Whine & Cheese Cozy Mystery Series: Ice Whine and Irish Cheddar (Book 2)

Prologue

Turning to face Matt, I leaned forward for a long kiss. When we came up for air, he angled his head to speak into my ear. You have an entire drawer full of thongs, and I want to see each and every one of them!

My cheeks blazed at the reminder. With a Mona Lisa smile, I whispered a suggestion: My parents may be at my house, but that doesn't mean we can't go to your place for a little fashion show, I said with what was supposed to be a silky voice but came out more like a horny croak.

If he took notice, he didn't let on. Instead, his answer was a surprised smile coupled with a sharp intake of breath. Then, before either of us had time to come to our senses, he grabbed my hand and started to drag me in the direction of the door. Just as we got there, it burst open. There stood Nora with a pig in tow.

We're moving in, she announced. Where can I put my pig?

Chapter One

No! This couldn't be happening, I screamed in my head. What did I have to do to get a break? It had been more than two years since I had been with someone intimately, and I wasn't even sure my parts still worked. Reluctantly, we joined Nora outside and watched in dismay as she paced frantically while the pig stood by unconcerned. I was puzzled as to how she had gotten the pig here as she normally drove a Smart car. She stopped pacing and stood with her hands on her hips.

If I have to stay there one more minute, I'm going to kill him. All I've heard these days is whining and complaining about how I racked up the credit cards over Christmastime and how from now on he's going to be in charge of the money and the presents and this and that. Bits of spittle flew about, and I dodged left to avoid being in the line of fire.

So where can I put Chicha? she asked again.

Nora, you know the pig can't come inside, it's a bistro. I'm pretty sure it would be a health code violation. I neglected to mention that, with my parents visiting, there was also a very strong possibility that the pig would end up in the slow cooker.

Maybe I can set her up inside the garage?

I looked sadly at the detached garage and the little pathway that led to the house/bistro. That would mean I'd have to park outside, in the harsh Ottawa winter. The thought elicited a deep, selfish sigh, and I immediately felt guilty. I wasn't usually so self-centered; it was just that I really despised the cold and snow. Ottawa winters could be brutal, and this winter was proving to be the worst in one hundred and fifty years. I looked back at them and my heart wrenched at the sight of their sad eyes looking at me in expectation. It seemed as though a tiny tear had formed in Chicha's left eye. Was that even possible?

Alright... Let me get my car out of there and we'll set something up for Chicha. I'll get you a set of keys while I'm at it. My parents are here though, so the spare room is occupied. You're welcome to sleep on the couch, but maybe you'd prefer to bunk at Nicole's tonight? I suggested rather hopefully. While I loved Nora dearly, having my parents there was already too much for my fragile nerves. Then, unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I asked, How did you manage to get the pig here?

I took the man's van, she replied, a crazy blaze returning to her eyes. I still wondered how she got it in and out of the vehicle but before I could ask she stomped back into the Bistro and plunked herself down at the bar, leaving me with Chicha. We blinked at each other but the pig didn't seem overly concerned. She knew she had a home for the night, and the tear in her eye was gone now.

Heaving another deep sigh, I apologized to Matt. I guess we'll have to reschedule our, uh, plans. Maybe Sunday night? I suggested hopefully. It was now Friday. Surely within a couple of days I'd convince Nora to go home, and my parents would also be gone by then.

He curved his sensuous lips into a playful pout then gave me a long, full-length hug, setting my nerve endings back on fire. It's okay. With your concussion, you have to take it easy anyway, and while I hate to admit it, it's probably a good thing we were interrupted. I'm not certain I would have been sufficiently gentle. He purred into my ear, sending goosebumps throughout my body. I'll swing by on Sunday and remember, you can't work for a few days, he reminded me before heading off to his car.

Ah yes, I had almost forgotten that my injuries were preventing me from working at my own bistro or doing anything strenuous. If I had to be honest, I had every intention of ignoring the doctors' orders even though they were at the forefront of my mind.

My name is Amalia Kis. I'm five feet, nine inches of normalness, other than my quirky personality. Long caramel-colored hair that I try to keep straight, reaches the middle of my back and I have brown eyes and high European cheekbones. Matt and I had started dating a few weeks ago, after Joey, a friend of his, had been murdered and his body had been found, by none other than me, in my newly-purchased bistro. Matt became my self-declared body guard, wanting to help find justice for his murdered friend and to get to know me better. He never charged me a dime, but then again, he did own the security guard and private investigation company. I'm pretty sure he had some form of sexual repayment plan in mind, anyway.

