Getting Rich (A Chef Landry Mystery)

by Domovitch, Monique

  She rummaged through my cupboards for mugs, set them on the table and then opened the fridge. “Did you hear from Mitchell?” she asked casually. “I tried to call him but never got through.”

  I grinned. “There was a message from him on my voice mail. He’s fine, working hard.”

  She set cream and mugs on my blue checkered placemats. “That’s good.” She seemed about to add something, but just then the coffee machine beeped and she turned away. She brought the pot to the table and poured.

  I took a long gulp, almost swooning with satisfaction. “I needed this. I’m already beginning to feel better.”

  “I bet being home doesn’t hurt either. By the way,” she said, giving me the eyebrow. “I came across one of your books, How to Keep Your Man From Straying.”

  I felt my face heat up. “What do you mean you came across it? That book was in my underwear drawer. Were you going through my drawers?”

  “Sweetheart, you should hide it better than that. Your underwear drawer is the first place where a curious boyfriend will peek.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Mitchell would never. Besides, you’re the one who looked, not him.”

  “And lucky for you. I found it by accident, looking for fresh towels. If I came across it that easily, anybody could. And you know what I always say.”

  Uh-oh. I readied myself.

  “The only thing worse than your boyfriend finding you diary is your boyfriend finding your much-highlighted self-help book.”

  I shuddered at the thought. Toni chatted on about how comfortable my bed was, how much fun she had with the puppies, but behind her light banter, I sensed she had something serious on her mind. She kept jumping up, wiping the counter, refilling the cups, all the time avoiding my eyes.

  I took another sip of coffee and set my cup down. “So, moving on to business—do you know if the police found out anything about that lunatic who ran me down?”

  She pulled herself a chair and sat, staying put for a change. “No, and I don’t expect we will. Steven says that she’s probably just some poor schizophrenic off her meds. It’s sad, but since the hospital budget cutbacks, there are thousands of people just like her, wandering around with nowhere to go.”

  “That’s what Charles says.”

  She nodded. “And he’s probably right. Those poor souls may look scary, but most of them are perfectly harmless.”

  “Whoa. I don’t know that I’d call someone who ran me down harmless.”

  She took a deep breath as if readying for a battle. “Well, here’s the thing. The woman who came into the restaurant ranting and raving looked like a homeless person, right? Or at least, that’s the way Charles and Jennifer described her.”

  I remembered the matted hair, the crazed eyes and the filthy coat. “That’s true.”

  Toni quirked an eyebrow. “So how do you figure a homeless person could not only come up with a car, but a luxury car at that?”

  She had a point. And it shocked the hell out of me. I was the one who usually made the points—not Toni. “You’re right. That never occurred to me.”

  The corners of her mouth curled into a triumphant smile. “So the way I see it, that poor soul probably had nothing to do with your accident.”

  “Oh, so now it was just an accident?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, in all probability that’s exactly what it was. And if you thought about it logically, you’d agree with me.”

  “You think I’m being illogical? That car was aiming right for me, Toni, and it sped up instead of slowed down. It had to have been on purpose.”

  Her smile was full of patience—irritating as hell. “I’m sure it seemed that way. But Steven says it was probably just some teenage boy with more testosterone than brains. He lost control, got scared and hit the gas instead of the brakes.” She shrugged. “The truth is, our little restaurant is not important enough for anyone to want to kill for it. And for that matter, neither is either one of us.”

  Toni saying she wasn’t important? I didn’t believe it. Sure enough in the next breath she took it back.

  “Well, maybe some people might think of me as important.” She flipped a lock of hair off her shoulder. I let that one pass, knowing that under that veneer of self-confidence Toni was really a mass of insecurity. According to her, she was too old, too fat and not attractive enough—all fears stemming from her modeling career. I’d once asked her if she’d ever been happy with her weight. Her reply was that she must have been just right at one point, but since she always woke up too fat or too thin, it had to have been in the middle of the night. She’d said this as a joke, but it was a sad reflection of how she really felt.

  I returned to the subject at hand. “So you really think it was just an accident.”

  She contemplated this for a moment. “Well, it certainly makes more sense than somebody being out to get us.”

  I very much wanted to believe that car had hit me by accident—much less frightening that the thought of someone wanting me dead—but I wasn’t convinced. Somehow that explanation just seemed too easy.

  a man is a man is a man

  Talking about the hit-and-run had made me forget about food, but my appetite came raging back when she offered to make breakfast.

  “I’m going to make you something delicious,” Toni said, grabbing one of my aprons from the hook behind the door and getting to work.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Mind? Why would I mind? I love to cook. Just because at work I choose to do the plating instead of the cooking doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.”

  Toni had spent the same two years in chef’s school as I had, but what she really excelled at was making food look like edible art. I, on the other hand, was a great chef, but lacked the patience to make each plate look beautiful. This made us perfect partners in the kitchen.

  Toni paused, waving a spatula at me. “You’ll see. You’re going to love it.”

  I watched with fascination as she whipped up a batch of what she called her secret recipe French toast, which she used to make back when she was a model. Toni looked so domestic wearing my apron and with a large bowl tucked under her arm, as she whisked the eggs and milk. Soon she had slices of bread sizzling in a pan. When they became perfectly golden, she scooped them onto plates.

