by Libby Klein
The uniformed officers rolled yellow crime scene tape over every exit. Amber called for a CSI team to come do the second sweep of the kitchen this week, while she systematically began questioning everyone in the arena. And things had been looking so positive an hour ago.
Mother Gibson was beaming with her newfound hero status. She was basking in the glow of her many congratulatory praises. I joined the group of seniors in the stands to offer my own tribute. “Thank God you were here today. You saved her life.”
“I always carry one of Oliver’s EpiPens in my bag. I accidentally gave him a sugar cookie that had touched peanut butter cookies once, and he stopped breathing. It scared the life out of me. Thank God, my daughter was with us when it happened. I wonder why that little blonde girl didn’t have her own EpiPen. Peanut allergies are so dangerous.”
“You’re right. Things could have gone very badly for her.”
Mrs. Dodson slanted her eyes and nodded gravely. “It really makes you wonder. Who would want to ruin Restaurant Week, plus kill the old judge and the young girl?”
Mrs. Davis twirled a finger in her woolly pink hair. “How is it all connected? You wouldn’t think anyone who had a motive to kill that judge would even know Ashlee Pickel. And there’s no way Tess would do anything to hurt Ashlee. They’re friends. You should see them on camera together.”
I smiled at Mrs. Davis. “You watch Wake Up! South Jersey? The millennial morning show?”
“I don’t watch the whole thing. I start it at eleven when the Today show goes off. I can’t stand that other show that comes on with the vulgar women.”
Aunt Ginny took the notebook from Sawyer and scanned it. “Twenty-to-one odds that Horatio Duplessis is the next to be poisoned. Fifty-to-one odds that it’s Miss New Jersey.” Aunt Ginny looked to me. “Unless you have some inside information about the pageant winner that would change those odds?”
I recoiled. “I don’t know anything.”
Aunt Ginny cocked her head. “Alright.”
“You know who I like?” Mrs. Davis asked. “Willard Scott. I hope one day he wishes me happy birthday from the Smuckers people.”
Mrs. Dodson looked up to the ceiling and shook her head. “How in the world would that ever happen, Thelma? Willard Scott is as old as you are. You think he’ll still be working on the Today show when he’s a hundred?”
Mother Gibson laughed. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”
Mrs. Davis tilted her head to look up at Mrs. Dodson. “Well I have no idea. Maybe he can prerecord a bunch of them. Besides, not everyone retires just because they get old.”
The CSI team arrived and began rifling through the pantry and all our dishes. They bagged and tagged samples of Adrian’s food, and all the dishes that Ashlee had eaten from. Chef Oliva and Vidrine were off the hook since they hadn’t presented yet.
Sawyer grabbed my elbow. “Come on, I want to taste your dessert before they pack it all in that duffel bag.”
We jetted down to the kitchen to find one of my desserts was already missing. “Come on!”
I warmed the last ramekin in the microwave. We each grabbed a madeleine and dunked it into the warm gooey Earl Grey chocolate. My madeleine was heading for my mouth when someone swooped in and snatched it out of my hand.
Aunt Ginny plopped the tiny cake in her mouth. “You can’t have gluten. I’m just saving you from yourself.”
Like I’m going to draw that line now, after the rest of this week? I wanted to protest, but Roger ran into the room calling for Ivy. “Channel Eight news is outside. They want an interview.”
Norman jumped up. “I’ll do it. They probably want to talk to me anyway. That’s my network.”
“I don’t think they know you’re here,” Roger said. “They’re asking for Tess.”
Amber held a hand up. “No way! This is an active investigation. No one leaves this room, and no one talks to the press. I don’t want information getting out until I know what I’m dealing with.”
Sawyer showed me her cell phone. “Then she won’t believe this.”
“Twitter already knows that Ashlee was sent to the hospital?” I jabbed a spoon into the chocolate pot and grimaced at Aunt Ginny. “This is gluten free.”
“Not only do they know about it, Ashlee is the one who tweeted it. And she recorded a video message to all her viewers from the ambulance.”
