Restaurant Weeks Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  Sawyer started to say something, but Aunt Ginny kicked her under the counter and she changed it. “Nothing. We were watching you.”

  Aunt Ginny tried to distract me with flattery. “Oh, my goodness, but this is delicious. Why you aren’t working in a high-class restaurant I’ll never know.”

  “Uh huh. Don’t do anything to get me in trouble.”

  “You don’t need me for that. You’re doing a fine job of getting into trouble all by yourself.”

  Adrian inserted himself into our circle to get close to Sawyer. “Heya, slim. Did you like what you saw me do today?” He took her spoon, dipped it in the crème brûlée, and took a bite. “Mmm.” He turned to me. “This is delicious. I see why Tim has you on his team.”

  The molten ball of hatred in my belly for Adrian just gave a little fizzle like it had been hosed with ice water. “You think so?”

  “Oh yeah. Tim is a master strategizer. He’s always working a scheme to get what he wants.”

  My Tim? The Tim who ate three chili dogs and a plate of nachos before getting on Lightening Loops at Great Adventure, then threw up on the loop and it landed in his lap on the way down? That Tim?

  Sawyer patted Adrian’s bicep. “You did pretty good today yourself.”

  Adrian shrugged. “Two good scores and two bad ones. I’m hanging in the middle.” He handed Sawyer back her spoon. “How ’bout having coffee with me sometime?”

  Aunt Ginny slowly pulled the dessert across the counter.

  Sawyer giggled, and I pinched her on the arm behind Adrian’s back.

  “Um. I don’t know. Aren’t you too busy for that? What with Restaurant Week and all.”

  “Naw, I got backup at Baxter’s By the Bay. We’re too popular a place for me to leave the kitchen unattended, so I called in some favors and got a couple temp cooks.”

  Sawyer looked around Adrian to me. I gave her a warning scowl, which she ignored. “I would love to. I know just the place. It’s over by my bookstore.”

  Adrian grinned. “Good. How’s about tomorrow night?”

  Sawyer nodded. “It’s a date.”

  After Adrian was out of earshot, I asked, “What are you doing?”

  “What? It’s just coffee.”

  “With the one chef who’s trying to destroy Tim’s reputation.”

  “No, he’s not. If Tim would just admit he sabotaged Adrian years ago, he would let it go.”

  “But Tim didn’t do that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know Tim.”

  “Do you, Poppy? Because you haven’t seen Tim for almost thirty years. Maybe he’s changed. Hey! What happened to all the crème brûlée?”

  Aunt Ginny licked her spoon. “I thought you were finished.”

  “Well, I am now.”

  Aunt Ginny rubbed her belly. “Are you two ready to go? I’m starving. Why don’t we go to an early dinner? My treat?”

  I took off my apron. “It will have to be a fast one. One of us needs to be at the B&B to wrangle Figaro and set out the evening cheese plate.”

  Aunt Ginny nodded. “I think it’s your turn, so . . . you have fun with that.”

  “Yes, well, thanks for your support.” What was I gonna say? Aunt Ginny was in her eighties. She didn’t have to help me at all if she didn’t want to. But I sure wasn’t going to admit that to her. The more time she spent working with me, the less time for her to sneak off and get into trouble. “Let me get my things, and I’ll meet you both in the parking lot.”

  I went to the locker room to retrieve my purse. When I closed my locker, Vidrine was there waiting for me, her eyes blazing. “What did I tell you would happen if I was sabotaged again, chérie?”

  “Vidrine, listen to me.”

  She leaned in until her nose piercing was just inches away from me. I had to force myself not to stare at it.

  “You have to know that I had nothing to do with the equipment malfunction today.”

  “And why would I know that?”

  “For one thing, I was sabotaged too.”

  “Yeah, you had to make cookie dough by hand. Boo hoo. I had sauce blow up in my face.”

  “I got lucky. And if you ask Marco, so did you. Think about it. Whoever sabotaged the equipment had to have done it between the event yesterday and this morning. Every minute of my time can be accounted for at the bed and breakfast. Can you say the same? Where were you last night?”

