Murder Love on the Menu

by Dyann Love Barr

  “I didn’t think you liked him.”

  “He’s okay for an old guy.” She flicked the tab on the top of the soda can, making an annoying click each time. “In a good way—not weird, you know?”

  Ruby snorted. “Jordan tried to make an honest woman of you. If it were me, I’d have taken the ring and eloped to Vegas.”

  “You do that.” Tilly jumped up and dumped her now cold tea into the sink. “I get hurt every time I fall in love.”

  “I think you were lookin’ for an excuse to run.” Ruby narrowed her eyes and slurped her coffee.

  “That’s not true. He told me a lie—he had secrets. I’ve bared my soul to him.” Her throat burned, her voice caught. “I can’t live like that.”

  “Sure you can.” Ruby snorted. “Everyone has secrets.”

  Sarah leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands, her eyes focused on Ruby. “What about you?”

  A blush stained Ruby’s wrinkled cheeks. “Calvin Maynard and me went at it like minks for two months before I met my Ronnie. It was love at first sight when Ronnie walked into the honky-tonk. Tall, blond, and built like a brick shit house. He was the sweetest man, even if he was a little naive. I screamed like a banshee on our weddin’ night, and Ronnie didn’t know no never mind—thought I was a virgin.”

  Sarah blew soda out of her nose.

  “Ruby!” Tilly didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or run out of the room. “Don’t go tellin’ her stories like that.”

  “Well, she asked.” Ruby crossed her arms over her skinny chest and glared at Tilly. “I seem to remember a kid who stole from my register to buy neonatal vitamins.”

  “Mama did that?” Sarah wiped her face with a napkin.

  “She was quite the wild child. We called them rebels in my day.” Ruby’s smile warmed Tilly like a homecoming. “Mouthy little thing. Ronnie had died the year before, and I was lost. This pregnant teenager shows up in my diner askin’ for a job. Your grandparents threw her out ’cause you were on the way. Caught her with her hand in the cookie jar, so to speak. That’s when I decided to file to become her foster mother.”

  “You never told me about her stealing.” Sarah glanced over at Tilly.

  “See?” Ruby nodded. “Everybody has a secret.” She pointed a gnarled finger at Tilly. “If I were you, I’d grow a pair.”

  “I’ve got enough trouble without a pair.” She put the teacup into the sink with a clatter.

  “Mama, Jordan may have screwed up, but he’s not a bad guy. I was wrong. I really like him.”

  “What does your heart tell you?” Ruby got up from the table and cleared away the rest of the dishes.

  Why was this so hard? It should have been easy to cut him loose, especially with the pain so fresh. Her head and heart argued until it drove her crazy. She had to be honest with them and herself—she didn’t like the answer. “To love him.”

  “Then do it.” Ruby squirted soap into the sink and turned on the faucet. “He may be a Yankee, but he’s trainable.”

  “She’s right, Mama,” Sarah agreed. “Elope with him.

  Tilly leaned against the kitchen counter and picked up a dish towel. “He broke my heart. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  “You broke his, so that makes you even.” Sarah’s teenage logic sounded…logical.

  “No guts, no glory.” Ruby handed her a freshly washed cup. “No wedding rings, either.”

  Neither her foster mother nor her child had a clue how bad it hurt to feel their defection. One minute they had their doubts about the man, but now that he had shown his true colors, he was the greatest thing since peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  “It’s not that easy.” She hated the whine in her voice. A warm saucer was thrust into her hands.

  Ruby gave her a sidelong glance. “It is if you love someone.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jordan’s heel hurt like a son of a bitch. The four stitches on his forehead would drive Patty, the makeup artist, insane. Too bad. He wasn’t in the mood to be fussed at this morning. The headache—part hangover, part olives—rumbled inside his skull like an avalanche of boulders. Tilly’s words had hollowed a hole in his chest. On top of everything else, he’d left his phone at home. “It sucked to be him” might be cliché, but he’d roll with it today.

