Murder Love on the Menu

by Dyann Love Barr

She glanced around at the others in the car. “Yes.” Her eyes trained on the closed brass doors until they opened.

  They walked in silence to Gretchen’s office. Jordan wasn’t about to say or do anything to harm Tilly, but he couldn’t make polite conversation, either. This was the way she wanted it—he’d give it to her.

  Gretchen stood, staring out the window of her office, back hunched and arms hugged over her chest. She turned her head the moment her personal assistant escorted them into her office.

  “Thank you, Marcia.”

  The door closed. Gretchen’s face looked grayer than her blouse.

  She took a deep breath. “I don’t know if it’s hit the news yet, but Detective Crespo is dead.”

  Tilly gasped. “That’s horrible.” She dropped into a chair in front of Gretchen’s desk. “I can’t believe this.” Her fingers covered her lips, and her eyes were wide with shock.

  A headache flared to life, grinding away at Jordan’s grasp on his hard-won composure. Three deaths in so short a time smacked of more than coincidence. The body count piled higher with each day. “What happened?”

  “Father called me first thing this morning.” Gretchen sat behind her desk, her face void of emotion, her voice thin. “He didn’t say how Detective Crespo died. The poor man was here just yesterday asking questions and being a pest.” She glanced over at Tilly. “I even said as much.”

  “Don’t feel bad.” Tilly nodded and sat with her hands gripped together tightly in her lap until her knuckles turned white. “We both thought he was bein’ pushy.”

  “I know.” Tears shimmered in Gretchen’s eyes. “I can’t help but feel guilty about the way I treated him.”

  “Maybe he was getting too close to the truth.” The whole situation made Jordan antsy. One thing he could say about Detective Crespo was that he was tenacious. Once he had a grip on something—he wouldn’t let go. That something might have been the killer’s identity.

  “Now the police will have to send someone else to dig away at all of us.” Gretchen’s composure crumbled. Her lips wobbled. Tears gleamed in her eyes. “Detective Crespo was at the house last night, asking the same questions over and over. Mother was beside herself. Sometimes I think they believe she killed Juliette, just because she dropped her damned lipstick case. They have their murderer.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Tilly said. “Your family has been through so much.”

  Her sympathy was heartfelt. Jordan knew her well enough to realize how much she hurt for others.

  “So have you and Jordan.” Gretchen gave them a weak smile. “You even gave up your time to help the investigation. Everything is in a state of limbo.”

  “I know this must be distressing.” Tilly glanced over at him with a small frown puckering her forehead. It was her bad-mojo face. “Is there anything we can do?”

  Gretchen gave them a wan smile. “This is all so surreal. Is it possible to find out what’s happening? I know you have connections with the police.”

  “Let me call my friend Hank. He might be able tell us something.” Jordan took a chair next to Tilly’s. He glanced in her direction. “As far as I know, we’re still involved.”

  Tilly nodded her agreement. “Yes, we are, but—”

  “That’s so kind of you.” Gretchen sighed with relief. “I know Father would appreciate it.”

  Jordan watched her with interest. The woman’s strained smile and dark brown eyes were hard to read. Gretchen’s head went down. She focused on the papers in front of her, shuffling them around. Her fingers refused to still.

  An eerie chill swept over his body. Tilly wasn’t the only one to have a bad-mojo vibe. “I’m going outside to call Hank.” He left Gretchen’s office, went straight past her assistant, and into the hallway before he hit speed dial. His friend answered on the second ring.

  “I’m a little busy here.” The clipped tones meant Hank was in the middle of something big.

  “Then I won’t keep you. I need some information. Gretchen told us that Detective Crespo is dead.”

  “Yeah. He stepped in front of a bus a few blocks from your studio. As far as we can tell, he was chowing down on a big-ass breakfast burrito—didn’t pay attention to where he was going.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Detective Crespo.” Jordan had to ask. The itch in the middle of his shoulders said there was more to this than Crespo’s attention deficit eating disorder. “Maybe it wasn’t an accident. Were there any witnesses?”

