Azure Secrets

by Patricia Rice

  More ammunition for his argument. “It’s hard to imagine Dinah afraid of anything, but you’re probably right. The café is her safe house, but it’s also her prison.” Monty scarfed down the last sandwich bit and wished for more. “You’re good for her.”

  Fee looked more pensive than pleased. “Not if you’re right and some idiot thinks I have something that I don’t. She got hurt because of me.”

  “She got hurt because she insists on high heels,” Monty argued, trying to keep it light. “You need to stay out of this alley at night. I’ll come by around nine to walk you home—through the front door. If the kitchen needs more clean-up crew, I’ll send them down from the lodge.”

  She eyed him skeptically, and he noted her lashes were darker than her russet hair, hiding the blue of her eyes behind a slash of black when she lowered her lids.

  “You can’t keep sleeping on the couch,” she stated emphatically.

  “I’ll do better tonight,” he said cheerfully, having already worked out the details in his head. “And Aaron’s is better than the cabin with the outhouse. I just need a wardrobe for my clothes. I’ll have to work on that. Until we’re certain your fishy people are gone, consider yourself a local treasure to be protected.”

  He whistled as he walked off, figuring he’d better not eat any cheesecake in her vicinity any time soon after that crack.

  Sixteen

  Friday

  Friday was chaos.

  Fee figured she should have known what was coming when she stumbled down the stairs at dawn to discover Mayor Monty at the bottom, sleeping on a fancy camp bed with what appeared to be an air mattress and luxury bedroll. He didn’t stir when she climbed over the corner of the bed. She could hope any intruder would be clumsier, or he’d sleep right through her murder.

  But his beard-bristled square jaw was ruggedly awe-inspiring in the early morning light, adding a little extra spice to her day. She started out with a spring in her step that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  As the day progressed, Fee assumed any dog thieves had to give up in sheer frustration. The town was too damned crowded. Limos had begun arriving yesterday, spilling women in pearls and silk, as well as arty types with long hair and dangly beads. More cars glided up to the resort today. By noon, the glamorous people were all roaming the town, gossiping in large circles in the parking lot, cluttering the boardwalk, screaming in excitement at meeting long lost friends.

  The Lucys who had helped earlier were now working on the final touches of the wedding, so the diner was short-handed. Fee ran herself ragged trying to keep Dinah off her feet.

  Which, of course, was when Cass apparently decided to attract the attention of all dog thieves and killers by parading Sukey through town, up one side of the boardwalk and down the other.

  Carrying half a dozen orders, Fee slid plates to customers who ignored their food to watch the procession. Afraid for both Cass and Sukey, she watched their progress.

  Monty and Walker pounded out of City Hall as if the building were on fire. Xavier, the rental agent, even emerged from his office, frowning worriedly. He locked up the office and trailed after Cass. Tullah left the thrift shop with her walking stick in hand. At nearly six feet, with a straight-backed warrior stance, she was impressive enough to terrify trained Marines.

  Fee scanned the tourists, looking for strangers who might be watching Cass or Sukey, but the wedding guests seemed blissfully unaware of Cass’s parade. Monty loped up to escort his aunt, who didn’t appear to notice or care that he stayed at her side. Walker paced on the far side of the parking lot, keeping an eye out—which was when Fee realized all the locals were doing the same, watching for danger.

  Cass was setting herself up as a target and defying anyone to take Sukey.

  Fee thought that was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever seen, but then, as far as she knew, Cass could incinerate a man with a look. And if there were any bad guys out there, they’d have to see that attacking Cass would ire a mob.

  Trying not to roll her eyes at the performance, Fee stepped aside to let Cass enter the café. No one complained about the dog. People jumped up from their seats to offer theirs. As if acknowledging her due, Cass took a booth with several older ladies, and Sukey lapped up the attention.

  Wordlessly, Fee lifted Sukey, welcomed doggie kisses with tearful joy, then reluctantly returned her to Cass. “What do we do with her tomorrow?”

