Pies & Peril: A Culinary Competition Mystery (Culinary Competition Mysteries)

by Janel Gradowski

  "I promise. I'll never make you try weird foods."

  He nuzzled her neck as she emptied the package of pre-cubed pancetta into a hot frying pan. The sizzle matched the sensation of molten blood pulsing through her veins. She gasped when he gently nipped her earlobe. "Thank you."

  "For promising to never make you eat funky food?" He forged a line of tiny, gentle kisses across the back of her neck. "Or doing this?"

  "Both." A splash of water sizzled and sputtered on the glass of the flattop range. The pasta water was boiling, but she had been so busy trying not to self-combust she hadn't realized it. "Can you hand me the package of pasta?"

  He sighed. "I suppose now that you've started cooking you can't put dinner on hold?"

  "It'll be done in a few minutes." She grabbed the box of linguine from him. It rattled like a maraca as she tried to pry open the cardboard flap. She was shaking like she had drunk a pot of coffee. "Good things come to those who wait."

  He leaned back on the counter behind her. She dumped the broad strands of pasta into the boiling water. Concentrate. There weren't many dishes she was good at, but the vodka sauce was one of them. Deep down she wanted to impress him, just a bit, with her cooking. Great. Now some kind of repressed Martha Stewart tendencies were surfacing in her. This man was twisting her life around in unbelievable ways. Like an extreme carnival ride that left her disoriented and dizzy.

  "Hey, what's this for?" he asked as he held up the jar of fudge sauce that was destined for the pound cake.

  "Dessert. Hot fudge and pound cake trifles. They're my specialty."

  The jar's lid popped when he unscrewed it. He stuck his finger in the gooey, thick sauce then dabbed a bit of it on her lower lip. "Do we have to use it on the cake?"

  CHAPTER TEN

  "You're sure you want to eat here?" Carla asked as she careened into the only available parking space in Louie's parking lot. "I thought you hated their burgers."

  Amy stared out the window, pretending to be interested in the elaborate leopard print garter hanging on the rear view mirror of the pickup truck parked next to them. Louie's hamburgers were a double-whammy of noxious fumes before and after consumption. The onion-studded patties gave her such bad breath even Pogo didn't want to kiss her. The dog that routinely raided the stinky trash can like it was a gourmet market had run away yelping when she tried to kiss his snout after her last visit to the malodorous restaurant.

  "Sliders are trendy, you know. I enter main dish cooking contests, so I need to keep up with what's popular on the food scene. Louie's has been named best hamburger restaurant in the area three times. I may not care for their food, but obviously a lot of other people do. It's research."

  Research into positively confirming Kevin and Lucy were having an affair, more than replicating the salty, apparently addicting burgers. If Lucy had picked up the burgers for lunch for two days in a row, maybe she was enough of a fan to eat them every day. Or she could be trying to give herself an early heart attack because of guilt over being the other woman. It didn't matter why Lucy liked eating the greasy hamburger nuggets. To Amy, the chaotic restaurant was the perfect place to eavesdrop on another one of the oblivious secretary's incriminating phone conversations.

  "Whatever floats your foodie boat," Carla said as she got out of the car.

  "Thank you for coming along on the three-hour cruise."

  "Yeah, that's what friends are for."

  Had Carla actually smiled? Amy glanced at her best friend again, but her expression had returned to its usual blank mode. Either the Botox was finally wearing off or Shepler had some kind of magical, toxin-neutralizing properties. The conversation during the ride to the restaurant had actually been bubbly. Carla was a wonderful, compassionate person, but smiling and giggling was not a part of her usual, no nonsense demeanor. The hot detective seemed to be chiseling through her glass smooth exterior a bit. Good. It was time for Carla to shed the lonely, hard shell and have some fun.

  The beefy onion odor drifted through the parking lot. Amy picked her way across the asphalt littered with foot-swallowing, ankle-breaking craters. There were houses beside and behind the restaurant. The poor residents. They should look into a filing a lawsuit against the business for producing noxious fumes. She opened the door and walked into the lunchtime chaos. The place was packed again with an assortment of customers.