  He transferred his new recipe notes to his tablet and turned off his computer. Later this afternoon, he and Tilly were doing a pilot for their new show, Both Sides Now. There was a good chance she wouldn’t show. To be honest, he didn’t know if he was ready to face her. He wasn’t used to sorting through his emotions like so much dirty laundry.

  A pang of guilt stabbed him. He should’ve told her about Juliette before the woman showed up at the Culinary Channel, or at the very least, at the beginning of the investigation, but Tilly had overreacted.

  Damn it. I gave our relationship my best shot.

  He pushed away from his desk and picked up his tablet just as a knock sounded on his door. Could it be Tilly? He jerked it open with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation, only to find the stony-faced Detective Crespo.

  “Do you mind if I come in?” The detective slipped past him as if it were a foregone conclusion that he’d be invited into Jordan’s office. His eyes scanned walls, taking in the various framed awards and certificates. He nodded. “Impressive.”

  “Thank you.” He was sure the detective wasn’t here to hand out compliments. “What can I do for you?”

  “I just had a few questions I needed to clear up.” Detective Crespo’s finger tapped the diploma from the Culinary Institute of America. “I’ve heard of this place—and this one.” He motioned with his thumb at the certificate from Le Cordon Bleu Paris and turned back to Jordan. “You’ve been around.”

  Jordan didn’t have the time or the patience to join the detective in his little dance. “I went into the marines at eighteen. After that, I took the course at the CIA at twenty-four, spent a year in Paris at Le Cordon Bleu, and opened my first restaurant in New Jersey at twenty-seven, the second at twenty-eight, here in New York. The Culinary Channel picked me up four years ago. Now that we have that out of the way, why don’t you ask me what you want?” The headache gave his temper a nitro boost. “Spit it out.”

  Detective Crespo’s eyes widened for a split second before they went back to steely gray. “Direct and to the point.” He pointed at Jordan’s desk chair. “Do you mind?”

  Jordan shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, readying himself for battle. “Not at all.” Usually people who wanted to be in control of the room made sure they were situated above everyone else. The whole scenario made him uncomfortable. Off-kilter.

  The detective sank down with a sigh of relief. “Ah. Much better. My feet are killing me. I keep meaning to get to one of those stores that sells arch supports.” He pulled out a notebook and pen from inside his gray sports coat and flipped through the pages. “Here it is.” He shifted in the chair. “I understand you knew Juliette DuPres during your stay in Paris.”

  “Yes.” He’d be damned if he’d volunteer any information to the detective. The man probably had every detail of Jordan’s life inside that little black book.

  “What was your relationship with the deceased?” Detective Crespo glanced up at him from under his wiry salt-and-pepper brows.

  The bastard already knew. He was playing him like a cat with a mouse, and it amped up Jordan’s already boiling temper. “Lovers.” He leaned against the door, trying for his nonchalant best.

  Detective Crespo raised a brow in speculation. “She was a bit older, wasn’t she?”

  “Twelve years.”

  “Kind of showing you the ropes, so to speak?” The detective gave him a knowing smile.

  He didn’t like the insinuation, although it was true. It sounded lurid and unsavory coming from the detective. “She was a great chef.”

  “What about your relationship—did it end well?” The man quickly glanced up from his writing as if to catch
him off guard.

  “No.”

  “Interesting.” Detective Crespo leaned back in the chair and scrubbed his chin in thought.

  “How so?” He straightened. His hands dropped to his side. Here it was, the real reason for the interview. “Not everyone’s love life does.”

  “I’ve been checking.” The man tsked. “And it seems she was—I don’t want to badmouth the dead—but my sources say—”

  “She was a bitch. If you’re asking did I kill her, the answer is no. We were history a long time ago.”

  “I’m thinking there’s more here than what you’ve told me.” Detective Crespo’s mouth turned up in what might be a fatherly smile, his first real emotion of the day—probably even the decade. The detective’s sad attempt at coaxing an answer from him would be laughable if the stakes weren’t so high.

  “Not really. Juliette had a way—hell, she still has a way—of destroying people. Even after she’s dead.”

  This time the man’s face went hard and cold. “Why, did something happen?”

