by Libby Klein
When I wrestled him free, his head was stuck in an open jar of peanut butter. I used my cell phone flashlight to look under the bed. There was a sleeve of crackers, a few sandwich baggies, and a pair of rubber gloves.
If Tess didn’t have a key, Ashlee would be the only one able to get in here other than staff. So, who hid the peanut butter under the bed?
Fig turned his big orange eyes on me, and, licking the peanut butter from his whiskers, he gave me a smug look that said I told you so.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I snuck down the stairs to get out of the house before Aunt Ginny could harangue me for leaving the hospital.
“Who broke you out? Kim? I knew that girl would get you in trouble one day.”
I was so startled, I missed a step and had to grab the banister to keep from falling. Aunt Ginny was lurking in the shadows of the front parlor, lying in wait to catch me. Do I remember nothing from high school?
“How did you know I was home?”
“The hospital called thirty minutes ago when they found you missing. I oughta tan your hide for doing something so foolish.”
“Or . . .” I held a finger up. “We could call it even for that getup ya got on right there.”
Aunt Ginny was dressed in marine-blue harem pants and a matching gauzy long-sleeved top bejeweled with aqua sequins and tiny gold bells. There were gold bedroom slippers on her feet.
“Who are you supposed to be?” I asked. “The Little Mermaid?”
Aunt Ginny huffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Cher?”
Aunt Ginny rolled her eyes. “It’s called a bedla. It’s a belly dance costume.”
“You planning on wearing that to judge in today?”
Aunt Ginny threw her hands on her chiffon hips. “I have it on good authority that today’s theme is . . . well, I’m sworn to secrecy. But I’m dressed appropriately for it.”
“Just out of curiosity, who told you today’s theme? It wasn’t Mr. Ricardo, your frisky salsa teacher, was it?”
“No.” Aunt Ginny cocked an eyebrow. “But that does remind me that I have to check the event schedule at the senior center. I’ll see you up there. I’m driving with Edith and Thelma.”
Aunt Ginny went in search of some trouble, seeing as it had been a few hours since she’d found some. I jetted out the door to make the drive to L’École des Chefs. My long night in the hospital had given me some theories to test, and, by God, I was gonna test them.
* * *
Ivy met me in the foyer at the Hall of Honors and took me to the film lab. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but if you can get my career out of the dumpster, I’m willing to show you anything.”
“I want to see the footage from day one, before any editing.”
She took me to a tiny little booth of a room. It was dark and smelled like Red Bull and Cheetos. There were four monitors lined up side by side on a long black table. A skinny black device covered in toggle switches and equalizers sat at the front of the table. Two black mesh chairs rolled up to a couple of wireless mice and keyboards ready for us.
Ivy opened the first file in the list. “The police have already reviewed this, and they found no evidence on camera that anyone connected with the event tampered with the place settings.”
The video began playing with Ashlee and Tess introducing the judges for the camera. “This isn’t what I’m looking for.”
“This is the beginning of the competition.”
“Yeah, but I want what you recorded before the competition.”
Ivy sounded confused. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. You’ve had the camera rolling before and after the competition, capturing our fights and arguments. Watching our reactions to the sabotage and the judging.”
“Whaaat?”
“I’ve seen the lights on the camera, and Frank never leaves his post. Now do you want my help or not?”
Ivy looked away. “It’s not what you think. Unless you think the network wanted to catch any hint of scandal to expose and boost ratings. Then it’s exactly what you think.”
“I also think you’re the one who sabotaged the ingredients on the first day.”
Ivy looked behind us quickly to be sure we were alone. She swallowed hard. “Look, this is my first big show. I may have moved around a few labels in an effort to create some drama and chaos, and it paid off. Our ratings have skyrocketed. We’ve broken records for Channel Eight. Viewership has never been this high before. There’s been talk of picking up our little show on the network. That will be great exposure for Team Maxine’s.”
