Death Takes the Cake
Page 29
His head came up and he met my eyes. “Not you—it’s your friend I’m worried about.”
Nicholas? “Oh, Phil, what in the world do you think I could do to a grown man?”
That produced a sly little smile. “I’ll bet you could do plenty, and I’m sure ol’ Nick wouldn’t mind a bit, but that’s not what I mean.”
“Then what are you talking about? Do I need a translator?”
I saw comprehension dawn in Phil’s eyes. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Apparently not.”
“It’s your fudge partner, Eileen O’Hara. I know she’s kind of your unofficial daughter, but do you know who she’s been having a thing with?”
“No.”
“It’s one of your fellow Celebrity Cook-Off judges, Keith Ingram. Della, when it comes to women—especially the kind that are young and haven’t been around much like your Eileen—this is a bad dude.”
I’d met Keith Ingram once, four months ago, when he interviewed Eileen and me in order to do a story in his syndicated food column about our just-launched mail-order sweets business. “I think you’re mistaken, about her being involved with him,” I said. “Since the day the article about us came out she’s never mentioned him to me.”
“Do you thinks she tells you everything?”
She used to, when I wasn’t so busy . . .
“The piece he wrote was so over-the-top favorable, especially to Eileen—‘the beautiful UCLA business major with a great idea’—I suspected he had the hots for her,” Phil said, “but then I forgot about it.”
“How do you know they’re seeing each other?”
“I hear things . . . which leads me to the reason I brought this up. I know you’re a mother figure to her. She’s going to need you to be there for her when he dumps her.”
“But if he and Eileen actually are involved, what makes you think—”
“When I was at the charity’s PR office signing you up for the Cook-Off gig, I found out Ingram’s getting it on with that flaky heiress who’s the tabloid’s flavor-of-the-month.”
“Tina Long?”
“That’s the one. A few years ago she couldn’t make the grades to graduate from a fancy private high school, so her father bought it. Suddenly Tina’s the covaledictorian. Poppa Long hired a novelist to write her speech for her, but the guy forgot to tell her how to pronounce some of the words.”
Photographs that I’d seen of Tina Long on gossip magazine covers flashed into my mind. She was a generically pretty girl with blonde hair arranged in a dizzying number of styles, but beneath each new coif there was always the same vapid expression on her face.
Phil’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Ingram’s making money with his column and his TV guest shots, but he likes to live big. You know how I got him to do the column on your business?”
In a tone full of irony, I said, “Because we make really good fudge?”
He snorted. “I wish that’s what it took. I had to arrange a free trip to New York for him on Warner Brothers’ private jet.”
“Phil, I know you mean well, but I’m not comfortable talking about Eileen behind her back.” Sensing that it was getting late, I checked my watch. “It’s four o’clock. In a few minutes I’ve got to start taping the last of today’s three shows.” I whistled for Tuffy. He looked up from his explorations and came trotting back toward me.
Phil escorted us to the door to the studio and opened it.
I said good-bye and was about to go inside, but the touch of his hand on my arm stopped me.
“What is it, Phil?”
“Publicity is a very personal job,” he said. “And I usually love it. Seven-day weeks, twenty-hour days—I thrive on building or enhancing careers. But we try to protect our clients, too. The people I work with are family to me. Better, really, because we’re close by choice, not an accident of blood. I told you about Ingram because I feel an obligation not to let you get blindsided. Eileen’s going to be hurt, but the facts are that her father is a cop. Tina Long’s is a billionaire, and she’s his only child. You do the math.”
Melinda Wells was born in Georgia and grew up wanting to be a writer. She wasn’t interested in cooking until she was living in New York City and engaged to marry a talent agent. “Most of the time we went out to dinner with his clients, but one night we were home and I made dinner for him: Beef Stroganoff. He raved about how good it was, and how impressed he was. I was embarrassed to tell him that it was the only dish I knew how to make, so the next day I enrolled in a cooking school.” Melinda’s black standard poodle (the original “Tuffy”) passed away after sixteen happy and healthy years. Currently, Melinda Wells lives in Los Angeles with rescued pets and enjoys cooking for friends. You can visit her website at www.dellacooks.com.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Recipes
Teaser chapter