  “Tilly just found out about my past relationship with Juliette. She wasn’t pleased.”

  “Too bad she didn’t know about it earlier.” Detective Crespo waved away his outburst. He hefted himself out of the chair. “It would’ve been so easy to make the two of you for the murder if you both hadn’t been alibied up the wazoo.” A quick snap had the notebook closed and back into the detective’s pocket. “Too bad. I like easy.” He slipped past Jordan. “I’ll go look up Ms. Danes. Oh, another thing. I don’t like amateurs poking around in my investigation.”

  He couldn’t resist raising a brow and trying for his snarky best. “It’s too late for that. The commissioner authorized it. He’s a friend of Mr. Hirschberg’s.”

  Detective Crespo’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care if Hirschberg is fucking Santa Claus. Stay the hell out of my way.”

  “Like I said, we’re already involved. Detective Tapper met with us for a consult.” He wouldn’t admit that he wasn’t a big fan of being so involved in the murders, either.

  “I don’t like you or Tapper,” Detective Crespo growled. “He’s nothing more than a lab geek with a gun.”

  Better than an asshole with a gun.

  He had to bite back the words. He stared as the door closed. Life had just served up a plateful of crap cakes with a secret sauce that reeked of up yours. The headache and his temper flared. He let out a yell. His fist made contact with the wall of his office, leaving a blossom of shattered drywall and paint in its wake. Maintenance would have a shit fit, but he didn’t care. The Culinary Channel could take it out of his pay.

  …

  Tilly’s day started off with good intentions. She’d made a point of not calling Jordan after she’d sicced Hank on him. Maybe she’d overreacted, but she had to draw the line somewhere, and lying was a big line. This was a problem they had to hammer out before the relationship could go forward.

  She picked up her lime-green bag and checked the cash in her wallet. Her fingers fanned through the bills, and she pulled out several twenties. “Here.” She handed them to Ruby. “This is for lunch, orderin’ in pizza, whatever. I’m goin’ to be back late because I’ve got to make up for missin’ work yesterday.”

  “When ya comin’ back?” Ruby’s sharp black eyes were at odds with her cotton candy–lavender hair. She slipped the money into her bra and smoothed her blouse back into place.

  “When I’m done.” Tilly slipped her wallet back into her bag. “I’ve called the studio and rescheduled the shoot for the show. It may go past nine or ten tonight. I’ll call and let you know for sure.”

  “Have you talked to Jordan this morning?” Sarah feigned disinterest and failed abysmally. She plopped onto the couch. “Hmm?”

  Tilly squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. “No.”

  “Why not?” Her daughter’s third degree began to wear thin.

  “It ain’t right to let the man to stew in his own juices.” Ruby gave her a gimlet stare. “You call him.”

  “Okay, you two.” She threw up her hands in defeat and slitted her eyes. “When did you go over to the dark side?”

  The worried expression on Sarah’s face tugged at her. “You said he was hurt.”

  “No. He’s fine,” she tried to reassure her daughter. “Hank would’ve called if there had been something wrong.”

  Sarah got up and put herself between Tilly and the door. Concern filled her eyes. “Call him, Mama.”

  This was the first time her daughter had championed any of the men in her life. It was hard to ignore Sarah’s pleas. “Okay. Okay.” Tilly glanced over at the clock above the fireplace. “I’m runnin’ late, but it’s only for you, not Jordan.”

  She’d never admit it gave her the excuse she needed to do what she’d been itching to do since she got up. She hit speed dial and waited anxiously until it went to his voicemail.

  “He’s not picking up.” Had something happened during the night and Hank had neglected to let her know? A little surge of panic made her heart jitter like a frog in a hot skillet.

  Ruby pursed her lips, now smeared with a pink that nature had never intended. “Maybe he’s dead and his friend is afraid to tell you.”

  “Damn it, Ruby. He’s not dead.”

  Ruby held out her hand. “That’s two bits for the monkey bars. The kids at church are really gonna appreciate it.”

