Getting Skinny (A Chef Landry Mystery)

by Domovitch, Monique

  I gulped and blood rose to my face. “Yes,” I whispered. “We went there together. But please don’t blame her. It was my idea.”

  Steven was quiet as he mulled this over. “Okay.” He pulled out his cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number. Oh shit.

  “Toni, I’m at the police station with Nicky.” He glanced at me. “I think you should get your ass over here, now.” When he put away his phone, he seemed slightly less incensed, but his next comment made me wince with its directness. “You better start praying, because it’ll take more than a good lawyer to keep you two nutcases out of jail.”

  “But what about the missing bag of pills?” I asked him. “Doesn’t that mean the murder was about drugs? That should prove I didn’t do it.”

  “As you so aptly put it, the bag is missing. For all the police know, it was never there. You could have just made it up. Besides, at this point, your behavior makes you look really bad.” He turned and left.

  As soon as Steven had stormed out, I proceeded to bang my head on the metal table. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What in the world had I been thinking? Of course, the police thought I’d murdered Mona. Even Steven was beginning to doubt me. Heck, if I’d been looking at the evidence, I’d have suspected me, too.

  I was so shaken, I wanted to throw up. I forced myself to sit straight and took deep breaths until my stomach settled. It was probably no more than a few minutes later—but it felt like longer—when two cops walked in. I didn’t know either of them, but that didn’t make me feel any better. One of them, a pockmarked, mean-looking man, sat across from me and the other, an older officer with a grim smile, parked his butt on the corner of the metal table and stared down at me.

  Uh, oh. Here we go.

  The questions came like a volley of bullets.

  “Why did you kill her?”

  “Was she blackmailing you?”

  “What did she have on you?”

  “Did she witness you killing your boyfriend?”

  “Did she let you in or did you sneak in?”

  This time I knew better than to open my mouth. I bit my lips until they bled. And then suddenly, there was rap from behind the mirror on the wall, and instantly the two officers walked out. I took a shaky breath.

  Then I waited. And I waited, for nearly three hours and still nobody came, by which point I’d have welcomed a visit from Driscoll himself, rather that suffer through more endless waiting. I was conjuring up dozens of scenarios, each one worse than the other.

  What if Toni refused to testify for me?

  Don’t be silly, I told myself. Toni is my friend. Why would she do that? I suddenly remembered the Ralph Lauren leather jacket in her hall closet. What if it had been Rob’s? Could it be that Toni was involved with him somehow? She had known him before I did. I gave my head a shake. It couldn’t be…could it? If something had been going on between Rob and Toni, was it a romantic relationship? Or maybe she’d been buying drugs from him.

  Around and around my thoughts went, until I was certain I was going crazy. What if Toni testified against me? I’d seen a hundred cases on cop shows where the police turned one suspect against another. For all I knew, that was exactly what was going on right at this very moment. I had a sudden image of Toni buckling under the pressure and crying out, “Nicky did it. She murdered Mona, and I’ll swear to it in court.”

  Stop it, I told myself. I was being paranoid. None of that would happen. Steven was with her. He was my lawyer. A lawyer wouldn’t allow perjury. Or would he? After all, Toni was his ex-wife. Those two certainly seemed headed for reconciliation. For all I knew, they could be plotting to let me…

  At that moment, the door swung open and Steven burst in. I was so relieved that, if not for the angry set of his chin, I would have thrown my arms around him. “You and Toni are two lucky ladies,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  I was so shocked I was speechless. “Wh-what?”

  “Let’s go, unless you want to spend—”

  I was out in a flash.

  Outside, Toni was waiting on the steps, her hip cocked in a model’s pose. I was tempted to turn around and look for a photographer.

  “What happened?” I asked, wanting the answer to a million questions. “Is it over? Did you speak to the police? Did you tell them everything?”

  “Of course,” she replied nonchalantly. Then she grinned. “Lucky for you, I was here to back you up.”

  From behind me, Steven spoke up. “Actually, Toni, the police found evidence that Mona was already dead when you found her. Your word alone isn’t worth two cents.”

  “What evidence?” I asked, dumfounded.

  “Toni said you called an ambulance from your cell phone around twelve-thirty. The police checked, and it was true. Also, the coroner’s preliminary report states that Mona died around ten-thirty in the evening. The fact that she was wearing her scrubs indicates that she was probably getting ready to leave for work when she was attacked. According to Toni, at that time you and she were still at Skinny’s, and witnesses can confirm it. Also, the tape you were looking for was found.”

  “It was? That means they know I had nothing to do with Rob’s death, right?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Steven warned. “Nowhere on that tape does Mona admit to killing Rob. The police will go on suspecting everyone until the case is solved. However, you’re clearly not responsible for Mona’s murder, so it does take some of the heat off you.” He turned to Toni. “I want you to promise me that you’ll stop playing detective—that is, unless you’re both hell bent on becoming the next victims.”

  For once, Toni had the grace to look embarrassed. “I promise.”

  Steven turned to me.

  “I swear,” I said with utmost sincerity. “I will never, ever—”

  “Steven, I honestly think—” Toni began.