After a couple of break-ins, two concussions, another murder and a near-death experience, I was ready to take the next step with Matt, having been single for too long and with him being far too sexy for me to even try to resist.

Unfortunately, with my parents visiting, and soon to be moving just a couple of miles away from me, and now with Nora hell bent on moving in, being alone with Matt was proving to be a challenge. Of course, I wasn't one to back down from a good challenge. If anything, it just strengthened my determination.

After moving my car out of the garage, I joined Chicha, who was still standing in the same spot as earlier but now had a group of people crooning over her. I led her into the garage (which meant I had to push and pull and beg her to follow me, losing my footing in the slippery snow in the process and landing on my rear end at one point), and then gave her head a quick pat and promised to return with food and blankets.

Nora was still at the bar, deep in conversation with Nicole. I hid a smirk as I noted the name of the bottle of wine she was drinking: Old Fart. No doubt she had chosen it in honor of her current opinion about The Man who was driving her crazy. I poured myself just one tiny mouthful of the blend of Grenache and Syrah grapes and savored the slightly spicy but juicy flavor wrapping itself around my tongue. I then poured another mouthful, nudging aside my common sense that was trying to remind me about my concussion.

Nicole's' eyes were still rimmed with red, but she had concealed it fairly well. She was a chronic online dater, searching for Mr. Right while her biological clock was no doubt ticking. Like me, she was thirty years old and single. We had been best friends since the age of twelve but were opposites in many ways.

She was five feet, three inches tall, a tiny little blonde thing, outgoing, loud, sometimes flashy, and hoped to one day have kids. I, on the other, was fairly certain I didn't want any. I didn't think I'd have enough energy for one, since my thyroid condition made life in general challenging enough. Running my bistro took every ounce of my strength. Plus, they were kind of smelly and I had an overly sensitive gag reflex.

She was a graceful dance instructor and a talented singer; I was dark-haired, tall and goofy and drank wine for a living, or rather served wine. And let's not forget the cheese! 

Just two days earlier, Nicole had found out that a man whom she had met online and had gone out with only once, but who she suspected was following her, had been arrested for the abduction and murder of an eleven-year-old girl who was also a petite blonde like herself. Of course it had jarred her, and I hoped it would be the end of her online dating for a while.

Unfortunately, she hadn't faired any better when, by chance, she met a police officer who turned out to be engaged. That had landed him a nice slap on his cheek as way of adieu and a bonus little bitch-slapping session with his fiancé, but what was most unfortunate was that Nicole had actually started to fall for him.

As we sat in silence, the fourth member of our little group joined us. She had a quizzical look on her face. Whatchya all so glum about? Chloé asked, with a wide grin on her face. She, too, was small, with curly black hair and an olive complexion. She was the youngest in the bunch, only twenty, however she was an old soul trapped inside a young body. She'd not had a good childhood but was always hopeful and full of boundless energy.

Nora was the first to answer: I left the man. He's driving me to drink! 

Chloé looked at me questioningly, not sure how to respond since Nora had always been fond of the drink. Coming to the rescue, I leaped up, then quickly sat down as black dots floated across my vision from the concussion. I could feel them all watching me and I quickly held up my hand. I'm fine; I just got up too fast.

We have to get Chicha some blankets and some food, I told Nora as I waited for the spots to fade. She's all set up in my garage, but I'm sure she's nervous out there all alone. 

Chloe squealed with delight. Chicha's here? I'll get her some food and bring it out. And with that she dashed off in her ridiculously high heels to the kitchen in search of vegetables.

Nora, were you able to ask Nicole if you could stay a night or two while I try to get my parents to go back to Montreal? I asked.

Nicole was quick to respond: By all means, Nora. I could use the company to keep my mind off things. With the arrangement settled, I went upstairs to my living quarters in search of old blankets.

It still felt strange at times, owning a house and bistro all in one. After a failed six-year relationship with pretty boy Hans, I'd sold a condo that I owned in downtown Ottawa and bought an old, renovated house that once had housed a failed restaurant. Since this house was at the very edge of Ottawa in an area known as the Village of Robin, my meager dollars stretched further. It had suited my needs and my almost non-existent budget perfectly.

