Death by the Dozen

by Jenn McKinlay

  “You think some of the celebrity judges don’t want to be outshined by the competing chefs?” she asked.

  “Namely, you and Angie,” Uncle Stan said.

  “I hate to puff up Stan’s already substantial ego,” Joe said. “But he’s got something there. You and Angie are young, fun, and easy on the eyes. The Food Channel would be lucky to have a show featuring you two.”

  Mel frowned and said in a doubtful tone, “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Stan barked. A couple at the next table looked over, and he cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee. “Look, I’m going to post a uniform in the ICU to look after Angie just to be on the safe side, but I don’t think she was the target. That being the case, I’m also going to have some undercovers patrolling the festival and keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.”

  The three of them were silent for a moment, and then Mel blew out a breath. “Is there no chance that this is all just some huge mistake?”

  “There’s always a chance,” Joe said, and he laced her fingers with his and gave her hand a squeeze.

  “But it’s unlikely,” Uncle Stan said. “Now I’m only going to tell your mother the edited version, because you know how she gets.”

  “Yeah, now you’re talking certifiable,” Mel said. Uncle Stan frowned at her, and Mel added, “In a good way.”

  “All right, then,” Uncle Stan said. “Mel, you’re not to go anywhere or do anything without letting someone know—don’t give me that look.”

  “What look?” she asked.

  “That look that says you’ll do as you damned well please, but that you’re smart enough not to say it out loud,” he said.

  “I didn’t—” she began, but Joe interrupted, “Yeah, you did. I’ve seen that look. It’s not your best.”

  Mel glared and he grinned, diffusing her ire like snuffing a candle between his fingers. Damn it, they’d been dating for six months. She really should be able to maintain some annoyance with him.

  “Here’s the other thing, Mel,” Uncle Stan paused, “and this is critical. If the killer’s chosen method is a fast-acting poison, then you have to watch every bite you eat. That means, you shop for your own food, cook your own food, and you must have it in sight of you at all times.”

  For the first time, Mel felt the seriousness of her situation press upon her.

  “He’s right,” Joe said. “No meals out. No sampling anything that someone gives you. You’re going to have to be very, very careful.”

  Mel rested her head in her hand. “If anything had happened to Angie . . .” Her throat closed up and she couldn’t continue. Joe pulled her into his arms and tried to comfort her, but Mel was too consumed with equal parts terror for her friend and rage that someone had harmed her.

  “I’ll have your word, Mel,” Uncle Stan said.

  She leaned into Joe and turned her head to face Uncle Stan, “I promise I’ll do what you say.”

  He puffed out his cheeks with relief and checked his phone. “Okay, then, I’ll call you later. Keep an eye on my girl, DeLaura.”

  “Always,” Joe said.

  Mel leaned against him, trying to feel comforted and ignoring the small part of her that was feeling suffocated.

  She didn’t know if she felt that way because a killer was out there or if it was because her relationship had just taken a claustrophobic turn. Either way, she felt an almost irresistible urge to run.

  Twenty-one

  It was impossible for Mel not to stare at her competition during the next day’s event. They were now in the fourth round with the field having been reduced by more than half. Twenty competitors remained, and tensions were running high.

  In the lounge before the competition was to begin, Mel found Polly Ramsey in tears. She was convinced that she had nothing left and was going to fail out that day.

  Mel tried to comfort her, but it was a halfhearted effort at best. She hated being here when she felt like she should be with Angie, but Angie had been very clear that she expected Mel to put her game face on, go out, and win.

  Since he had been responsible for keeping them in the competition, Mel had brought Oz along as her sous-chef in Angie’s place while Tony manned the bakery for them. Oz had dressed for the occasion by wearing his checkered Vans and his best wallet chain.

  Olivia met Mel’s gaze across the room. She had tried to talk the festival official, Felicity Parnassus, into having Fairy Tale Cupcakes disqualified since Angie wasn’t present, but given the extreme circumstance of Angie’s illness, Felicity had refused. Now Olivia looked like she wanted to come over and trash-talk Mel. When she stepped toward them, however, and got an eyeful of Oz, she seemed to think better of it. Mel decided having a thug in her kitchen might prove to be a good thing on a lot of levels.