  Before she could go any further, Steven cut in sharply. “Toni, shut the fuck up. I didn’t ask your opinion, and when I do, I will tell you what it is.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Toni and I staring after him, openmouthed.

  Toni turned to me. “You just had to open your big mouth, didn’t you?” She looked more devastated than angry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I know you had no choice.” She sighed. “Steven is right. We did deserve that.”

  “I guess we did.”

  “I’ll get that man yet,” she continued, and there was a determined glint in her eyes. “Like Scarlett said, ‘Tomorrow is another day.’”

  a smart woman always has

  her own nest egg

  Toni and I were in the dining room a few days later, doing the books after yet another slow night. One advantage of having so many slow nights was that we hardly had any accounting to do.

  I leaned back in my chair, discouraged, and combed my fingers through my hair. “This business is so tough.”

  “Didn’t you say that something like fifty percent of new restaurants fail?”

  “Worse than that. Seventy-five percent. I knew going into this that it would take a lot of work,” I said, resting my elbows on the table. “Oh, Toni, if the restaurant goes belly up, you’ll be losing every penny you spent on this place.”

  She gave me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. I would never invest more than I can afford to lose.”

  I put down my pencil and stared at her. “You mean it wouldn’t upset you?”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t be thrilled. Nobody likes to lose money. But there’s plenty more where that came from.” She paused. “Oh, I might as well tell you, but please keep this to yourself. I inherited from my grandparents. I have more than I know what to do with.”

  “Your money doesn’t come from your divorce settlement?” I asked.

  She laughed. “No. What in the world gave you that idea?”

  I thought back. “I thought you started throwing money around immediately after your divorce.”

  “Oh, that. Well, I couldn’t very well flaunt my money in Steven’s fa
ce while we were married, now could I?” She wagged a finger at me. “A smart woman always has her own nest egg, and a really smart woman makes sure her husband has no idea about it.”

  I was still astounded. “So the settlement…the alimony…”

  She chuckled. “I didn’t need a dime of it, but why should I tell Steven? If he’d known how much money I have, he would’ve sued me for alimony.” She dismissed the entire subject with a quick wave. I guess people with money really were different.

  “Regarding Skinny’s,” she continued, “have you given any more thought to that idea of yours?”

  I swallowed hard. “I think we can still turn it around. Assuming I stay out of jail, that is.”

  Toni nodded, tapping her fingernails on the tabletop.

  “Developing a skinny menu won’t be easy.” I sighed. “If we want this to work, we’ll need a good selection. The only one I’ve mastered so far is a skinny Caesar salad. I’m experimenting with a few other recipes, but none are perfect yet.”

  “Well, at least it’s a start.”

  I snapped my fingers. “I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  “We don’t have enough business to keep our kitchen staff busy, right? Well, let’s take advantage of that.” I jumped out of my chair. “Follow me,” I said, marching to the back.

  In the kitchen, I clapped my hands together. “Listen up, everyone.” The guys, who were getting ready to leave, turned to look at me. “I have an announcement to make. I’m sure you’ve all noticed that Skinny’s on Queen has not been very busy, and you may even have been wondering whether your jobs here are safe.”

  They looked at each other, discomfort written all over their faces.

  “I have good news,” I said. “I’ve come up with an idea, and providing you’re all willing to cooperate, I can guarantee you work for a very long time.” I paused for dramatic effect, all eyes on me. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Toni and I want to create a complete menu of low-calorie dishes. We’d like each one of you to help develop these recipes. In other words,” I said, making it sound like they’d won the lottery, “this kitchen is becoming a test kitchen.”

  I’d taken everyone, including Toni, by surprise. I stared at her in silence while she digested the idea.

  “Our kitchen is perfect for that kind of a project,” she said. “And you know the old saying, ‘A crisis is just an opportunity in disguise.’”

  “It took me three days to convert one single recipe. With four people,” I said, “five if I count you, we could have a menu in a matter of weeks.”

  Across the room, Jake piped in. “I think that sounds great. Can I help, too?”

  “Sure. What we should do is portion out the work.”

  “Good idea,” Toni agreed. “We should split into teams. One team for appetizers, one for main courses and one for desserts.”

  “Or each team could be responsible for one or two complete meals,” Charles suggested. “For example, we could aim for meals that total no more than five hundred calories.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Jake said. “Everything from appetizers to desserts, all under five hundred calories.”

  I crossed my arms. “Now let’s make one thing clear. I do not want a menu with one hundred and one ways to serve salad.”

  “Nicky, trust me. I know I’ll come up with some terrific dishes. We all will,” Charles added enthusiastically.

  I studied him. Over the past few weeks, he hadn’t missed a day’s work, and he hadn’t had any more spells of lethargy. Whatever his problem had been, it seemed resolved—thank goodness. If we were going to create a new menu fast, we really needed his full participation.

  We moved from the kitchen to the dining area.

  “This is a good occasion for a glass of bubbly.” Toni popped the cork off a bottle of Champagne.

  “Toni,” I said, “for you, every day is a good occasion.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, planting one hand on her hip. “I only drink on days that end with the letter y.”