The downstairs portion was my bistro, my life-dream, my joy, The Whine and Cheese, where I served wines with quirky names, cheeses and salamis, and a daily hot dish that was easy to make. My staff, for now, consisted of my friends who helped me out part-time, and since I was the bistro's cook, I kept things fairly simple and as fuss-free as possible. This wasn't haute cuisine, just a comfy and trendy place to hang out and have a few drinks, a few laughs and a nibble. I could never do anything overly fancy as it would require far too much energy that I knew I could not sustain, and quite simply, I just wasn't a fancy person.

The upstairs portion consisted of my living quarters; two bedrooms, one bathroom, large kitchen with a pantry and a large dining/living area. It was perfect for me and my cat Hummer, but not so perfect when my parents decided to visit.

Their most recent visit had proved to be catastrophic. They had decided to move to Ottawa, and as luck would have it (not good luck, I might add), they found a home only two minutes away from my own. I vowed never again to enlist the services of the realtor that I had arranged to help them, as I had very specifically told her to find something as far away from me as possible. I was not sure if my sanity could endure having 'The Aliens' living so close by, especially after having lived over two hours away from them for the past decade.

I had been affectionately referring to them as The Aliens since my teenage years, but never to their faces, of course. I would never have deliberately hurt their feelings. They're Hungarian, and extremely stuck in their ways. Both speak only broken English. They've never acted Canadian, and everything was, and still is, always about the old country with them. I know they love me, and I love them dearly too, but I just love them more when they live a good two or more hours away. After having grown up with a maddeningly strict upbringing, I still struggled to exert my independence whenever they were around. This would definitely be a major setback for me.

They were still awake and watching TV in the living room as I searched the linen closet. My cat, Hummer, prowled around my feet, giving me a sniff. To my horror, my parents had somehow managed to find an old (and by old, I mean ancient) re-run of the Lawrence Welk show, a man who had died over twenty years ago. They seldom watched anything more modern unless it was the news, but even then, they claimed most of what was in the news was lies or half-truths.

When they asked me what I was up to, I reluctantly explained that I needed some old sheets or blankets for my friend's pig that was staying in my garage. 

A pig? my dad asked. Why you have pig? Is for eating? You vant I get the knife?

Oh, no! This is a friend's pet. Don't even think of cooking that pig! Images of my childhood came flooding back of my parents bringing home a freshly butchered pig cut down the middle and then the sight of them cutting the rest into the desired pieces and putting it in the freezer. Or the pig on the outdoor spit, roasting over flames. Okay, maybe that last part wasn't such a bad memory. My mouth watered involuntarily. Vegetarian I am not.

Pet? That's stupid. Who has pig for pet?

I'll explain later; I've got to go, I said as I grabbed what I needed and made a speedy retreat, tripping over the cat in my haste and earning a surprised hiss. On top of that, my budding pseudo-aneurism was beginning to rear its ugly head, the vein above my left eye throbbing rhythmically. My evening certainly had taken a turn for the worse.

I joined Nora in the garage, giving her the old sheets and an old blanket. While I was away, she had also pulled a bale of hay out of the back of the van and spread it out for Chicha, who had now settled down and looked happy as...well, a stereotypical pig in shit. I made a mental note not to forget to have the garage hosed down before I parked my car in there again. It's not that I am a germaphobe, because I'm not. Not really. Okay, maybe a little.

With some last minute instructions on what to feed the pig the next day, she went back to the bar to have more wine while waiting for Nicole to end her shift. The bistro would still be open another two hours, but my head was pounding and all I could think of was my bed. I told Nicole to lock up without me and that I'd tidy up the next morning so she didn't have to stick around for that.

It was eight o'clock a.m. when I opened my eyes. A brief moment of panic raced through my body when I discovered my right leg was paralyzed. As I became more alert, I was relieved to find that it was only temporary, as it was caused by the weight of my cat sleeping on it. I was a big softie when it came to Hummer, the current and only love of my life. I let him sleep on me a while longer, until I could no longer ignore the persistent call of my bladder.

Sorry, bud, time to wake up, I said as I moved gently to ease him off of me. He growled softly, showing his displeasure. I made him a nest with the comforters. Look how cozy; c'mon, lie back down. There you go. Who's my good boy? We bumped our noses together and I kissed his fuzzy head. I'd had him from the time that he was four weeks old and our bond was very strong.

Morning, I mumbled grumpily to my parents, who were already up and with whom