“Not if that exposure makes it look like Tim was the one who cheated, and murdered Bess Jodice.”
Ivy threw her hands up. “That wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with poisoning Bess. And I wasn’t involved with the equipment sabotage or Marco being hurt, or Ashlee being peanut buttered. The worst thing that could have happened with mixing up the pantry items was someone would’ve eaten a couple bites of talcum powder—and that won’t hurt you—I checked. I’m just as shocked as everyone else about how this week has tanked, but the producer has insisted on moving on with the show.”
“Exactly who is this producer you keep mentioning? Is it someone you work with at the station?”
Ivy shook her head. “Not exactly. Charlie is the segment producer—he’s my boss. But the exec is silent. Like a venture capitalist. Executive producers put up the capital and make the arrangements, call the shots. Their money—their rules.”
“So, you’ve never met the exec?”
“No.”
“Do you have a name?”
“R. Snaarg.”
“Arsnarg? What the heck kind of name is Arsnarg?”
“R is his first initial. Snaarg is the last name.”
“Okay, well I was hoping it would be something obvious like Philippe Julian or Adrian Baxter, so we could pinpoint one of the chefs. So, where is the footage you took before the event? The footage you didn’t want us to know about.”
Ivy pulled up a separate folder on the hard drive and typed in a password. The files were dated, and time stamped with notes about who flew off the handle and what fights broke out.
“That one.” I pointed to the first time stamp an hour before filming officially started.
Ivy clicked it and the media player opened the video. The chefs were slowly coming into the arena and milling about their stations. The judges’ table was set with name cards and place settings. Horatio approached the table and examined the cards. He switched two of them, moving Norman farther down the table and moving Bess next to him. Horatio had made it clear that he didn’t like Norman when they’d first arrived at the bed and breakfast. No one touched Bess’s flatware. No one rearranged the table. Horatio took his seat, fished around for his pocket handkerchief, mopped his brow, tucked it back in his pocket, and waited patiently for the taping. After a while, the other three judges came in and milled about. Three different chefs came over to shake hands with the judges. Adrian, Philippe, and Tim. Then, a few minutes before the competition began, Roger took the judges from the room to await their cue to enter for the camera.
When Ashlee and Tess made the introductions, the camera angle changed and we couldn’t directly see the judges. Anyone could have tampered with the place settings while the camera was focused on the girls, although I was in the room at the time, and I never saw anyone walking around. Once we were in our places, we stayed there.
When the camera panned back to the judges, we saw Bess pour herself a cup of tea, examine the silverware in front of her, and clearly pick up Horatio’s spoon. Horatio had his eyes on the kitchens and didn’t notice. Bess stirred her honey into her tea with the poisoned spoon. I shuddered involuntarily. We were watching the murder take place right before our eyes.
We scanned a few more files, keeping our eyes on the activity around the place settings. I had really hoped the file would show someone pick up a spoon and replace it with a p
oisoned one. I closed the last file with the footage from the judges’ table on day one. “There has to be something I’m missing. Can we watch the first clip again?”
Ivy pulled it up and we watched the judges sitting at the table waiting for the day to begin. Everyone’s hands were visible the entire time. The chefs came over to shake hands.
“Wait. Stop there.”
Ivy paused the video. “What is it?”
“I thought I saw something.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno. Like a flash or a flicker.”
Ivy backed the video up a minute and we watched it again, keeping our eyes on Bess’s place setting. “I don’t see anything,” Ivy said. “Are you sure it was there?”
“Maybe my eyes are imagining things.” Then it flickered again. “There. Can you play it in slow motion?”
We watched the playback for the third time, this time at half speed. There was a slight flicker while the chefs were at the judges’ table. “What was that?”
Ivy shrugged. She examined the video closer. “I’m not sure. It looked like the recording jumped. Like it was a bad cut. But the time stamp hasn’t changed.”