  “Take her to the wedding and reception, of course.” Cass tucked the little dog into a leather tote. “There is safety in numbers.”

  As she had just proved, got it.

  Dogs had no place in a restaurant, but Fee didn’t think there would be health inspectors in for a wedding, so she let that ride. Weirdly relieved by this odd method of hiding in full view, she returned to the kitchen, washed thoroughly, and hit the stove with the backed up orders.

  “I don’t wanta give up my heels,” Dinah said, apropos of nothing. She’d flattened hamburger patties, chopped tomatoes, and seasoned buns while Fee had been dallying in front. Now she set to chopping cabbage for slaw the old-fashioned way. Fee had noticed Dinah didn’t have much fancy kitchen equipment.

  Considering Dinah hardly reached five-feet, the three-inch heels scarcely took her to average height. Fee got that. “Wedges,” she suggested. “I love those kind with laces that wrap around the ankles.”

  “They don’t make wedges with sequins,” Dinah grudgingly replied.

  “Have Tullah find pretty strappy wedges to match your dress, and I’ll glue on sequins and glitter. I did that for prom. But you can’t dance in wedges any easier than heels,” she warned.

  “I can. Just you watch. Brenda’s magic. She said I’ll be all better tomorrow.”

  So along with icing wedding cakes and chopping vegetables for dinner, Fee added gluing sequins to her schedule.

  Remembering her insane promise to meet Monty’s mother, she ran home before Delphines opened. She showered and changed into her most respectable outfit, a blue Tencel mini-dress she wore with leggings—not exactly evening attire. But they had reservations for a full house, with Teddy’s bachelorette party reserving all the after-eight tables, and she’d be in an apron most of the time.

  She hurried back to the kitchen to throw herself into the evening preparations.

  Fee wished she could circle through the restaurant like a hostess, checking for fishy strangers, watching to see what people ate and what they didn’t. She’d always just been kitchen help, but she knew she could be so much more. . .

  The expected request to come to the front arrived just after six. The fixed price menu they were serving for the occasion practically cooked itself. Nervously, Fee turned down the burners and left one of the lodge staff stirring, with Dinah there to bark instructions as needed.

  She took off her apron and hair net, refused to look in a mirror, and strode out to the front as if she hadn’t just agreed to poison the mayor’s mother. It’s not as if she hadn’t done it before—just not at anyone else’s request.

  Monty had been seated at the most prominent table, of course. She had no difficulty finding him in the crowd of well-dressed city people. He still wasn’t wearing a tie, and his mane of golden-brown hair brushed his open shirt collar as he turned to watch her weave between tables. Her heart thumped erratically at his shadowed expression—he really was trusting her to incapacitate his harridan of a mother.

  Of course, she was trusting him that his mother really was a liability to Hillvale’s fledgling wedding industry, as well as Kurt and Teddy’s happiness. She’d never met the woman and had no preconceived notion beyond Monty’s concern. So she studied the matriarch who had single-handedly run Hillvale, to its detriment and her benefit, after her husband’s death.

  Carmel Kennedy was nearly as tall and leonine as her son. Impeccably put together from the golden choker around her slender throat to the elegant silk shawl draped over her shoulders and the designer heels on her feet, she emanated class and wealth, a s
tatus Fee could never hope to attain.

  And still, Monty stood as if Fee were a royal princess and not the hired help. “Miss McDonald, thank you for taking time from your hectic schedule to advise us. Mother, this is the food genius everyone is talking about. I’m sure she can answer your question.”

  Food genius! Trying not to feel short and dumpy, Fee ignored his hyperbole while sifting through a dining room full of odors. She had to block out the food she’d been cooking all afternoon, the other diners, Monty’s familiar sexy scent, and filter down until she was certain this elegant woman was the source of the putrid aroma stinging her nose.

  “I’d be happy to help,” Fee said, trying not to choke on what she could only identify as poisonous toadstools. Carmel was more than an overbearing harridan. She was dangerous. Fee took a cautious step backward. “Is there a problem with the menu?”