  We toasted our new project and set to work, paired up in teams of two. Toni selected Marley, Charles chose Scott, leaving Jake with me.

  “I have no professional experience,” he told me from across the table, “but I’m pretty good in the kitchen.”

  “So I heard,” Toni quipped with a teasing grin.

  I jabbed her in the ribs with an elbow and smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Jake. I feel lucky to be partnered with you.”

  “How soon do we need this menu?” Charles asked. “Do we have a deadline?”

  “ASAP,” Toni replied.

  “I’m going to have to do some research,” I said.

  Toni chuckled. “You know what they say, ‘Whatever you cook, just use plenty of garlic. You can eat the New York Times with enough garlic.’”

  I glanced at my watch. Eleven o’clock. Hours had gone by in a flash. No wonder I was exhausted. “I vote we call it a day and reconvene tomorrow.” Now that I was faced with the reality of the project, I felt a bit overwhelmed. Making low-calorie salad was one thing, but creating an entire meal without butter and cream would be a challenge.

  there’s no diet like

  the heartbreak diet

  The days flew by, working on recipe after recipe, and for a time I was almost able to forget about murderers and jail. I searched for interesting ingredients, spending so much time at St. Lawrence Market that vendors now knew me by name.

  “Hey, Nicky,” an old timer called. The man had a farm north of the city and grew the most wonderful organic vegetables. “I have some lovely portobello mushrooms. Come take a look.”

  I picked up a giant mushroom the size of a dinner plate.

  “Imagine that baby, grilled with garlic and served on a bun.”

  More like three or four buns, I thought, looking them over. I bought a few pounds, and moved on. By the time I left, my basket was filled to the brim.

  *

  We were getting ready to close after a long day. The staff had left. Toni, of course, was standing around sipping sparkling wine while I finished cleaning up the kitchen. My back was sore, my hands looked like prunes—maybe I should have borrowed Toni’s marabou-trimmed rubber gloves—and all I really wanted to do was crawl into bed.

  It was now nearly a month since Rob had died. Concentrating on creating a new skinny menu was a lifesaver for me. I was still sane. In fact, I could hardly believe how much my feelings had evolved over such a short time. I still thought about Rob and our relationship often, but rather than deploring his cheating, I was seeing the mistakes I’d made, and was trying to learn from them.

  Over the past few months of our relationship, there had been so many signs, so many clear indications that Rob wasn’t in love with me. Yet I’d refused to look at them. As Toni said, “Denial is not just a river in Egypt.” Acknowledging this had not been easy, but it had released me in some ways.

  I still shed the odd tear. But, to my surprise, they were more for the loss of the illusion than for the loss of a boyfriend. As callous as this might sound, since coming to this conclusion, I’d been sleeping much better.

  The man I’d loved had cheated on me. He’d broken my heart. As far as I was concerned, it was far healthier for me to move on than to remain stuck in the pain. I was moving on, wasn’t I? Sometimes I wasn’t so sure. Until his murder was solved, I doubted I could completely leave the past behind.

  The restaurant had seen a small increase in regular customers, but not enough to keep us out of the red. Strangely, this no longer seemed to worry Toni in the least. She walked around humming happily, her repartee no longer as sharp. She seemed mellower and nicer. Something was definitely up with her, and I couldn’t help but believe it had something to do with Steven.

  “I feel awful,” I told her, trying to weasel the information out of her. “I wish I hadn’t told Steven about you being at Mona’s that night.”

  “You had to do what you had to do,” Toni re
plied without rancor. She took another sip.

  “Still, I know you were hoping that you and he…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. When a man leaves you for another woman, then wants to come back, there is no better revenge than to let him beg.”

  “Is he begging?” I asked, almost holding my breath.

  “Oh, shit. I just spilled some wine on my dress,” she exclaimed, changing the subject once again. A moment later, she was off to the washroom.

  I didn’t worry about Toni. Even if it didn’t work out for her and Steven, she’d be fine. That woman had more fortitude than anyone I knew. She had, however, been pushing me to socialize again.

  “Tonight, after closing, I’m taking you out. It’ll be good for you,” she said, coming back in. “I won’t take no for an answer. I don’t have a date. Let’s go out for a drink.”

  “Honestly, Toni, that’s about the last thing in the world I feel like doing,” I told her as I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

  Toni planted her hands on her hips and gave me her I-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer look. “It’s about time you rejoined the living, Nicky. You are coming out and that is final. If not tonight, then tomorrow.”

  One thing I should have known by now was that it was impossible to say no to Toni.

  *

  Normally the lounge of the Drake Hotel was jam-packed after six. Businessmen relaxing over a drink—or six, old friends catching up, ladies-who-shop playing a game of show-and-tell over cocktails, and singles eyeing the room for that elusive animal called “the perfect mate.” However, when Toni and I walked in the next evening, the place was almost deserted. No more than half a dozen patrons were relaxing in areas around the bar.

  “Geez, reminds me of our place,” Toni said. “That’s about the same number of customers we get most nights. Maybe we’re not doing so badly after all.”

  “I like coming here on Monday nights for exactly that reason. It’s not too crowded.” Not to mention it was the only night Skinny’s on Queen was closed.