  “It was around seven o’clock this morning.” Hank sighed. “Someone called 911, said a man was hit by a bus. Several people told the officer on duty that he might have been accidentally knocked off the curb. They saw someone, a little on the stocky side, wearing jeans and a dark hoodie, bump up against Crespo.”

  “What about surveillance cameras?”

  “We’ve checked. They’re older models in that area, and the picture is too grainy to get an identification. The guy in the hoodie was there, but a couple of people blocked the camera’s view.”

  Jordan rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “Gretchen was wondering about the murder investigations. Do you know who will be taking over the case?”

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” There was a pause before Hank spoke. “What I’ve told you is confidential. Understood.”

  “Got it.” He ended the call and went back to Gretchen’s office. The two women looked up at him with identical expressions of worry and anticipation.

  “What did Hank say? Details?” Tilly swiveled in her chair to face him. “We’re still working the investigation, aren’t we?”

  “Nothing has been decided about Detective Crespo’s replacement.”

  A small half smile touched the corner of Gretchen’s mouth. “Maybe my mother can get a good night’s sleep.” She blinked and glanced up at him. “That sounds ghoulish, doesn’t it?”

  He sat in the chair he’d vacated minutes earlier and leaned into Tilly’s personal space. “And to answer your question, yes, we are still on the case. Unless you want to quit.”

  “Quit?”

  “You’re right.” His plan to follow her wishes was an epic fail, if the heaviness in his heart was any indication. “That would be unprofessional, and you said that you wanted to keep everything professional—didn’t you?”

  The caveman jumping around in the back of his mind couldn’t resist the dig, but the rational side of his brain said he was being an ass.

  “Yes, as professional as they come.” She raised her chin in defiance, but a small tic touched the corner of her mouth.

  He swatted the caveman back, and the tightness in his chest loosened. It might be only a hint of a smile, but it was something for him to cling to.

  …

  Tilly had to quash her smile. Jordan was being deliberately provocative. She tried not to let his nearness invite her hormones to do a lusty hoedown. But it was harder than she thought to put him out of her mind. It would be safer for her sanity, except her heart hadn’t told her body they weren’t dancing partners anymore. Nope. He’s goin’ to have to do-si-do with someone else. The thought slammed into her with so much force she sucked in a deep breath. She didn’t want him with anyone else.

  A dog in the manger, that’s what I am. A dog in the manger.

  “Something wrong?” he whispered, leaning closer with a frown on his handsome face.

  “No. I’m fine.” Lying was easier than admitting the truth. Ironic, since she hated liars with a passion. She had a chance to clear the wedding mistake with Gretchen, but she convinced herself it would cause more problems than she needed right now. She sat up straight. “Peachy. Just peachy.”

  He raised a brow and shook his head in disbelief.

  She wasn’t about to cave to her baser instincts, although they were clamoring for another bout in the janitor’s closet. The lid on that boiling pot of emotions would have to be slammed down tight.

  “I understand you two haven’t done the pilot for the new show yet. Wa
sn’t that on yesterday’s schedule?” Now Gretchen was back in full business mode. “I’ve given you both a lot of leeway because of the investigation.” Her quick about-face from a grieving woman to hard-nosed producer took Tilly by surprise.

  It was difficult to not squirm like a kid at the principal’s office. “That’s my fault,” she piped up and raised her hand at the same time. “I wasn’t feelin’ well.” A second lie piled onto the first. She figured she better get an acceptance speech ready, because at this rate she’d strip Jordan of his champion liar title.

  “You’re all right now?”

  Tilly nodded.

  “Good.” Gretchen pulled a tablet in front of her and used her stylus to make notes. “The prep team has everything ready in studio four. See that both of you finish shooting that pilot ASAP.”

  “Not a problem.” Jordan stood and offered Tilly his hand.

  She’d look like a fool if she didn’t take it. Now wasn’t the time to give Gretchen the news about their breakup. She pasted on a big smile. “We’ll make sure the show is a hit.”

