Murder Love on the Menu

by Dyann Love Barr

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Curiosity and puzzlement flitted in her eyes. She scooted around on the couch to face him sitting Indian fashion. The color drained from her cheeks, making her freckles stand out like beacons. “Was there anything else? Is David’s murder related to Juliette’s?”

  “Hank didn’t say.”

  Jordan needed a drink, and from the looks of her pale face, one scotch on the rocks would do her a world of good. “How about something to drink?”

  “Sure. Why not?” She pummeled a very expensive red leather pillow into submission before lying back. “I’ve got a feelin’ this may be the lull before the shit hits the fan.” She crooked one arm over her head and glanced at him. “See? I can swear all on my own without any help from Ruby.” A small frown puckered her face. “Although I feel like a damned hypocrite after givin’ my kid grief for sayin’ ‘balls’ and ‘turd.’”

  “She a child; you’re an adult. Big difference.”

  “Not accordin’ to Ruby.” Her red curls bobbed as she shook her head. “A little sin is as deadly as a big one. You go to hell if you steal a candy bar or murder your family. It’s all the same.”

  He reached out to wind a strand of silk around his finger, giving a curl a gentle tug before he let go. “She’d win a swearing contest with a longshoreman.” He got to his feet and went to the wet bar at the back of the living room.

  It wasn’t hard to envision Ruby playing canasta with a cigarette hanging from one corner of her mouth. She’d be drinking her favorite raspberry tea laced with hooch and turning the air blue.

  “Ah,” Tilly called out from the couch. Her index finger pointed heavenward. “But she puts a quarter in a cuss box each time she blasphemes. The church now has a new set of hymnals and swing set in the playground courtesy of the box. She figures she’s doin’ God’s work.”

  “I’m impressed.” He took a glass from the shelf and pulled the scotch from under the black lacquered cabinet. A couple of large splashes for him and a few ice cubes from the ice maker next to the cabinet for her. “She only uses her power for good.”

  He turned around with the drinks in hand and saw his apartment in a new light. Tilly was right. The room was as cold and clinical as a doctor’s office, and the only bright spot was her. He’d meant it when he said he’d redo the place to suit her. The bright red bowl of lemons caught his eye. He’d dump those first thing in the morning.

  He sucked in some air to clear his thoughts before he brought the drinks over to the couch. “Here you go—your usual. Ice with a splash of water. I added a few drops of scotch just for grins.”

  “Thanks.” She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “I take it we’re off the suspect list?”

  He sat and swallowed a hefty amount. His throat was on fire, but the aftereffects were worth it. “Yes. Our alibi checked out to the minute.” The initial burn wore off, and he took another drink. “Remember the night of Juliette’s murder? You were changing clothes at the locker room at the studio, and I had some questions for Hank. He passed them along to the Detective Crespo. The guy has the tenacity of a bulldog—he took hold and ran with it.”

  “Like what?”

  “You pointed out there wasn’t any leftover food. No bowls, pots and pans, or utensils she’d used. When did she eat the bouillabaisse? No trash. And everything was spotless.”

  “Someone either went to a lot of trouble plannin’ her death, or it was spur-of-the-moment.” She started to sip at her drink again and stopped. “I propose a toast.”

  He raised a brow in question. “Why?”

  “Do I need a reason?”

  Her smile won him over. “No.”

  She held out her glass. “Here’s to our noble selves.”

  He clinked his drink against hers. “There’s damn few of us left.”

  Her chuckle filled the coldness of the room. “See how I got you to do the swearin’ for me?” She took another taste and wiggled her brows at him.

  “You are a devious woman.”

  She sat her drink on the smoky glass coffee table and leaned forward to take his as well. Inch by inch she worked her way across the short distance between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her warm breath, fragranced with the scotch, whispered over his skin. “Damn straight, slick. I think we ought to GNRN before the world gets bat-shit crazy.”

  “GNRN?”

