A Taste of Death

by Suzanne Rossi

  Susan shrugged. “I don’t think anybody came by, but I wasn’t paying much attention. I was mad at Anne.”

  Jane shook her head. “I don’t recall either. The waiter served us and that was that. I do recall that Fran and I were the last ones served at our table.”

  “We had a waitress,” Susan said. “The short, fat one.”

  “No, it was a guy,” Jane insisted. “I remember his hands when he put the plate in front of me. Fran came back into the room a few minutes later and began to eat. Then all hell broke loose.”

  Gil finished writing and looked up at Anne. “And you’re sure you saw the ghost lift a lid to one of the dishes?”

  “Yes. I thought he or she was just curious.”

  “Seems to me that if a ghost had served Fran, or anybody else for that matter, someone would remember,” Nancy said.

  Anne cast a glance at her former critique partner. “You and Fran didn’t come back into the room together. Where were you?”

  “None of your business,” Susan shot back.

  “Make it my business.” Gil gave her a hard stare.

  Susan looked away and shifted her weight from side to side again. “Fran was very upset. I tried to comfort and calm her down. She wanted to deck both Barb and Anne.”

  “Yes, but Fran came back a good ten minutes after you,” Anne reminded her.

  “She said she didn’t need my help and was going to take a walk to cool down—and before you ask, I have no idea where. I went to the ladies’ room.”

  “Thank you for your help, ladies.” Gil smiled and nodded.

  Jane got the hint that they should leave. Susan didn’t. She still glared at Anne, but moved away as the treasurer grabbed her elbow and steered her toward the door while whispering in her ear. Susan’s comments as she exited were clearly heard.

  “I don’t care what you say; he needs to arrest our new President. She’s always hated both me and Fran. Why, she wasn’t in the least bit nice when she won the election. Didn’t phone Fran or…” Gratefully, her voice faded as they women moved down the hall.

  “Whew, what a morning,” Rose said. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m confused.”

  “Me, too,” Ellie echoed.

  Kathy Samuels reentered the room shaking her head.

  “Oh my God, what a day! Poor Cindy was so upset—too upset to eat, so I bought her a glass of wine, then shoved her into a taxi for the airport. I don’t think she’ll ever come back.”

  “I’m Detective Gil Collins. Could I ask your name?”

  “I’m Kathy Samuels, the Vice-President of the chapter.” She glanced at the others. “Did anything happen while I was gone?”

  “Looks like Fran may have had a serious reaction to something in her food,” Nancy told her.

  “Ms. Samuels, did you notice anything or anybody unusual this morning?”

  “Not really. Some people were in costume, but I didn’t bother to look too closely. I was more concerned with Cindy’s welfare.”

  “Did you by any chance notice a person disguised as a ghost?”

  Kathy frowned. “Yeah, I did, but had no idea who. I was going to call out whoever it was for looking like a Klansman. Bad taste, if you ask me. Do you need me for anything else? I just want to get home and try to forget any of this happened.”

  Gil snapped his notebook closed and smiled. “No, I don’t need you. I may be in touch later, however, and naturally if you think of something, no matter how insignificant you consider it, please let me know.”

  “Oh, Kathy, the officers would like the address and phone number of Mary Smith, the doctor who helped out. She said she was a new member.”

  Kathy frowned. “She was? I don’t recall her offhand. Let me check when I get home.”

  Gil handed Kathy and Ellie his business card. The women nodded, gathered up personal items, and left. Rose, Nancy, and Anne remained.

  Anne looked at Gil. “What next?”

  “Next, we talk to the wait staff.”

  Chapter Three

  Gil moved to the door and stepped into the hallway.

  “This is looking more and more like no accident,” Nancy commented.

  Anne took a deep breath. “I know, and once again I’m involved with a dead body.”

  “As Jen would say, the Snoop Group to the rescue,” Rose said.

  Their absent critique partner, Jennifer Swanson, had dubbed them this during the conference last spring when they’d assisted Gil in solving two murders.