  A hard tug had Jordan half dragging her out the door and through the reception area before she could say anything else. “What’s the matter with you?” She couldn’t believe his Neanderthal behavior in light of their breakup.

  “What was that?” Jordan nodded toward the closed door to Gretchen’s office. He gazed down at her with a pucker between his dark eyes. “I meant it when I said we were still working the investigation. Whatever has happened between us doesn’t change that. No running off on your own. Agreed?” The earlier teasing was gone. Now that they were alone, he was all business—just like she’d asked of him.

  “Agreed.” A knot formed in her throat. She wasn’t sure she liked the cold Jordan versus the hot-tempered model.

  “Detective Crespo might have been pushed in front of a bus.”

  “What?” She gasped. This couldn’t be happening—three people dead, and all of them connected to Culinary Channel. Finding out the detective was dead had been a real shocker, but this made it even harder to wrap her mind around. “Why didn’t you say so in there?” She pointed to Gretchen’s office. “She had a right to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Her family is in a lot of pain.”

  “We can’t give out any information that hasn’t been cleared by the police. I gave Hank my word.” He frowned and ran his index finger across his lips. “I don’t trust anyone at this point. Your bad-mojo meter is rubbing off on me.”

  A dull ache of emptiness hit low in her belly. She wanted to reach up and trace the path of his finger. She trembled with unabashed desire. “I hate this.”

  “This whole situation sucks.”

  She couldn’t tell if he meant the three murders or their breakup. The gruffness in his voice told her it would be better to change the subject. “Those stitches and bruises will be hard to cover up. How are you goin’ to explain them?”

  His legs ate up the distance to studio four. She traipsed behind him as fast as she could. Normally, he matched his pace with hers—now he acted as if she weren’t there at all.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He glanced over his shoulder with smirk on his handsome face. “I already have three shows in the can.”

  She’d give anything to see him blast his thousand-watt smile and dimples in her direction. “Well? How did you explain the stitches?”

  “I said I’d been beaned by a crazy, skillet-wielding woman.” The words came out deadpan serious. Everyone in the country knew about their relationship and could figure out whom he meant.

  Shock and disbelief dropped her jaw. “You told the whole world I hit you with a fryin’ pan?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “If the shoe fits.”

  “That’s a lie.” She stopped him with a pull on his sleeve. “Hank said you were hit with a can of olives.”

  “Correction, a very expensive can of kalamata olives.” He pushed through the door of studio four and held it open for her. “I believe our audience awaits. And speaking of lying, that was a nifty little performance in Gretchen’s office. You were sick?”

  He left her red faced and huffing and puffing to find a snappy comeback.

  Normally, they didn’t have a live audience, but Gretchen wanted more spontaneity. The group burst into applause. They spent a few minutes doing a meet and greet with crowd while the prep staff made sure everything was in order.

  “Okay, guys. It’s time to take your places,” Chelsea’s disembodied voice sounded from the control booth. “Let’s take it in five, four, three, two, one—you’re on.”

  The theme music for Both Sides Now played, and they watched the graphics on the monitor. Jordan glanced down at her. Usually, he’d wink. Today, he wore a smile as fake as the boobs of woman in the front row who tried to catch his eye.

  “Hi, I’m Jordan Kelly.”

  “And I’m Tilly Danes.” She smiled until it hurt.

  Together they read from the teleprompter. “We look at food from both sides. We take a classic recipe and interpret it in our own ways.”

  “May the best man—” Tilly piped up. She crossed her arm and raised a brow in a decent imitation of Jordan.

  “—or woman,” he added in a southern-fried falsetto. He picked up a wooden spoon from a utensil canister and flourished it in the air. “Win.”

  The audience howled with laughter, and he took a small bow.

  The next hour was spent picking members of the audience to judge the food they’d prepared. When all was said and done, Jordan won the judges over on this round, but he had rigged the vote by picking Miss Cleavage from the crowd.

