I was so proud of myself when I got the casserole out of the oven. It looked amazing! It wasn’t even burned at the edges.
“Put that back in,” Patty said. She’d stopped to look over my shoulder on her way out of the kitchen. She’d done her magic baking and was now leaving. She never asked me when she could come and go, and I never tried to tell her. I was happy that she came at all. If anyone else hired her away from me, my place would be a goner. She’d made three dozen cupcakes this morning, and I’d sell out of all of them by noon—even while selling them at high boutique prices!
“What’s wrong with it?” I gazed lovingly at my egg-tastic creation.
“They ain’t done.” She reached around me and shook my hand, jiggling the casserole dish in the process.
“It’s supposed to be like that,” I argued.
The woman with a zillion voices camped out in her noggin looked at me like I was a poor demented fool to be pitied. She then shook her head and went on.
I quietly slid the casserole back in the oven.
Chapter 19
The breakfast crowd came and went, leaving me with a lull of stragglers who simply liked the atmosphere. Agatha had her knitting group back in the cozy corner sitting in the big comfy chairs near the fireplace. It was summer, so I didn’t have a fire going. Instead, I decorated the insides of the fireplace with fairy lights, piled loose and high in an ornate wood rack.
Zoey came in and perched her elbows on the counter as I cleaned the grill. “We need to talk to Larry.”
Larry was Lara’s brother, and she’d gotten Ollie to give Larry a job prior to Ollie getting pancaked.
I agreed, but I wanted to hear her thoughts. “What’re you thinking? Are we going to work a specific angle with him?”
“He could’ve poisoned Lara. If she killed Ollie, he might have tried to kill her for putting his new cushy job at risk.”
I could see it. Made sense. And I couldn’t think of anyone else who might have had a motive—except of course Sebastian, who could have assumed Lara was guilty and decided to seek retribution against her.
“Have you been able to find anything out about Larry?”
Zoey was a computer whiz. She was also a social media whiz. If you hated broccoli as a child but came to love it as an adult, she could find that out.
“William was right. Larry’s an idiot.” I stopped cleaning the grill and gave Zoey my full attention. “He failed his way up the ladder at the last place he worked until he reached financial manager. Then he invested company money into a stock fund. When the price of that stock fund plummeted, he doubled down and invested more of the company’s money. When it plummeted again, he invested even more. A lot more. When he’d gotten the position, the company was on a path to becoming a Fortune 500 company. Now it’s trying to stay out of bankruptcy.”
“Wow… Any chance someone from that company is working their way through the people in Larry’s life, one for each time he stepped them closer to bankruptcy?”
“No, I doubt it. The company’s president is as big of an idiot as Larry. He let Larry talk them into a golden parachute. They had to pay him off to the tune of two million when they fired him.”
“Two million?” I exclaimed. “Why did he want a job with Oliver’s company? He’s rich!”
“Not anymore.”
“What happened?”
“He blew it at the race tracks—in one day.”
“No…” It was hard to wrap my brain around what I was hearing. “Is he a gambling addict?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“Then why did he do it?”
“He had a dream.”
“So it was his fantasy to go to the race track and… and… I don’t know, spend like a high roller?”
“No, I mean a literal dream. He had a dream that he should go to the racetrack, bet all of his money, and that it would make him a billionaire.”
I gaped at her. “You’re kidding.”
“Can’t make this stuff up. The guy’s nuts.”
“And Oliver hired him… Boy, he must’ve been wild for Lara.”
“We’d have this thing solved if it had been Larry who’d been killed. Oliver would have been stupid not to have him knocked off before letting him in the door at Paperworx.”
She had a point.
The café’s front door chimed and Brad came in. Seeing what a handsome figure he cut in that uniform never failed to make me smile.
He sat down on the stool next to Zoey.
“Coffee?”
“Naw, got some sweet tea?”
“I do!” It always made me insanely happy when I was able to serve someone something they really wanted. It wasn’t something I’d known about myself until I’d taken over the café.
I got him his sweet tea, but as a side, I also gave him a glass of milk. I slid one in front of Zoey as well.
“What’s this for?” Brad asked.
I smiled big. “Patty was here this morning.”
His face brightened. I had his attention.
Disappearing into the kitchen again, I came out a moment later with three lemon-lavender cupcakes, one for each of us. But I didn’t stop there. I also had a small plate of the lacy brown-butter ricotta cookies. I grabbed a big glass of milk for me, too.
Brad went for the cookies first, and Zoey took such a big bite of cupcake that it left lavender frosting on the tip of her nose. I’d indulged in some cookies earlier, so I went for the cupcake, and then moaned as the moist cake hit all the right notes in my mouth.
“Never serve this stuff to any other man,” Brad said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“He’ll ask you to marry him on the spot. He won’t even care that you didn’t make them. It’ll be enough that you can get them for him.”
I laughed and then started to ask him why they weren’t making him propose, but managed to think better of it before the words tumbled out of my mouth. With that crisis averted, I took another bite of Patty’s heavenly cupcake.
“I actually came by because I’ve got news,” Brad said. “News about Oliver.”
