by Libby Klein
“But I’d be winning?” Gia cocked his head and gave me a teasing look.
I laughed in spite of myself. “Won’t Momma be upset that you left?”
“Momma doesn’t even understand what Restaurant Week is. We told her she was competing for a year’s supply of Rice-a-Roni.”
“Why would she go in for that?”
“Honestly?”
I nodded.
“I asked her to enter the competition to keep an eye on things.”
“You did what!” I tried to sit up too fast, and the room wobbled side to side. “Why would you do that?”
“A whole week working with your ex? I wanted to know what I was up against. It was a secret mission.”
“So, Momma’s your spy?”
“Si. She’s been making me call her Mata Hari all week.”
“I don’t like the idea of you spying on me.”
He covered his heart with his hand. “I wasn’t spying on you. I was spying on Tim. I wanted to know if my heart was going to be broken sooner rather than later.”
I gave him a look and shook my head. I wanted to tell him that he had nothing to worry about, but I didn’t know how true that was. Although, he was the only one here, and that counted for a lot.
A nurse came in and said she was there to take me to my room.
Gia leaned down to kiss me and whispered, “I want you to promise me you’ll rest. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.” He kissed me, and the heart monitor alarm sounded. He pulled back quickly. “I know I’m a good kisser, but I don’t want to kill you.”
The nurse chuckled. “That was me. I had to unplug it for transport. Although if my boyfriend kissed me like that, I’m sure I’d set off alarms too.”
* * *
I sat in my hospital bed feeling sorry for myself. My head hurt, my back hurt, my eyes hurt. Even my hair hurt. My roommate sounded like she might have typhoid. I hated this dreary room. It was the color of misery and broken dreams. And to top it all off, I was seething. Someone had tried to kill me. Or at least they’d tried to scare me enough to stop me from asking questions.
Was it Louie? I was just talking to him in the walk-in. He didn’t act like someone who was looking into the eyes of his next victim. Maybe he had an accomplice do it.
Which would most likely be Vidrine. It was hard to know where her lies ended, and the truth began. If it began at all. She clearly wanted to win the Restaurant Week competition enough to sneak in and cheat—and possibly sabotage the other chefs.
Of course, no one wanted to win worse than Adrian. He knew I’d overheard his conversation with Mother. And just who was he calling Mother? His bookie? A loan shark? A hitman in the mob? What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into? He’d sounded like he needed to win, or there would be dire consequences. He’s probably the one who sabotaged everyone. After he’d lied about Tim sabotaging him in college. That could all have been misdirect, like Aunt Ginny said.
If I find out Gigi did this to me, to get me out of the way, I’m gonna snatch her bald. See how she likes those fake boobs in a women’s prison. If this is how she repays me after I helped her block Miss New Jersey from flirting with Tim . . .
Tim. To say I was hurt that he wasn’t here was an understatement. I was attacked. I could have died. Didn’t he care? I couldn’t believe he stayed in the competition just to try and beat Philippe.
Philippe, that phony Frenchie. Doesn’t even speak the language. Vidrine said he would go to any length to protect his secrets. He knew I was on to him. Not to mention that he’s the only chef who has a connection to Ashlee and the morning show.
Ashlee! I threw the thin covers off my legs. I wonder if she’s still here in the hospital. I picked up the phone in my room and called the information desk.
“Cape Regional Hospital.”
“Hi, I’m looking for a friend of mine. I want to send her some flowers. Her name is Ashlee Pickel. Room 212B? Thank you so much.” I returned the phone to the receiver. Ashlee’s room was somewhere in this wing, and I was going to find it.
I swung my feet over the edge of my bed, waited for the room to come to a stop, and dropped to the floor. The breeze that blew through the back of my hospital gown reminded me that one size does not fit all. I tried the ties but could only find them on one side. So, I rifled through the drawer in the closet and found a backup gown. Putting it on as a robe, I got tangled in the tubes of my IV. Why do I even have an IV? I hit my head—I’m not having surgery. I untangled myself, adjusted the shoulder snaps, and drug my IV pole with me in search of Ashlee Pickel.