  While Monty’s mother described all her food sensitivities—most of them imaginary judging from Fee’s sense of the chemicals churning the atmosphere—and made her requests, Fee listened politely and made mental notes. She smiled and agreed that, of course, she could meet Carmel’s obnoxious request for a special dish just for her on this night they were so busy that they were already running half an hour behind.

  Holding Carmel’s scent in her mind, not looking at Monty for reassurance, Fiona escaped for the safety of the kitchen.

  She caught the faint odor of fish as one of the couples who’d been in the diner earlier approached Carmel. They were well-dressed and polite, not the sinister-looking characters to whom she’d served shrimp a few nights ago. When Monty greeted the pair with familiarity, she pushed their smell out of mind. Apparently in this elevated social circle, she needed a broader knowledge of fish—or evil.

  She slipped back into the kitchen, mind spinning as she tested Carmel’s complex scent against the various foods in her memory and the contents of the larder.

  Dinah watched through narrowed eyes as Fee threw together a special salad just for the mayor’s mother. By requesting a meal different from everyone else’s, Carmel was unwittingly making Fee’s task easier, although she was certain that had not been her intent.

  “Rutabaga?” Dinah asked incredulously. “You’re making her turnip salad?”

  “The greens are fresh enough, and jicama is all the thing in fancy restaurants. She won’t be able to tell the difference between Swedish and Mexican turnips. No big deal. It’s all good for her.” While simmering lima beans and a sweet potato, Fee hastily julienned the root into edible bites.

  When she’d become old enough to sort out similarities and differences in vegetable smells, she’d investigated their chemical compounds to better understand why she would give one person certain root veggies, while another seemed to need the greens. She wasn’t a chemist or a physician, so she still didn’t understand how her nose told her what a person needed. But she had learned a number of vegetables—like turnips, sweet potatoes, and lima beans—contained natural cyanide. Almonds did too, hence the almond smell associated with the poison. It would take a tremendous amount of natural cyanide to kill anyone, but balanced with Carmel’s peculiar chemicals, they could make her ill.

  Fee ground almonds over the salad, then mixed up oil and vinegar with seasonings she’d learned provoked medical issues in people who smelled like Carmel. Monty’s mother wasn’t a well woman. Fee didn’t want to kill her, but if she could induce her to see a physician after this episode, it could save Carmel’s life.

  She prayed she wasn’t lying to herself. She really, really wanted to help.

  Monty’s plate contained the same food as everyone else was eating tonight, but Fee added the scent and color of parsley and radish garnish to appeal to his particular fetishes. She sent the plates out with one of the regular staff and returned to being Dinah’s hands and feet as she took more bread from the oven and seasoned the various pots on the stove by sense of smell alone.

  When other diners requested that the chef be introduced, Fee insisted that Dinah take the credit. They were her recipes, after all. The cook was wearing her usual retro-evening wear and heels and refused support as she stepped into the dining room. Fee checked to be certain her ankle wasn’t swelling up again when she returned.

  “I’ll be dancing tomorrow,” Dinah said with glee, wiggling her leg in the air to show it off. “Tullah sent over some real pretty strappy things, but I don’t know how you can add sequins to them.”

  “I hope she sent over sequins too. I’ll mix up the glue before I leave here.”

  Fee didn’t want to leave the kitchen through the dining room carrying sandals and glue, but she’d promised Monty she wouldn’t use the back alley. So once her duties were done, she escaped to the quiet of the café. Unlatching the front door, she looked out to see if Monty was in the parking lot. She found him talking with guests on the boardwalk, so she flipped on a light to show where she was, and retreated inside.

  She almost had the first sandal done by the time he joined her.

  “A new art project?” he asked dubiously. Looking incredibly handsome in his Armani suit and Rolex watch, he examined the shiny blue wedge.

  Tullah had not only included sequins, but matching glitter. Fee thought she’d have to give the thrift shop that produced such magic a look when she had time. “Dinah’s wedding slippers. I should have warned you earlier, that unless you have a physician in the house, you need to stay at the lodge tonight.”

