“Hallelujah.” She held out her cup.
I filled her cup, then mine, then gave her the once-over. She wore a simple turquoise sleeveless crop top and a pair of pajama bottoms that didn’t match. Not the world’s hottest outfit for a night of wild jungle sex with a gorgeous stranger. That left me wondering whether she’d slept on the couch all night or not. “You sort of look like you could use another eight hours of sleep.”
“Thank you, sis. You look pretty, too.”
I chuckled, then sobered. “Look, Savannah, if you don’t feel like talking about it, I understand, but I’d really like to know if—”
She held up her hand to stop me. “I’m not discussing where I spent the night, so don’t bother asking.”
I pulled the half-and-half out of the fridge and added some to my coffee. “I don’t care where you spent the night.” Liar, liar.
“Then what’re you talking about?”
We both sipped our coffee until I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Was Baxter blackmailing you?”
She bobbled her coffee mug. “W-what?”
“You heard me. You don’t have to tell me what he was blackmailing you for specifically. But if he was doing it, if you were paying him money, I want to know.”
“Why in the world would he blackmail me?”
“He was blackmailing every other chef you went to school with. Why not you, too?”
Her shoulders drooped a little and she shook her head. “No, he wasn’t blackmailing me.”
I studied her expression, looking for the tiniest sign that she might be lying to me. Finally I sighed. “Okay, I believe you.”
“Great.” She sniffed. “And if you’d thought about it for more than a split second, you would’ve realized I have nothing in my past that’s worth being blackmailed over.”
“That’s not a bad thing, Bugs.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m boring. The always cheerful, do-the-right-thing good girl. Lucky me.” She gulped down the rest of her coffee, rinsed out her cup, and placed it in the dishwasher. Then she opened the refrigerator to forage for food. “Listen, do you mind if I stay here with you for a few days?”
“Not at all, but what about your restaurant?”
“I called Steve and asked if he could fill in for a while.”
Steve Farelli owned Umbria, the Italian restaurant down the Lane from Arugula. He was a member of the commune and our family had known his for years. He had three grown sons who also cooked, so among the four of them, they could cover both restaurants.
“Aren’t you afraid he’ll slip some pasta Bolognese onto the menu?”
She smiled. “He promised to keep things clean.” She pulled a small dessert dish from the fridge. “What’s this?”
“It’s a syllabub. It’s like a pudding.”
“I know what a syllabub is. But where’d you get it?”
“I made it.”
“No way.” She turned it this way and that, examining it clinically. “It’s so pretty.”
“It tastes good, too.” I grabbed a spoon from the drawer and gave it to her. “Try it.”
She hesitated, but then managed to take a small bite. “Wow. It’s delicious.”
I wanted to squeal with glee since this was supreme praise from my sister the chef, but I managed to maintain some dignity. “Thank you.”
“You really made it?” She took another bigger bite. “It’s so good. Mm. How’d you get it so smooth?”
“Okay, now you’re just teasing me.”
“No, I’m serious. This is excellent.” She stuffed another spoonful into her mouth. “You should make this for one of our dinners.”
“Do you mean it?” Coming from my sister, that was a huge compliment. “I could do that.”
“Good. I’ll tell Margot.” She gobbled up the last spoonful. “Is there any more left?”
“There’s one more, but I should save it for Derek.”
She pouted and used her spoon to scrape the sides of the bowl. “Okay, but you have to make it again.”
“I will.” Wow, this was great. My first real cooking success! Almost enough to take my mind off of murder and blackmail. Almost.
I took her dish to the sink and rinsed it. “So, listen, do you need to borrow some of my clothes while you’re here or…”
“No, Dalton and I are going to drive out to Dharma to pick up some of my things, then we’ll be back later this afternoon. You sure you’re okay with me staying here?”
“Of course I’m okay with it.” I gritted my teeth and added, “I just don’t want you to…”
She planted her fist on her hip. “Don’t want me to what? Have sex in your guest bedroom?”
“No, smart-ass.” I lowered my voice. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She was taken aback at first, but recovered and grabbed me in a fierce hug. “I love you. You’re my favorite sister.”
“Of course I am.” I rubbed her back. “I love you, too.”