  “I serve them with strawberry syrup instead of maple syrup, a dollop of vanilla yogurt instead of English cream, and top it all with fresh berries. Here you go.” She set one in front of me and poured me a fresh cup of coffee.

  I stared at the food. It looked good. I took a bite, and then another. It was every bit as delicious as Toni had promised. I was so hungry I gobbled it down and pushed away my empty plate, sighing with satisfaction.

  “That sure beats hospital food. If we ever decide to open for breakfast, this has to be on the menu. Where did you learn to make these?”

  “It’s nothing really,” she said, waving my compliment away. “Back when I was modeling, I came up with a whole bunch of ways to treat myself by making low-cal versions of my favorite dishes.”

  I looked at her in wonder. “And it never occurred to you to share those recipes, or to even mention them?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “They’re just ordinary recipes—nothing fancy about them.”

  “Who cares whether they’re fancy or not. Not every dish has to be gourmet. If they’re delicious, that’s all that counts.” I took a sip of coffee and put my cup back down. “Too bad we don’t serve breakfast at Skinny’s.” I snapped my fingers. “Hey. I have an idea. Why don’t we use recipes like this one for our column?”

  She nodded slowly. The thought appealed to her. “Not a bad idea. Maybe I could write down all my old recipes. They’re all so easy anybody could whip them up in a flash.”

  I clapped my hands in delight. “That’s exactly what we’ll do—develop easy recipes for the column, recipes anybody can prepare.”

  “There you go.” She got up from the table and carried the dishes t
o the sink. “I told you we’d come up with a solution, didn’t I?”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “You told me?” That wasn’t exactly how I remembered it, but it wasn’t worth arguing about. Besides, for all her outwardly good mood, I still sensed something was up with Toni, and whatever it was, was clearly not good. “Toni, talk to me. I know something’s wrong. I wish you’d tell me what it is.”

  There was a long silence, and just when I’d decided she wasn’t ready to talk about it, she cleared her throat. “There is something I think you should know.”

  Here it came. I readied myself. “Go on.”

  She took a deep breath. “I don’t know quite how to tell you this.”

  “Out with it.”

  “Last night...” She paused and for a second I thought she’d changed her mind about telling me. And then she blurted it out so fast that for a moment I thought I hadn’t heard right. “I saw a woman go into Mitchell’s house.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw a woman go into Mitchell’s house.” She paused, and then added. “I never saw her come back out. I think she stayed the night.”

  Whatever I had expected, this was not it. I laughed. “Mitchell is out of town, Toni. He’s in New York. I told you he had to go out of town to work on his manuscript with his editor.”

  She frowned. “Oh, right.” Long pause. “But that doesn’t explain the girl.”

  She had a point. “For all we know, it could be a cleaning woman, or maybe just a friend using his house while he’s away.”

  “Oh.”

  I could see the gears clicking in her head. And truth be told, they were clicking in my head too, but I wasn’t about to let her know that. The thing about my friend was that since catching her husband in an affair with his young secretary—prompting their divorce—Toni trusted no man. That was one more reason I’d been so shocked to find out that she and Steven had reconciled.

  “He’s with his editor? A girl?”

  “Yes, with his editor. And yes, this editor is a she. And before you say any more, Mitchell isn’t the kind of man who would cheat on his girlfriend.”

  She smiled knowingly. “Sweetheart, I know you don’t see men the way I do. I may be just a couple of years older than you are, but I have a lot more experience.”

  I stopped myself from laughing. Toni had months ago admitted she was close to forty, and I suspected she might even have passed the fourth decade mark rather than be approaching it.

  “Let me give you a little piece of advice,” she continued. “Before you start hoping to marry the guy, just stop and think. Is he the man you want your children to spend their weekends with?”

  I knew she hadn’t meant it as a joke, but I couldn’t help myself. I laughed until I cried. When I finally caught my breath again, I said, “So, tell me the truth, did you even try to call Mitchell?”

  “I did try...once. Like I told you, when I got his voice mail I decided to call again later. But after seeing...” She waved a hand vaguely, looking embarrassed, and then she raised her chin defiantly. “I know you love him, and I hope you’re right about him. But be careful, because in the end, a man is a man is a man.”

  There was no point in arguing with her. The best thing to do when she was in this frame of mind was change the subject. “Tell me about the girl. What did she look like?”

  “She was blonde, but nothing special,” she said, avoiding my eyes. That told me everything I needed to know. Not only was the woman beautiful, but Toni still believed Mitchell was somehow involved with her. I felt sorry for my friend. “She sure didn’t look like any cleaning woman I’d want Steven to be using,” she continued.

  “You and he are still not living together?”

  “He spends most nights at my place, but still goes back to his apartment once in a while—mostly to pick up fresh clothes.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to get to work.” She stood, and hesitated. “Are you going to be all right by yourself?”

  I nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

  She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Mind if I don’t do the dishwashing right away? I’ll leave it in the sink, but I’ll come back and do it later. I promise.”

