Fiona Grace - Death and a Dog

Lacey chuckled and smacked his arm. “I don’t need your handouts, thank you very much! I’ll have you know I can actually cook!”

“Oh really?” Tom teased.

“I’ve been known to make a dish or two in my time,” Lacey told him. “Mushroom risotto. Seafood paella.” She racked her brains for at least one other thing to add, because everyone knew you needed at least three for a list! “Um… um…”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “Go on…?”

“Macaroni and cheese!” Lacey exclaimed.

Tom laughed heartily. “That’s quite an impressive repertoire. And yet I’ve never seen any evidence to support your claims.”

He was right about that. So far, Tom had made all the meals for them. It made sense. He loved cooking, and he had the skills to pull it off. Lacey’s culinary skills weren’t much above piercing the film of a microwavable dish.

She folded her arms. “I haven’t exactly had the chance to yet,” she replied, using the same jokingly argumentative tone as Tom in the hopes it would mask the genuine irritation his comment had roused in her. “Mr. Michelin Star pastry chef doesn’t trust me near the stove.”

“Should I take that as an offer?” Tom asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Damn pride, Lacey thought. She’d walked right into that one. Way to set yourself up.

“You bet,” she said, feigning confidence. She held her hand out to him to shake. “Challenge accepted.”

Tom looked at her hand without moving, twisting his lips to the side. “There’s one condition, though.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“It has to be something traditional. Something native to New York.”

“In that case, you’ve just made my job ten times easier,” Lacey exclaimed. “Because that means I’ll be making pizza and cheesecake.”

“Nothing can be store bought,” Tom added. “The whole thing has to be made from scratch. And no getting any sneaky help. No asking Paul for the pastry.”

“Oh please,” Lacey said, pointing at the discarded salt bag on the counter. “Paul is the last person I’d enlist to help me cheat.”

Tom laughed. Lacey nudged her extended hand closer to him. He nodded to indicate he was satisfied that she’d meet the conditions, then took her hand. But instead of shaking it he gave it a small tug, bringing her closer toward him, and kissed her over the counter.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lacey murmured, the tingle from his lips echoing on hers. “Through the window, I mean. Unless you have time to come to the auction?”

“Of course I’m coming to the auction,” Tom told her. “I missed the last one. I need to be there to support you.”

She smiled. “Great.”

She turned and headed for the exit, leaving Tom to his mess of pastry.

As soon as the patisserie’s door shut behind her, she looked down at Chester.

“I’ve really landed myself in it now,” she said to her perceptive-looking dog. “Really, you should’ve stopped me. Tugged on my sleeve. Nudged me with your nose. Anything. But now I’ve got to make pizza from scratch. And a cheesecake! Shoot.” She scuffed her shoe on the sidewalk with faux frustration. “Come on, we’ll have to go grocery shopping before we go home.”

Lacey turned the opposite direction to home, and hurried down the high street toward the grocery store (or corner shop as Gina insisted on calling it). As she went, she put a message on the Doyle Girlz thread.

Anyone know how to make cheesecake?

Surely it was the sort of thing her mom would just know how to do, right?

It wasn’t long before she heard her cell ping in reply, and she checked to see who had responded. Unfortunately, it was her infamously sarcastic little sister, Naomi.

You don’t, her sister quipped. You buy it premade and save the hassle.

Lacey quickly tapped out a reply. Not helpful, sis.

Naomi’s response came in lightning-quick speed. If you ask stupid questions, expect stupid answers.

Lacey rolled her eyes and hurried on.

Luckily, by the time Lacey reached the store, her mom messaged back with a recipe.

It’s Martha Stewart’s, she wrote. You can trust her.

Trust her? Naomi tapped in response. Didn’t she go to jail?

Yes, their Mom replied. But that had nothing to do with her cheesecake recipe.

Touché , Naomi replied.

Lacey laughed. Mom had actually outdone Naomi!

She put her phone away, tied Chester’s leash around the lamppost, then headed inside the brightly lit store. She whizzed about as quickly as she could, filing her basket with everything Martha Stewart told her she needed, then grabbed herself a precooked bag of linguine pasta and a small tub of premade sauce (which was conveniently placed in the fridge right beside it), and some pre-shaven parmesan cheese (located beside the sauce), before finally grabbing the bottle of wine beneath that proclaimed; goes great with linguine!

No wonder I never really learned to cook, Lacey thought. Look how easy they make it.

She went to the till, paid for her goods, then left, collecting Chester on the way out. They went back past her store—she noticed Tom was right where she’d left him—and collected the car from the side street where Lacey had parked.

It was a short drive to Crag Cottage, along the seafront then up the cliffside. Chester sat alert in the passenger seat beside her, and as the car created over the hill, Crag Cottage came into view. A feeling of delight swelled inside Lacey. The cottage really felt like home. And after tomorrow’s meeting with Ivan, she’d possibly be one step closer to becoming its official owner.

Just then, she noticed the warm glow of a bonfire coming from the direction of Gina’s cottage, and decided to head past her house and along the bumpy, single-track path to her neighbor.

As she pulled to a halt, she could see the woman standing in her wellies beside the fire, which she was adding foliage to. The fire looked very pretty in the dusky spring evening light.

Lacey tooted the car horn and wound down the stiff window.

Gina turned and waved. “Hey-ho Lacey. Do you need to burn something?”

Lacey leaned out the window on her elbows. “Nope. Just wondering if you wanted some help?”

“I thought you had a date with Tom tonight?” Gina asked.

“I did,” Lacey told her, feeling that odd mixture of disappointment and relief stirring in her gut again. “But he cancelled. Pastry-related emergency.”

“Ah,” Gina said. She dumped another tree branch onto the bonfire, making sparks of red, orange and yellow fly into the air. “Well, I’ve got everything here covered, thanks. Unless you’ve got some marshmallows you want to toast?”

“Darn, no, I don’t. That sounds nice! And I just went grocery shopping!”

She decided to blame her lack of marshmallows on Martha Stewart and her extremely sensible vanilla cheesecake recipe.

Lacey was about to wish Gina a good night and reverse her car back the way she’d come, when she felt Chester nudging her with his nose. She turned and looked over at him. The shopping bags that she’d placed in the passenger footwell had spilled open, and some of the items she’d brought had fallen out.

“That’s an idea…” Lacey said. She looked back out the window. “Hey, Gina. How about we have dinner together? I have wine and pasta. And all the ingredients to make Martha Stewart’s authentic New York City style cheesecake if we get bored and need an activity.”

Gina looked thrilled. “You had me at wine!” she exclaimed.

Lacey laughed. She reached down to fetch the grocery bags from the footwell, and earned herself another nudge from Chester’s wet nose.