I examined the judges’ table. Nothing looked any different. What was missing? One of the three chefs swapping out a spoon? A fourth chef? “Who would know how to edit the file to remove a few seconds of recording, but doctor the time stamp to show no time had passed?”
“The whole postproduction team would.”
“We need to talk to them as soon as they come in. Someone edited out a section of video, and I’d be willing to bet it shows whoever replaced Horatio’s spoon with the one that poisoned Bess.”
“I’ll call you as soon as they come in.”
“Good.” I closed the file, so no one would know what we’d been looking at until we could question the editing team. Another file name caught my eye. TIM AND GIGI SECRET ROMANCE DAY 4. “What’s this?” I opened it.
“I’m not sure you should see that,” Ivy cautioned.
The video was a close-up of Gigi teasing Tim. She was circling his name on his chef coat with her finger, and he was smiling down at her with a look like the one Gia gave to me.
“I’m sorry. I thought you and your boss had a thing going.”
“It’s fine.” I tried to shrug it off. I couldn’t close the file because my hand was shaking. I walked from the film booth in a haze. I guess that’s that, then. It didn’t look like I’d be making any painful decisions in my future. From the look on Tim’s face I’d say he’d already made it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I tried to calm my shaky nerves. Tim and Gigi hadn’t arrived yet. I had no right to be upset, but that logic didn’t stop waves of heartbreak from pummeling me.
Aunt Ginny breezed in with a gift bag and held it out. “What’s the matter with you? You look like you’re about to cry.”
“I’m just realizing that I’ve been a fool.”
“Honey, we’re all fools. Anyone who looks like they’ve got their life together is just a good actor. Here, I got you something.”
I took the bag and pulled out an attractive black apron with the title CHEF in silver filigree writing, front and center. I felt my face break into a sly grin. I slid my eyes in appreciation to Aunt Ginny. She gave me a conspiratorial nod in return then took her place at the judges’ table.
I put the apron on and waited for Gigi to arrive.
Gia entered with Momma and headed straight for me. “Bella, I went to the hospital to check on you this morning. They said you’d left without being discharged. Why didn’t you call me?” He wrapped his arms around me. “Are you feeling okay?”
I looked into his face. He was so beautiful, from the inside out. Why was I so determined to keep my emotions in check with him? “I’m fine. Just a slight headache. I wanted to finish the competition.”
He took my hand. “Are you sure you should be on your feet today? Maybe you should be resting.”
“Really, I’m fine.”
Louie approached me, his head down, caution in his eyes. “Poppy, you gotta believe me. I never would have rigged your oven to blow like that. I don’t know where that hacksaw came from, but it wasn’t mine.”
“I see they released you.”
“They checked that thing for my fingerprints, but it had been wiped clean. I asked the police why they thought I was smart enough to wipe my fingerprints off, then dumb enough to toss it into the open bed of my pickup. Twenty minutes later they let me go.”
Several chefs came over to welcome me back, tell me they were glad I wasn’t hurt, and threw me compliments about my new and improved apron. It made me feel a part, like I was one of them. An equal sibling in the Chef family. I hated what I had to do today to knock a couple of them down.
Tim and Gigi finally arrived with matching Starbucks cups. Two, not three. I could tell the moment Gigi saw my apron, because she stopped in her tracks and spewed a mouthful of coffee on her chef coat.
Oh, that was worth it.
Tim’s eyes lit up. “Hey Mack, you’re here. I was so worried about you.”
“Uh huh.”
He gave me a hug which I did not return. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“Places, everyone.” Ivy came through the room with Tess close behind. “We begin rolling in five. In honor of today being the last day of Restaurant Week, I’ve set up the room across the hall as a sort of green room for you. There will be snacks and drinks set out all day. Feel free to use the area as a lounge whenever we have a break.”
Tim and Gigi stowed their things and hid their coffee cups. Tim was watching me. His eyebrows dipped, and he cocked his head to the side. He switched places with Gigi and whispered, “Are you mad at me?”