  Anne mentally crossed her fingers. “Let’s hope that this time, it’s an accidental death. Maybe the hotel is at fault.”

  “Well, if they are, they can expect one massive lawsuit coming their way,” Nancy added. She pulled out a chair and sat. “I’m tired of standing, but don’t want to go home just yet. This investigation stuff is getting to be fun.”

  Anne and Rose also took seats.

  “I wonder at what point in time Susan is going to go completely around the bend,” Rose said. “Her accusations are totally insane.”

  “Well, no one can possibly believe I had anything to do with Fran’s death. How much longer will Susan’s present critique partners put up with her?” Anne wondered.

  Gil reentered the room with three waitresses. All wore black slacks, black shirts, and black shoes. Very nondescript. Anne immediately noticed that none of them matched the description Susan had given of her server.

  So much for short and fat. Leave it to Susan. Doesn’t pay attention to details, but has an opinion anyway.

  For once she didn’t feel guilty at being judgmental.

  One of the women glanced at the table where Fran had been seated and shuddered.

  “I appreciate you coming. Could I have your names, please?” The women complied as he wrote in his notebook. “Ladies, I’ll make this as quick as possible. Which of you served this table?”

  The tall dark-haired woman who shuddered raised her hand. “I did.”

  “Could you please give me some details?”

  “Details? I filled water and iced tea glasses. I brought in the salads, and then took away the empty plates. It took a while because I had to deal with four tables. The others only had three.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Jeff was a no-show. We had to rearrange the stations. Since I’m the most experienced server here today, I was told to pick up the slack.”

  Anne was itching to ask more about Jeff, but knew better than to interrupt Gil. Nancy and Rose also knew the drill by now. They, too, kept silent.

  “What can you tell me about the table where the lady died?”

  “Not much. It was fairly straightforward.”

  “Tell me about the food,” Gil asked.

  “The salad was mixed greens with tomatoes and cucumbers. The dressings were in boats on the table—balsamic vinaigrette and ranch. There were also two baskets of bread and some butter.”

  “I see. What about the entrees?”

  “There was a choice of three, one chicken, one fish, and one vegetarian.”

  “Can you describe how they were cooked?”

  Anne leaned forward in her chair. She saw where this was going.

  “The chicken was in a sauce of some kind. The fish had a coating of bread crumbs, and the meatless dish was cheese tortellini in tomato sauce.”

  “Can you describe the breading in more detail?”

  The woman shook her head. “Not really. I don’t cook it, I just serve it.”

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Gil said. He walked over to the house phone, lifted the receiver, and spoke softly before returning.

  “Did anybody notice anything unusual during service?” he continued.

  “You mean other than half of them were in Halloween costumes?” another server asked. Her iron gray hair was cut in a severe, almost masculine style.

  Gil smiled. “Must have been amusing.”

  “Would have been if it hadn’t been for this one who lifted the lids from a few of the
plates.”

  “Can you describe the person?”

  “Yeah, a ghost.”

  “She was a ghost?” the last woman, a short, slender redhead said. “I thought she was a Klansman. Tacky if you ask me.”

  “Why do you say ‘she’,” Gil asked.

  The waitress shrugged. “The room was mostly women. I just assumed.”

  “And you saw her at the cart with the food on it? Salad or entrée?”

  “Definitely entrée,” the redhead told them.

  “No, it was the salad,” the second server insisted.

  Gil turned to Anne. “Do you know which it was?”

  She shook her head. “Didn’t see the plate, only the action, but my guess is it was the salad. I remember it was the first time I called Fran out into the hallway for a chat about getting Rose and me the necessary papers.”

  The redhead shook her head. “When I saw her, it was definitely the entrée. I remember because I was carrying some empty salad plates to the cart.”

  Gil’s attention swiveled back to the waitresses. “Tell me, where do you take the empty plates?”