  “Working in my restaurant, making the same dishes I made yesterday morning. Just like everyone else.”

  “How do you know that’s what everyone else was doing?”

  “For one thing, it’s in the rules.” Vidrine considered me for a moment. “Honey, someone is out to get us. It may not be you, but you have fared remarkably well so far.”

  “You haven’t done so badly yourself. Horatio really liked your duck in passion fruit sauce.”

  “I’m glad someone did. Stormin’ Norman thinks he’s learned to be a master chef from watching the Cooking Channel.”

  “Yeah? Well, Norman told Tim my shortbread needed more baking powder.”

  Vidrine leaned away and softened her shoulders. A little smile played at her lips. “I’ll bet he’s never baked anything in his life. At least he’s just pompous. Bess is downright mean. She hasn’t liked anything my team has made for two days.” Vidrine scrunched her nose up and mimicked a stuffy old lady. “Chef Vidrine, your food isn’t fit for school lunches. I suggest you get yourself to a good culinary program and learn the basics.”

  I grinned. “Wow, that was really good.”

  “Honey, I’ve been a professional chef for almost ten years now. I’ve seen a lot of stuff in restaurant kitchens. Some of it, I can’t talk about. But one thing I know for sure, a fancy education is no match for good instincts, experience, and pasyon. I wish I could make that old bat eat her words.”

  “I wouldn’t let Bess discourage you. The only one she likes so far is Chef Philippe.”

  “Yes, well. Horatio is a New York Journal food critic, and he can’t stand Philippe’s cooking. Maybe his food seems more inspired if you’re loaded.”

  “We all need to stick together. We don’t know who is sabotaging the event. It could be someone from the TV studio. It could be students of the college. It could even be one of the judges.”

  “Well, chér, that may be. But my gut says it’s a chef. This competition comes with a highly coveted award. Don’t underestimate any of these guys. They aren’t all who they pretend to be.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  We heard footsteps coming our way, and Vidrine shook her head that she couldn’t say more.

  Philippe’s pastry chef entered the locker room, her face flushed and tear-stained.

  Vidrine grabbed her tote bag. “I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

  When she left, I asked the pastry chef if she was okay. She nodded, then started to cry. She ran out the door and down the hall before I could ask her what was wrong.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Figaro met me in the foyer, swishing his tail like an old lady tapping her foot.

  “What are you doing?”

  A pair of bright orange eyes blinked. Fig lifted a paw to his mouth and paused. His ears swiveled back and forth like a satellite dish searching for a signal.

  I bent down to snuggle him up. “Were you waiting for me to come home?”

  Figaro gave me a powder puff swat on the hand.

  “Hey! You don’t have to be rude about it.”

  Miss New Jersey opened the door and he jumped in front of her and arched his back. She threw her hands up and yelled “Achk!” Then she sneezed twice.

  I scooped Fig up and held him close. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. He’s not bothering anyone else.”

  “Thadt cadt is evil.”

  “I mean, I wouldn’t say evil.” Terminally naughty maybe.

  “I’m going up to my roomb now. Keep him downb here.”

  �
�Okay,” I tried to sound bright and cheerful. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  She disappeared up the stairs. I held Fig out away from my body, his furry legs and poufy tail dangling in midair. “Why?”

  Figaro sneezed. Then he grabbed my hand with his front paws and nibbled my finger.

  I took him into the kitchen where Aunt Ginny and Sawyer were waiting with coffee and cookies.

  Aunt Ginny was pouring cream into her cup. “Did he scare her again?”

  I rolled my eyes and nodded.

  Sawyer asked, “Who?”

  “Miss New Jersey,” I said. “They are having a feud.” I put Fig in Aunt Ginny’s room and shut the door before I joined them at the table.

  Sawyer held out her cell phone. “Look at this Twitter feed. If you search hashtag CMrestaurantweek, most of the buzz is about the sabotage. Almost nothing about the scores for today.”

  “Poor Tim. He doesn’t need bad publicity. Business hasn’t been very good at Maxine’s.”

  Sawyer took a bite of chocolate chip cookie. “Adrian says his place is booming. It was hard for him to get off this week to compete.”

