Murder Love on the Menu

by Dyann Love Barr

  Tilly glanced up at him. “This isn’t goin’ to end well.”

  He had to agree.

  David sauntered around the counter as if he hadn’t a care in the world and put a hand on Lena’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, think about the Culinary Channel.” He flashed a smile designed to charm. “Look, it’s like this—”

  She jerked away. “Don’t give me a chickenshit pep talk.” She was tall with a whipcord tough body, and there wasn’t enough soap in New York City to wash out her mouth.

  David hung his head with a shamefaced look. He glanced at Lena from under his brows, obviously trying to gauge her reaction. “I admit it. I knew weeks ago that he’d offered her that time slot, but I didn’t want to upset you.” He gave his shoulders a shrug and stuck his hands into his slacks pockets.

  Jordan winced. He wanted to rip into David for making his whole gender look like slime balls. But one look at Lena told him she could hold her own.

  Tilly let out a shocked gasp. “What a jerk.” She leaned closer until she was plastered to Jordan’s side. “He gives me the creeps—like one of the pod people in a sci-fi movie Sarah made me watch last month.” She gave a delicate shiver, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

  “Good instincts. He’s scum.” He pulled Tilly closer until his chin rested against the top of her head. The smell of her shampoo mixed with her own delectable scent. After last night, the fragrance would be burned into his memory until the day he died.

  He turned his attention back to Lena and David. Red flags of anger flew in her cheeks. “Uh-oh.” This could get very ugly, really fast.

  “What is it?” Tilly moved until she could glance up at him over her shoulder. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Shush.” He settled her against him, her back to his body, and whispered, “I think round two is about to start.”

  Sure enough, Lena pulled in a deep breath and braced her hands on the counter. Her voice thundered throughout the studio. “So you’re telling me that you screwed me without any intention of giving me the primetime slot.”

  The cameramen and sound technicians glanced at each other. Their response to Lena’s outburst ranged from embarrassment to knowing glances. One guy held out his hand to the man standing next to him. They exchanged cash.

  Another losing bet.

  “There’s nothing I can do right now.” David threw his hands up in mock surrender. “We’re working on the new lineup, but nothing will change until then. My father has last say. I told you that before.”

  “Then do something,” Lena hissed between her teeth.

  David shook his head but never lost his smile. “You just don’t get it.”

  “Oh, believe me, I get it. You’re backing out on your promise. Maybe I ought to tell Daddy how much you like being tied up with silk scarves for a little bondage action.” She slapped her hands together. “Spank that ass, baby. Spank it harder!”

  “That’s not true!” For once David’s cool slipped until he looked like he’d stroke out at any second. His gaze darted around the room. Several people sniggered, and another wad of cash exchanged hands. He paled as one of the technicians pulled out his cell phone. “You!” He pointed at the guy. “Don’t you dare! You’re out of a job if one word of this leaks out.”

  “Maybe I ought to contact one of the media mags.” Lena tapped her lower lip with a well-manicured finger. “What’s the name of it—DMZ? No. That’s in Korea.” She frowned and looked up at the ceiling as if she’d find the answer there. A heartbeat later she dropped her hands to her side with an irritated sigh. “It’ll come to me.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Sure, I can.” She glared at him with fire in her eyes. “Should I get a lineup of your ex-lovers to spill their guts?”

  A noise jerked Jordan’s attention away from the scene being played out on the studio floor. Gretchen stood with a tablet in her hand and a puzzled expression on her face.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Tilly motioned her closer. “David and Lena are havin’ a little tiff over the schedule. She wants Juliette’s spot in the lineup,” she whispered.

  “It’s gone way beyond a tiff. I’m expecting a roundhouse kick at any moment.” Jordan thought it might be better for Gretchen to leave and let the fireworks die down. “Why don’t we go get a cup of coffee—or something?” He’d opt for a good shot of whiskey in his. Last night had been bad enough, and this wasn’t the best way to start the day. His breakfast rumbled around in his gut with all the finesse of a tank.

  “Oh, dear.” Gretchen turned to watch the battling duo.