  Carla pointed at an open table for two in the far corner. "Tell me what you want, and then go grab that table. Finding a seat in here at this time of day isn't easy."

  Amy homed in on the open table. "I'll take a number two combo with a diet Coke."

  Occasionally being short was an advantage. She sidestepped a teen boy bouncing to the song playing in his earbuds while carrying a tray with an open cup sloshing brown pop onto his hamburger buns. Two men, clad in highlighter-yellow safety vests, stopped to chat with a friend on their way to the trash cans. Amy darted around them and slid onto the slippery vinyl bench that faced the rest of the restaurant. Victory!

  She had a few moments to look around. The corner table was the perfect vantage point to check out the other diners. Lucy wasn't among them. Perhaps she didn't indulge in the artery-clogging meal every day after all. Carla was to the cash register already. The combo meals were designated by the number of sliders and size of fries. Amy had requested the meal with two sliders and a small fry, which would provide the maximum amount of grease her stomach could take before staging a grumbling revolt.

  Carla thumped the tray loaded with their meals on the table. "Bon appétit."

  "Mmmm…yum."

  Carla snorted. "Liar. Want to tell me why we're really here?"

  The question must have been a signal to the universe. "How serendipitous that you should ask. They just walked through the door."

  Lucy, accompanied by Kevin, wandered to the back of the ordering line. She leaned close and whispered something in his ear. So much for the plan to conveniently overhear a condemning comment, unless one of them started yelling on their phone. The restaurant was so noisy, between dozens of chattering customers and workers behind the counter shouting orders to each other, eavesdropping was impossible without the aide of some kind of super spy listening device. Whatever Lucy was saying, she felt the need to get ear licking close. In fact, from Amy's vantage point it looked like she actually licked his earlobe.

  "Damn. She looks like Mandy Jo," Carla said as she glanced over her shoulder.

  Amy poked her straw into the opening on the flimsy plastic cup top. "I told you so! She looks like someone put Mandy Jo in one of those medieval torture racks and stretched her out, right down to her hair."

  "If they are in a relationship, I'd say there could be some freakiness going on." Carla dumped her package of fries onto a flattened out burger wrapper and doused them with malt vinegar. "Most guys look for mistresses who are the exact opposite from their wives, not taller doppelgangers. It's like he's having an affair with the Photoshop-enhanced version of Mandy Jo. Maybe his secretary will do things that Mandy Jo wouldn't…same look, different style."

  "Ewww. I don't want to think about that."

  "Then why did you bring it up?"

  Amy stole one of Carla's fries, just to try. She didn't usually like them with vinegar, so there was no way she was ruining all of hers with the sharp condiment. The acid did seem to cut the grease, though. "I didn't. You're the one that took the conversation into Kevin's bedroom."

  "Says the creepy woman stalking them."

  "Not stalking. Just trying to figure out if they're really having an affair. I know of three people who think they are."

  Carla took a sip of her pop. "Three people? Who?"

  "Mandy Jo, me, and Thalia."

  She sighed so hard the gust of breath ruffled Amy's bangs. "So one person is dead, the other is getting death threats, and I'm guessing the third is playing it safe and leaving them alone."

  Well she had never thought of it that way. Sometimes Carla's practicality was as welcome as a cold bre
eze on a warm chocolate soufflé. "I guess you could put it that way, but look at them. If they wanted to be secretive about whatever is going on between them, why are they having lunch together?"

  "They're co-workers having lunch. Stuff like that happens."

  It did, but Carla had her back turned to the couple. She couldn't see the way they were looking at each other. "Lucy is looking at Kevin like you look at Shepler. Definitely not innocent and platonic. I swear she stuck her tongue in his ear right before you turned around to look at them."

  Carla peeked over her shoulder again. "A secretary batting her eyelashes at a boss isn't a rare occurrence. Fluffing up his ego can be an easy way to get a raise or a promotion."

  "The thing is he was all googly-eyed at her the other day. If he wasn't smitten, I don't know what he was."

  "Horny."

  "Again. They look like you and Shepler."

  "What's wrong with that?" She squeezed a ketchup packet between her fingers and pointed the bulging-to-the-breaking-point end at Amy. "You're the one who wanted me to get close to him to find out what's going on with the investigation."

