Getting Skinny (A Chef Landry Mystery)

by Domovitch, Monique

  “That sounds dangerous, Nicky. Why don’t you leave it to the police? If you’re right and that man has already killed twice, he won’t hesitate to kill again.”

  I assured her I would be fine. She didn’t sound convinced but agreed to come all the same.

  I didn’t look forward to having the Harrises after their cold-shoulder treatment at Rob’s memorial service. But the important thing, I reminded myself, was that they worked at the hospital and might know something. Things were lining up nicely.

  *

  The following morning I decided to explore St. Lawrence Market again. It was the one place where I could count on finding the freshest herbs and the best imported cheeses. If I could use only a smidgeon of cheese in my skinny recipes, then the cheese had to be all the more flavorful. Twenty minutes later, I found a parking spot on Front Street just big enough for my car, and soon I was wandering from booth to booth with my straw basket hooked over my arm.

  There was something so energizing about the feast of colorful displays and the panoply of savory smells inside that cavernous old building. It was almost like being in some old European market. I stopped here and there, squeezing a ripe tomato, smelling a fresh bunch of oregano and filling my basket until it was almost too heavy to carry.

  Later, I set to work on a new recipe—skinny chicken parmesan. I rummaged through the pantry and lined up my ingredients on the counter—organic chicken breasts from the market, flour, fresh oregano, mozzarella cheese and of course, a brick of hard parmesan. I set to work. Next to me, Jake handed me the ingredients as I needed them.

  “You’re in a good mood,” he observed after a few minutes.

  I smiled. “I had a good night’s sleep, and I’m feeling optimistic. I think the new menu will turn our business around. Plus, I lost some weight.” I didn’t add that I was also hopeful that I would soon expose the murderer and put this nightmare behind me.

  He smiled approvingly. “Whatever the reason, it’s nice to see you happy again.”

  When Toni arrived, I had half a dozen portions plated.

  “Mmm, that looks good.” She stored her Chanel bag under the assembly counter and came closer.

  “And only two hundred and fifty calories each.” I handed her a plate. “Try it.”

  She took it, followed me to the dining room and tasted. “Has anybody ever told you that you can really cook?”

  I pulled up a chair next to hers. “Guess what? I invited Rob’s coworkers to dinner.”

  “Harry Johnson, too?” she asked, sounding surprised.

  “Harry Johnson, too.” I confirmed. “Not only that, but I agreed to have dinner with him next week.”

  She put her fork down. “You have got to be kidding.”

  I smiled. “I’m not kidding. But I’m not going. I’ve decided to call and cancel in a couple of days. What do you think?”

  Toni slapped her hand over mine. “You have to go. Don’t you see? It’s perfect. What you do is make friends with him. You know the old saying. ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’”

  “I know another saying,” I countered. “Stay away from murderers.”

  “Don’t be silly. Just meet him in a public place.”

  That was exactly what Janice had told me, but I’d be damned before I let Toni know someone agreed with her. “Great!” I exclaimed. “Well be sitting at a table and eating, which means he’ll have a knife. And I’ll be just a few feet away from him.”

  Toni shrugged. “So go somewhere they give you chopsticks.”

  *

  The next morning I was getting ready to take Jackie for a walk when the doorbell rang. I dropped the leash on the table and hurried to the door.

  “Janice!” I stood for a second before my manners kicked in. “I’m sorry. Please come in.”

  “Is this an inconvenient time? I was in the area and thought, why not stop by for a quick hello?”

  “I’m glad you did. Would you like some coffee? Tea?”

  “Tea would be great.” She followed me to the kitchen.

  “It’ll only take a minute.” I filled the kettle and set it on the stove.

  Janice stood in the doorway, looking around. “Your kitchen is beautiful. I’ve never seen a stove like that.” She walked over for a closer look.

  “I’d be surprised if you had. It’s a 1927 Beach. The company doesn’t even exist anymore.”

  “It’s gorgeous.” She turned and looked at my fridge. “And you found a refrigerator to match.”