  “Get naked right now.” A Mona Lisa smile touched her mouth. “I had to go online to figure out what kids are texting.” Her finger traced his brow, jaw, and the feather touch ran down his neck and strummed his sensitive skin.

  “I’m all for the getting naked part, but I have to tell you something, Matilda.”

  She snuggled closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest. “What?”

  “We’re going to get our own cuss box.” He gave her a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. “We’ll be able redecorate this place in two months flat between the two of us.” He turned her around until she sat in his lap. Her mouth formed an O of surprise. The temptation was too great. He captured her face in his hands and took her lips in a kiss that tasted of scotch, dark dreams, and her.

  …

  Tilly woke up to sunlight blasting holes through her eyelids. Three drinks and a night of wild sex left her with a smile and a spinning bed.

  “Time to get up.”

  Jordan was already dressed and smiling. She’d throw a pillow at him if it didn’t require her to move. “Did you slip a roofie in my drink?”

  “Nope. All that big talk about how southern women can outdrink, outshoot, and outswear Yankees is a damn lie. You have twenty minutes to shower and dress. I’ve already called a cab.” The ruthless bastard had the gall to grin at her. “Up and at ’em, Matilda.” He set a glass of tomato juice and two aspirin on the nightstand.

  She reached for her breakfast, slitting her eyes as she tossed back the aspirin. “You got me on two counts, slick.” Her tomato juice stayed down after a tentative sip. “But I can still shoot the nuts off a squirrel at a hundred yards, so don’t forget it.”

  “Do you do that often?”

  His dubious expression made her want to laugh, but she kept a straight face. “I only have to do it once to make an impression.”

  “You’re a mean drunk.” He strolled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. “Now hustle.”

  One bumpy, smelly cab ride later, they were seated in front of Gretchen’s desk, along with Tom Green, Lena McCoy, and a new food critic, Orlando Collier.

  Gretchen’s black suit emphasized her pasty complexion and looked as if her hair hadn’t seen a brush.

  Guilt pricked at Tilly for being so judgmental. The woman’s brother had just been murdered, and her parents were sick with grief. Gretchen had been thrust into the position of making a lot of high-powered decisions. Grooming had to be the last thing on her mind.

  “Thank you for coming here on your weekend.” She folded her hands in front of her on top of the desk. A few rapid blinks of her eyes were the only signs of emotion. “As you know, my brother’s death has left a huge void. Publicity, although my father thrives on it, that isn’t the sort we want associated with the Culinary Channel.” She reached over and thrust a newspaper at them.

  The headline read, “Dish of Death: Culinary Channel Killer.”

  “The PR department is doing all it can to put a better spin on it. To make matters worse, the police announced that Juliette DuPres’s death was murder as well. The board of directors is upset. They think sponsors will pull out. We’ve already lost three of our smaller accounts.”

  Jordan frowned. “You said you wanted new ideas for programming?”

  “Yes.” Gretchen turned to Tom. “Do you have anything?”

  Tom scratched his wild thatch of red hair and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I already do Quantum Cooking, but what about something on Saturday mornings?”

  She motioned him to continue.

  “Saturday mornings are rife with cartoons. Tha
t’s where the kids tune in, and they are marketed to like crazy. What if we did a science of food show featuring a fun/scary lab with me as the mad scientist? Then the sponsor could snag the kids, and the next show would lead in the adult cooking shows.”

  She smiled for the first time and nodded. “That’s wonderful. Maybe we should do a new weekend lineup. I had a thought.” Her gaze rested on Jordan’s face. “How about a show that features a cooking competition between the two of you? The Cooking with Fire competition went over very well. I’d like to see you take the same format, but apply it to a weekly show, each of you making your version of a classic dish. We’ll have a panel of judges at the end. I think that would be great for Sunday night.”

  She turned to Orlando. The round man sat up straight in his chair.

  “Mr. Collier? How do you feel about traveling to exotic locations?”

  “I love them. Strange Foods in Strange Places—how’s that for a show title?”

