One Feta in the Grave

by Tina Kashian

  “There are five ways to mince garlic. Knife-minced, garlic-pressed, mortar and pestle, knife-pureed, and microplaned,” he rattled off as he continued to work. “Each has different qualities and unique tastes for dishes.”

  “What about the jars you can purchase from Holloway’s grocery store? The garlic comes perfectly minced.”

  Azad’s knife halted in midchop and he gave her an incredulous sidelong glare. “You’re kidding, right? Your mother would have a fit.”

  It was true. Everything was made from scratch at the restaurant. Her mother, who had been the head chef before Azad took over, even insisted on grinding her own meat for her dishes. “It’s never as fresh if you don’t do it yourself. Fresh is everything,” Angela Berberian had often said.

  “I never said I was a chef. That’s why I hired you, remember?” The words came out a bit harsher than Lucy wanted.

  He flashed a grin, and the dimple in his cheek deepened. “Don’t get all bent out of shape. I’m just showing you proper technique.”

  Lucy felt her face grow warm. They’d dated back in college, and when they’d graduated, their relationship turned serious. Or at least, she’d been serious. Azad had broken her heart when he’d suddenly ended things and they’d gone their separate ways—Lucy to law school and Azad to culinary school. She was older, wiser, and now his boss. So why did she let him get under her skin? One charming grin and she felt like a hormonal teenager gazing longingly at the star quarterback at a high school football game.

  Ugh. She’d have to try harder to hide her emotions.

  Only a few months ago, Azad had wanted to buy Kebab Kitchen. But Lucy’s “temporary” visit home, after quitting the firm, had turned into a permanent stay, and she’d come to realize how much she’d missed her family, her friends—and surprisingly—how important Kebab Kitchen was to her. So Lucy had stepped up. Her parents were more than happy to teach her the business as they worked part-time and eased into retirement.

  At least it had seemed the perfect arrangement for her. Azad may not view it that way. He’d left his sous chef job at a fancy Atlantic City restaurant to become head chef of Kebab Kitchen. She knew he’d initially wanted to buy the place from her parents and make it his own, but he’d changed his mind after Lucy had stated her intentions to remain in town.

  Azad set the knife aside and wiped his hands on a dish towel. “Now do you remember how to knife-puree it?”

  “Sure. Start by crushing it with the back of the blade.”

  Determined to show him she could do something, Lucy picked up the knife, pressed the back of the blade flat on a clove, and slammed her fist down to squash the garlic on the cutting board. But instead of cooperating, the finicky garlic clove shot from the board and flew across the kitchen like a smelly projectile.

  Oh, no. Her eyes widened in dismay. What the heck went wrong? He made it look so simple.

  She was saved from another culinary lecture by the sound of footsteps on the kitchen’s terra-cotta floor.

  Her mother, Angela, appeared behind an industrial mixer almost as tall as her five-foot frame. Her signature beehive, which had gone out of style decades ago, added a few inches to her height. The gold cross necklace she never left the house without caught a ray of light from an overhead kitchen window.

  Angela frowned as she bent down to pick up the wayward piece of garlic from the floor. “You’re doing it wrong, Lucy.”

  “She forgot to add salt,” Azad said.

  Salt! That was it. Lucy resisted the urge to smack her forehead with her palm. Salt made it easier to crush the garlic.

  Angela’s face softened as she looked at Azad in approval. She tossed the clove in a trash can and approached to pat Azad on the arm. “Listen to Azad, Lucy. He knows how to cook.”

  Lucy fought the urge to roll her eyes. If her mother had her way, Lucy would be baking her own baklava to celebrate her nuptials with Azad. It was no secret Angela Berberian wanted more grandchildren. Lucy had turned thirty-two and Angela firmly believed that her daughter’s biological clock was set to explode. It wasn’t enough that Emma was married to Max, a real estate agent in Ocean Crest, and they had a ten-year-old daughter, Niari. Lucy’s mother wanted more grandkids, and fast.

  “Now, do you have everything planned for that woman’s wedding?” Angela asked, her tone a bit chilly.

  “Her name is Scarlet Westwood,” Lucy pointed out.

  Angela folded her arms across her chest and arched an unamused brow. “Hmph. I know her name. I don’t have to like her. She’s done nothing to earn her fame except to be born into a wealthy family.”

  Lucy set aside the knife. “I know, Mom, but think of it as great publicity for the restaurant.”

  “Bah! Kebab Kitchen has done just fine for thirty years. Plus, that woman is a home wrecker.”

  Her mother was referring to several of Scarlet’s past relationships with engaged or married men. Almost all were older and wealthy. Lucy wondered how much of what was reported was true and how much was sensationalized. “Since when do you watch the celebrity news channels? I thought you only liked the cooking channel and that good-looking chef.”