  The gray-haired server answered. “There’s usually a cart or two just around the corner near the freight elevator. When they’re full one of us takes them to the kitchen. If we’re real busy, we just call down for a busboy to come.”

  “And today?”

  “Didn’t need to call,” the redhead replied. “The busboy came with a bunch of entrees just as I filled up the space on the last cart. He left with one of them. I assume he returned for the others.”

  “Did you know the busboy?”

  The head waitress nodded. “Sure, it was Miguel.”

  “Miguel? Can you describe him?”

  “Early twenties, five-six, slender.”

  Gil smiled once again. “Thank you for your help. Now, I’d like to know if I could get, say about a dozen ziplock baggies.”

  “Of course, won’t take a minute.”

  Anne and her friends had remained silent during the interrogation. Now, however, she jumped to her feet and walked over to the group.

  “Hello, my name is Anne Jamieson. I’m the new president of the chapter. I just want to tell you that this staff always does such a nice job. I’m so sorry this had to happen.” As she spoke, she shook hands with each of the women. “I hope next month is less traumatic.”

  The women left. Anne turned to Gil.

  “Jane may have been on to something. None of those women served her or Fran.”

  “How do you know?” Rose questioned.

  “Jane said it was a man because she remembered his hands. They were definitely masculine. Two of the servers wore rings and one nail polish.”

  “She would have seen that,” Nancy agreed.

  “What about the busboy?” Rose added. “Could he have served a plate or two to help out? The waitresses may not have known, or may not have wanted to admit they let a busboy do their jobs.”

  “This is beginning to look strange,” Gil said. “I called down for the head chef to come up. Where is he?”

  The server arrived with the requested baggies.

  He stuffed them into his coat pocket. “Are there any more entrees still in the hall?”

  “Yes, sir. A full cart. “

  Gil left the room and returned a few minutes later with three of the baggies containing samples of the salmon. He then went from table to table taking random samples of fish and salad from other plates.

  “What are you doing with those?” Rose asked him.

  “Comparison samples. Someone in the kitchen could have accidentally put peanuts into the mixture or on the salad.”

  He zipped the last bag shut as a man in a white coat and pants walked into the room.

  “Mr. Collins? I’m Chef Michael Barnes. I understand there was a problem here.”

  Anne wanted to roll her eyes. That’s putting it mildly.

  Gil told the servers the room could be cleared, and then explained to the chef what had happened. “You didn’t know about this?”

  “No, I came in about eight-thirty or so to oversee prep for lunch and tonight’s service. I gave the sous chefs and line cooks their orders, and then met with the head of catering. We had several large bookings for today, including a small wedding reception for this evening.”

  “So you didn’t prepare this particular menu?”

  “I made the decision on what to offer. I try to change it up from month to month. I give the sous chefs the menu when they come in and begin the process.”

  “What is in the breading on the salmon?”

  “Toasted bread crumbs, chopped parsley, a little thyme, some…”

  Gil held up his hand. “Peanuts?”

  “Peanuts? No. Never. Too many people are allergic to peanuts and nuts in general. If we use any kind of nut, we always state it on the menu. There’s a macadamia encrusted grouper, but that’s all.”

  “Could a mistake have been made in the kitchen?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Would you have any of the breading used for the salmon still available?”

  Chef Michael frowned. “I don’t know, but we can go check.”

  Gil turned back to Anne and the others. “I’m staying here for a while. Why don’t you all head for home?”

  Nancy nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  He touched Anne’s arm as Nancy and Rose exited. “Dinner tonight?”

  “Sure. I’d like that.”

  “Do we go out or do I bring in something for four? Are Lisa and Ken at home this weekend?” he asked naming Anne’s thirteen-year-old daughter and sixteen-year-old son.

  “They’re home. However, they can order in a pizza or eat leftovers. Let’s the two of us go out for a nice meal.”

  He grinned, leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  “See you around seven.”

  Anne joined Nancy and Rose in the hallway.