  The whistle sounded, and they trooped into their kitchens awaiting Johnny Pepper’s announcement for the day. When she passed by, Johnny whispered, “Sorry about your assistant—food poisoning, ugh, the irony.”

  Uncle Stan had told her that was the story they had told the rest of the festival participants, who were happy to keep it quiet, given that food poisoning would make them all look bad and be detrimental to festival attendance.

  “Thanks, Johnny,” she said. She squeezed his arm and their eyes met. For just the briefest second Mel was intrigued.

  “Oh, sure, it wasn’t enough to be teacher’s pet; now you’ve got to be the host’s darling, too,” a snide voice hissed from behind her.

  Mel whipped around. Apparently, Johnny’s kindness to Mel was enough to make Olivia forget her fear of Oz. Well, that was fine with Mel. If Olivia was game, Mel was more than ready to have a smackdown with her. She never got the chance.

  A deep growl from somewhere over her head said, “Shut it and back away . . . now.”

  Oz! He was looming over Mel’s shoulder as intimidating as Lurch from the Addams Family. And he wasn’t alone. Out of nowhere four of the DeLaura brothers—Sal, Ray, Al, and Paulie—appeared, flanking him and creating a protective half circle around Mel.

  “Oh, look at you, you’ve hired yourself an entourage,” Olivia and her sous-chef snickered. “Think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”

  Mel went to dive after her, but two of the brothers grabbed her arms and held her back.

  “Angie told us specifically not to let you fight, because you’ll get kicked out of the competition,” Ray said.

  “Sorry, Mel, I’d love to let you kick her butt, but we promised,” Al said. He sounded regretful, as if he understood just how much she wanted to rip Olivia’s hair out by the roots.

  “Fine,” she said and yanked her arms out of their grasp. She waved her hands at them in a shooing gesture. “Now shoo before we’re disqualified for having you onstage with us.”

  “Done,” said Paulie. He jerked his head to the others, and they all trooped away, taking up spots just in front of her kitchen. “But I’ve got my eye on you.”

  Mel had always known that the brothers were overprotective. Her own brother, Charlie, could be overbearing, but at least he lived three hours away in Flagstaff. Angie had all seven of her older brothers here in the Valley and always up in her business. Mel wasn’t sure how she could stand it.

  She glanced down at the four DeLauras and noticed that Sal was talking to the female judge from Food and Wine magazine. He looked fairly intense about the point he was making, and Mel saw the woman look at her and then back at Sal. She looked nervous, and Mel knew she’d better call the brother off before he did irreparable damage.

  “Sal,” she called. “I need to get an update on Angie. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yeah, sure, Mel,” he said. He looked reluctant to end his convo with the judge, but he sighed and fished his cell phone out of his pocket.

  The judge gave Mel a furtive glance and dashed toward the judges’ table. Mel hoped she had scored some brownie points for calling off the brother.

  The twenty remaining contestants all looked nervous. Only tw
o more rounds until they reached the final four. For those who had been hovering on the bottom of the leader board, today was do or die.

  “Tate says she’s doing fine,” Sal reported. “She said she expects to see you two on the top of the board today.”

  Mel glanced at the board. That would be no small feat. Despite the brilliance of Oz’s cupcake, they had dropped into fourth yesterday.

  The scores were cumulative for the first five rounds. But for the round amongst the final four, it was winner take all. Sort of like college basketball, she thought. The key to this competition, Mel figured, was to get into the final four and then win.

  Mel suspected their current fourth place ranking was a punitive move by the judges because she had been late and her intern had all but done it on his own. That was okay; they were still in the running.

  Mel took her position beside Oz, who was looking uncomfortable in his chef coat and hat. Although she’d found ones big enough to fit him, somehow they still looked small on his bulky frame. With hair sticking out from under the lower edge of the hat, it appeared as if it barely managed to stay atop his shaggy mane. His coat was unbuttoned at the top, and she noticed sweat stains were beginning to appear beneath his arms.

