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“What happened?” she asked, curiosity rife in her tone.
“It didn’t work out.” A wealth of deep emotion built up inside him. He swallowed hard against it and tried to push it away, but it tightened his chest and made it difficult for him to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” she replied in that soft, gentle tone that always got to him.
“What about you? I’m pretty sure you’ve never married, but have you had a serious relationship before?” He would much prefer that the conversation be about her instead of himself.
“I’ve had one serious relationship, but it didn’t work out. That was two years ago, and since then my main focus has been about my work. Until my mother’s murder, I really had no other focus.”
“Now that you’re the store manager, what’s next for you career-wise? Are you now where you want to be for the rest of your working life?” He turned to glance at her.
She looked so lovely in the turquoise and white T-shirt. It was a perfect color for her dark beauty. Even without makeup, he could see the dark length of her eyelashes and the natural blush in her cheeks. He turned back to the stovetop as his gut tightened for another reason altogether.
“Yes and no,” she replied. “What I’m really hoping is that eventually Debbie will be ready to sell the shop and step away from it altogether. I’ve been saving and hope that when that day comes, I can buy the store from her.”
“So, you want to be a shop owner.”
“That would be my ultimate dream,” she replied. “Once that happens, I’ll be ready to devote more time to my social life.”
As the water in the pot began to boil, Jacque broke the noodles in half and put them in the water. He opened the bag of shrimp, rinsed them off and put them in the sauce.
“Of course, I’m hoping by that time my mother’s case will be solved,” she added.
“And hopefully you’re planning on forgetting about your own investigating skills.” He stirred the spaghetti and then turned to face her once again.
“I haven’t decided that yet.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Please tell me you aren’t going to try to continue what you’ve been doing.”
“Probably not, but I need to do something to find the killer.”
He looked at her in frustration. “Monique, you need to stay as far as you can away from anything to do with this. You got lucky that a neighbor heard you scream when you were getting beaten. You might not be as lucky next time.”
“I know, but I hate to feel like I failed.” She looked down at the table. “It’s like my sisters have always thought about me. I’m the baby of the family and too weak and incompetent to do anything but sell pretty clothes. If I could solve my mother’s murder, then maybe they would change the way they view me.”
Her words surprised him as they revealed what was obviously a driving reason for her desire to solve Mystique’s murder. He would have never guessed that she was somehow trying to prove herself to her older siblings.
“Monique, you didn’t fail. I don’t know for sure how somebody found out what we were doing, but you were warned to stop it. Still, you pushed on and then you got beat up. Good God, woman, you’ve shown yourself to be incredibly strong and courageous. That’s definitely not a fail. However now you would really be a fool to continue on and deep down you’ve got to know that.”
“You’re boiling over.”
He looked at her in confusion. “What?”
“Your pot… It’s boiling over.”
He quickly turned around to lower the burner and then began to stir the cooking noodles in an effort to make it stop boiling out of the pot. Once he had that under control, he stirred the sauce, then set a bag of bread and a tub of butter on the table.
“Do you want me to make a salad?” he asked.
“No, I’d rather eat extra spaghetti and not spoil it by eating a salad.”
“Then you’re my kind of woman,” he replied lightly.
It didn’t take long for the meal to be ready to serve. As they ate, she asked him about the investigations he’d done, and he found himself telling her about some of the more humorous things he and his partner had gone through.
He liked to make her laugh. For the past four years there had been no real laughter here. She had such a musical one and it seemed to fill up all the dark corners in his shanty.
He was almost grateful when the meal was over. He cleaned up the dishes, went to sit in his chair and immediately picked up his book. He was done talking to her for the night. He’d already opened himself up far too much.