Ashlee was in a room down the hall, and she was apparently on the Celebrity Plan. Her room was pink, and private, and bigger than mine, and I had a half-dead geriatric patient who could code blue before I returned.
“Poppy, hi! Are you here to visit me? Did you bring me anything?”
“Bring you anything? Where would I put it if I had?” Ashlee’s room was packed with more flowers than the National Arboretum. Her TV was playing a home redecorating show on HGTV, and she was lounging in pink silk pajamas, painting her nails, and eating a takeout hoagie. An open box of Godiva chocolates sat on her swivel table in the middle of a dozen get well cards.
“Do you want a Nespresso? They just brought me more pods with lunch.”
“You’ve only been here twenty-four hours. How did you get all this?”
Ashlee shrugged. “Fans.”
“I don’t think I really have to ask, but how are you doing?”
“Great. My ratings are higher than ever. You should see my Facebook page. This hospital scare will put me over the top better than anything else could have.”
“Over the top of what?”
“Tess. She’s had more followers than me ever since she posted those pictures of herself in a bikini in Cancun two summers ago. I’ve finally passed her.”
I moved a giant panda out of the visitor’s chair and sat. “You seem to have recovered well. Do you know when you’ll get out of here?”
“I could have gone this morning, but I told them I was feeling depressed that someone had poisoned me. Now I get to stay and do a depression analysis.”
Is that the same as a psych eval? Probably not a bad idea. “I was thinking about what happened to you at the community college. Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt you?”
Ashlee shrugged the question off. “Tess would love to do the morning show by herself, but it’s in our contract that we have to have a cohost.” Ashlee picked up a shopping bag. “Would you just look at all this fan mail! One guy even proposed marriage if I pulled through.”
“But only if you pull through?”
Ashlee nodded very serious. “Oh yeah. If I mysteriously die, the offer is void.”
“Who knew you were allergic to peanuts?”
“Tess knew.”
“Right, but anyone else?”
Ashlee shrugged. “Ivy knows. My agent made it clear that I couldn’t be asked to eat anything containing peanuts on or off camera before she signed me and Tess on the show.”
“Really? Ivy? And we’re assuming probably Roger?”
Ashlee blew her wet nails to dry the pink polish. “I dunno.”
“Uh huh. What about Philippe? I saw the clip from his segment on the morning show.”
Ashlee stared blankly. “He was on the show?”
“You hit him in the head with an onion.”
“That was Chef Philippe?”
“Yeah. And he was pretty angry after you spit out his food. Has he said anything to you this week at the college? Threatened you in any way?”
“No, nothing. I didn’t even recognize him. Look, the television station sent over a new iPad in case I get bored.”
“Wow. I have a crossword puzzle book from three years ago, and my TV is stuck on Telemundo.”
Ashlee looked confused. “Are you in the hospital too?”
I looked at my IV pole and down to my regulation-issue gown of carefre
e modesty and back into Ashlee’s unblinking eyes. “I am, in fact.”
“Oh wow. Twinsies. You aren’t tweeting about it, are you?”
“No.”
“Oh good. I just plugged my phone up to charge.”
“I just wanted to stop by and see how you were. It was a good thing Mother Gibson had an EpiPen. You could have died.”
“I know. I don’t know what happened to my EpiPen. I had just two minutes before I would have passed out.”
“That’s . . . oddly specific.”
“Oh no, I’ve timed it before. I know what my threshold is, and I had two minutes and eighteen seconds left.”
“You’ve . . . timed it?”
Ashlee took a bite of hoagie and spoke with her mouth full. “This was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
“Decision about what? Decision to be poisoned?”
Ashlee paused with the hoagie by her mouth. “No . . . decision to . . . come to this hospital. To do this Restaurant Week, of course. This event is good exposure for my career.” She put the hoagie down on its paper sheet.
“I’m sure it was.”