  I took half of a cookie. My pants were feeling a little tighter than they were a few days ago. I chalked it up to stress. “What do you mean he’s off? I thought he had to make his competition dishes for dinner each night of the event.”

  “Technically, his restaurant has to make the dishes. He gives them the recipes, and they re-create his three courses for the menu.”

  “So, he hasn’t gone in at all?” I exchanged looks with Aunt Ginny. “What has he been doing with his time each night?”

  Sawyer saw our exchange, and nervously put her cookie down. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him. I just know he said he’s free to take me for coffee. Why? What are you thinking?”

  “Whoever is behind the sabotage would have to have had access to the arena after hours, and the time to tamper with the appliances.”

  Aunt Ginny stirred her coffee and tapped the spoon on the side of her cup. “Not to mention a motive to want to win the competition at any cost.”

  I nodded. “Adrian seems very motivated to me. And as far as I know, all the other chefs are busy in their own kitchens after the competition. Tim works until two in the morning. Then we’re back at the college at eleven the next day for taping.”

  Sawyer sat back and picked at her fingernails. “Well that doesn’t mean anything. Whoever tampered with the equipment would have to have the mechanical ability to know what they’re doing. They didn’t just break the appliances, they rigged some of them to keep working and create disasters.”

  Aunt Ginny said, “That’s a good point. But who would have that kind of know-how?”

  I took a long drink of my coffee while trying to decide how to answer. “Well, there is one chef who we know has mechanical ability. Hot Sauce Louie used to have a food truck.”

  “I remember,” Aunt Ginny said. “He had the best foot-longs. Whatever happened to that?”

  “It broke down a lot, and he got tired of fixing it.”

  Sawyer’s face and shoulders relaxed. “Well see, there’s your culprit. He’d know how to jack up an appliance.”

  “Just because he knows how to work on a drive shaft doesn’t mean he knows how to rewire a gas range. And it definitely doesn’t mean he’d be willing to put someone’s life in danger just to win a contest.”

  A chime went off in the kitchen, signaling that the front door had just been opened. “Poppy! Are you here?”

  “That sounds like Ivy.” I went to meet the director in the foyer. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “We’re having a little judges’ meeting. Do you think I could get some coffee for everyone?”

  Bess and Horatio were sitting in the library while Norman tried to light a fire. Bess croaked out “tea,” which we’d all expected.

  “Yes, of course. I can bring in some fresh-baked cookies, too, if you’d like.”

  Horatio took off his hat. “That would be fabulous.”

  Bess waved her hand in my direction. “Do they contain nuts?”

  “No.”

  “Did you do a better job with them than you did that shortbread this morning?”

  I bit back what I really wanted to say. “I made them special for the B&B.”

  “Okay, then.”

  I tried to release the stress that went hand in hand with dealing with Bess, and counted down the days till Restaurant Week was over. I returned to the kitchen to make the refreshments with Sawyer’s help. A few minutes later we headed into the library with the trays. Miss New Jersey had come down for the meeting wearing her bathrobe and the green goo of an avocado masque on her face. I had to blink twice to be sure of what I was seeing. I glanced at Ivy to capture her expression.

  She shrugged. “I told everyone not to worry about how they look, but to come as they are.”

  I set out the cups and saucers. Sawyer poured while Ivy discussed the judges’ concerns.

  Norman picked up a cookie. “Are these made with white sugar?”

  “Coconut sugar.”

  “Do you know how many carbs are in each one?”

  “About twenty.”

  He put the cookie back on the plate.

  Miss New Jersey sipped at her coffee, careful not to smudge her masque. “I’mb not eating anything gwoss. If they get bugs or fish eyes or something like that in their basket, you can count me out.”

  “There is nothing like that in the schedule. Oh shoot.” Ivy searched her tote bag. “I forgot my daily planner. I must have left it over in the staging area at the arena. Poppy, do you know anyone who can run out to the college for me? I really need that schedule, and none of the chefs or judges are allowed on the premises before eleven AM tomorrow. I would get Roger, but he’s working in the cutting room, getting the video ready for airing tonight. I can offer two passes to see the Mariah Carey concert in Atlantic City as a thank you.”

