Murder Al Fresco

by Jennifer L. Hart

  "You really are a shrewd businessman, aren't you?" I asked.

  Jacob's smile didn't reach his eyes. "It's the only arena where I've excelled."

  My lips parted, and I was about to ask him about that odd statement, but he spoke first. "I'd better get the all clear to Ed. When I come back, be ready to discuss uniform designs." He slipped out without a glance in my direction.

  "What just happened?" I asked the empty kitchen.

  "Hello?" someone called from the front room.

  "Stu?" I pushed through the door to see the little man looking peaked. "Is everything all right?"

  He rolled his eyes at me. "Andy, one of the judges is dead. How could everything be all right?"

  I held up my hands, seeing his trademark temper reach the boiling point. "I mean, what are you doing here so early?"

  "I need an HQ so that everyone knows where to find me while I work on setting up the competition."

  "So it hasn't been canceled?"

  "The show must go on," Stu said, looking a little sad. "It's what Chad would have wanted. So can I set up my home base here?"

  "Of course. It'll be easier for me to ask questions about Chad and the blogger if it's all happening here. Speaking of which, what do you know about the blogger?"

  "Nothing. She chooses to remain anonymous. The blog is called Foodie Fanatics, and the main blogger posts as Fangirl#1. Basically she posts recipes, reviews, and celebrity chef gossip. The reviews are always scathing, which explains why it's so popular."

  "Everyone loves an entree with a side of scandal," I groused, knowing from personal experience. "Did Fangirl#1 seem to have an ax to grind about Diced more so than any of the other culinary shows?"

  Stu pushed his glasses up his nose. "Absolutely. We left it alone at first, since she seemed to be driving more viewers to check out the show. But then her speculations got nastier. Chad caught the worst of it because of the abuse accusations."

  I thought about it for a beat. "Feel free to use the front room until 11:00. That's when we open."

  "Where are you going?" Stu asked.

  "I have a blog to read."

  Lemon and Herb Pasta

  You'll need:

  1 pound penne

  2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

  1 cup fresh ricotta

  ⅓ cup roughly chopped mixed fresh herbs (such as chervil, tarragon, and flat-leaf parsley)

  Zest of 1 lemon, grated

  ¾ teaspoon sea salt

  ¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

  Directions:

  Cook the pasta. Reserving ⅓ cup of the starchy water, drain the pasta and then return it to the pot.

  In a medium bowl, whisk together the butter, ricotta, and reserved pasta water until a rich, creamy sauce forms. Pour the sauce over the hot pasta. Add the herbs, zest, salt, and pepper and toss. Serve immediately.

  **Andy's note: Be creative with your herbs. Use what you like and what you keep on hand.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "Please," Kaylee begged for the fourth time.

  "No." Donna was right. I was turning into Aunt Cecily. My attracting positive things was all but gone. "I need your help here."

  "But we've finished everything." Kaylee waved a hand at the veritable mountain of pasta stacked neatly in Tupperware bins, ready to be cooked and brought forth at a moment's notice. "I want to meet him."

  "Kaylee, we're going to be swamped come lunchtime, and I've already taken orders for three portable pasta bars this week. You, Jacob, and Lacey will be on your own here while I finagle with the Diced people and work out my final competition menu." Not to mention investigate a possible homicide.

  I'd spent about an hour combing through the Foodie Fanatic's blog while Kaylee was prepping the pasta. Stu was right. Fangirl#1 had it out for Chad Tobey. She called him a shameless womanizer, a tyrant in the kitchen, an abusive spouse and father. From what little I'd read, she had been willing to tear him down and totally destroy his reputation. I still didn't know why though.

  "All the more reason to take a break now, so I can go see my brother." Kaylee's hands went to her hips.

  "Ssshh," I hissed, eyes darting to the door. Stu and the Diced executives had taken over the front room of the pasta shop, as previously agreed. Since we weren't officially open, Stu had brought in a coffee maker and pastries from Irma's bakery across the green to help fuel the production team while they planned the logistics of the show. The back window was open, and we could hear the steady buzz of machinery from Jacob's design team. The frenetic energy sizzled all around us like prosciutto in a pan, and Kaylee's incessant pestering wasn't helping the pounding in my skull. "Secret, remember?"