“You know, I’m suddenly feeling very tired.” Her arms shot up and she yawned. “I think I need to be alone to get some rest now.”
I stood to go. “I understand.” I happened to notice that one of the bouquets of roses had a card attached that said GET BETTER SOON, CHICA. “That’s nice, Tess sent you flowers.”
Ashlee slid her eyes to the roses. “That’s from another Tess. You don’t know her.”
I said goodnight and dragged my IV pole back down to the purgatory wing. My visit with Ashlee had left me with more questions than answers. Back in my room, my cellmate was silent. I was tempted to take her pulse. She resumed a hacking fit when I crossed in front of her bed, letting me know she was still alive. For now.
I rounded the corner, through my privacy mesh, and there was a single red rose propped up against my pillow with a note. It was from Tim.
Dear Poppy, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there with you. I’ve been so worried. You are the most important person in the world to me. Ivy said if we left, we would forfeit, and Gigi was sure you would want us to go on without you, to win the competition in your honor. I knew you were well cared for with the paramedics, plus you had Aunt Ginny and Sawyer. But I regret staying. I should have gone with you. Can you ever forgive me? Get better and come back to me soon. Even though I’m an idiot. All my love, Tim
It sounded like a reasonable explanation, but why he would believe anything Gigi said about me in the first place? Is he that blind to how she feels about him? If this had happened when we were still dating, would he have dropped everything and come to the hospital to be with me? Maybe I’m expecting too much from someone who I have no commitment with. There’s no ring on my finger. Still, Gia was here.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I stared at the second hand ticking its way up the dial to the twelve. Just one more lap. I told myself I’d wait until nine AM before I made my escape. It had been a long fitful night of nurse rotations, vitals checks, and patient zero in the next bed.
I hadn’t woken in the middle of the night to find a chef standing over me with a butcher knife, so that was good. Of course, I would have to have slept first for that to happen. Instead, I lay awake most of the night, going over each day of Restaurant Week. The sabotage, the chefs’ reactions, the scores, the sneaking around, and the murder of Bess Jodice. I texted Sawyer a few times in the middle of the night and ran my ideas by her. She would have a lot to catch up on in the morning when she awoke. I did manage to cajole the doctor on call into taking out my IV around five AM, so that gave me hope.
The clock struck nine, and I threw the covers off and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. I dressed in my clothes from yesterday. They were still a little damp from my washing them in the sink to remove the passion fruit cheesecake fallout from my T-shirt and jeans. I was sure to have pneumonia by the time my hospital stay was over. I left a note on the bed saying that I’d left. If I’d had to wait for the doctor on call to come around, I’d never get home, and I needed a shower desperately.
Itty Bitty Smitty was waiting at the front door with his pickup running. “Ginny will kill me if she finds out I drove the getaway car.”
“Are you gonna tell her?”
Smitty grunted. “Are you sure you should be doing this? What if there’s something wrong with you that they haven’t found yet?”
“I’m not giving them the chance to look. Just drive.”
Smitty pulled away from the curb and headed for the Cape May Bridge. “What’s so important you got to go back into that den of chaos where they’re trying to kill ya?”
“I don’t think they’re all trying to kill me.”
Smitty furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “One is enough.”
“I can’t disagree with that logic.”
“Which one do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. Adrian has the desperation. Philippe has the lies. Louie has the accomplice.”
“What about the judges?”
“They could have just killed me at the house and been done with it.”
“Oh, I see what you mean. What about the TV station people?” A pest control van tried to cut us off. Smitty rolled down his window and yelled, “Hey! Wise guy! Stay in your lane, ya Wacker! Nyahhh.”
“Whoever attacked me is trying to shut me up because I’ve been asking too many questions. What motive would the TV people have to kill their judge and a host?”
Smitty grunted. “How do you know one person was trying to kill both victims? Horatio Duplessis has a lot of enemies who could have planned his attack, but maybe Ashlee’s assailant just seized the moment. Any nut job in that room could kill any other nut job this week and the cops would try to connect the crimes to the old lady. But maybe they aren’t related at all. Who in the room knew Ashlee was allergic to peanuts?”
