Fiona Silk Mysteries 2-Book Bundle

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “Really? I find that hard to...”

  “Oh, believe it. TV chefs are real stars. They get a huge viewership on The Cooking Channel, on W and Life and other channels too. You should check it out. Woody’s got cable and digital and the movie channel and everything.”

  “Woody would never watch something like The Cooking Channel.”

  “You’re wrong, Miz Silk. He’s hooked on Extreme Sauté and. The Slam Dunk Chef and Close This Restaurant! NOW!”

  “You’re making up those programs.”

  “Nope. He likes Killin’ on the Grill too. Trust me.”

  “I despair.”

  “Don’t despair. You should try to make it work for you. If we get you a television show, think about what will happen with your cookbook. Into the stratosphere.”

  “Couldn’t happen.”

  “Sure it could. There’s no one on now with your type of looks. I think the camera would like you.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what they call it.”

  “Who calls what that?”

  “TV people. Doesn’t matter. The thing is people like you. You have sort of a way about you. Sympathetic. Personal. All that kinky ashy-blonde hair.”

  “It’s very nice of you to say that, Josey, but...”

  “I read somewhere that Naughty Marietta gets ten thousand emails a week. Or maybe it’s ten million.”

  “People email television chefs?”

  “Well, sure. This new book could catapult you into full-time celebrity. You’d have to have a blog.”

  “I don’t believe this. I am a writer, not a cook, not a cookbook writer, not a celebrity. And the last thing I would ever want is ten thousand emails a week. What’s a blog? It sounds disgusting.”

  “Okay, forget the blog. But this is a pretty big opportunity.”

  “Sure. What would they call the program? Shoot This Chef?”

  “Come on, Miz Silk. They’d come up with something. Maybe Romantic Recipes with Fiona Silk. Or Fiona’s Feel Good Food or something sexier. Silky Sensations or hey, how about—”

  It was time for a counter-attack. “When do you watch all this television with school and homework and your business?”

  “Not the point. They’re on all the time. Everywhere. You can’t miss them. And I need to find new business opportunities if I’m going to get my driver’s licence. That takes cash. Your project is perfect. And the main point is these people are in St. Aubaine. You have a chance to meet them.”

  I must have turned pale, because Josey said, “Don’t worry about it. I can do the background work. First you have to be a bit professional. You have to learn who’s who and what’s what. You have to catch on to the personalities and the language. When I was making the list for your supplies, I noticed you don’t have any wooden spoons or spatulas or any of those nice little clear glass bowls in different sizes. You need to get your kitchen stocked up to test your recipes.”

  The bowls again. I said, “I was planning on very simple foods, nothing at all complicated to make. I don’t imagine people will be reading an...I mean a romantic cookbook for the cooking instructions.”

  Josey said, “Have it your way. But you’re still going to have to jazz up your kitchen. Even if I do the prep work, I don’t even know how the food stylist would manage.”

  “The what?”

  “Never mind. I’ll just take stock, okay? You need equipment. You’ve got no time to waste before you lose your house in order to hang on to that old picture.”

  “Be my guest,” I said. “I can’t buy any equipment right now, and I’ll have to pay you for these jobs later.”

  She sniffed. “Not everything’s about money, Miz Silk.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I’ll try the Roi du dollar first. You can settle up later. Maybe we can get some product placement deals.”

  I would have said something sensible, but of course, the door had already banged behind her.

  “I do think it’s great news,” I said to Liz. I wasn’t sure how much work I could get done on this ridiculous project if people kept dropping by in the middle of the day. Not that Liz would care what I thought. She watched me from the beanbag chair and wiggled her toes. I added, “But good news or not, we’re not having Courvoisier.”

  She pouted, because pouts still look good on her. We’ll see how that goes in another ten years.

  She said, “Is that because you’re jealous that I have something to celebrate for once?”

  “No, it’s because it’s the middle of the day.”

  “Maybe you’re pissed off.”

  “Well, I am pretty ticked off, actually. I know this is a huge thing for you, and you’re really happy to purchase a property. But how come you didn’t think to mention it to your best friend of forty-one years, which would be me, until the day you’re taking possession?”

  “Actually, it’s the day I’m moving in. I knew you’d disapprove. For someone so passive as a rule, you have to admit you are pretty tight-assed about development in the village.”

  There was so much to react to in that sentence. I took a deep breath before I responded. “It’s your money, and quite a chunk of it too. If you want to sink it into one of Jean-Claude’s condos on the waterfront, what business is it of mine?”

  “That’s what I mean about tight-assed.”

  “I’m trying to be a supportive friend,” I said. “I can understand you were tired of renting.”

  “I know what you’re thinking. Environmental factors, damage to the waterfront, changing the character of the community, lining Jean-Claude’s pockets. Yada yada yada. Did I leave anything out?”

  “How about going into debt to accomplish those other things you said?”

  “I can manage the mortgage and condo fees easily. I do have a medical practice.” She glanced at her watch and frowned.

  “But you just told me that you were dead broke because of all the expenses. Did I hallucinate that?”

