you hearing about the murder?”
Spence gave me a somber look from over his shoulder as he added salt and the green beans to the boiling water. “People are concerned about a killer being in Peach Coast. They’re asking questions about Jo and Fiona, but I don’t have the sense that anyone believes Jo’s the killer.”
“They’re looking for a fast arrest.” I remembered Floyd’s observation. Grumpy Santa was wise. “I just hope their fear doesn’t compromise their objectivity.”
“I hope so too.” Spence returned to the kitchen island to chop the garlic.
I eyed the onion. “May I chop the onion for you?”
He gave me a kind smile. “I’ve got it.”
“You really are controlling in the kitchen, aren’t you?” His only response was another smile. I changed the subject rather than push my luck. Creating fancy dinners was out of my comfort zone, but sitting idly while others did all the work made me feel worse. “I’ve heard you’ve hosted other dinners for the librarians. I imagine you know them well.”
“I went to high school with Corrinne’s younger brother. He was a couple of years ahead of me.” He set aside the garlic and started slicing the onion. “I haven’t had a dinner party since Viv joined the library, though.”
“I admire you for knowing so many people in town.”
“It helps that I was born and raised here.” There was humor in Spence’s answer. He put a modest amount of butter into a skillet and sautéed the chopped garlic and onions. “And running the newspaper keeps me connected to the community.”
I’d never asked, but I estimated Spence’s age to be in his early- to mid-thirties, a few years younger than Corrinne. Peach Coast was a beautiful and charming town. The people were friendly. But Spence was a young man. Did this town have enough to offer him? “Have you ever wanted to live anywhere else?”
“I’ve lived in other places.”
My curiosity roared to life. “Oh? Where?”
He turned off the pot and drained the green beans. “I completed my undergraduate studies at Stanford. And got my master’s at NYU.”
New York University? “That’s my alma mater.” My eyes widened in shock. “We could have passed each other on campus.”
Spence chuckled as he dried the green beans. “I’d have noticed.”
“Not in that crowd.”
“I would’ve noticed.” His voice was low, but insistent. “I worked for newspapers in Chicago