“Oh man. Wait till Amber finds out.”
Sawyer’s gaze roved through the arena. She tried to be nonchalant, but I knew who she was looking for.
“He’s sitting in his kitchen, brooding.”
Sawyer’s eyes flicked to mine and then away. “I’m going to go try to cheer him up.”
“Good luck with that.”
She went in search of Adrian, and I looked around for a miserable blond chef. Gia was interpreting a conversation between Momma and Philippe. I didn’t see Momma making any of the rude gestures that were usually aimed at me, so it must have been going well. So where was Tim? For that matter, where was Gigi? And why were they both missing at the same time?
I searched every inch of the kitchen arena until I found Tim sitting in the pantry on a plastic bin of flour. Gigi was crammed in next to him tucked on a low shelf.
“What are you doing in here?”
Tim gave me a weak smile. “Feeling sorry for myself. Wondering how much I can get for my Vulcan range on Craigslist.”
I crouched down and put my hand on his knee. “Aw, come on. It’s not that bad. At least not yet.”
“Who’s going to eat in my restaurant once rumor spreads that a chef poisoned not one, but two judges, during Restaurant Week? Who’s going to eat in any of our restaurants after this?”
Gigi put her hand on Tim’s bicep. “I’m here for you.”
Tim jumped up, knocking Gigi’s hand off his arm. “Have you found anything out, Mack? Tell me you have an idea about who could be behind this.”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Please keep trying. You have a knack for this kind of thing, and I really need you right now.”
Gigi stood and looped her hand around Tim’s arm. “We all have our gifts. Mine is cooking. Poppy’s may as well be being nosy.”
What about my gift of whooping your . . .
“Heeeyyy. There you are.”
We all snapped our heads to the pantry door. The opening was filled with perfect mink-brown hair, flawless skin, and legs that started at Gigi’s rib cage. Miss New Jersey’s curves were swathed in a tight, leopard-print wrap dress, and she knew how to use them for maximum effect.
Tim gave her a sultry smile. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
Gigi and I shared a moment of silent indignation. Ma’am? What happened to depressed and hopeless?
“I thought that since we were on lockdown, we could take this chance to get to know each other better.”
Gigi stepped between Tim and Miss New Jersey, much the way a chihuahua would guard her master. “We need to plan our dishes for tomorrow. Now isn’t a good time.”
Miss New Jersey smiled at Tim, swatting Gigi away like an invisible mosquito. “You don’t know what’s in the baskets yet.”
Gigi answered, “That’s why we need so much time to plan. The possibilities are endless.”
I could tell Miss New Jersey was trying to wrap her brain around what Gigi was saying. The strain of it was making a wrinkle in her perfect forehead. I had to intervene before she passed out from the stress.
“Actually Brandy, I wanted to talk to you about something. In private.”
Gigi threw me a grateful look. “We’ll leave the two of you to your girl talk then.” She dragged Tim by the wrist back into the kitchen.
Miss New Jersey frowned as she watched Tim leave. “What is it?”
“That was quick thinking earlier, dumping out Ashlee’s purse.”
“She was turning blue.”
“I know. That was very—”
“Freaky.”
“I was going to say dangerous, but
it was freaky too.”
“Cha.” Miss New Jersey flipped her hair in agreement.
“Have you had a chance to hang out with either Ashlee or Tess this week?”
“No. I like to do my own thing.”
“Sure. I get that. But, not even at the B&B? You guys are there all night.”
“Tess is busy with Norman, if you know what I mean.”
“I do. What about Ashlee?”
“She’s always on her cell phone.”
“Do you know what she’s doing?”
“The usual. Tweeting, Facebooking, Snapchatting, YouTubing . . .
“LinkedIn.”
“What’s linked in?”
“Nothing, never mind. Have you ever heard Tess threaten Ashlee?”
“Only that she was going to post an unflattering picture of her.”
“Nothing more . . . dire?”
“No.”
“Okay, thanks Brandy.”
“Sure. Where did Chef Tim go?”
“Mmm, I don’t know. You’ll have to look for him.”