  “You go. I’ll clean up. It’ll give me something to do.”

  “Don’t you dare! You just take it easy for today. Promise?”

  I nodded. “Fine.”

  She petted the puppies, gave me a quick peck on the cheek and took off. All at once the house felt almost unbearably empty. Jackie came over, scratching at my leg to be picked up. I wrapped her in my arms and held on tight. “I love you, little girl,” I said, feeling vulnerable. Even when I knew they were complete nonsense, Toni’s comments about men always left me feeling insecure. And now I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind. Who was that blonde Toni had seen going into Mitchell’s house, and what was she to my boyfriend?

  Jackie squirmed out of my arms and hopped down, giving me a look as if saying, “Don’t just sit there, you have some cleaning to do. Get to it.”

  “You’re absolutely right. Why should I sit around feeling insecure? I haven’t a problem in the world, right?” Not a problem, except I had a broken ankle, and my best friend was convinced the man I loved was cheating on me. Assuming Toni’s theory about the hit-and-run being no more than an accident was correct, at least I didn’t have a homicidal maniac after me.

  I leaned on my crutches and set to work. I washed the dishes, wiped the counters and the table. By the time I was finished, I knew I was in even worse shape than I’d thought. I’d barely been able to get from the table to the sink on my crutches a couple of times without huffing and puffing like a steam engine. I was damp with sweat and my face beet red from the effort. I scooped my crutches back under my arms and headed for the living room. I paused for a second halfway down the hall, debating whether I should call Mitchell.

  It was strange that, apart from that one short message, I hadn’t heard from him. He’d left four days ago. Actually, it was more than strange. It was worrisome. I shuffled back to the kitchen table, where I’d set down my purse, and pulled out my cell phone. Was I worrying over nothing? When Mitchell was in his writing mode, he could sit at his computer for eighteen hours a day and forget everything else—even eating. If he was in that frame of mind, three days was nothing. Also, my cell phone battery had been dead. He couldn’t have reached me if he tried.

  Speaking of which, I headed to the living room, where I kept my charger, and plugged in my cell. And then I went to the window, angling for a better view of Mitchell’s front walk. There was no fresh snow. What was left from the storm a few days ago was now packed and icy, making it impossible to see tracks. For all I knew, that blonde woman could still be there.

  I studied the items on the stoop—a cast-iron planter, a mat and a boot scraper in the shape of a porcupine. I was looking for evidence, any indication that somebody was there. But there was absolutely nothing. It left me feeling uneasy.

  *

  By five o’clock, I had been by myself for the better part of a day and was bored out of my mind. I turned on my reading lamp and parked myself in my favorite living room chair with a recipe book in my lap. If I was to start working on a Skinny Recipes column, I would need some inspiration. I flipped pages, pausing now and then on something that sounded especially delicious. Whenever my thoughts wandered, I looked out the window.

  About an hour later I happened to glance up as a cab pulled to the curb. I put down my book and watched a woman step out. She was the kind of blonde beauty one usually sees on television commercials—lovely model running in slow motion through meadows of wildflowers, her long blond hair floating in the wind. She wore a short white trench coat and thigh-high black boots, and carried a duffel bag and a red—was that a Vuitton purse? Nice. I squinted for a better look. There was something familiar about her. But whoever she was, she wasn’t anybody I’d ever met. She looked up and down the street and then dashed across to Mitchell’s front door. She pull
ed a key out of her bag and disappeared inside.

  I leaned back against my chair, wondering who she was and what she was doing in Mitchell’s house. More important, why hadn’t he told me about her? There had to be a rational explanation. Mitchell was a good guy, I reminded myself, and I wasn’t going to let myself get swept away in a whirlpool of doubts and insecurities.

  I returned to my book, turning the pages blindly. I was soon interrupted by a shrill sound coming from the wall separating Mitchell’s and my house. Some kind of power tool? And then it came to me—an electric drill. The noise continued on and off for a few minutes and then stopped. There was some light scratching noise, then silence. I was still sitting in the same spot some time later when the woman left. She marched down Mitchell’s walk and turned toward Queen Street. Toni’s paranoia had rubbed off on me, because long after the woman had disappeared from view, I was left with a strange sense of foreboding.

  *

  I’d been on pins and needles all day hoping to get a call from Mitchell. By the time I was ready for bed I still hadn’t heard from him and my worry was slowly but surely turning to anger. I picked up my phone and dialed his number, going straight into voice mail. I hung up without leaving a message. The next morning, I was just finishing a late breakfast when the phone rang at last. I snatched it up, convinced it was Mitchell.

  “Oh, Toni, hi,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.

  “Aww, were you hoping it was Mitchell?”

  “No,” I said unconvincingly.

  “Well, sorry it’s just me. I was just wondering what your plans are for today. Do you feel up to stopping by the restaurant for a bit? I know you’re dying to make sure everything is fine.”

  “That’s a good idea. I feel great this morning.” In fact, I hadn’t slept very well, waking up every time I turned. Sleeping with a cast was not exactly comfortable. Every movement had sent waves of pain reverberating throughout my leg. “So great, in fact, that my crutches and I are ready to come in to work.”