  The panic died down to be replaced with pure aggravation. “Take it out of the change. I’m leaving.” Tilly gently pushed Sarah aside. “Ruby is to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

  Her daughter gave a very Ruby-like snort. “Who’s going to keep her out of jail?”

  Tilly marched into the kitchen and pulled a battered aluminum measuring cup from out of an overhead cabinet. She banged it on the counter. “This is for emergencies only. You can run it over the jail cell bars to get the guard’s attention.”

  “Hey, that’s my favorite measurin’ cup.” Ruby’s eyes narrowed. “Why is it here?”

  “Because I’m a thief. Get over it. Now, I really need to get to work.”

  The subway ride gave her time to think. She’d call Hank and find out what was happening once she made it to work. One scenario after another stampeded through her mind. Each worse than the one before. Maybe she had overreacted to the news about Juliette, but she had to draw the line somewhere. The maddening need to understand her mind and her heart was crucial if they were ever to go forward in their relationship.

  Once through the doors of the building, she found a quiet corner and dialed Hank.

  “Hey, Tilly. What’s up?”

  She cleared her throat. “Ah…how’s Jordan?”

  “Besides having a world-class hangover? He went in to work today.”

  “What!” Her breath froze in her lungs. A mountain of guilt slid over her. “How’s his foot?”

  “They slapped a Band-Aid on it and called it good. It was getting beaned with a can of olives that did him in.”

  “Olives?” She had to ask to make sure she’d heard him right. “Really? Olives?”

  “Yeah, the fancy kalamata ones. He ended up with four stitches and a concussion.”

  She pressed her hand against her heart. “Oh?” Her matter-of-fact tone surprised her.

  “His head’s too hard to keep him down long. He stayed overnight at my place. He went back to his apartment to pick some clothes before he went to work.”

  A deep shuddering breath of relief helped offset the fright over hearing about Jordan’s concussion. “Good. That’s good.” She didn’t want Hank to know she’d been worried sick.

  “Oh, and just FYI, Detective Crespo is on a one-man mission to close out the murder cases ASAP. He dropped by here to give me an earful and said he was headed your way.”

  “Okay. Thanks for the heads-up.” She ended the call and went to catch the next elevator up. Luck decided to give her a wide berth today—the door opened and Detective Crespo stepped out.

  “Just
the person I was looking for.”

  “Oh, goody.” She stuffed her phone back into her purse and moved aside for the other passengers in the elevator car to exit. “I’m always up for bright lights and rubber hoses the first thing in the mornin’.”

  She wasn’t certain, but the crack defacing his rocky facade might actually be a smile. It was scary—and she wasn’t sure if she liked it any better than his usual Mt. Rushmore expression.

  “Police interrogation isn’t like that anymore.”

  The last person out of the elevator cast a curious glance in their direction. One scowl from the detective sent him on his way.

  She got into the elevator. He followed her like an unwelcome shadow.

  “What do you want, Detective?”

  He leaned over and pressed the floor number for her office. “I want to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  “I don’t have a minute.”

  “Did you know Jordan Kelly had a fling with Juliette DuPres?”

  “Yes.”

  A ding sounded and the doors opened. Detective Crespo tailed her out of the elevator and to her office. She pulled out her key, counting to ten to let her temper simmer to a low boil. Her hands were surprisingly steady when she opened the door.

  She smiled at the detective as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Old news.”

  This time the detective did frown. “I got the feeling you two were having problems.”

  “Most couples do.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s bein’ a jerk.” She went to her desk and stowed her purse in the bottom drawer. “Like always.”

  “Somehow I got the impression DuPres was the problem.”

  “No.” She’d had it with the detective. He was as subtle as a sledgehammer. There was no way she’d even begin to dirty Jordan’s name or give Detective Crespo a reason to look at him for either murder. “I can honestly say Juliette DuPres isn’t the issue.”

  “Okay. I can see I’m not getting anywhere here.”

  “There’s no place to get.” She gave him a big smile.

  He turned to leave, but stopped and turned back around. “Okay. Let me tell you the same thing I told your boyfriend. I don’t want your help—in any way. Is that clear?”