“Okay. How’s my makeup?”
“Perfect.”
“Phew. I want to make a good impression.”
“Don’t worry.” She could pretty much have worn a bag over her head and she’d still be fine.
Miss New Jersey went in search of Tim—she was Gigi’s problem now—and I went in search of Ivy. I had morning-show questions and I hoped she would have network answers.
I found Ivy behind the staging area, trapped as it were, by Norman. They did not look like they were on the verge of being finished any time soon, so instead of waiting, I moved to plan B.
Tess was sitting alone in her host chair behind the eye of the camera. She was playing a game on her phone.
“Hey Tess, do you have a minute?”
“It’s not like I can go anywhere.”
“How are you holding up with Ashlee’s near-death experience?”
Tess exhaled. “She’s such a spotlight hog. She’ll probably double her following after this.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, keep your chin up.”
What the heck is wrong with these two?
“I was wondering, do you have a cooking segment on Wake Up! South Jersey?”
“Jes, but it is mostly to show how Ashlee and I don’t know how to cook. It doesn’t really showcase the chef’s talents.”
“I understand. I think most chef segments are kind of like that. But I was wondering, more specifically, if any of the chefs in this room had ever been on your show?”
Tess thought for a second. “No.”
“Oh, well. It was just an idea I had.”
I stood to go.
“Except for Philippe. He was on the show when we first started about three years ago.”
“Chef Philippe did a segment with you?”
“Not with me, with Ashlee. It did not go well.”
“What happened?”
“Ashlee thought it would be funny to pretend not to like his food. So, when it was time to taste the finished dish, Ashlee spit her bite out into her hand and said it was disgusting. She called JK—that means she was just kidding—but we had already cut to commercial, and then we were out of time. It was just one of those things.” Tess shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.
“So, she was never able to tell the viewers that it was a joke?”
“We had to cut to the next segment with the DJ of a silent nightclub on the roof of the Holiday Inn.”
“How did Philippe feel about the joke? Was he cool with it?”
“No-oooo-ooo. He was so. Not. Cool. He threatened to sue us, but then he found out our show didn’t have any money. So, he swore we would regret it one day.”
Well, today might have been the day.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I had to find Philippe and ask him about that morning show fiasco, and I needed to do it fast. He was our only known link between Horatio and Ashlee. If Horatio had been the intended target instead of Bess, and I think he was, then his harsh reviews of Philippe—both during Restaurant Week and in his column years ago—might have been enough to send the old chef over the edge. Plus, Philippe was the only chef in the arena who had ever been on the morning show, and it hadn’t been a love match. I searched the arena and looked for him in his kitchen. Philippe was having a heated argument with Vidrine.
“Poppy. Pssssst! Come over here.” Aunt Ginny crooked her finger for me to join her and the biddies in the stands.
I kept one eye on Philippe and went to see what they wanted. “What’s up?”
“Which chef did you say used to own a food truck?”
“Hot Sauce Louie, why?”
Aunt Ginny jabbed Mrs. Davis in the side. “See.”
“Where is he now?” Mother Gibson asked.
I pointed to Louie down in his kitchen relaying his testimony to Amber. “He’s the one who looks like Nick Nolte.”
Mrs. Davis giggled. “I remember when he had that little restaurant at the point. He had the best crab cakes this side of the Delaware Bay. Albert and I used to go down there at least once a month.”
“I’m sorry, when he had what?”
Mrs. Dodson rolled her head back. “Oh, that’s right. What was the name of that little place?”
Aunt Ginny drummed her fingers. “The Seaview?”
“No,” Mother Gibson supplied. “The Seaside Café. My Jeremiah loved his Clams Casino.”
“That’s right.” Mrs. Davis held up a finger. “Only he didn’t go by Hot Sauce Louie back then, did he?”
“No sir.” Mrs. Dodson tapped her cane. “Silly gimmick of a name.” She shook her head. “Louis. Chef Louis something.”