  “Do you have any suggestions?” Gretchen turned her attention to Lena.

  For once, Lena was subdued and distracted. No foul-mouthed remarks or posturing for everyone. Instead of wild colors and designs, she wore denim jeans tucked into black boots. “I’ll think of something.” She picked at the hem of her dark blue jersey. “I’m having a little trouble thinking right now.”

  Tilly couldn’t blame her. She knew how awful it could be to find a body. It would be doubly horrible if it were someone she loved. Luckily, the deaths she’d stumbled onto hadn’t been terribly close to her—like David and Juliette. Tilly and Jordan interacted with Gretchen, not David, because she did most of the production duties, even taking over many of her brother’s. More often than not, what little interaction they’d had with David had been irritating. But Lena had been David’s lover. She must be very distraught.

  “How can you do this?” Lena’s mouth thinned in disapproval. Her hands grew busier until Tilly was afraid she’d tear her top.

  “Do what?” Gretchen looked at her, caught off guard by Lena’s sudden outburst.

  “Hold a meeting like David isn’t dead.”

  Gretchen paled even further. “I do it because I have to. The grief will come later when I’m alone. My brother died—murdered by some monster. My parents are wrecks. Right now I have to keep this company together.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lena dropped her head and dashed tears from her eyes. “I didn’t think.”

  “We’re all upset.” Jordan’s eyes held a flash of panic. He grabbed a box of tissues from Gretchen’s desk and handed them to Lena. “Here.”

  “Thank you.” She yanked out a couple and dabbed at her face. “Last night was horrible. I spent hours at the police station giving my statement. I can’t get the image of David out of my mind.”

  Gretchen’s face softened, and she came around her desk to stand by Lena. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more understanding. This has me very upset as well.” She put a hand on Lena’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze of comfort. “If only I’d stayed a bit longer. This might have never happened.”

  “You don’t know that.” Lena sobbed into the tissue.

  “Stayed?” Jordan leaned back in his chair with a quizzical expression on his face. “You were with David last night?”

  “Yes. It was my idea for the three of us to meet at his apartment. I went there to help mediate yesterday’s crisis. Lena and I made dinner instead of going out. We thought it would give us some privacy to have a little wine and talk things over.”

  “How did it go?” Tom sat up, with interest sparking in his green eyes.

  “I’m don’t have to answer your questions.” Gretchen speared Tom with her dark, unreadable gaze.

  “So it went south?” Tom leaned over to Collier. “I told you yesterday that the Culinary Channel is going down fast.”

  “You let me worry about the company.” Gretchen’s mouth thinned into a slash across her square face. “Lena went home, and I stayed to clean up while my brother did some business over the phone. Satisfied?”

  Tom slouched in his chair. “Sorry. I’m curious—that’s all.”

  Lena blinked rapidly and crushed the damp tissues in her hand. “I left my phone there and went back.”

  “Don’t say anything else, Lena.” Gretchen gave her shoulder a little shake.

  Lena ignored her. The words rushed out in a torrent of grief. “The door was open, and he was sitting in his chair. I thought he was asleep—” She jumped to her feet and rushed toward the door. “I can’t do this right now.” She waved everyone back and left.

  Tom leaned forward with his hands hanging between his knees. “Maybe we ought to give it a day or two. Let the PR department do their thing, and then we can have another meeting.”

  “We don’t have the luxury of time. This tragedy is devastating.” Gretchen sighed and sat back in her chair. “But we have to move forward if we want to salvage the Culinary Channel. We lost our food critic a few months ago—now this. It’s going to take a lot of damage control.”

  The rest of the meeting went as smoothly as it could, given the circumstances, but the reality of all the extra work hit home for Tilly. Contracts had to be sent to agents and formats finalized. It surprised her to discover how competent Gretchen was in sketching out the new shows for the board and potential sponsors.