  I laughed. “Not quite. It’s a decade-old fridge I had spray-painted to match.”

  Janice stepped forward. “Let me do something to help,” she offered. “Where are the cups?”

  “In the cabinet on the right.” I pointed above the sink.

  “I hope I’m not overstepping my ground here,” she said, retrieving two mugs from the cupboard. “One of the reasons I dropped by is that I didn’t want you to think that because of Rob…” She hesitated. “What I’m trying to say is that I value your friendship and I don’t want us to lose touch.”

  My impulse was to hug her. “Thank you, Janice. That means a lot to me. I like you, too.”

  She smiled. “Maybe we can go out for lunch or go see a movie once in a while. Every time there’s a new chick-flick I want to see, Simon refuses to come. You can be my chick-flick buddy.”

  “That would be really nice.” The kettle whistled. I turned off the stove and when I returned my attention to Janice, she looked uncomfortable. “Is anything wrong?”

  Before she could reply, I heard Jackie scratching at the back door. “Sorry, Janice, I have to let her out. I’ll be right back.

  “Of course. I’ll pour the tea.”

  When I checked that the side entrance was closed and locked, I was surprised to see a new latch on the door. Mitchell. He kept his word. I felt an immediate surge of happiness. “It’s the small things that count,” as Toni had once said. Mind you, at the time, she’d been talking about little blue boxes. I picked up Jackie and went back inside.

  “Do you have any cream?” Janice asked, her head in the refrigerator.

  “No, just low-fat milk.”

  “That’s fine.” She set the milk carton on the counter, pivoted to face me and took a deep breath. “I did have another reason for coming over today. I hear you suspect that Rob was involved with drugs.” She looked at me apologetically. “I might have seen something that would indicate that.”

  “What?” I asked, my knees weakening.

  “I couldn’t hear what they were saying, so I can’t go to the police with this.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  She paused. “Rob and Harry Johnson. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it except that when they noticed me, their entire composure changed. I felt like I’d witnessed something I shouldn’t have.”

  My mouth felt like the Sahara. “When was this?”

  “About a month before Rob was killed. I forgot about it entirely until I saw Mona and Harry talking a few days before she was murdered. They had the same conspiratorial look about them.”

  “Why would you think it was about drugs?” I asked, pouring the tea.

  She shrugged. “That’s the point. I don’t know for sure. That was just the impression I got. But I could be wrong.”

  “Do you think I’m right that Harry is the murderer?”

  She tilted her head and thought. “Maybe. The police asked a lot of questions, but none about Harry.” She saw the look on my face. “They were mainly interested in you.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. I said nice things.”

  “Janice, please go to the police. This could send them on the right track.”

  She sipped her tea and nodded, but the idea seemed to disturb her.

  “It can’t hurt,” I insisted. “I have this sword over my head, and unless the police start looking in other directions, I won’t rest.”

  “I’ll tell you what. Let me speak to Simon. If he thinks I should report this, I wil
l.”

  “I understand,” I said, although I wasn’t sure I did.

  She looked at her watch. “I have to fly. My shift begins in half an hour.” A moment later, she was gone.

  I sipped my tea. Janice did have a point. Seeing Harry in conversation with Rob and then with Mona didn’t in itself mean a thing. The three of them had worked together, after all. Still, it sounded as if something had been amiss. I hoped Simon would urge her to go to the police.

  Now I knew for sure that I had to question Harry Johnson. Janice and Toni were right. I should have dinner with him.

  I opened the refrigerator and rummaged through the shelves. Low-fat yogurt, low-fat cheeses and salad. Then I spotted the foil-wrapped dish of yesterday’s lemon chicken—Charles’s latest skinny recipe. Toni had claimed it was delicious. I popped it into the microwave.

  I took a bite. The lemon sauce was sweet and tangy, and buttery tasting—the chicken crisp and tender. How Charles had accomplished this and still made it low-cal I had no idea. This dish was delicious.