  “Cash flow, that’s all. Down payment, land transfer, that kind of thing, otherwise I would have helped you out with your own taxes and hydro until Old Cheapskate comes through. Plus I had to order some new furniture.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I needed to put a serious deposit down on that stuff. You think I could borrow this chair?” Liz patted the beanbag fondly. “I always like sitting here. I have a great view of the Gatineau now from my balcony.”

  “Hey, why not? Take all three chairs until you’re settled.”

  Liz leapt on the idea.

  “Great,” she said.

  “I was joking. You can’t take all my furniture.”

  “Don’t start whining. You’d still have the sofa, and if I came by for a visit, you could sit on one of the pine chairs from the kitchen. It’s only for a couple of weeks.”

  Right. The lumpy sofa. Lucky me.

  “I can get the beanbag and the Queen Anne chair in my car now. Maybe we can get Josey’s uncle to bring the wingback chair over in his truck. Assuming he’s sober enough. Hmm. I wonder if I should just send my movers.”

  “Whatever. On another matter, do you know anything about a guy named Danny Dupree?”

  She frowned. “Wheeler-dealer.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Slippery customer.”

  “That was my impression too.”

  “Trust him as far as you could throw that wingback.”

  “He’s the guy who was killed in the crash of the Escalade on Highway 5. The one I saw yesterday.”

  “Live fast, love hard, die young,” she said with her usual dose of doctorly sympathy.

  “He was involved with Philip somehow. A partner in some business deals.”

  “Ouch,” Liz said. “You want to watch out for that.”

  “Phil is really upset.”

  “Maybe so, but don’t let him use this guy to snow you.”

  “Do you think it would be possible for someone to die in a crash like th
at and for the investigators not to find the body?”

  “That’s a bizarre question even for you, Fiona.”

  “I saw a woman in that car. I saw her clearly. Sgt. Sarrazin thinks I might have just been upset. But I know she was there. However, they only found one body.”

  “It couldn’t happen, Fiona. Sarrazin’s right: you imagined it. Or she got out somewhere along the way.”

  “That’s what I think. But where could she have gotten out? They were on the highway.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “I’m bothered by it.”

  “You said he was a jackass.”

  “Even so. It was a horrible way to die, and...”

  Liz shrugged. “Forget about it. Obviously, this woman wasn’t in the car, and she didn’t die. You don’t have to worry about her. Or him for that matter. He was a sleaze. No use crying over spilled milk. That reminds me: the movers dropped my china box.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe the price was a little bit too good. They were a disaster. They have to pay up, but in the meantime, I need to borrow dishes and something to drink out of. When I arrange for the wingback, can I just take what I need?”

  “Not the Fiestaware,” I said, standing up for myself for once. “You could have some of the Spode for a while, I guess. But don’t let those movers do it. It would be really hard to replace. Even if you could. This stuff—”

  “Belonged to Kit. Yeah, yeah. Do you think I don’t remember that, Fiona? I’ll pack them myself.”

  Beggars may not be choosers, but they can sure be snippy.

  Josey found me staring around my empty living room just after Liz departed. “Don’t let Dr. Prentiss get you down, Miz Silk.”

  For some reason, I felt like I was living in a turnstile. “She doesn’t get me down. I’m used to her.”

  “But she’s so mean. And taking your chairs from right under your nose. It’s just not right.”

  “A couple of points. First, I said she could take the chairs. I know you two don’t always get along, but please remember, she’s my friend, and she isn’t always mean.”

  “Anyway, whatever, I have this proposition for you.”

  “I can’t pay you, Josey.”

  “You can pay me wh—”

  “I owe thousands of dollars. I need kitchen stuff that I don’t even know the name of and—”

  “But Miz Silk, you’ll get paid for your book that you don’t want to talk about in front of me, and you’ll get your settlement at some point and then you can reimburse me. I don’t even need the money until September. Anyway, I didn’t even tell you what my proposition is. Why don’t you listen first? Do you want to be part of the problem or part of the solution?”

  Tolstoy felt the rising tension in the room. He got to his feet, stretched his hot, fluffy white body and headed for the basement.

  I wilted under the steady stare from her round blue eyes. If Josey started spouting business aphorisms on a regular basis, I was doomed.

  “Well, Miz Silk?”

  “Fine. I’ll hear your proposition.”

  “Oh, boy, that’s great. You won’t regret it. We have a unique opportunity here—”

  I flinched at the sound of unique opportunity.

  “—to talk to these chefs, Naughty Marietta and Rafaël.”

  “What?”

  “It’s simple. They could each contribute a recipe to your book.”

  “But why would they?”

  “Because it’s good advertising for them. They have cookbooks too. You would mention that when you credit them for the recipes. Anyway, I think they love to talk about themselves.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Leave it to me. Oh, and by the way? CeeCeeCuisine will allow you to use their stuff in return for a credit in the book. I’ll talk to Boutique Rejeane about a wardrobe thing. And you should really get your nails done.”

  “Wardrobe? No,” I said, firmly. “Please don’t go around town trying to get me free stuff. It’s bad enough everyone knows my business. I don’t want to be looking for charity.”

  “I’ve already told you, Miz Silk. Not charity, product placement.”