  Tilly decided she’d had enough. She left Jordan talking to the woman and headed home as quickly as she could. Whether to lick her wounds from being bested by Jordan, or just to hide away from the world, she wasn’t sure. She needed to sort out her emotions. If the first day of life without him looked like this, she wasn’t sure how she would handle the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year. It was what she wanted. She’d told him to forget about her, to leave her alone, but she hadn’t anticipated the reality.

  She unlocked her apartment and threw the keys onto the entryway table with a sigh. The old saying of “there’s no place like home” didn’t apply when she knew she was about to be grilled like a cheese sandwich.

  “How did it go?” Ruby wasn’t one to let things slide.

  Sarah ran in from Tilly’s bedroom and skidded to a stop beside the older woman. They both wore expressions that would do the Spanish Inquisition proud.

  Sarah gave a maddening imitation of Jordan’s signature stance. “Well? Deets. I need deets.”

  Tilly shouldered her way between the two and flopped down into the welcoming softness of the couch. The first order of business was to take off her high-tops. She kicked her lime-green bag under the coffee table and bent to untie the laces. Sarah rounded the couch, literally throwing herself next to Tilly.

  “Come on. Spill it.” She laid her head on Tilly’s shoulder and batted her lashes. “You know you want to spill your guts.”

  “That quit working when you turned six.” She gave Sarah a gentle push. “And no. I don’t want to talk about work, or anything else.”

  “Let’s get you a nice cup of hot tea.” Ruby made shooing motions at Sarah with her hands. “Get up. Give your mama some breathin’ room.”

  Sarah jumped up with a pout and threw herself in the red chair while Ruby took the spot vacated by Sarah.

  Tilly sighed. It had been a long day, and it looked as if a longer night was in store for her. “What about my tea?”

  “Sarah, honey, go put on some water for your mama’s tea.”

  Sarah pushed herself out of the chair with an exasperated mutter. “How come I have to do all the work around here?”

  “You know your mama’s dogs are barkin’ somethin’ fierce, and my old knees make it hard to get up and down.” Ruby pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “Go—and don’t give m
e any more lip.”

  Sarah’s flounce to the kitchen was a study of teenage persecution, and she made sure they could hear her clattering around in high dudgeon.

  “Little pitchers have big ears.” Ruby pursed her lips. “I can see it was bad.”

  It was true; Tilly’s heart hurt more than her feet, but there were no laces to ease the pain that swelled in her chest. “Jordan was a perfect gentleman. Really great. No scenes…nothin’.”

  Ruby narrowed her eyes and scooted closer. “What really happened? You can tell me,” she whispered. She glanced over at the door to the kitchen. “She can’t hear us with all that racket she’s makin’.” The teapot began to whistle. “But you better hurry.”

  “There’s nothin’ to tell. Gretchen called us into her office to give us an update on the investigation. Detective Crespo was m—he died.”

  “That’s got to put a knot in the law’s tail.”

  “It complicates things.” Tilly leaned against the back of the couch and raked her fingers through her hair. “Jordan and I did the pilot for the new show. He was great. Really had the audience in the palm of his hand.”

  Especially Boobzilla.

  “Your ears are turnin’ red. What’d he do?”

  Tilly turned her head to glance over at Ruby. “He was polite, like I was a stranger or somethin’.”

  Ruby’s wizened face scrunched up in incredulity. “Whad’ya expect? You told the man to get lost.”

  “It’s just—I don’t know.” It was hard to explain the warring emotions to the older woman. “He was so cold.”

  Sarah came in with the tea and set it on coaster on the coffee table. “I think he’s giving you exactly what you wanted.”

  Tilly sat up and took the hot mug of tea, welcoming its warmth. It didn’t melt the coldness she felt lingering after doing the show. Normally, she and Jordan talked over the day’s events while they prepared a meal, or decompressed from the day by watching old movies and eating popcorn. “You’re right, but it’s still hard. This is the way it has to be.”

  “Why?” Leave it to a kid to ask uncomfortable questions.

  Ruby stared at Tilly and clamped her mouth shut. The glare said it all—she thought Tilly had made the wrong decision.