  He paced worriedly. “Then maybe you should stay with me. I don’t know all of the people roaming the streets. Any of them could be dognappers.”

  “You were talking to a couple who smell vaguely of fish. I’m rethinking my definition of evil. Maybe fish encompasses greed or lies or who knows what. I can’t go around suspecting everyone is dealing drugs. Aaron’s security is my best bet.” She carefully painted glue over the thick heel without looking up.

  Monty swore, then calmed down. “If fish smells simply mean they’re crooks, then half my mother’s guests probably qualify. I was talking to Roper, I think, when you were out there. He’s the resort’s lodge manager. He’s a suck-up, but that doesn’t mean he’s a crook. I can’t imagine him or any of our guests as dognappers.”

  Fee waved her glue brush. “It doesn’t matter. Once your mother starts screaming the house down tonight, you’ll be distracted, leaving me as alone as I will be at Aaron’s. It’s okay. I really can take care of myself. Are any of your guests physicians?”

  Monty’s pacing made her nervous. It was like being trapped in a cage with a lion. She could practically feel his glower.

  “There are probably half a dozen physicians on the guest list.” He picked up the sequin container and put it down to resume pacing. “She will be all right, won’t she?”

  “Your mother wasn’t all right before she ate my salad. She needs to see a doctor. This will get her there faster, although the symptoms may scare her half to death in the process. I can’t be certain, but a similar combination had a molester thinking he was having a heart attack.”

  Monty swung around to face her. “Who was he molesting?”

  “Kids. I told you, I take care of myself.” Calmly, she lifted the shoe to look for bare spots. “I used to live in the kitchen with my mother when I was barely able to walk. When I lost her, I tried to make myself lovable by helping foster parents cook. I know my food. The only unknown in the equation is the person eating it. I don’t know how your mother will react to heart palpitations, nausea, and maybe a little worse.”

  “Badly, very badly,” he growled. “She’s a menace if she breaks a fingernail. I wonder if I can arrange to have an ambulance on hand. How long do I have to wait? I feel like a killer.”

  “Your mother is ill. I can smell it on her. It may be cancer. It may be her heart. I haven’t been in a position to learn the differences. I simply know the scent isn’t healthy. You are doing her—and everyone at the wedding—a favor. I don’t know how long the chemicals take to react. Why don’t you go ah
ead and call, say one of the guests is having a heart attack? That way you won’t have one while you’re waiting.” Fee stepped back to admire her handiwork, and nearly bumped into Monty behind her.

  He put his arms around her waist and just held her close. She inhaled the wonder that was his personal aroma of integrity and sexiness. He probably needed a human touch as much as she did, so she didn’t break away. There was something very reassuring about an embrace, even when it meant nothing.

  “I’ll hope the effect won’t kick in for a while,” he said in resignation. “I have to attend Kurt’s bachelor party. At least it’s at the lodge so I’ll be at hand. Once that’s over, Kurt will go home to Teddy. I don’t want him bothered on the eve of his wedding, so I’ll stay at the lodge. I don’t know why I’m trusting you, but I do. Please don’t get yourself killed if I leave you alone.”

  Daringly, she stood on her toes and kissed his jaw, then pulled away. “I would go with you if I thought I could be of any use, but I’d only be a distraction. Just remember that you’re doing your mother—and everyone else—a favor, and stay calm when everyone else loses their head. You’re the mayor. They’ll listen to you.”

  He barked a wry laugh. “They listen, even when I haven’t a clue of what I’m doing. Let me walk you to your door and make sure all is well.”

  A few minutes later, as she opened the door latch of the antique shop, Fiona noticed it reeked of fish. She bit her tongue and nonchalantly waved Monty off after locking up. He had his problems, she had hers.

  She watched through the front window as he joined a group of young men apparently headed to the party. Once he was out of sight, she took stock of Aaron’s inventory and plotted rearrangement.

  Seventeen