Chapter 20
I gulped down my mouthful of cake and then drank a swig of milk. “You do?” I felt completely torn. On one hand, I hoped they’d found Oliver’s killer, but then on the other hand I hoped they hadn’t—because I wanted to find the killer first.
“The coroner’s report came in. Oil was found all over Oliver’s clothes. It seems the oil was put on him before he was shoved under the dumpster and that it didn’t get on him from the bottom of the dumpster itself.”
“Oil? Like… engine oil?”
“It hasn't been determined yet. I’d assumed kitchen oil.”
A flash of heat spread through me and my heart pounded harder in my chest. “Am I a suspect?”
Brad shrugged one shoulder and lifted his eyebrows. “Eh… You’re on the short list of suspects, but I think you’re on there more as a joke.”
“A joke?” I didn't find it funny.
“Some of the other detectives evaluating the case pushed for you to be included as a suspect, but I think they did it just to get under Detective Gregson’s skin.”
“Oh…” It still wasn’t making any sense to me. “Why would me being on the list get under Detective Gregson’s skin?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t have the man’s ear and he sure doesn’t share his thoughts with me, but I suspect it’s because no matter how guilty you seem, you never turn out to be the killer. So you being on the list just represents wasted effort.”
“Oh…” Brad’s answer was so mundane and perfunctory. The annoyance I was causing Gregson was so general, so rational, instead of being personal and of importance. I wasn’t sure why that bothered me, but it did.
Brad tapped the counter with his knuckles. “Well, I gotta head out. You two got plans?”
“Gonna talk to Larry,” Zoey answered.
“Anyone else? Knowing will make it easier to figure out where to
send the squad cars when you two end up in trouble.”
I shrugged. “Who we talk to after Larry kind of depends on what we find out from him.”
“Okay,” he said, getting off the stool. “Don’t get yourselves killed.”
“We never do,” I called after him as he headed out the door. I hoped he hadn’t jinxed us.
I had to hand it to Brad: he had really reached a nice level of acceptance about my investigative tendencies. If only I could get Joel to think as progressively. I didn’t appreciate his double standard about the choices I made versus the choices he made. I didn’t like it at all. I had the right to put my life in danger just as much as the next person.
“You ready?” Zoey asked.
I cast a worried glance around the café, and the crossroads I was at suddenly slapped me in the face. No one else was around to take over café duties while I was gone. Not Jonathan, Brenda, Sam, or Melanie.
“I don’t think I can leave,” I said. My stomach cramped. Not being able to go bothered me so much. “I don’t have anyone to take care of the café.”
Zoey looked around and then back at me. “What about that chef guy—Chef John? Doesn’t he owe you a favor for letting him use your kitchen to cater the packaging conference?”
“I couldn’t… could I?” Could I impose on a Michelin-starred chef to step in and take over my little eatery while I ran around bungling my way through a murder investigation? I pulled my phone out of my pocket and stared at my contact list. There were his name and number.
Zoey took the phone from me, hit dial, hit speaker, and then handed the phone back.
“Hello?” a gruff voice answered from the other end.
“Uh… Chef John?” There was some groaning, kind of like he was trying to fight off sleep.
“Yeah?”
“This is Kylie… Kylie Berry?” I knew my own name. I didn’t know why I said it with the inflection of a question. And I was being incredibly insecure to think that he would have forgotten who I was. We’d known each other informally for years.
“Kylie? What’s up?” He sounded more alert.
“Nothing. I’m sorry to have woken you.”
Zoey pinched my arm.
“Ow!” I howled far, far louder than I should have.
“Kylie! Are you okay?”
“Yes! Yes, Chef! I am. Sorry. Thank you.” Why was I so nervous? I took a deep breath.
Zoey leaned closer to the phone. “Chef John, this is Zoey, a friend of Kylie’s. We have some pressing business to take care of this morning, and Kylie has a favor to ask.”
“Anything. What do you need?” He sounded completely awake now.
I gaped at the phone. I was in awe of Chef John’s generosity, and I hadn’t even asked him for the favor yet. “Could you come in and take care of the café today while I’m out?”
There was a couple of heartbeats of silence. Then, with actual interest in his voice, he asked, “Can I make anything I want?”
“Yes! Anything!” I said the words, and I meant them, even while I inwardly cringed at the thought of my customers’ reactions to being served haute cuisine, where meals were designed to be an experience and not just put food in one’s belly. I hoped he didn’t take things that far, yet it would be amazing to see his creative genius at work.
“You mind if I schedule another cooking lesson, too? Everyone from the conference is stuck in town until this murder stuff gets worked out, and they keep asking me to put together another class.”
“That would be fantastic! Just let me know the night, and it’s all yours.”
“Tonight, okay?”
The man did not rest on his laurels! I could take a note from him. “Sounds great!”
“Be there in twenty.” He clicked off, and I did a little happy dance.
Then I stopped. “Do we know where we’re going? Do you know where to find Larry?”
Zoey clicked through her phone and then held it up. It was a Twitter thread made by Larry, lamenting his poor sister’s condition as he sat outside the ICU at the hospital.
