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him and started hunting for something to wear.
    Jones followed me to the bedroom door. "You can't leave me, I mean us, here alone."
    "It's important." My cell rang again, but I ignored it. I'd be there as soon as humanly possible, and they could all just suck it up until then.
    "And this isn't?" he hissed, gaze flitting to where Clayton was pulling himself up to walk along the entertainment center.
    I was about to bite his head off when I recognized the terror in his voice. He didn't trust his ability to take care of Clayton on his own and was probably still reeling from yesterday's revelation.
    I tugged on a pair of jeans and a red tank top. "Call Lizzy over. She'd be happy to spend time with him."
    "Good idea." Jones hopped over Clayton and headed for the phone. "That way I can come with you and help."
    "Jones," I said, but he was already heading for the door.
    "A doo-doo. A doo-doo!" Clayton cried. I scooped him up before he put his finger in the light socket.
    "You said it, pal. We're in deep a doo-doo."

 
    Rosemary Focaccia
     
    You'll need:
    1 teaspoon honey
    1 package active dry yeast
    ⅓ cup warm, NOT boiling, water
    2 cups all-purpose flour
    2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
    ¼ teaspoon salt
    1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, chopped fine
     
    Directions:
     
    Preheat oven to 475F.
     
    In a small bowl, dissolve honey and yeast in the warm water. Let stand until frothy, about 10 minutes. In a large bowl, combine the yeast mixture with flour. Stir well to combine. Stir in additional water, 1 tablespoon at a time, until all of the flour is absorbed. Once the dough has pulled together, turn it out onto a lightly floured surface and knead briefly for about 1 minute.
     
    Lightly oil a large bowl, place the dough in the bowl, and turn to coat with oil. Cover the bowl with a damp cloth, and let rise in a warm place until doubled in volume, about 30 minutes.
     
    Deflate the dough and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead briefly. Pat or roll the dough into a sheet and place on a lightly greased baking sheet. Brush the dough with oil and sprinkle with salt and rosemary.
     
    Bake focaccia in preheated oven for 10 to 20 minutes, depending on desired crispness.
     
    **Andy's note: Focaccia is Italian flatbread, but don't use boiling water, or you'll kill the yeast, and it will be too flat. Been there, done that. Got the cheap T-shirt to prove it.

 
CHAPTER FOUR
     
    Kyle hadn't been kidding. Traffic in town was so snarled that I couldn't make it to the Bowtie Angel parking lot. Instead, I parked across the green behind Mike's Garage, and Jones and I made our way through the throng of people to the pasta shop's back door.
    "Keep your eyes peeled for Stu," I shouted to Jones as we maneuvered around a cluster of bitching women. I heard one gripe, "What kind of backward-ass town doesn't have a Starbucks?" Clearly someone who had never spent any time in the franchise-free South.
    "What does he look like?" Jones called back.
    A dead man when I got ahold of him. The call I'd let go to voicemail had been from Donna, who had it from her husband, Steven, that the Beaverton PD was just as flummoxed by the new arrivals and to call her if any of the TV people were looking to rent places to stay because Marilynn from the motel said they were all booked up. At least somebody wasn't screaming for my head over this.
    "Short, squat, not much hair, and horn-rimmed glasses. Thin lips and a smarmy smirk perpetually on his puss. And he probably looks like he's in charge of this circus."
    Jones nodded once then stalked off, obviously still miffed that I'd sprung this on him. In turn, I fumed because he'd bailed on Clayton the first chance he got. Not that I minded his help, but it didn't feel right leaving the tyke when he was still acclimating to the changes. How was I going to juggle the competition and an investigation, running the pasta shop, and now a little person who I couldn't let anywhere near the rest of the