  “Are you okay?” she asked Oz as Johnny Pepper arrived with the big white box.

  “It was easier yesterday when I was just doing it because I wanted to help you out,” he said. “I didn’t have time for nerves or doubts.”

  “Well, if it helps, you don’t have time for that today either.”

  Oz snapped his head in her direction, but Mel was watching Johnny and had no more time to hold Oz’s hand. He was just going to have to man up and deal with whatever they got handed today.

  “And the mystery ingredient is . . .” Johnny began but then paused to fish it out of the box. He hoisted a bunch of bananas in the air, and the chefs were all quiet for a moment. After chilies, stout beer, and parsnips, bananas seemed sort of tame.

  “The challenge today will be to create something new and spectacular out of bananas.”

  Ah, now Mel understood. Instead of giving them an odd ingredient, they were giving them something not so odd that would force them to really push the creative envelope.

  “Chefs, are you ready?” he called into the microphone.

  “Get ready, Oz,” Mel said. “We need to get to the supply cart first. I want a bunch of fresh bananas—no green ones—as well as some of the smaller plantains.”

  Oz stretched his arms. “No worries. I have superior reach.”

  They waited on the balls of their feet. Johnny gave the countdown, and each chef and sous-chef charged the cart. It was mayhem. Elbows were thrown, kicks were issued, the fight for bananas was ugly.

  Mel dove between Polly and her father and snagged a perfect bunch of bananas. She glanced over and saw that Oz had two fistfuls of plantains that he was holding high in the air as Olivia jumped and tried to snatch them from him.

  Oz let out a warrior’s bellow and strode out of the melee with Olivia hanging off his shoulders. Like a dog shaking off a tick, Oz shrugged his shoulders, and Olivia went down in a heap.

  Mel high-fived Oz, and they hustled back to their station. Joanie was hopping from foot to foot on her trainers, and Mel ran through the list of extras that she needed. The other chefs were still hustling back to their kitchens while Mel and Oz quickly began to prep their bananas.

  “Oz, take care of the plantains,” Mel said. “I need them peeled and sliced on the diagonal, then spread onto a greased baking sheet. Bake them at four-fifty for ten to fifteen minutes.”

  “On it,” Oz said.

  Joanie came racing back with a basket from the supply cupboard. “Here you go.”

  “Excellent,” Mel said. “Stand by in case I need you again.”

  Like a dutiful soldier, Joanie assumed a standing position beside the staging area.

  Mel set to work. She set out her spring roll wraps to thaw and then grabbed her largest frying pan and poured in an inch of oil. While that was heating, she used her double boiler to start a thick chocolate sauce.

  “Plantains baking,” Oz said. “What next?”

  “How is your burrito wrapping?” Mel asked.

  “Please, that’s kid stuff,” he said.

  “Good, then halve these bananas and wrap them burrito style in the spring roll wrappers,” Mel said. “We’re deep frying.”

  “Oh, oh, ah, ah, ah,” he said while thumping his chest with his fists.

  “Gorilla noises, really?”

  “Sorry,” he said, but his grin gave him away, and Mel found herself laughing with him.

  She glanced up and saw Olivia standing on tippy toes watching them. It took every ounce of restraint she had not to lob a naked banana at the woman’s forehead.

  The halfway bell rang, and the contestants had to put on a burst of speed to finish up their desserts. Mel left Oz in charge of the deep frying while she thickened up the chocolate sauce and tended the baking plantains.

  Finally, they were ready for plating. On each plate, they made a triangular stack of three fried bananas, drizzled them with chocolate sauce, sifted powdered sugar over the top, and then dusted them with just a hint of cocoa powder. Around the triangular stack of fried bananas, Mel scattered the baked plantain chips and drizzled chocolate over them as well.

  “Those look amazing,” Ray said from in front of their kitchen. Before Mel or Oz had a chance to stop him, he picked up one of the deep-fried bananas and bit into it.

  “What the he—” Oz started, but Mel screeched over him, “Ray, that was for the judges, you imbecile!”

