Eat, Pray, Die Mystery Box Set

by Chelsea Field

  Connor jotted a few notes in a battered notepad he pulled from his pocket. I would’ve expected expensive leather, but it was a spiral-bound thing you’d find at the Dollar Store.

  “Then what happened?”

  “I did what the doc said. Got on with my day. Your crime scene team was here by then, taking pictures, seizing the soufflés and the ingredients and everything else for testing. One guy told me they could determine whether the dose was intended to be lethal. They didn’t need me, so I dropped by my restaurant to discuss tonight’s menu with the other head chef. Next thing I knew, I got a call saying Dana was being rushed to a medical facility, and they were escalating the case to an attempted murder investigation.”

  Connor jotted a few more notes in indecipherable shorthand. “Has the Taste Society sent another Shade so you can keep eating safely?”

  “Yes. Caleb. He’s supposed to be my personal trainer. Not that I feel like eating.”

  Josh’s distress was written in every line of his body—from the tension in his shoulders, to his hands’ inability to stay still for more than a few seconds.

  “There’s nothing else you could have done,” Connor told him. “She was here to protect you, and she did her job.” He paused to let his words penetrate. “If we can find who’s behind this, she might even live to do it again. Tell us who could have reason to kill or incapacitate you.”

  Josh sighed and settled himself back in his chair, but the tension didn’t ease.

  “I’ve made a few enemies over time. The boutique organic chain, Wholesome Foods, is an obvious one. I publicly boycotted them about two months ago for their unfair practice of limiting employees to part-time schedules to avoid paying benefits. I heard they lost a lot of sales because of it.”

  “Are there any particular people at Wholesome Foods you’ve locked horns with?”

  “Not exactly. I gave them a chance to start treating their employees fairly before I exposed them. I met with the head of their western branch, Maxwell Yates. I could tell he was angry about my demands, but he didn’t threaten me. Outwardly, he was polite.”

  Connor grunted. “Anyone else?”

  “No, not that I can think of.”

  “Has Yates or anyone at the company contacted you since?”

  “Well, I’m not expecting an invitation to their Christmas party if that’s what you mean,” Josh said in a failed attempt at levity.

  Connor stayed silent, to no one’s surprise.

  Josh realized Connor was still waiting for an answer. “No, they haven’t.”

  “Who else might benefit from you having an accident?”

  “Well”—Josh rubbed his forehead—“I ousted Albert Alstrom from his three-year title of California Culinary Champion this summer. He didn’t threaten me either, but I’ve heard rumors he was furious. I know one of the judges on the panel, and she told me he was hassling them about their decision. Even accused her of rigging the competition.”

  He paused for a bit, pondering the dark subject of who else might want him dead.

  How many people would I be able to name with a motive to kill me if I were under interrogation? Bruce-the-Bruiser immediately came to mind. And that girl I’d hit in second grade, even though she’d started it. There was one overly competitive Shade graduate who’d taken a particular dislike to me, too.

  “I guess the charities in my will would benefit from my death, but I’m a regular donor, so I’m worth more to them alive in the long run.”

  Connor nodded as if that thought had crossed his mind as well. I, on the other hand, had never considered a charitable organization might murder for money. It was going to be a steep learning curve.

  “Anyone else?”

  “No, that’s all I can think of.” Josh’s voice betrayed the first sign of irritation.

  Connor just looked at him. When that didn’t work, he prompted, “Nothing of a more personal nature? What about family members?”

  “I don’t have any family.”

  He said it quietly, and I felt a stab of pity for him. No matter how successful he was, or how much wealth and fame he amassed, that simple fact wouldn’t change. Faced with the choice of having my family or living in a mansion like this and never worrying about money again, I wouldn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t swap my family for anything.

  Okay, maybe I’d exchange Aunt Alice and her perfect children for some cash, but no one else.

  “Ex-lovers then?” Connor asked. “Old enemies? Anyone who has a reason to harm you for something other than money?”

  “No.” Josh’s fingers clenched involuntarily. They relaxed again so fast that if I’d blinked I would’ve missed it. But I didn’t miss it.

  My dad wasn’t an accomplished man in many senses of the term, but he was good at reading people. It’s what made him a great salesman and an even better poker player. I’d inherited some of his talent, though I was less confident about it after being blindsided by my ex-husband. Dad had never liked Steve.

  Now I was certain Josh was hiding anger. But whether it was anger at Connor for being such a hard-ass, or anger at some personal memory of his, I wasn’t sure.

  “I hope I don’t need to remind you that there’s a woman’s life at stake here,” Connor said.

  “I’m well aware.” The words came out clipped, and guilt rolled off him in waves so big I didn’t need any special talent to see it. It’s not every day a man lets a woman take the bullet meant for him. And if my suspicion that there was something going on between them was correct, it would be even harder.

  Connor stood up. “Okay, show me where you prepared the meal.”

  My fickle heart gave a little jump of excitement at the thought of seeing Josh’s kitchen.

  I couldn’t help it.