I knew I couldn’t get into it now. If I started unloading my feelings from the past week I might not be able to rein it in. I couldn’t even look at him. “We’ll talk later.”
Sawyer hustled over to my station and handed me an envelope. “Here’s what you asked for. Let him have it.”
I popped it open and read the contents. “Well, let’s see where this goes.”
Ivy held up her hand and counted down on her fingers from five. Sawyer ducked into the stands next to Smitty and Mrs. Dodson.
Tess spoke into the camera. “Welcome to day seven of the Cape May County Restaurant Week Competition. Today’s theme is Lively Morocco. Chefs, open your mystery baskets.”
Tess went over the mystery ingredients, but my mind was on Adrian and the information that Sawyer was able to dig up for me. As soon as Tess shouted, “Go!” I was off to make an interception.
I followed Adrian to where he was taking spices and raisins off the shelf. I handed him the envelope. “We know everything.”
His eyes narrowed, and he looked in the envelope. When realization dawned on him as to the gravity of what we’d discovered, he dropped his raisins.
I went back to my station empty-handed because I had no idea what was in my basket. Almond paste, sesame seeds, and dates. I looked over to Philippe’s kitchen. He was in deep discussion with his chefs. Probably because Julia Child’s recipes didn’t translate easily into Moroccan cuisine.
Adrian walked through my kitchen and hissed, “You don’t understand.”
I went to the pantry and grabbed some phyllo dough, honey, and walnuts and went back to my kitchen. I would make baklava.
Adrian came through again. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Tim and Gigi gave me questioning looks. I answered with a shrug.
I laid out my phyllo dough and realized I would need butter.
Adrian made another pass. “Image is everything in this business.” He knocked Tim on his way by. Tim’s hand slipped, and he chopped a big chunk off a carrot.
I went to the pantry for a block of butter to melt.
Vidrine was in there. “What is going on with you two?”
“Adrian’s got his knickers in a twist over something I showed him.”
&n
bsp; “Chér, be careful with that one. He can fly into a rage lickety split.”
I took a stick of butter back to my workstation and started to unwrap it.
Adrian came by again, his nostrils flaring. “Mother is a shark. She will eat you alive if yooze try to burn me with this.” He knocked my butter off the counter and went to the pantry.
I was no fool. I knew what he wanted. He thought I would follow him in there, so he could corner me, but it wasn’t going to work. I could wait all day.
He came out a couple minutes later with two potatoes. “I need to talk to you, now!”
“Cut!” Ivy called a time-out. “Chef Adrian, why do you keep entering Chef Tim’s kitchen? If you need something from the pantry you could go around.”
Adrian pointed a potato at Tim and shouted. “Chef Tim is blackmailing me!”
“What?! I am not!”
“Ah . . . yeah, he is. He’s using his pastry chef to intimidate me.”
The audience snickered.
That made Adrian heat from a simmer to a boil. “Tim Maxwell has been out to get me since I stepped foot in this arena a week ago. He sabotaged my ingredients causing me to get a low score, he cut the line on my range, so my food was substandard, he probably poisoned Ashlee Pickel so my dishes couldn’t be judged, and now he’s ruining my concentration with this blackmail.” Adrian waved the envelope in the air. “I’m the best chef in this room, and he’s threatened by my skills.”
Tim put his knife down and leaned on the counter for support. “I haven’t done anything to you. Everything that’s happened this week, you’ve brought on yourself.”
Adrian rushed Tim and roared. “You’ve been out to destroy me ever since our culinary school final!”
The camera spun toward Tim. I knew everything that was happening would be in the editing room computer in a file labeled TIM AND ADRIAN SHOWDOWN by this evening. I wanted to warn them, but there was no stopping this crazy train.
Tim’s face was purple with rage. He pulled his chef coat off and balled his fists in front of him. “Yeah! I did it! I mixed up your ingredients! Alright!”
Gigi took a step backwards. The audience gasped.