  “I know this sounds really callous, but I’m starving,” Rose said. “Lunch?”

  “Fine with me as long as it’s not here,” Nancy replied. “I’ve had about as much of this hotel and its food as I can stand.”

  “Rafferty’s?” Anne suggested. They always went to Rafferty’s during times of crisis.

  “Rafferty’s,” Nancy and Rose concurred at the same time.

  As they left the hotel, Anne couldn’t help but wonder if she was once again up to her ass in a murder.

  ****

  The Saturday lunch crowd at Rafferty’s had thinned, so the group had no problem finding a table. After ordering white wine all around, they looked at each other.

  “So, was this all just a horrible mistake or was Fran murdered?” Nancy asked in her usual blunt way.

  “I can think of a lot of people who’d want to kill her,” Rose said.

  “Yeah, but how many knew about her peanut allergy? What a way to start my presidential term,” Anne lamented again. “And just once, I’d wish someone would put a muzzle on Susan or stuff a sock in her mouth. Anything to shut her up.”

  Rose waved her hand. “Don’t worry about her. I noticed a lot of members looking at her like she had two heads when she was accusing you. Susan Lynch will not be taken seriously by many after today.”

  “But it’s so annoying to be on the end of her barbs. I always feel like I have to defend myself.”

  “I talked to a few people while Gil was there. She’s going through critique partners like water over a dam,” Nancy said. “Pretty soon she won’t have anybody left to bully.”

  “Any idea who’s still putting up with her nonsense?” Rose questioned as the waiter brought their wine.

  Anne sipped and shook her head. “Not a clue. Ellie dropped out this morning. Susan wasn’t happy about it.”

  Nancy took a large drink and sighed. “Oh, who cares about Susan? Her paranoia will bury her. Let’s talk about Fran. Any idea who this ghost person was?”

  “No. She was there before lunch was served, bu
t gone when Fran died,” Anne said.

  “And Jane was convinced she was served by a man. The busboy?” Rose mused.

  Anne tapped her finger on the rim of her wine glass. “Possibly. Of course, we don’t know if it was the food yet. There might have been an insect involved.”

  The waiter stopped by their table. “Are you ready to order, ladies?”

  Nancy opted for a burger and fries, while Rose settled on a turkey wrap with chips. Anne didn’t have much of an appetite, so decided to keep it light by ordering a Caesar salad. Besides, she’d eat her fill tonight.

  “I don’t care what anyone says, it was no insect,” Nancy stated when they were alone again. “And it could have been an accident. A line cook or sous chef deciding they could improve on the recipe and making it up as they went along.”

  “I hope that’s the case,” Anne answered. “I’d feel sorry for whoever did it, but that explanation would get the chapter out from under suspicion.”

  “And what are we going to do about those missing papers Fran had?” Rose asked. “I need to see those last couple of months of minutes.”

  “Ellie said she’d drop by and get them, but I think I’ll go with her. She seems nice, but I don’t know that much about her. I’m not sure I’d trust her to hand them over without reading them. I just hope Fran’s husband will let us in to look,” Anne said.

  “I’d wait until after the funeral,” Nancy suggested. “They aren’t that important.”

  “Speaking of the funeral, I suppose we all have to attend,” Rose commented with a sigh.

  “Unfortunately,” Anne stated. “At least you and I do. All board members should be there.”

  “I’ll go, if for no other reason than to support you,” Nancy added. “I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this won’t adversely affect the chapter.”

  Anne stared out the window, her mind racing as Nancy and Rose talked about the chapter.

  This is the third time in a little over a year the chapter has been involved in violent death. Membership renewal starts in January. Wonder how many will drop out. And how will the Writers Association of America view all of this?

  The national organization had suspended chapters in the past, but usually for lack of a full board of directors or weak membership numbers. Anne knew that as President, she was responsible for keeping the chapter on the straight and narrow. And Lord knows the past year hadn’t been this chapter’s shining hour.