“I asked her. She said Tess and Ivy knew. She never really gave me a straight answer about Philippe, but I’d assume he would have been told not to make anything with peanuts for the morning segment. In a weird way, Ashlee wasn’t worried about the attack at all. She was more interested in growing her fan base.”
Smitty pursed his lips together and gave me a look. “See. Nut jobs.”
We pulled up in front of the house, and Smitty looked warily out the passenger window for signs of Aunt Ginny.
“Don’t worry. If she catches you, I’ll tell her I threatened to make you dig us a swimming pool.”
Smitty grunted and shook his head.
On my way past the front parlor, I could hear the breakfast service in the dining room. Horatio was praising Aunt Ginny’s meal for the day. “Normally you get raisins in oatmeal, but yours is chock-full of different fruits and spices. And do I taste rum? What’s your secret ingredient?”
I paused on the fourth step when I heard Aunt Ginny say, “Fruitcake. I must get a dozen of them every Christmas. Ethel and I been passing the same one back and forth for six years now.”
Aunt Ginny crumbled a fruitcake into a pot of oatmeal. There was no coming back from that. I fired off a text to Ivy that I’d been thinking about Bess’s murder and Ashlee’s attack, and could she meet me at the college in an hour. Then I hopped into the shower.
I stayed under the hot water until I was pruney. Never had clean felt so good. I pulled on my jeggings—well, I tried to anyway. They wouldn’t go up over my derriere. I knew they fit two weeks ago when I bought them. I couldn’t wait for Restaurant Week to be over. Today was the final day, hallelujah. I had to pull out another pair of black yoga pants. Whoever heard of losing weight over Christmas, only to gain it all back, and then some, from one week of baking fancy desserts.
I fixed my hair and makeup, using a generous amount of concealer to hide my bad-eating breakout. I was ready to meet the day. Ish. On my way down the stairs, I paused on the first landing. Figaro was scratching at Ashlee’s door again. I picke
d him up and turned his orange eyes to mine. “What has gotten in to you?”
Merrrooowwwww.
I looked at Ashlee’s door. What was he trying to get in there?
Norman’s door opened, and Tess popped her head out. She was wearing a little bathrobe the size of a toddler’s hooded bath towel. She froze when she saw me.
“It’s none of my business,” I started, “but how long have you been staying in Norman’s room?”
“Lady, please. I had to get away from Ashlee the moment the rooms were assigned. She would have made me crazy.”
I pointed to the door of the Monarch Room assigned to both girls. “So, you haven’t been in here at all?”
“I don’t even have a key. Ashlee, that crazy bimbo, took both keys and said I had to be nice to her before she would give me mine.” She nodded to the Adonis Suite. “This was easier. Perks of being a celebrity.”
Figaro wiggled out of my arms and dropped to the floor. He went back to sniffing under Ashlee’s door.
I gestured to Norman’s room. “So, is it serious?”
“Only as far as he thinks.” She put a finger to her lips and grinned.
“What happened to the two of you yesterday?”
Tess shrugged. “Overslept. Oops. We made it there, but you had already been blown up and taken to the hospital.”
“Yeah, I saw the flowers you sent Ashlee. That was nice.”
Tess rolled her eyes. “Believe me, sometimes it’s easier to just give her what she wants. Attention. Well, I need to get ready for today.” She gave me a finger wave and shut the door behind her.
Figaro was scratching Ashlee’s door again. He was desperately trying to get at something.
“Alright inspector, let’s see what has you so worked up.” I used my master key and opened the door just enough to look around.
Figaro bonked his head against the corner and pushed his way into the room. He dove under the bed, disappearing under the Battenberg lace skirt.
“Fig, no!” I rushed after him and dove to my knees. I reached around until I found a squirmy ball of fluff. I pulled him out along the floor—he offered no assistance. He was intent on something under the bed.