  Josh led the way, with Connor close behind. I tried not to step on his heels in my rush.

  “Who buys your groceries?”

  “Tahlia does. She graduated from my culinary school for inner-city kids, so she knows how to select the best ingredients and finds the extra income useful. She’s loyal to me. I’m sure she had nothing to do with it.”

  We rounded a corner, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Pale stone countertops stretched out before us, beautifully lit by the skylights positioned above. A selection of the world’s most elite appliances gleamed at me from all angles. The Synesso Hydra espresso machine alone, with its handcrafted timber handles, was worth more than all my worldly possessions. Even including the Corvette, which wasn’t actually mine. It was the most orgasm-worthy object I’d laid eyes on in two years.

  Connor hadn’t batted an eye at the kitchen. “What did you use to make the soufflé?”

  Josh recounted the list off the top of his head. “My six-inch saucepan, stand mixer and mixing bowl, a favorite spatula, and a few ramekins, all of which your guys took for testing.”

  That answered my question about whether professional chefs used measuring cups and spoons. Unfortunately, it didn’t give me any insight into saving my fellow Shade.

  “And the ingredients?”

  “Flour, butter, milk, eggs, salt, lemon zest, and fresh blackberries.”

  My bet was the Ambience would have been planted in the blackberries. It came in tablet and liquid form, and the liquid was blackberry flavored.

  Unless Dana was mistaken in thinking it was Ambience. She could’ve been misdirected by the real blackberries.

  “And can you tell me when you last used each of these items, or if any of them were unopened before last night?”

  Josh could and did so.

  Connor jotted his responses down. “Right. The culprit must have planted the poison in the past week and a half. I need the names of everyone who has a key to your house, as well as everyone who’s been here in the last two weeks, to your knowledge. While you’re writing them down, I’m going to check out your security system.”

  Josh accepted a sheet of paper and a pen.

  I hovered by his elbow. I was a failed nobody, and he was wildly
successful, but he was still human. A distraught human. And Connor was about as empathetic as a cactus having a bad day. “Mr. Summers? It’s an honor to meet you. I just wish it was under different circumstances…”

  The pen paused, and his eyes met mine. “Thank you.”

  “It’s not your fault, you know.”

  “Thank you,” he said again, softer this time.

  He turned back to his list, and I gave the espresso machine one last wistful glance before following after Connor.

  I caught up with him a few rooms later. “What are you looking for?”

  Connor eyed me, and I watched the microexpressions on his face go from surprise that I was still here, to remembered resignation that he’d have to drag this unproven Shade with a bad attitude around on this investigation. I wanted to tell him he wasn’t such great company either, but I also wanted him to include me on the case and pass me on my final assessment, so I kept quiet.

  I could use silence to get my way, too.

  After a good fifteen seconds, he released me from his gaze. “I’m trying to see how easy it would’ve been for our perp to get in without an invitation. There are cameras around the grounds, but the security team hasn’t uncovered anything suspicious yet, and inside there’s no surveillance. If we know the level of skill needed to break-in undetected, we can narrow our suspects down to the people Josh knew were here and others with sufficient expertise.”

  That made a lot of sense. “And why did you introduce me as your colleague when you keep lecturing me on maintaining my girlfriend cover?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Because appearing professional in front of a distressed client is more important?”

  “Correct. But everywhere else on this investigation, you’ll be my girlfriend.”

  Lucky me. “Got it.”

  He turned back to his inspection of possible means of entry and the exterior security system. I trailed behind him uselessly, trying not to stare at his ass.

  It’s not that I didn’t want to help, I just knew nothing about security.

  “It’s difficult, but not impossible,” he said at last.

  At first I thought he was talking about not staring at his ass. Then I remembered his focus was on the security system.

  “We’re looking at either a hit for hire or someone who had a reason to be here. Only an expert could get in and out without being caught on video or leaving any sign of entry.”

  I nodded intelligently.

  “Let’s go see how Josh is coming along with those names.”

  I followed his ass back to the kitchen. I really wanted to ask about Dana’s surname but thought it best to let him work free of any interruptions while we were here.

  Connor took the completed list from Josh and slid it into his rumpled notepad without looking at it. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Summers. Have you checked to make sure your spare keys are where they’re supposed to be?”

  “There’s only one, and yes, it’s there.”

  “Do you keep it inside or outside?”

  “Inside. I’ve been famous long enough not to be a complete idiot about security.”

  Connor didn’t bother to agree. “And have you lost any keys in the last few months?”

  “No.”

  “Good. We may have more questions as the case progresses, but for now we’ll be on our way.”

  Josh showed us to the door and shook my hand warmly as if I’d contributed somehow. His palm bore the calluses and scars of long hours in the kitchen, reminding me he’d reached his celebrity status through sweat and blood. It also reminded me that I was walking away from one of the most famous chefs in the world without having tried any of his cooking.

  Then again, the last person to eat something he’d prepared was in a coma, so I managed to bite back my disappointment.

  As soon as we were in the car, I turned to Connor. “What’s Dana’s last name?”