We had a destination.
Chapter 21
True to his word, Chef John showed up twenty minutes later on the dot. Not only did he manage to drag himself in on a moment’s notice, he’d also picked up a load of vegetables and fruits on the way.
“That roadside fresh produce stand you have down near the interstate is nice,” he said as he unpacked un-shucked corn on the cob, peaches, heirloom tomatoes, okra, cabbage, and a variety of other items from two canvas totes.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” I said.
Chef John stopped what he was doing. “The culinary world is a family. A global family. This is what we do. Somebody needs help, you help them.” He went back to his unpacking and shrugged. “Somebody outperforms you, you sabotage them. So granted, it’s a messed up family but it is a family.”
I laughed. “I guess I won’t have to worry about anybody trying to sabotage me anytime soon.” I would always be the worst cook in the kitchen.
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. I’ve been watching you. You don’t have the techniques in place yet, and you overthink things, but you’ve got some good instincts underneath all that. I’ve seen you do some things right that I’ve seen a few seasoned chefs do wrong. Don’t sell yourself short.”
I’d just gotten a compliment from Chef John—a genuine one. He wasn’t being polite. He was being completely honest.
I had to sit down.
“You really think so?”
“I know so. You’re tenacious, Kylie. That’s what I like about you. You don’t give up. You’re scrappy, and that’s what surviving this kind of business takes. You’re doing good.”
He had me smiling so hard that my cheeks hurt. If that compliment had come from anyone else, it wouldn’t have mattered a quarter as much. But it had come from Chef John, a man who knew what he was talking about.
To save myself from morphing into total fangirl and embarrassing myself by turning the tables to gush about how amazing he was, I instead focused forward on what was coming next. “Do you need me to do anything to help set up for your cooking class tonight?”
“I don’t need anything but you here, butt in seat and soaking up all the knowledge I’ll be laying down.” He gave me a wink. “Nine o’clock sharp. You going to be able to make it back in time for that?”
“Definitely!” I bounced up and down in my enthusiasm.
Chef John chuckled. “What’s so important that it’s pulling you away from this place in the middle of the day, anyway?”
“Oh,” I waved my hand as if to say it wasn’t anything. “I’m hunting down who killed Ollie.”
“You?” He laughed. “I know this is a small town, but it does have a police force.”
“Hey! I’m actually good at this! I’ve caught several killers already.” I was bragging, but I didn’t care. Sometimes, you just had to celebrate your own achievements.
“That’s the kind of distraction you don’t need,” Chef John chastised. “You need to figure out who you want to be, Kylie, a chef or someone who plays at being a chef.” All his former humor was gone. “You need to take this serious or get out of the kitchen. You want to be my sous chef for the day? Learn more than what I can teach you in an hour?”
My heart sank, and I swallowed hard. “I can’t.” Zoey was waiting on me, and she would continue the investigation even if I stopped. I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t leave her to try to clear Sebastian’s name all on her own.
I literally slunked my way out of the kitchen. Chef John’s whole life was cooking. He didn’t understand my priorities, but I did. Zoey came first.
We left for the hospital soon after. When we got there, we found Larry taking up all four of the chairs sitting across the hall from the ICU doors. He was stretched out across them like a bed, but he wasn’t asleep. He was playing a zippy, blurpy game on his phone.
He didn’t bother to sit up or offer us a chair w
hen we stopped in front of him. He didn’t even look away from the game on his phone.
“Larry?” I prompted.
His gaze finally shifted away from his phone’s screen to us. “I already told the others. I’m not talking to any reporters.”
“We’re not reporters,” Zoey said. “Sit up so we can sit down.”
Larry did as he was told, and instead of sitting next to Larry, she pulled two chairs away from the wall and positioned them in front of Larry. She sat in one; I sat in the other.
Larry looked sullen. He also looked like he hadn’t shaved in twenty-four hours and his clothes were a walking pile of wrinkles that had escaped from a laundry basket.
“If you’re not reporters, then who are you?” He lazily blinked bloodshot eyes.
“I’m Kylie Berry, and this is my friend Zoey Jin. I own the banquet hall where the packaging conference was being held, and I knew Lara from when I used to live in Chicago. Lara did some marketing work for me and my husband.” I did my best not to choke on that last part since I knew exactly what kind of “work” she’d been doing for my now ex-husband.
Larry brightened. “You guys are friends?”
I wasn’t sure how Larry made the leap from business acquaintances to friends, but okay. I could go with it.
“Sure.” Yep, there came the nausea.
Larry had a plastic bag of snacks on the floor next to his chair.
“You mind if I have some of those cheese crackers?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I helped myself. It would give my stomach something to do besides trying to climb up my throat.
“What have you learned from the doctors?” Zoey asked.
Larry gave an I-don’t-know shrug. I thought he’d follow up by saying something, but he offered nothing but silence.
“Have the doctors or nurses spoken to you at all?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said.
“What did they say?”
“They said they’re trying to keep her stabilized. They’ve got her on dialysis, and they think they’re close to halting the progression of the organ failure.”
A Berry Baffling Businessman Page 13