  I was into my third bite when I felt a tingle in my lips. Odd, that was the first symptom I’d had after eating that oyster. Shit, I was having an allergic reaction. I hurried to the phone, but by the time I got there, my entire body was itching. I managed to dial 911 but when the operator answered all I could manage was a raspy squeak through my swollen throat.

  “Hello? Can you speak up? I can’t hear you.” When I tried to answer, nothing came out but a squawk.

  Oh my God! I was going to die. I dropped the phone and stumbled to the front door. I could hardly breathe. I opened the door and lurched out, gasping for air. The last thought that flashed through my mind was that I had to close the door. I couldn’t let Jackie escape again. Then I passed out on my front lawn.

  *

  I woke to a good-looking young man whose eyes were about three inches from mine. When I blinked, he pulled away and studied me the way I’d look at wild mushrooms to determine if they were edible.

  “Hello,” he said. “Nice to have you back.”

  I gathered from the doctors and nurses rushing about that I was in the hospital. The young man was still talking. “You had us all worried for a while. It’s a good thing your friend got you here when he did, otherwise you would have been in deep trouble.”

  I brought my hand up to my throat. I could swallow. “You mean the six-feet-under kind of deep trouble?” I asked with a raspy voice.

  He chuckled. “That might very well be.” I wanted to sit but I felt too sluggish. “Don’t try to move. You’ve had a severe allergic reaction and we’ve given you a shot of epinephrine and you’re getting diphenhydramine by IV line. It’ll take time for the swelling to go down. But you’ll be fine.”

  I looked down at my arms and, sure enough, there was a tube sticking out of the left one.

  “Do you have any idea what might have caused this allergic reaction?” he asked.

  I shook my head, trying to think. “The only thing I’m allergic to is oysters, but I was eating chicken when I felt my lips swell.”

  “Have you been in contact with oysters or other shellfish?”

  I paused for a second and mulled this over. “I own a restaurant. We often have shellfish in the kitchen, but never oysters.”

  He nodded with sudden understanding. “It isn’t unusual for people who are allergic to one kind of shellfish to develop an allergy to another. This can happen quite suddenly. What did you eat today?”

  “Just the chicken,” I insisted

  “Hmm. Where was it prepared?”

  “In my restaurant, but—”

  “Well, it’s obvious what happened. Somehow, your chicken was contaminated with seafood. It doesn’t take much. Sometimes just touching the source of your allergen is enough to induce a reaction. I’m making you an appointment with an allergist. I’ll also prescribe you an epinephrine kit. Until we’re certain of the source, it’s better to be safe. From now on, have that kit close to you at all times.” He was turning away when he stopped and added, “And by the way, unless you’re willing to risk your life, I suggest you stop serving seafood at your restaurant.”

  Stop serving seafood? That was crazy. How in the world was I supposed to keep working at Skinny’s—or any restaurant, for that matter—and not serve seafood?

  chasing stray dogs and

  rescuing damsels in distress

  The nurse was a pleasant middle-aged lady with a reassuring smile. Even her voice was calming. Her movements, however, were as quick and sure as her smile. As she worked, I had no doubt of her abilities. At the moment, much to my relief, she was putting the epinephrine kit back in its box.

  “Don’t worry about a thing, dear.” She patted my arm and placed the kit on my bed tray. “If the time comes that you need to use the kit, believe me, you won’t hesitate. Just remember to keep it at hand.”

  “I guess it beats choking to death,” I replied, my voice raw.

  She chuckled. “That’s right. As for the swelling,” she said, poking the skin of my cheeks, much the way I’d been taught to test bread dough before baking it, “hmm. I don’t think it’ll be completely gone until tomorrow.”

  “Great. I must look like the Elephant Man.”

  “Not that bad, dear,” she assured me. “I’m sure you’ve looked better, but at least you’re alive.”

  As she walked off, I noticed Mitchell waiting in the doorway, his brows knitted with worry lines. Shit. What was he doing here? The nurse marched straight toward him. I couldn’t make out what she was telling him but before I knew it, he was striding over wearing a huge smile. Shit!