  “Williams, why?”

  I felt like I’d been sucker punched. “She taught me for the first month of my training.”

  It was bad enough imagining a Shade I’d never met fighting for her life, but this was Dana, the person I credited for getting me through those first miserable, homesick weeks of vomiting my guts up.

  My class of eleven had consisted of three star-struck girls who thought hanging off a celebrity’s arm would be glamorous (two of them dropped out a few weeks into the course); five internationals who wouldn’t speak a word of English to me, despite having to understand it to be training with us; one bitter, scary guy who’d been chewed up and spat out by life and didn’t want anything to do with anyone; and one woman my age who I might have been friends with had she not been so competitive that she’d poisoned one of my few untainted meals to make me miss an important test.

  Dana was twenty-five, younger than me, but had been a Shade for years already and was the down-to-earth type of person I could relate to.

  “Once you’ve survived eight months of being poisoned every day for training, the job itself is a cinch,” she’d told me with a laugh.

  I’d dreaded her being called back to the real world to take on a new client. The day she left, I found a large box of Haigh’s chocolates on my bed, shipped all the way from South Australia.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. If there was even the slightest chance I could help, I had to try. Regardless of whether or not Connor wanted me to.

  “Josh wasn’t completely forthcoming with us,” I said.

  He didn’t respond, so I elaborated.

  “I think there was more to Josh’s relationship with Dana than Shade and client and that there were other leads he didn’t tell us about. Leads of a more personal nature maybe.”

  Connor raised an eyebrow, and for a second I thought he might be impressed with my powers of observation. Then he opened his mouth.

  “Trust a woman to see romance in the air. There’s no rule against it, you know.” His gray eyes met mine suggestively. “You’re free to play around with your clients, just so long as you don’t keep doing it at the end of your assignment.”

  I felt my fingers clench—I could hardly blame Josh for getting annoyed at Connor.

  “Here’s a useful lesson for you, free of charge,” I said. “The word ‘relationship’ is not a synonym for sex. I only meant that their relationship is somehow complicated. He showed more grief and guilt than I’d expect to see for someone he hasn’t known long. I thought it might be relevant.”

  Connor said nothing.

  I was learning to consider this as preferable to him contributing to the conversation.

  “And for the record,” I said, “the Taste Society may not have a policy against sleeping with clients, but I never mix work and play.”

  I didn’t know if that was true or not, but I thought it best to nip that one in the bud. The only type of playing around I wanted to do with Connor involved a picture of his face and a fistful of darts.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

  For a long moment, the sole noise was that of the engine.

  “You’re right, though,” Connor said, “that he was holding back on us.”

  I didn’t allow myself to show any satisfaction.

  “It doesn’t matter how nice you are, everyone has someone with a personal grievance against them, but he only mentioned enemies in the industry and those who’d get money from his death.” His voice went low and sharp. “I’m sick of celebrities valuing their reputations over another person’s life, but it’s not uncommon. We’ll just have to question others who know him well.”

  “But how do we find out who knows him well?”

  Connor pulled Josh’s list out of his pocket and handed it to me. “The people with a key to his house is a good place to start. Read it to me.”

  The list was dismally short. “It just says Tahlia and Dana. He doesn’t even trust his maid enough to give her a key.”

  “Then let’s talk to Tahlia.”

 
5

  Tahlia lived in a charmingly restored Spanish-style bungalow in Mid-Wilshire. The small home was hidden by a yard overgrown with brightly flowering trees, shrubs, and a single lemon tree.

  Once we’d found our way through the garden to the front door, it was opened by an African-American woman. She looked to be in her midtwenties, with enigmatic eyes, sensual lips, and flawless skin broken only by a smudge of flour on one cheek. This must be Tahlia. I didn’t know why it was that everyone was so attractive in LA, but it was starting to grate. It was as if they didn’t even realize the rest of America was experiencing an obesity crisis.

  I caught my hand straying upward to pat at my hair and turned it into an awkward nose scratch.

  Tahlia smiled at us without guile, unaware of her assets, and my annoyance lessened. The smell of brownies drifting out of her kitchen might have also played a part in that.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m private investigator Connor Stiles, looking into a confidential matter for your employer, Josh Summers. Do you mind if we come inside?”

  Tahlia’s smile went away. Mine would have too if he’d called me ma’am. One hand fiddled with the pocket of her well-used apron, and her eyes flicked to me.

  “This is my girlfriend, Isobel. She’s just along for the ride.” Connor shot me a sheepish glance. “It was supposed to be my day off.”

  She was watching us with a wary expression, so I shrugged. “I’m used to him working all the time. We try to make the most of it.”

  Her features scrunched in sympathy, making me warm to her even more.

  “By the way, are those brownies I smell?” I was starving after skipping the burger, and they smelled amazing.

  Moments later, I was munching happily on a brownie. They were the dark chocolate, gooey-in-the-middle kind, fresh out of the oven, and I was in heaven. Somewhere between my first and second one, I remembered Connor might be hungry too.