  Her pinched expression and pale face touched him. He knew she would catch most of the flak, even if she’d been out of the studio before the fight started. Her brother would leave her with the fallout and go on his merry way.

  “I’m so out of here.” Lena removed her chef’s jacket and threw it on the counter.

  Her black T-shirt sported a bright purple-glittered Hello Kitty on the front. Jordan had become an unwilling expert in all things Hello Kitty, courtesy of Sarah Danes. She sent her mother gifts covered with the perky cat. He would’ve settled for something from Victoria’s Secret, but he wasn’t sure if a fourteen-year-old was allowed in the store without adult supervision. He’d make a note to email Ruby with a suggestion for Tilly’s birthday gift from her daughter. No more Hello Kitty pajamas.

  Then it hit him. Purple glitter. However, Lena had worn a white T-shirt with a red logo on the front the day of Juliette’s death.

  Another “oh, dear” slipped from Gretchen’s lips. He didn’t think she could grow any whiter, but he was wrong. The only color in her face was her nervous brown eyes. She glanced around the room, from person to person, to see who had witnessed the debacle.

  “Don’t worry. I think the worst is over.” Tilly led her to a small chair next to the wall. “She’s just tryin’ to shock everybody. You know how she is.”

  “And doing a hell of a good job.” Jordan stared in fascination—much like watching a train wreck. The shit storm had just started.

  “You get back here,” David shouted at her as she threw her jacket on the counter and headed toward the studio door. “You’ll do today’s show or you’re fired!”

  Lena whirled to face David. “Nope. Your daddy believes in ironclad contracts. So does my attorney.” She turned back and marched toward them. “We’ll see who comes out on top.”

  “I’ll sue for slander.” He followed and grabbed her by the arm. His fingers bit into Lena’s flesh, but she didn’t flinch.

  “Go ahead.” She pried his hand from her arm. “I have a verbal contract and a very interesting video. Do you remember our last time together? I recorded it. You said the spot was mine. And then we did the horizontal mambo mixed with a little hanky-spanky to seal the deal.” She threw his hand away. “So do your worst.”

  “You’re lying,” he snarled.

  “Make your move and find out.” She gave him a hard poke to the chest.

  He leaned into her, his face red with rage. “You don’t think I will?”

  She waved a finger back and forth in front of his face. “I don’t think you have the balls.”

  “You’re nothing but a whore. You used me.” He flung the accusation with the precision of laser beam.

  “Damn straight.” Lena opened the door but turned to face David. “Once I found out what a kinky bastard you were, I thought, why the hell not?”

  He blocked her way with his arm. “Your contract doesn’t allow you to walk out of here.”

  “But I can take an emergency leave.” She smiled, all teeth, her words honey sweet with a touch of poison. “Look it up.”

  “What’s the emergency?” he demanded.

  “I need to get out of here before I kill you.” Lena pushed her way past David and left a stunned crowd in her wake.

  …

  Tilly stood in silence. She and Jordan had had some spectacular meltdowns, but nothing compared to this. “
Wow. I mean that was somethin’ else.”

  David paced in short, jerky steps and ran his fingers through his hair. He finally went to the intercom and buzzed the studio control room. “Do reruns of last spring’s shows.”

  “For how long?” The producer’s voice echoed through the speaker. “I’ve got about—ah—eight that we can use.”

  “As long as it takes,” he shouted and stormed off the set.

  Gretchen jumped up from her chair. “Excuse me.” She ran out the studio door. “Lena,” she called out.

  “I think ‘wow’ is an understatement.” Jordan guided Tilly out of the studio.

  Gretchen and Lena stood in the hallway talking—rather, Gretchen did all the talking in hushed tones while Lena glared at her. She took Lena’s hand in hers and clutched it close to her chest.

  “Please don’t do this. Stay—for me.”

  The small gesture looked a bit off to Tilly. It was too intimate for a business acquaintanceship.

  Lena glanced up to see both her and Jordan at the end of the hall. She pulled her hand from Gretchen’s and shook her head. “I said no. N. O.”

  “Please, no. Don’t go. Let’s have some coffee. We can sort this out.”