  She rolled her eyes at me. "I still don't get why we have to keep it a secret."

  "Because you're part of the social media generation. You guys put everything out there on display. We old fogies like to keep stuff to ourselves."

  Kaylee rolled her eyes. "If you don't take me, I'll hitchhike."

  I could tell from the set of her stubborn chin that she wasn't about to let the subject drop. "Fine then, but we can only spare an hour. Meet me at Mustang Sally. I need to tell Stu and Jacob we're heading out." I tossed her the car keys.

  Kaylee's grin was almost worth my apprehension at leaving so many strangers in my pasta shop unsupervised. She clapped and bounced on her toes before scurrying out the back. I gave the kitchen one final look and then pushed my way into the front room.

  Stu sat at one of the booths, listening to a thin man with a hooked nose and lank, greasy hair talk about set building. He looked up at me but didn't interrupt as Mr. Greasy droned on and on about the logistics of filming the competition outdoors. From what I picked up, it was going to be expensive, but in the end, Stu made the final call.

  "The town square. We want this filmed live. Get me final numbers by three. Thanks, Terry."

  I swallowed around the lump in my throat. Filmed live—again. The words sent a cold chill down my spine.

  Terry scowled at me as if I were to blame for the unreasonable constraints Stu foisted on him. He rose from the booth then looked back at Stu. "Yessir."

  I watched him stalk away. "What's his damage?"

  Stu made an exasperated noise and gestured for me to sit. "Haven't you read those files, yet? Terry was a Flavor TV employee."

  Which explained the look. "They don't come with photos." Plus, I was kinda bad at names, except for the names of food.

  "Anything new to report?" Stu wrung his hands.

  "No, but I am heading out to check in with Jones, so he might have unearthed something."

  Stu shook his head, the overhead lights glinting off his dome. "I can't believe it about poor Chad. It's been a nightmare keeping the press out of this. Everyone seems to know there was a death the next town over, but so far I haven't heard a name."

  I made a mental note to check in with Kyle at some point and find out if he'd unearthed anything about Chad Tobey. Even if Jones did his wink-wink, hush-hush magic and found out Chad's cause of death, Kyle would expect me to grill him like a T-bone until the sheriff coughed up some answers. "Okay, well, I'm leaving but will be back soon. Keep everyone out of my kitchen, and I'll have my cell if you need to reach me."

  "Thanks, Andy. You're the best."

  I moved back to the kitchen and out the back, turning down the alley and following the sound of heavy machinery to the patio. Jacob wore a hard hat and was shouting something at one of the workers, a man with a jackhammer. Though there was no way the man could hear it over the cacophony of noise, he seemed to understand and moved his device to the side. Jacob gave him a thumbs-up. I tapped him on the shoulder and mouthed, "I'm heading out."

  He smiled over his shoulder at me and nodded. I skulked off to the car, glad we hadn't had to go another round because he always seemed to come out ahead.

  After losing several battles with Jacob, I'd thrown in the towel. We'd be getting the shipment of uniforms next week, plain black
T-shirts with an angel silhouette comprised of different kinds of pasta to be worn with jeans, knee length skirts, or slacks. The opening and closing checklists were in place, and the names and numbers for all of our distributors were listed by the phone. Every change Jacob enacted made me realize that we'd really only been cooking and cleaning all these years, not really running an organized business. If not for the family name and history with the town, we wouldn't have survived.

  Having someone else inform me that I'd been mismanaging my business chafed like a cheap polyester sweater. Having that person be my long-lost father wounded my pride on a much deeper level. Maybe it was stupid, but I didn't want Jacob to see me as anything but a total success. Part of it was the sense of ha-ha, look what I managed in spite of your absence. The feelings were petty and childish, but the other part of my discomfort was even more disturbing. I wanted him to be proud of me. How needy and passive-aggressive was that?

  Luckily I had no time for introspection. Kaylee had taken the liberty of pinning back the ragtop and had settled herself behind the wheel of my ride. "Nice try, kid. Scoot." I pointed at the passenger's side.

  "It was worth a shot." She slid across the vinyl seat.