  “Absolutely, unequivocally no.”

  Josey stared at me wide-eyed. “Hey, not a problem.” Now why did I think there would be? “I’ll start getting those recipes lined up,” she added.

  I walked a very reluctant Tolstoy briefly on the shady side of the road and got ready to head for Hull and the hospital. I came back to find that Liz had returned and was lazily eying the Spode while muttering about how busy she was and how she needed to get to her new place and settle in.

  “Don’t you have patients today?”

  “Nope. Moving day. We shuffled all the appointments. But I need to get everything settled. I could use some help.”

  “Sure. I’ll give you a hand after I visit Marc-André.”

  “What’s your big rush? It’s not like he’s going to remember that you came.”

  “In case that’s what you were trying for,” I said, “congratulations, you’ll be pleased to know you’ve hit a new low in empathy.”

  “Just being practical,” she said. “We can’t all be woolly-headed romantics like you.”

  “Since you’re being practical, there’s an empty cardboard box in my office,” I said. “Help yourself.”

  I was damp and distressed by the time I found free on-street parking two blocks away from the rehab centre and raced into the building to Marc-André’s room.

  I stopped and stared. The bed was empty. Thoughts raced through my brain: blood clot, hemorrhage, fall from bed. My heart was thundering. Where was he?

  I whirled and smacked into the burly aide, Paulette. She was wearing blue scrubs today. Blue was definitely not her colour. Of course, purple hadn’t been either.

  “What happened?” I said.

  Smirking was obviously her hobby. “You’re late.”

  “What? Late? I don’t have a schedule. I come here during visiting hours.” I stopped talking. Why did I feel the need to explain myself to this woman? I hardly knew her, and what I did know, I didn’t like.

  “Patients like regularity. It calms them.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Gone for physio. And I believe he had to have some scans done.”

  “Oh. Well, when will he be back?”

  “They’re really backed up today. Not for hours, I’d say.”

  She was enjoying this. A smile flickered on her upper lip. I thought she could have done with a bit of a wax job, but I told myself not to be mean. It’s not like I’m a beauty queen.

  “Hours?”

  “You snooze, you lose.”

  “Can I join him? Keep him company?”

  She just loved telling me no.

  The Skylark behaved well on this trip. I got onto the highway easily. I took my time and pulled over whenever anyone swooped up behind me. I was one hundred per cent certain I had seen the woman in the Escalade yesterday, just before I’d turned off at Exit 13. The Escalade had shot past the exit. That was the last one before the accident. I kept an eye out on the side of the road for a place she could have gotten out. But I’d been right the first time. There were no houses, no exits, no access roads, nothing but rock face and gravelly, sloping shoulders.

  It wasn’t really safe to stand on the side of the road and wait for a lift. There was simply nowhere she could have gone between Exit 13 and the ravine where the Escalade had crashed and burned. I had come by again less than a half-hour later, and there had definitely been no pedestrians or hitchhikers on the highway.

  Just to be on the safe side, I made the loop back to Hull a second time and drove the route again.

  But as Liz had pointed out, it had nothing to do with me. Why couldn’t I let myself believe that?

  Strawberries and Cream

  Recipe contributed by Marc-André Paradis (more or less)

  2 cups fresh strawberries in season

  2 cu
ps whipping cream

  ½ cup sugar

  A generous splash of Cointreau or Grand Marnier

  Wash and hull strawberries. Place in a clear glass bowl. Whip the cream and, when it begins to thicken, add the sugar, then the Cointreau or Grand Marnier. Whip until quite thick. Serve with the strawberries.

  Seven

  It seemed strange having a conversation with an appliance, but I gave it my best shot. Of course, since I couldn’t get into the kitchen, I spoke from the door. “Please stop fussing about the living room chairs, Josey. Liz will bring them back eventually.”

  Josey’s disembodied voice drifted up from behind the stove, which had been pulled slightly away from the wall. “Did you know she was going to take all that other stuff? That china cabinet sure looks weird without anything in it, Miz Silk. And what are you going to drink out of?”

  “Everyday glasses will be fine.”

  “You mean the blue plastic ones you got from Le Roi du dollar?”

  “They have a certain cheerful charm, and the price was right. Don’t worry. Liz will take care of the crystal snifters. But to return to the matter at hand. What exactly is wrong with the stove?”

  Josey popped up from behind the appliance, a spider web dangling from her front cowlick. “I think maybe something chewed on the wires, Miz Silk. It’s a real good thing you never turned this stove on. You could have been fried like a piece of bacon.”

  Tolstoy’s tail thumped. He loves bacon, although he has to go to Woody to get any.

  I said, “Oh.”

  “And it’s extra bad, because now you’ll be spending more time in the kitchen, because you don’t have any furniture in your living room. I don’t know why you let Dr. Prentiss treat you like a—”

  “I like it here. I have the table and chairs. And I have a better view of the garden. So do you think this old clunker can be fixed?”

  Josey eased her way out from behind the stove. “Wow! See what I found! What is it? A walking stick?”

  “Thank you, Josey. That’s my Aunt Kit’s. I’ve been searching for that for years.”