  Lena shook her head and started toward the elevator with Gretchen in hot pursuit. Gretchen scooted into the elevator with Lena just as the doors closed.

  Tilly glanced up at Jordan and noticed his puzzled expression matched her confusion. “I didn’t think they were that close.”

  “Me, either.” She slipped her hand into his as they walked to the studio where she was shooting her next six shows. She did a week’s worth of shows and an extra just in case of an emergency every two days. After a couple of weeks she had enough in the can to allow for trips back home for a day or two at most.

  “They’re an odd mixture of personalities. Gretchen is mousy, while Lena is—Lena. I didn’t see that one coming.”

  “Look at us. People think we’re crazier than loons to get involved with each other. Kind of like Francine Yoder and Jimmy Joe Jeeter back home.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “Am I going to regret asking about these two star-crossed lovers?”

  She shook her head and laughed. “No. Francine’s daddy was the town’s leadin’ citizen. He owned the drive-in picture show. Jimmy Joe was from the wrong side of the tracks, wore black leather, and rode a motorcycle.”

  “I didn’t think there were any more of those left.”

  “What? Motorcycles?”

  “No, drive-ins. I thought they were declared an endangered species and died out after the advent of the VCR.”

  “Not back in Possum Trot. There’s nothin’ like a triple feature with a mega tub of buttered popcorn and a backseat to enhance your viewin’ pleasure. You ought to try it.” The memories of her and Jake weren’t all bad, but she’d lost her virginity during American Pie. “On second thought—don’t. That’s how I ended up pregnant.”

  “I have been duly warned.”

  “Anyway, Francine was pinin’ for Jimmy Joe. They met when she was workin’ the concession stand for her daddy. Jimmy took a shine to her, and the next thing you know, she’s in a pickle.”

  “I assume it was like your pickle.” He reached out to trace the Jake4Ever tattoo on the side of her neck.

  Sparks of lust flared and burst into little shards of delight that left her giddy. Last night’s romp hadn’t taken the edge off her desire for him.

  “You’re distractin’ me. Jimmy Joe’s passion in life besides Francine and his motorcycle was Elvis. His mama had a shrine to Elvis, and he grew up for the longest time thinking Elvis was his daddy. There’s no tellin’—could’ve been, from what stories she put out. Anyway, his goal in life was to go to Vegas and become an Elvis impersonator. He was pretty good. Had the hair, the sneer, and the hips for it.”

  “I hope he could sing.” His fingers flicked one of her curls. The thousand-watt smile he reserved for seduction gleamed bright.

  “Of course.” She took a step back. If she didn’t watch it, she’d haul him into the janitor’s closet in a heartbeat.

  “But Francine’s daddy and the pickle put an end to Jimmy Joe’s ambitions—right?”

  “Let’s just say fate threw everyone a curveball.”

  He shook his head and stuffed his dangerous fingers into his pockets. “I knew this story would have a crappy ending. So when do we get to the point of this folksy story?”

  “Not crappy—happy.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “They ended up gettin’ married. See?”

  “No.”

  “It was a win-win situation. The pickle, whose name was Frankie Joe Jeeter, had a daddy. A year later, Francine’s father had a stroke—”

  “See?” He threw up his hands in resignation. “I knew it would end badly.”

  “Are you goin’ to let me finish this story or not?”

  He made a zipping gesture across his mouth. “Continue,” he mumbled.

  “Francine’s father had a stroke, so Jimmy Joe took over the drive-in. Francine ran the concessions, and he did Elvis impersonations between the movies.”

  He made a motion to wrap it up.

  “He got to be so popular that they ended up buildin’ a movie house next to the drive-in. Possum Trot’s Indoor-Outdoor Movie Palace. Jimmy Joe does five shows a week. See, they weren’t supposed to last, but now they have three kids. Frankie Joe is Jimmy Joe’s Elvis in trainin’.”

  He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle her. “I don’t believe half of these crazy stories you tell me.”

  She crossed her heart. “It’s as true as me standin’ here lovin’ you.”

