The Perils of Peaches (Scents of Murder Book 3) by Lynette Sowell Page A

whimpered and spit part of the cracker out of her mouth.
    “Um, is everything okay over there?” Jerry glanced at me as I worked on damage control.
    “She’s teething, and likes to have something in her mouth. Sorry, Jer, about the crumbs.” My face flamed as I anticipated chiding words about bringing a baby to the police station.
    “You got any of that peach baby food in that bag?” He licked his lips.
    “What?” I tossed the tissues and soiled wet wipe into Jerry’s trash can, and wrangled Hannah onto my lap.
    “I, um, could sort of use a snack.” He looked sheepish.
    “Jer, it’s baby food.” Good thing I didn’t have a jar with me. I’d be tempted to chuck the thing across the desk. But then that would be bad, and I’d probably get arrested. Or at least fined. Or Jerry’d call Ben and ask what in the world had gotten into me.
    “But it’s so good. It’s not just for babies. That could be your marketing slogan.”
    “Marketing slogan?”
    “You should make preserves, too. Take the baby food thing on the road.”
    “You sound hungry, Jer. You really need to find someone to cook for you.”
    Jerry shrugged. “They’d never know what time I’d end up getting home. I, oh, never mind. But peach preserves would be good, you know?”
    I tugged Hannah up onto one hip as I stood, and reached for my bag. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    I left Jerry picking up his phone. One day he’d have to slow down long enough to let someone into his life. Because Ben and Hannah and I didn’t count. But if I had Barkha help me do a little sleuthing, maybe she and Jerry would be forced to eventually face the fact they were perfect for each other.
    Once I had Hannah strapped into her car seat and halfway decrumbed, I decided she needed to pay a visit to her daddy. We crossed town to Honey’s Place, which still bore the name of its deceased flamboyant owner. Ben was probably getting ready for the supper rush but he might be able to sneak a few minutes with us before we went home. Hannah might not talk yet, but she loved everything I said.
    We arrived at Honey’s Place and found a convenient parking spot next to a sleek red pickup. Terrance Higgins’ truck always made Ben drool, and the parking place within view of the glass double doors meant Ben could probably see the extended cab truck from the dining room. One day, I told him, we’d get one. But I definitely didn’t want to have to fill that thing with gas every couple weeks or so.
    Terrance and Mia had just left the restaurant. Mia held her little girl on her hip, and waved at me. I waved back as I left the Jeep.
    “Andi, are you having Mommy’s Morning over at your store this week?” One of her daughter’s tiny fists snatched some of Mia’s blond hair that hung over her shoulder in waves. “Ouch.”
    I moved to my rear driver’s side door and opened it to get Hannah out of her seat. She squealed loud enough to peel paint from the building. “I’m planning on it.” On Wednesday mornings at Tennessee River Soaps, I’d started hosting a mommy’s get-together for other young mothers. Or, I should say, mothers of young children. A lot of women my age had teenagers or at least children in junior high, but not infants. This made me the eldest of our little bunch.
    “Oh good, we’re ready to get out and do something fun, aren’t we, Lizzie?”
    Terrance limped to the truck’s passenger door and stood next to his wife. He grimaced and clutched his back, then rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Baby, we’ve really got to go. I need to get in the hot tub and see if I can work this knot out.”
    “Sure, hon.” Mia opened the door and tucked her daughter into her car seat in the back of the extended cab, before helping Terrance into the passenger side. “Easy now.”
    She smiled at him tenderly. “Better?”
    He smiled back and nodded.
    “What happened to your back?” I asked.
    “Work. I overdid it a while back. Herniated disk. Those spring rains put