  Amy held up her arms in surrender. "I did, and I appreciate you taking one for Team I Don't Want to End up Dead Like Mandy Jo. It must be torture snuggling up with Detective McHottie to help me out."

  Carla tossed the condiment weapon onto the orange plastic cafeteria tray centered between them. "Oh, it's awful. An epic sacrifice."

  "I bet. So was he onto Kevin's affair?"

  She shook her head. "He's going to look into it. He also said you need to be careful. You aren't a detective, my dear."

  "No, but I was in the National Honor Society, and I've read all of the Sherlock Holmes books."

  "That doesn't count as the police academy. Seriously, be careful…and that plea is from me, too. Stop playing super spy with Kevin and Lucy. Bruce is looking into it. If they did resort to murder, you don't want to mess with them."

  Amy took a bite of one of her sliders. The combination of crispy-edged, thin beef patties topped with caramelized onions was growing on her. The after-effects would leave her running for the antacids in the medicine cabinet, but the burgers were pretty good considering how cheap they were. Certainly nothing that would win a gourmet cooking contest where chefs used grass fed beef or applewood smoked bacon to dress up entries, but rather addicting anyway. She took another bite and froze mid-chew. Kevin and Lucy were both staring at her, and they looked pissed instead of blissed.

  "Uh-oh. Too late."

  "Too late for what?" Carla asked.

  "Don't turn around. Lucy and Kevin are staring at me, and their expressions aren't exactly dreamy anymore. Unless you'd call figuring out how to murder me a dream." Amy turned her attention to squirting blobs of ketchup and mayonnaise from little packets onto a hamburger wrapper and swirling the condiments together with a fry. "I admit I just came here because I thought Lucy might start blabbing more incriminating information while she was talking on her phone, if I could get close enough to hear. I wanted to find more evidence of their affair. Plus, I kind of wanted you to see Lucy's strange resemblance to Mandy Jo."

  "Congratulations, I guess. Judging from their behavior, I'd say it's true that something is going on between them. Since they caught you watching them now, they've probably realized that you've figured out what's going on." Carla balled up an empty fry bag. "It's not wise to piss off cheating lovers or murderers. Let Bruce handle it, and eat lunch someplace else for awhile. Please."

  * * *

  Amy drizzled more shampoo into her hand. Two rounds of shampoo followed up with conditioner should take care of the onion scented hair. Her clothes were downstairs sloshing around in the washing machine. Hopefully scrubbing with a loofah and then dousing herself in vanilla scented body spray would remove the awful smell from her skin. How did people go to Louie's during their lunch hour and then spend the rest of the day smelling like the dive? Maybe the regulars got used to the vaguely offensive aroma…or had spent enough time there to kill their sense of smell.

  Theorizing how people dealt with the stinky slider perfume was preferable to wondering what Lucy and Kevin would do now that they knew that she knew about their affair. If they killed Mandy Jo, they certainly wouldn't be happy that she sicced Detective Shepler on them. Hopefully he would be discreet while poking around the widower's love life. Although the couple had been about as subtle at Louie's as a rum-soaked better than sex cake. If they had gone there together as supposedly platonic co-workers before Mandy Jo was killed, maybe they had gotten careless and accidentally let their private lovey-dovey routine loose in public. Or they figured nobody would notice in the busy restaurant. Surprise, surprise when they noticed her watching them.

  The tandem death ray glares they had fixed on Amy made her shiver despite the hot water washing over her from the showerhead. She slammed down the handle on the faucet to turn off the water. A death ray. Why had she come up with that analogy? The adrenaline surge rushing through her surely was burning off calories. She needed a treat to soothe her jangled nerves. Coffee. A sweet, creamy latte would do the trick, but she didn't want to make it herself. A trip to Riverbend Coffee would get her out of the house and hopefully be a distraction from the urge to hit up Craigslist to find a suit of armor. It was probably pretty difficult to choke a knight. It was also probably impossible to find a metal suit for a curvy, freakishly short woman. She could just wear one of those thick, foam neck braces and claim she got whiplash from slamming on the brakes to miss a skunk running across the road. Or she could just figure out who the killer is and send Shepler after them.