  Unease settled in Tilly’s chest when they concluded their business and walked out of Gretchen’s office. She bit her lip in consternation. Her daughter would be brokenhearted. Not only that, but she missed Sarah like hell. Homesickness filled her with so much longing it clogged her throat with the burn of tears.

  “What’s wrong?” Jordan scanned her face, took hold of her hand, and brought it to his lips. The soft brush of his kiss nearly short-circuited her brain.

  She shook her head and tried to pull her hand away. “You keep that up, and I’m afraid the waterworks will start.”

  “Talk to me.” He gazed down at her with concern showing in his eyes. “I can take it.”

  “I thought I’d spend the day at my apartment. Do a little housework, water the plants.” The ache in her chest grew. “We’re goin’ to be so busy for the next few weeks.”

  “David’s death has been a blow to the Culinary Channel.” He rubbed little circles over the top of her hand with his thumb. The simple caress soothed and yet filled her heart with unease. She stared down at his strong, graceful fingers. How much magic had they worked on her body?

  Damned lemons.

  “Gretchen seemed to have a good handle on everything.” She cleared her throat. “It’s a big responsibility.”

  “It’s not much of a stretch for her. She’s been doing her brother’s work for years.” He whistled to hail a cab. “Her family is blind to all she does. Greg worshipped the ground David walked on.” Jordan held open the door once the cab pulled to the curb. “I heard he even took care of his son’s gambling debts. He bought David anything he wanted and paid off women whom Greg considered unsuitable.”

  She couldn’t help the smile tweaking the corner of her mouth. “And I thought women were supposed to be gossips.”

  His affronted expression was priceless. “It’s not gossip if it’s fact.”

  “Sure. Whatever.” She tapped a finger against her lips as a thought came to her. “Gambling? Hmm. Maybe he pissed off the wrong person. But that doesn’t explain Juliette’s death.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but someone is targeting the Culinary Channel.” He frowned and pulled her close to his side. “This is the reason I want us to move in together. I want to keep you safe.” His smile coaxed her to agree.

  “We’ve had this conversation before.” She pulled away and placed her hands on her hips. “I think you’re overreacting.”

  “And I think you’re being stubborn. All I want to do is to protect you.”

  “What? By havin’ you hover over me? No, thanks. Besides, I have to consider my daughter and Ruby.”

  He scrubbed the side of his jaw. “Okay,
but I’m not giving up on the move-in-with-me part.” He sighed in resignation. “Let’s grab some lunch and go back to my place.”

  The claustrophobic sensation wrapped itself tight around her again. She sighed. “I already told you I wanted to go home.”

  “No, you said you wanted to stop by your apartment.” His grin weakened her willpower. “We will. You can water your plants and pick up a change of clothes. No big deal.”

  “Yes, big deal.” She refused to let him beguile her with his double-dimple smile of doom. “Did you ever think I might want to be alone?”

  “No. All you’ll do is mope around.”

  “I won’t mope.” She sounded like a truculent two-year-old. Why couldn’t he see that she really needed some time off from him and the Culinary Channel to get her thoughts together?

  “That’s right. Because I’ll be there.” He lifted her chin with the tip of his finger and planted a quick kiss on her lips. “I know you have issues with my place. That’s an easy fix.” In spite of a killer smile, his eyes grew serious. “Don’t you think it’s a bit impractical to keep two places? Why don’t you move in with me?”

  She pulled back. “Please. Let’s not do this now.”

  “You don’t have to marry me. Live in sin.”

  “That’s not goin’ to happen.” She sat upright. “I have to be a good example for Sarah.”

  “She fourteen, Matilda,” he said. “I think she’s already figured out that we don’t just hold hands and stare longingly into each other’s eyes.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jordan decided to table that particular topic. He watched Tilly staring out the window and wished she could be rid of all the drama.

  He let out a soft snort. Drama was his stock-in-trade on his show. His temper was allowed free rein to abuse and humiliate young hopefuls and master chefs alike. He hated incompetence. His audience ate it up.