  The doctor’s words came back to me. Good thing your friend brought you in when he did. That could only mean…

  Mitchell reached my bedside, and I attempted a smile. “You saved my life, didn’t you?”

  “I sure did,” he said.

  “Oh, God!” I groaned, realizing how I must have looked, being hysterical both times he had come to my rescue.

  He grinned. “You don’t have to call me God. Just call me Mitch.” He became serious. “You really had me scared. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

  “Thank you,” I managed, weakly.

  He shrugged, and the glint in his eyes sent my heart racing. “Let’s just say that my mission in life is chasing stray dogs and rescuing damsels in distress.”

  “I’m so sorry. You must think I—” I stopped. “Jackie! Is she…”

  “Don’t worry. I made sure your door was closed. Jackie’s fine.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “As for what I think, don’t worry. You make a guy feel needed. Every time I turn around, it seems you’re in trouble.” He placed his hand on mine, and my heart flip-flopped. “I’m just happy I happened to look out the window, otherwise…”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” I said. “If it weren’t for you, I…”

  “You know what I think?” He looked down at his feet and seemed shy for the first time. “I think it might be nice for us to spend some time together, without it being some kind of emergency.”

  I was stunned. Did that mean he was going to ask me out? “I should be inviting you,” I heard myself say before he could utter another word. “You did save my life, after all. I’m having some people over for dinner two weeks from now. I’d love for you to join us.” That hadn’t sounded too eager, had it? On the other hand, a couple of weeks was pretty far away. I hoped he didn’t think I was brushing him off.

  “I’d be delighted,” he replied, and I realized I’d been holding my breath.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I waited for him to nod. “What do you do? You spend a lot of time at home.”

  The twinkle in his eyes was back. “I can imagine what you’ve been thinking.” Now his tone was teasing. “I noticed that you ignored me when I first moved in. You thought I was a lazy, good-for-nothing bum, didn’t you? Either that or you thought I was under house arrest with an ankle bracelet.”

  As usu
al, the heat rose in my face. Now I wasn’t only a swollen monstrosity, but a beet-red one at that. “No, I’m just curious,” I replied, but he laughed. I guess that lie was pretty obvious.

  “I’m a biographer,” he said. “I’m writing a book about famous Torontonians.”

  “You’re a writer,” I exclaimed. “Well, that explains it.”

  Before he could say anything more, the good-looking young doctor was back. “So, how are we doing here?” He picked up my wrist and checked my pulse.

  “I’m still alive.” I brought a hand to my throat. “And my voice is getting better.”

  “You’ll be as good as new in no time.” He moved over to the other side of the bed and wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around my arm. “Did the nurse teach you how to use the EpiPen?” He pointed to the kit on the table. I nodded. He read my pressure and removed the cuff. “Good. Make sure you have it with you at all times.” He scribbled on my chart. “Well, looks to me like you’ll be fine. You have a few papers to sign, but that’s it. You’re free to leave whenever you’re ready.”

  On the drive home, Mitchell did most of the talking. “Have there been any developments with your boyfriend’s murder?”

  I swallowed, feeling uncomfortable with him describing Rob as my boyfriend. “None. The police aren’t rushing to find other suspects. Aren’t you worried, accepting a dinner invitation from a woman who might be a murderer?” I asked with a chuckle that sounded like a crow.

  “Hardly.” He smiled. “You’re just a tiny thing. I could overcome you like that.” And to demonstrate, he snapped his fingers.

  Me? Tiny? I could love this man.

  “Seriously, how are you dealing with everything?” he asked.

  I sighed. “I have some good days and some not-so-good ones. All in all, I guess I’m doing fine.”

  “I wish I could help somehow.”

  “The worst part is that until the police solve the case, I’m likely to remain their number-one suspect.”

  Silence filled the car and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. A few minutes later he pulled up in front of the house. Before I could open the door, he was already out and halfway around the car. “Do you want me to come in?” he asked, following me up the walk.