Page 59 of Murder By the Millions

Each night he added to the pattern of his fancies until drowsiness closed down upon some vivid scene with an oblivious embrace.

—Nick Carraway in F. Scott Fitzgerald’sThe Great Gatsby

Iyelped, and Darcy bolted into the living room and cowered by the sofa.

“Silly cat, it’s okay.” I exited the kitchen. “It’s not the murderer coming to kill me. He or she wouldn’t ring the bell.” Zach typically knocked, so it wasn’t him. I peeked through the peephole and said to the cat, “Friend, not foe.” I unlocked the door and greeted Vanna. “Hi.”

“Why aren’t you at Dream Cuisine?” she asked.

“Why aren’t you home in bed after your big soiree?”

“It was so successful, I needed to burn off some energy. I’m here to help you with tomorrow’s orders.”

“In that getup?” She was in a sleeveless aqua sheath and stiletto heels.

“I’ll go barefoot.” She kicked off her heels and made smooching sounds while beckoning Darcy with her fingertips. “Here, kitty.” She loved cats but didn’t own one. Too much responsibility. Whenever she stopped in, she engaged in a huge lovefest. Darcy accepted the attention, purring as she scrubbed him behind the ears and under the chin.

“What did you serve tonight?” I asked.

She rose, and Darcy bounded into the barrel of the llama. “For the appetizer, I servedrucolo burrata.” She smiled smugly, adding for my edification, “Arugula with tomato and balsamic dressing. The burrata cheese was exquisite. For the entrée, I offered duck confit with pesto cream orgnocchi al pestowith a basil cream sauce. Two men from the town council attended, as did a few of the elders from the Congregational church and the municipal court judge.” She nodded her head toward the kitchen. “What’s the timer for?”

“Yipes! I almost forgot I’m baking desserts for theGatsbyevent to taste test.” I raced to the kitchen, slipped on mitts, and withdrew the orange-drop cookies from the oven. Luckily, they hadn’t burned.

Vanna padded in, closed the door, and went to the sink to wash her hands. Afterward, she threw on an apron and a mesh hat. I kept plenty on hand. “What are they?” She motioned to the baking sheet.

I told her.

“They smell divine. May I?”

“Please.”

She lifted one and nibbled the edge. “Yum. Light yet satisfying. But don’t you want to have something more complex for dessert? Other than the pineapple upside-down cake, of course.”

“We will, but these also have a significance to the era.” I quickly explained their origin story.

She pointed at the bowl resting on the island. “What’s that for?”

“Blood-orange crinkles.”

“Love the name. Very mysterious. What other foods are you considering? My mind has been whirling. What about duchesse potatoes? And crown roast of pork with mushroom dressing?”

“A tad too fancy for the bookstore. Perfect for a sit-down themed dinner, though.”

“Roasted chicken with rosemary was popular. We could do chicken wings similarly.”

“Good idea.”

“And sugar-glazed ham was in.”

“You’ve been doing your homework.”

She smiled at the compliment. “By the way, Tegan texted me on my way over. Holy moly, there’s a ghost living at the Blue Lantern?”

“There are no ghosts at the inn. The bookshelf Patrick removed was resting unsteadily against the wall.”

“And a ghost pushed it over.”

I laughed. “No.”