  “What?” he asked through a mouthful. “Oops, well, it’s really good.”

  Mel felt herself begin to hyperventilate. Thirty seconds left and one of the judges would be getting a mangled dessert.

  Oz jumped in with an empty plate and an extra fried banana. With five seconds to go, he was able to re-create the plate that Ray had destroyed. It wasn’t as pretty as the others, but it was damn close.

  The final buzzer sounded, and Mel and Oz stepped away from their plates. There were a few whimpers and moans from the other chefs, and Mel was glad to see a sweat-soaked, red-faced Olivia, panting on the other side of the stage. Mel squinted to see her entry. It looked like some sort of cakelette. Mel hoped her banana burrito kicked its mini-cake butt.

  The servers came and gathered their plates, and Mel saw Ray’s head pop up again. He was reaching for the remainders off the plate he had mangled. Oz saw him, too, and without saying a word, Oz launched himself off the stage, tackling Ray to the ground.

  “You almost blew that for us, you big dummy,” Oz said. He was sitting on top of Ray, glaring down at him, looking decidedly menacing with his shaggy hair over his eyes and his multiple piercings.

  “Well, I’m hungry,” Ray said. “You can’t expect a guy to stand there watching all that good food get made and not eat something, can you?”

  “If it’s the contest entry, yeah, I can,” Oz argued.

  The other three brothers ambled over.

  “This was my bad,” Sal said. “I should have taken into account Ray’s sweet tooth when I assigned our designated areas. It won’t happen again.”

  Paulie lifted Oz off Ray.

  “You’re right it won’t happen again,” Mel said. “Because as of right now, the DeLaura brothers are banned from coming into the festival.”

  “What?” Paulie balked. “You can’t do that.”

  “Can and will,” Mel said. “What do you think Angie would say if she saw this fiasco today?”

  The brothers were silent.

  “Exactly,” Mel said. “You know how much she wants to win this. I can’t have you all hovering while I cook or helping yourselves to the entry before the contest is finished.”

  “It won’t happen again,” Ray said. “I promise.”

  “Too late,” Mel said. “You’re fired—all of you.”

  “Sorry, Mel, but it’s not up
to you,” Al said.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  “Yeah, Joe is the one who sent us here,” Sal said. “Unless he pulls the plug, we’re staying.”

  “Oh, he’ll pull the plug,” Mel said. “Just wait.”

  She took out her cell phone and dialed while the brothers shuffled their feet, looking decidedly nervous.

  As they should, Mel thought.

  She did not need the four of them making this competition any more difficult that it already was.

  “Joe DeLaura’s office,” a female voice answered on the third ring.

  It didn’t sound like his secretary, but Mel forged on, too intent in her purpose to be dissuaded by a little thing like an unknown sexy voice answering her boyfriend’s work phone.

  “Hi, this is Mel,” she said. “May I speak to Joe, please?”

  “Hmm, no, I don’t think so,” the voice said.

  “Excuse me?” Mel asked. “Is Joe not there?”

  “Oh, no,” the voice said. “He’s here, but he’s busy doing real work and can’t be fielding calls from his little baker girlfriend.”

  Then it clicked. Mel had heard this voice before. It was the female colleague Joe had been working a case with about the same time Mel and Joe reconnected. If Mel remembered right, she was a knockout.

  “Susan Ross, right?” Mel asked.

  The woman didn’t answer her.

  “I’m sorry, do we have a problem?” Mel asked

  “Not at all,” she said. “I’m just making sure Joe gets his priorities straight.”

  “And how do you think Joe will feel when he finds out you didn’t let him know I called?” Mel asked. Her voice was crisp with annoyance.

  “You can’t prove anything,” the voice said, and with a click the line went dead.

  Mel closed her phone. “Well, it looks like a stay of execution for you four.”

  The brothers all perked up while Mel frowned at the phone in her hand. She wasn’t sure how to deal with this new situation. She needed to find out from Joe what the deal was with Susan. What if she had been calling about an emergency with Angie? Would the woman not have put her through? And if not, why not? Did Joe have unfinished business with her? Mel so didn’t need this right now.