  I took a minute to retrieve my cat-eye sunglasses from the glove compartment then buckled my seatbelt. "When you've mastered an automatic transmission, I'll let you drive her. Sally's old and finicky, much harder to handle than your average jalopy. Buckle up."

  Kaylee did, and I reversed out of the parking spot and pulled out onto Main Street.

  The heat wasn't too oppressive, and Kaylee laughed as her hair unraveled from her ponytail like it was the greatest thing she'd ever experienced. The girl worked as hard as I ever had, but she laughed easily—something I'd never mastered as a teenager.

  Though I'd half expected to see Lizzy's Audi in the driveway, I was shocked to see Pops' town car as well. Dread knotted in my stomach. "Oh boy."

  Kaylee was out of the car before I could warn her not to say anything about the patio renovation. Or Jacob and Lacey filling in at the Bowtie Angel. I uttered a quick Hail Mary and then climbed from the car.

  Aunt Cecily met me at the door. She glared at me but didn't say a word. Not a good sign. It took every scrap of maturity I could muster to keep from fidgeting under that glacial gaze. She wouldn't put The Eye on me, would she?

  "Andy girl," Pops greeted me with a hug. "We weren't expecting to see you here, were we, Cecily?"

  "No." The word had all the impact of a bullet, and it struck home.

  "I can explain," I tried but was cut off by a piercing squeal.

  "Oh my God, he is so cute!" Kaylee had obviously fallen in love at first sight with Clayton.

  I followed the sound of her voice. The little guy was seated in a booster seat thingy, a handful of Cheerios scattered across the tray. One side of his hair stuck up and was caked in some sort of goo he'd concocted by mixing the cereal with his own spit. He stared up at Kaylee with wide blue eyes and asked, "A diggy doo?"

  "That's right," I told him. "This is your sister, Kaylee." I wasn't about to do that half brother and sister nonsense. Tracing bloodlines around this town could give one a migraine. Jones was mine; therefore Clayton was mine, as was Kaylee.

  "He looks just like a mini-Jones," My own mini-me said. "Except filthy."

  "Diggy diggy." Clayton pounded on the tray with glee.

  "Andrea?" Jones appeared from the kitchen, wet washcloth in hand. He looked less on edge than he had the day before, a hopeful sign. "What are you doing here?"

  I straightened. "Kaylee wanted to meet Clayton."

  Pops chucked the little guy under his grubby chin. "Your Aunt Cecily and I had the same idea. A person could expire of old age waiting for you young folks to get a move on."

  "We've been busy, Pops," I muttered.

  "It wasn't our intention to exclude you," Jones added. "But we've been otherwise occupied." He wiped off Clayton's hands and face and then unbuckled the little guy from the chair. Clayton took off on all fours toward Kaylee. She grinned, obviously just as enamored as I was with the little guy.

  I looked over at Jones, searching his features. The man had one hell of a poker face. I couldn't tell if he'd found something on Chad Tobey's death or not. Either way, we didn't have the privacy to discuss it.

  "I will make the pasta," Aunt Cecily announced, her words drawing my attention from Jones.

  Oh, no. No, no, no. I had to keep her away from the pasta shop, at least while Jacob was there. "That's okay, Aunt Cecily. Kaylee and I have it under control."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Mimi came back, yes?"

  "Not until tonight," I admitted.

  "And you still participate in this cooking competition, yes?"

  She made Diced sound like a pie-eating contest at the county fair. "Yes."

  "Then I must make the pasta." Without another word, she marched over to Kaylee. "We must go."

  "Well, she's made up her mind. I best go warm up the car." Pops shuffled to the door, keys in hand.

  I sent Jones a panicked look and mouthed the words "help me."

  Jones cleared his throat. "Um, Aunt Cecily? I have to run into town. Is there any way you and Eugene could stay here until my sister arrives to watch Clayton? I don't want him anywhere near the madhouse of the cooking competition."

  Aunt Cecily looked ready to argue—when didn't she? — but she gave a nod and said, "Very well. We will sit il bambino."

  "Thank you." Jones gestured to the door. "Don't you need to get back, Andrea?"

  Oh, he totally had something for me. Unfortunately, there would be no opportunity to discuss whatever he knew with Kaylee in the car, and once we got to the pasta shop, finding a minute alone would be damn near impossible.