“Pacione.” Mother Gibson tapped the side of her temple. “Chef Louis Pacione. I remember because it sounded a little like passion.” She tilted her head to the side and gave a knowing look. “Lord, but he had good oysters. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.”
My head was swimming. Where was all this information five days and two incidents ago, ladies? “So, you’re telling me Hot Sauce Louie had a restaurant before his food truck?”
The biddies all nodded.
I Googled Seaside Café. All I could find was a local news article in the Star. “Seaside Café, a popular fish fry, closes its doors after the Health Department receives reports of possible food poisoning. Chef Louis Pacione, a newcomer to the shore, vehemently denies serving bad clams to New York Journal Food Critic Horatio Duplessis. Mr. Duplessis was not available to comment.”
I felt like the floor beneath my feet just gave a little shake.
“And where exactly was this restaurant, ladies?”
Mrs. Davis said, “It was a little place down at the point.”
“That sounds right,” Mother Gibson said. “Right by the Seaglass Motel that used to be there.”
Aunt Ginny joined in, “Oh, of course. Next to the dime store and that really good donut shop we used to have, Angelinni’s.”
“Now those were good donuts,” Mrs. Dodson said. “We used to get a bag of the powdered sugars and sit on the bench in front of the sunken ship.”
Mrs. Davis had a faraway look in her eye. “It’s all gone now. Only the sunken ship remains. What’s left of it.”
I pulled out my phone and went to Google Maps, since every one of their referenced landmarks had been gone twenty years. I plugged in Cape May Point and held the map up to the ladies. “Okay, where was Louie’s restaurant?”
Mrs. Davis looked at my phone and shrugged. “Where is the sunken ship on that thing?”
I zoomed in to the spot.
Aunt Ginny pointed to the end of Sunset Boulevard. “It would have to have been right there. Remember that lifeguard stand, girls?”
Mrs. Davis blushed. “Remember that lifeguard?”
“Yowzah!” Aunt Ginny giggled.
Mother Gibson held one hand up in the air and shook her head. “Lord, have mercy.”
I laughed to myself. No matter wh
at age you are, your personality stays the same. I zoomed in to the spot Aunt Ginny indicated. It was now the very successful Sunset Grill. That property must be worth a fortune right on the beach where scores of people congregate to watch the orange ball drop over the bay. Imagine how successful Louie would be if he still owned it. As soon as Amber finished up with Louie, I was going to ask him about the Seaside Café. But first I needed to corner Philippe to check up on that morning show fiasco. And Philippe had disappeared.
Darn it! I searched the arena and didn’t see the stuffy French chef anywhere. Amber had to call in reinforcements, so she could widen the lockdown area to include two classrooms plus the hallway down to the bathrooms, after a potty emergency arose with one of the seniors who had come in the church van with Mother Gibson.
Since I didn’t see Philippe anywhere in the kitchen arena, I checked out the classrooms. No Philippe. I walked down the beige hall of kitchen classrooms trying to stalk him while trying to not look like a stalker. When I got near the locker room, I heard a man’s voice. It was muffled, but by the caustic tone I could make out that he was angry. I walked quietly to see if I could pick up anything specific. When I got closer, I realized the voice was Adrian’s.
“I told you I would pay you back when this is over.... No, I’m doing my best here. You know I’m good for it. It should have been in the bag, but there have been complications.... How could I know someone would be killed?! . . . Don’t be that way. I can turn this around.... Don’t you dare repossess my Porsche! How will I get to Baxter’s? . . . You’ll be sorry, Mother!”
I heard a loud metallic punch. I had to get out of here. I was a sitting duck in the middle of this hallway with nowhere to hide. A red-faced Adrian turned the corner. We stood in silence staring each other down. Adrian was breathing heavy. I could feel the anger shooting from his fists.
“What are you doing down here?”
“Um . . . I was . . . looking for you. Sawyer needs you—well, not needs. Wants you. I mean she wants to find you. I think she wants to check on you, to see if you’re okay because . . . you know.”
Adrian crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Is she really looking for me?”
“She was, yes. She was concerned about you after Ashlee blew up from that allergic reaction after eating your food.”