  Sawyer practically dropped her carafe on the end table. “I can go for you.”

  Ivy’s eyes lit up. “You can? That would be such a life saver.” Ivy described what she was looking for and where Sawyer should look.

  Sawyer grabbed her keys and flew out the front door, and I took over filling the coffee cups and making Bess’s tea.

  Ashlee whined, “I don’t see why Tess gets to do the kiss and cry with the judges, and I have to roam around the kitchens like a nomad looking for interviews. I’m trying to pull out the 411, but no one wants to give. They’re all too busy ‘crafting their dishes’ and ‘working on their plating.’ Whatever.”

  Ivy nodded along.

  Tess rolled her eyes, her head, and her shoulders. “Ahck! You’re so basic. Just do your job, chica.”

  Ashlee turned the whining up a notch. “Hey, the struggle is real, okay.”

  Tess grabbed a cup of coffee, and dumped six stevia in it. “I can’t even.”

  Ashlee started to pout. “Don’t be salty with me. I’ve seen you without makeup.”

  Ivy took out a pair of perfectly round pink glasses and put them on. “It’s okay to feel your feels. That’s cool. But I need everyone to just take a chill.”

  Horatio twisted his handlebar mustache. “I don’t understand what any of you are saying right now.”

  Bess’s chin had drooped to her chest, and she snored lightly.

  Norman took a cup of coffee and placed it on his lap. “The way things are going in those kitchens, I want you to make sure the ingredients are fresh too. I don’t want food poisoning because someone thought it would be a great idea to sabotage the refrigerators. Ted would never let that happen on Chopped.”

  Horatio took a napkin and two cookies and placed them on his lap. “I’ve had worse in professional restaurants. I’ve even called the health department before finishing a meal a couple of times.”

  My mind went to Figaro, and I really hoped there was no errant cat hair on the cookies.

  Bess snorted herself awake and stirred her p
rivate stock honey into her personal tea. “Well, I had low ex-pectashions from the start. I know a lot of these chefs and their hishtories. Many of them aren’t properly trained, they haven’t had quality of educashion, and they aren’t properly trained.”

  Ivy typed something on her phone. “Okay, noted.”

  Horatio muttered, “Stewed again.”

  Bess tried to hold her head high. “If you are referring to me sir, you are incorrect. I am as shober as the day ish long. I’m jush not feeling well.”

  Ivy leaned forward in her chair. “I really need you to be at your best health tomorrow, Bess. You and Mr. Duplessis are our professional authorities on the chef’s abilities, and we really need your reviews to be on point.”

  Norman looked up from his phone. “Hey. What about me?”

  “My reviewsh are alwaysh on point. I can tell you right now who has true shkills and who is pretending.” She looked around the room and over to me. “Eve-ry-one.”

  I swallowed hard. I left them to their meeting and retreated to the safety of my kitchen, where the only judgment I had to sit under came from Figaro and Aunt Ginny.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I awoke in a panic and shot upright in bed. “I should have made donuts.”

  I looked around. I was still in the bedroom. Thank God, it had been a dream. No way would I make deep fried jellyfish for the judges. My heartbeat softened, and my breathing slowed to normal.

  Figaro thought we were under siege and chose to save himself. He missiled off the bed and out of the little kitty door I’d installed when I moved into the attic.

  “What about protecting your master?”

  I could hear him galloping down the hall without a concern in the world for my welfare. I could also hear the sound of someone in the throes of distress in the bathroom below my attic apartment. Who is directly below me? Bess. Oh dear. Better have the aspirin ready again this morning. I checked the time. Five-forty AM. There was no use going back to sleep for twenty minutes.

  I sped through my yoga routine. I was almost able to do a warrior three pose without falling over. Almost. I picked myself up off the floor, rolled away my mat, and went to get cleaned up. Forty minutes later I was showered, dressed, lashes layered in mascara, and ready for day three of the Restaurant Week challenge. But first, I had to serve the talent their breakfast.