  Amy wrapped herself in a thick pink terry cloth robe. She twisted her hair into a towel and glanced at the full-length mirror on the back of the door. She looked rather like a pink stuffed bunny, all plush and puffy. Okay, so she would just get the latte and skip a scone or one of those adorable orange meringue tartlets that was a Riverbend specialty. That would keep another fraction of an inch of squishiness off her hips.

  She opened the door to the walk-in closet and sighed. Clothes that were a bit too tight were being relocated to the top bars of her half of the closet. The racks were getting top heavy with too small skirts and jeans because she was getting bottom heavy. Probably should make that latte from skim milk. She chose a white eyelet lace skirt with an elastic waist and a sky blue T-shirt from the lower bars and shelves. A spectacular necklace would draw people's eyes up to her face, away from problematic body parts. She slid open a drawer in her jewel chest and selected a necklace with a dozen strands of tiny, robin egg blue faceted beads. Sparkle-rama supreme. Flouncy skirt hip camouflage with a glittery, upper-level distraction. Outfit complete.

  After she dried her hair and fed Pogo she made a circuit around the house, looking out all the windows, checking for signs of more prehistoric-style attacks. The coast was clear, so she grabbed her purse and slipped out the door. The short walk to or from the unattached garage was fine in the summer when she wasn't carrying anything heavier than her purse. Add on heavy grocery bags or any kind of precipitation, and the walk turned into a mini endurance test. Attached garages weren't part of the architecture for Craftsman-style houses. A sacrifice she and her neighbors made to live in the upscale neighborhood. Now, after the chuck-a-rock incident, the small expanse of sidewalk turned into a potential bombing range for deranged criminals.

  There weren't a lot of neighbors around in the middle of the day. Most of them were at work. Not many witnesses or help if the note sender decided to make good on the threats. After rattling Kevin and Lucy's love cage, she felt more like a moving bulls-eye target than a woman walking to her car as she hurried to the garage.

  Fifteen minutes later she slowly drove up Main Street, looking for a parking spot. Each one within three blocks of Riverbend was occupied. She had read in the newspaper that the town council was looking into buying a defunct gas station at the end of the shopping district to turn the space into a parking garage. She had to do the same th
ing that many others did, park in the residential area that butted up to the back of the Main Street district. She navigated around the block and took a spot at the head of a six car long line that was forming between driveways. At least she found a space under a massive maple tree. The shade would keep the car's interior cooler than an oven. The universe was giving her a reward for the stress brought on by the super-snooping escapade. As soon as she stepped onto the sidewalk the distinctive scent of chocolate cake wafted past her, carried by a warm breeze. As she got closer to the back of the businesses she could see an old-fashioned wooden screen door on the back of Maxson's Bakery. It must be as hot as a ringside seat to a volcanic eruption in the back of the bakery if letting in the humid August air was preferable to shutting the security door and letting the arctic air conditioning battle it out with the oven heat. Then again, the screen door could be a marketing ploy to flood the neighborhood with delicious baked good aromas and lure residents in like sugar-cookie-craving zombies.

  Loud voices filtered out the door when Amy reached the end of the sidewalk. Elliot had said there was a problem at the bakery when he took off like a startled squirrel at the park after spotting Kristi searching for him. What was going on? Considering Elliot's weirder than normal behavior of late, it could be beneficial to find out what the heated discussion was about. Apparently the stars had aligned and the universe had designated that day as the time to present her with a basket full of interesting information. All she had to do was find the courage to collect it. Hopefully this attempt at eavesdropping would work out better.

  Amy looked around and didn't see anybody. Instead of crossing the road and going to the left, to go around to the front of Riverbend Coffee, she veered right and scooted behind the Maxson's Bakery delivery van. The voices were definitely Kristi and Elliot's, but she couldn't quite make out what they were saying. The tone of the discussion sounded angry, but the disagreement hadn't escalated to yelling. Amy crept around to the front bumper of the van. She still couldn't make out any words. So she tiptoed toward the screen door and flattened herself against the wall just in time to hear Kristi say, "I don't understand."