  "We will be by after," Aunt Cecily said, her tone implying a hidden threat.

  "Can't wait." My voice sounded faint, barely above a whisper. How on earth was I going to stop her?

  * * *

  "A terrific meal, Andy." Rodrigo Lobo touched my arm as I passed his booth, and I stopped, not wanting to seem rude.

  "Coming from you, I'll take the compliment." I beamed down at him. "Can I get you anything else?"

  There was nothing left on his plate but a smear of tomato sauce and a few breadcrumbs.

  He patted his totally ripped stomach in mock exaggeration. "Not if I don't want to look like a beached whale on camera."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Jones pause in clearing a booth of dishes to glower. I pointedly turned my back on him, not willing to deal with a mantrum in the making. "You're one of the competitors?"

  Rodrigo quirked a brow. "But of course."

  I felt like an idiot for not figuring that out sooner but chalked it up to my multitude of distractions. That explained why he wanted to check out the pasta shop—he was scoping out his competition. I wondered if he really had enjoyed the meal, but empty plates didn't lie. "Any idea who we'll be up against?"

  Rodrigo shook his head. "Stu is being even cagier than usual. And his mood has been so foul of late that I'm steering clear."

  "I don't blame you there," I laughed, though it sounded a little forced. "Well, I better get back to it." I chucked a thumb at the kitchen door.

  Rodrigo stopped me with a hand on my arm. "I was wondering if you'd let me cook for you tonight."

  "What?" I froze, the question taking me totally off guard.

  He flashed me his megawatt smile. "It's only fair, no? You cook for me, and I cook for you so that we start off on even footing."

  I could sense Jones hovering and only hoped he hadn't heard the offer. Rodrigo made it sound like I'd prepared a meal especially for him, which so wasn't the case. He was just another customer. Yet he wanted to cook for me? I studied him, unsure of his motives, and murmured, "Thanks, but I have plans."

  "Tomorrow then." Rodrigo wouldn't let up. "Please, chicana. I have nothing but time on my hands and am ready to go loco."

  I studied him for a beat. Donna had ment
ioned that Rodrigo had rented a big house on the east side of town. If I went onto his turf, Jones's head would explode. But the offer was completely professional, right? There was room for compromise, and I truly did want to gauge his talents for myself. "If you want, you can prepare a family meal after we close tomorrow."

  Family meal was cuisine made for the staff, usually concocted from whatever ingredients were left after the customers had been served. Because our dishes were always Italian, Mimi and I had recently been experimenting with other cuisine for a change. Mimi and Kaylee would both be there, possibly Aunt Cecily and Pops too—if they hadn't disowned me yet. Jones would have no reason to object.

  Well, no good reason.

  Rodrigo beamed. "It will be a great honor."

  Before I could stop him, Rodrigo lifted my hand to his lips and brushed a kiss to my knuckles. Behind me, dishes clattered as though someone had dropped a bin full of them. Oh, muffin top, there was no way Jones had missed that gesture.

  Yanking my hand back, I scurried off in a less-than-graceful exit, making a point to avoid my fiancé's hawk-like stare. Luckily there was a clear path to the kitchen door. The second it closed behind me, I stopped and shut my eyes. Damn. It was hard to tell if this was Rodrigo's true nature or if he was playing some sort of game. For a moment I considered that he might be the press leak and was trying to stir the pot and get dirt on Jones and I, but that was ridiculous. Fangirl#1 had yet to post anything about me. And for Rodrigo to be caught slamming fellow chefs would be detrimental to his career.

  "Everything okay out there?" Kaylee paused in grating cheese to ask.

  "Peachy keen, jelly bean." I sucked in a deep breath, fortified by the scents of garlic and oregano, and resolved to keep myself in the kitchen for the next few hours. Lost in the rhythms of cooking, I jumped when someone put a hand on my shoulder and turned to see the sheriff in my kitchen.

  "Kyle? What is it?"

  Kyle's gaze cut to Kaylee then back. "I need to speak with you. In private."

  The timer went off, indicating the latest loaves of Italian bread were ready to come out of the oven. "Can it wait? As you can see, I'm kinda swamped."