  The smile on his face made her heart leap. The last thing she needed was to encourage him to yet another proposal. To her relief, he grabbed her by the shoulders, hauled her up against his chest, and gave her a big, quick kiss before letting her go.

  “You and me, I understand.” He frowned and swiped at the air with his hands. “What about the odd couple in the elevator?”

  He was right. She couldn’t see Gretchen and Lena as BFFs. But stranger things had happened in the universe. “Maybe it has something to do with Lena dating David.”

  They stopped in front of the studio where Tilly had her set. It would be a long day of cooking and smiling. Tom Green from the Quantum Cooking Show and Jordan were guest starring for the series she was doing on spring and summer food. However, the scene she’d observed at the elevators niggled at her brain. She couldn’t resist puzzles, and this one drove her nuts.

  He shook his head and raised a brow. “Lena is wild and crazy. I like her, but she’s a bit out there for my taste. Gretchen makes a bowl of oatmeal look exciting.” He gave her a playful swat on the rear. “Give me taters and gravy any day.”

  She let out a surprised yelp and whirled to face him. “You hate my mashed potatoes and milk gravy.”

  He captured her face in his hands and kissed the tip of her nose. “I was thinking along the lines of truffle-potato purée with mascarpone cheese with a veal demi-glace.”

  “Nope. Chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and milk gravy or nothin’, slick.”

  He glanced skyward as if contemplating his answer. “Hmm—that’s a tough one. I’ll have to think on it.”

  “Don’t think too long.” She skipped out of his reach. “We have a show to do.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and glanced at her from under his brows. “Maybe we need another challenge.”

  “You’re on.” She smiled at the memory of his mouth skating over the small roundness of her stomach and lower. Her breath hitched as her body warmed to the idea.

  “I know that look.” He turned her around to face the door of the studio. “The challenge will be in the kitchen, not the bedroom.”

  She couldn’t help but pout. “That’s just plain mean. I’ll be in the kitchen all day while you’ll be—”

  “At the restaurant making sure the prep team from the Culinary Channel ha
sn’t run off my staff. We’ll be on even footing.”

  “Who’ll judge this contest?”

  “Hank.” He gave her quick kiss. “What? Afraid of favoritism?”

  “No. I—”

  Tilly’s phone rang. The familiar strains of “You Are My Sunshine” told her it was Sarah. She hadn’t called her last night. The wave of guilt she’d experienced last night turned into a tsunami. She smiled—even if Sarah couldn’t see it. “Hi, sweet pea. How are you doin’? What’s up?”

  “Mama!”

  The wail sent icy spirals of apprehension up her spine.

  Chapter Six

  A knot formed in Jordan’s gut. He could hear Sarah crying, even without the speaker being on, and saw the way Tilly’s face paled.

  “Calm down and tell me what’s goin’ on.” She paced the hall in front of the studio, head down, the phone glued to her ear. Worry wrinkled her brow. “I can’t understand what you’re sayin’ when you’re cryin’, sweet pea.”

  Life didn’t play fair. His soul mate would be thirty in a couple of weeks. They were still young and should have all the time in the world to discover each other, fight, love, and frolic without any encumbrances. He’d thought he could handle a kid and an old lady—especially if they were in Tennessee. Now he wasn’t so sure. He sucked at relationships. Juliette had said he didn’t have a clue how to please a woman, in or out of bed.

  His doubts ate at him. He’d met Tilly’s family for the first time a month ago. It hadn’t been a stellar beginning—he’d never been good with kids, and Ruby scared the crap out of him. Tilly’s family was everything to her and if he kept screwing up with them he might lose Tilly as well.

  Sarah was a typical teenager—with all the drama that went with it. At fourteen she was gangly and three inches taller than her mother. Her long, lean frame must have been supplied by her father’s genetic material. The waist-length curly red hair and blue, blue eyes, however, were all Tilly. The snotty attitude was Sarah’s alone.

  Then there was Ruby—a brassy, no-nonsense package of mean. She’d stared at him with eyes as hard and steely as ball bearings, waiting for him to make a wrong move. Kissing or touching Tilly earned him a grunt, or at the very best an “u-m-m-m-huh.”