  Angela looked affronted. “What’s wrong with Cooking Kurt? At least he’s honest and single.”

  Lucy couldn’t help but smile. One of the things she’d discovered since returning home was that her mother liked watching cooking shows while she worked. But she wasn’t as interested in the new recipes as she was in watching the hot, sexy star of one of the shows.

  “What’s this about Cooking Kurt?” her father’s voice boomed.

  Lucy and her mother turned. Raffi Berberian stood between the swinging doors leading into the kitchen. Arms crossed over his thick chest, her father was a large, heavyset man with a balding pate of curly black hair and a booming voice. He held a stack of papers.

  Her mother waved her hand dismissively. “We’ve been over this. You won’t take me to Cooking Kurt’s book signing at Pages Bookstore,” Angela said. “Now I have to ask Lucy to take me.”

  Raffi’s brow furrowed. “The man is a fraud. I doubt he even wrote one recipe in that cookbook.”

  Her mother planted her hands on her hips. “Of course, he wrote it. Isn’t that right, Lucy?”

  All eyes turned to her, and Lucy squirmed beneath her parents’ gazes. “I guess so, Mom. If he didn’t, his name wouldn’t be on the cover.”

  A glimmer of satisfaction lit her mother’s face, and her gaze returned to her father. “See? Lucy would know.”

  “Harrumph,” her father said, dismissing the subject in his own way.

  Lucy coughed to hide a smile. Despite their bickering, she knew her parents loved each other.

  Her father sifted through the papers in his hand. “I double-checked the remaining wedding invoices you prepared. Everything looks good.” He’d been in charge of the finances and the day-to-day business aspects of running a restaurant. Her mother had been in charge of the cooking.

  “Thanks for double-checking, Dad,” Lucy said.

  “Is everything ready to be loaded into the catering van?” her father asked.

  Two tall, rolling, catering carts with Dutch doors stood ready in the corner. One was heated to keep prepared food warm, the other was refrigerated for the cold items. The meat kebabs and vegetables had been marinated and would be grilled at the reception.

  “We’re ready to go,” Azad confirmed.

  “Do not forget that everything has to be served minutes from the grill.” Her mother’s laser-like gaze landed on Lucy. “I don’t know who the servers will be, so it’s up to you, Lucy, to be sure the food arrives hot to every table. The reputation of Kebab Kitchen is on the line.”

  Lucy swallowed as her nervousness slipped back to grip her. Her mother, despite her five-foot frame, could be quite intimidating. The wedding was a test and she was determined to prove that she had what it took to be a successful restaurateur.

  At Lucy’s nod, her mother continued. “Good. I’ll stay behind w
ith your father, Emma, and Sally and run the dinner shift. You go with Azad in the van and take all the food. Butch will meet you there.”

  “Katie is helping.” Her friend didn’t normally work weekends and had agreed to help Lucy oversee the reception. They didn’t need any more staff. Castle of the Sea had a full staff of servers, dishwashers, and bartenders. Kebab Kitchen was responsible for the mezze—or appetizers—for the cocktail hour, the main course, and baklava for dessert. The wedding cake was made by Cutie’s Cupcakes bakery, and Lucy knew that anything Susan Cutie made would be a stunning and mouth-watering confection. The lemon meringue pie was Lucy’s favorite.

  Her mom shook a finger at her. “Remember what I told you. Don’t interfere with Azad while he’s cooking. I know how you two can be at times. You need to oversee the servers and make sure the dinner hour runs smoothly. Don’t argue with him or get in his way.”

  “Why would I argue with him or—”

  Angela clutched Lucy’s chin and lowered her face to place a kiss on her forehead. “I’m proud of you, Lucy. Now go give that home wrecker a perfect wedding. If her marriage goes bad, it will be her fault, not ours.”

  photo credit: Tom Smarch Photography

  About the Author

  TINA KASHIAN spent her childhood summers at the New Jersey shore, building sandcastles, boogie boarding, and riding the boardwalk Ferris wheel. She also grew up in the restaurant business where her Armenian parents owned a restaurant for thirty years. She worked almost every job—rolling silverware and wiping down tables as a tween, to hosting and waitressing as a teenager.

  After college, Tina worked as a NJ Deputy Attorney General, a patent attorney, and a mechanical engineer. Her love of reading fiction for pleasure helped her get through years of academia. Her law cases inspired an inquiring mind of crime, and since then, Tina has been hooked on mysteries. Tina still lives in New Jersey with her supportive husband and two young daughters. And yes, they eat hummus and spend summers at the Jersey shore. Tina loves to hear from readers. Please join her newsletter to enter free contests to win books, get delicious recipes, and to learn when her books will be released at www.tinakashian.com.

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