by Jenny Kales
ON THE
CHOPPING BLOCK
JENNY KALES
Copyright © 2016 by Jenny Kales
Cover design by Renee Barratt, The Cover Counts.
www.thecovercounts.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Twenty Six
Recipes from Callie’s Kitchen
Acknowledgements
About the Author
To Jim, thank you for your love and support
“At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice, he is the worst.”
―ARISTOTLE
“I think every woman should have a blowtorch.”
―JULIA CHILD
One
Calliope Costas’ bright blue Volkswagen SUV screeched to a halt in front of one of the most stunning homes in Crystal Bay, Wisconsin. It belonged to her boyfriend, Drew, and it was spectacular. Huge, mullioned windows beckoned, letting in dazzling light and a panorama of the changing seasons. Composed entirely of burnished brick, the house was designed to impress, with majestic neo-classical columns and an envy-producing view of the water. It wasn’t on the million-dollar mansion boat tour for the summer visitors, but Callie, as she was known to almost everyone she knew, thought that it should be.
Today, Drew’s house looked poised for an autumn photo shoot. The oaks and maples on the property were no longer simply tipped with the caramel and gold shades of fall as they had been the last time Callie visited. Now they were ablaze with red, orange and yellow tones that belonged on an artist’s palette.
Glancing at the mirror for a quick check of her appearance, Callie noticed a powdery white substance clinging to her long, wavy dark hair. It had to be either flour or powdered sugar from her earlier baking session at “Callie’s Kitchen,” her Mediterranean-inspired meals-from-scratch business. Powdered sugar was a key ingredient of the kourabiethes she’d been baking. The rich Greek butter cookies were rolled in powdered sugar while they were hot from the oven and the sugar tended to fly out everywhere. Quickly, she tried to brush the white stuff out of her dark hair, but only succeeded in transferring it more securely into her locks. Great: Now it looked like she was graying at the temples. So much for her attempts at glamour. Drew would have to take her as is – powdered sugar in her hair and all.
Callie liked to look her best, but normally, she didn’t put quite so much energy into her appearance. Tonight was different. Drew had offered to host her for a rare intimate dinner, not usually allowed by their busy schedules.
An excellent cook, financially secure, funny and dreamy to look at with his green eyes, dark hair and tall, muscular physique, Drew was considered a catch. However, Callie had mixed feelings for the reason behind this particular get-together: Drew’s triumph in the first annual Taste of Crystal Bay contest.
Along with a lot of their food-business buddies, they’d both been competitors in what had proved to be a cutthroat cookoff. Even though she had feelings for Drew, it was impossible for Callie to ignore the cold, hard financial facts: Drew’s win had shattered her hopes of getting the $10,000 prize.
Going home to get ready after work had taken longer than had she thought it would and Callie realized she couldn’t keep Drew waiting any longer. As she strode up the paved walkway, she hoped her lateness wouldn’t be interpreted as rudeness. Determined to be cheerful and supportive, she put on what she hoped was a happy face and rang Drew’s doorbell.
No answer. She waited another minute and rang again. Nothing. “Oh, Drew,” Callie whispered under her breath. “Come on. Not today.”
Maybe the doorbell was broken. She rapped on the front door. Silence reigned, so Callie continued to hit the door, each knock growing in emphasis and volume. At least her repeated hitting of the massive oak door was good for relieving stress.
Give the guy a break, she thought. Drew was probably on the phone spreading his good news to the world. Just to see if he’d pick up, Callie dialed his cell phone number. No answer: it went straight to voice mail.
Well, why shouldn’t Drew tell everyone about his accomplishments? He’d won the contest fair and square. His offer to host Callie for a homemade dinner seemed like a sincere attempt to include her in his victory. She wasn’t going to let a business issue interfere with romance. She’d spent enough time alone in recent years, trying to figure out where she had gone wrong in her marriage – and fending off well-meaning advice as well as criticism – from family members. Well, the advice had come mainly from George, her old-fashioned father who she sometimes thought would be happy if she swore off men forever.
Enough. No more negativity. Her best friend Samantha was always telling Callie to “go for it” but Callie went about things her own way, in her own time. And that time was right now. That is, if Drew would ever answer the door.
Once again, Callie picked up the brass door knocker shaped like the head of Medusa, consciously avoiding the abundance of twisting snakes for hair. Drew liked whimsical décor and Greek mythology, something the two of them had in common. Callie listened carefully for the sound of footsteps or Drew’s voice talking on the phone. She didn’t hear a thing.
As she scanned Drew’s elegant veranda with increasing exasperation, she noticed a small hairline crack in one of the elegant Corinthian columns. Callie considered pointing out the tiny flaw to house-proud Drew who liked things just so. Or maybe not. Tonight was starting to look like a true-blue dating disaster.
It was silly to just keep standing there. Callie decided to check the back of Drew’s house to see if he was digging in the garden wearing headphones and unable to hear her. He had to be home — she’d already spotted his car in the garage, scrupulously clean and sleekly polished, just like him. However, the white-washed garage was beginning to resemble a Dalmatian print, with patches of dark brown wood emerging from underneath peeling paint. Spending most of his time at work meant that he probably hadn’t had time to get it re-painted. Success had its price.
The grass was long and scratchy as Callie picked her way across the lawn and onto an immaculate stone patio. She walked over to the windows and tried to peek inside, but the windows were slightly too high. The house had been designed to maximize the view of the water from the kitchen, which was raised above a massive family room with sliding glass doors. The glass doors were lo
cked and the blinds were completely closed. Fortunately, two of the kitchen windows were half-open to the pleasantly cool evening air.
“Drew!” Callie tried to pitch her voice towards the open window. When there was no response, she called his name even more loudly, starting to feel like an idiot.
Strange, Callie thought. He’d been so insistent about having her over tonight – he’d even asked her to leave work early.
As she stood there, about ready to give up and go home, the rich smell of braising meat wafted out the window to her, but underneath was a smoky, unpleasant odor, one she’d already smelled today when her oven overheated. Something was burning. If Drew was cooking, he had to be inside the house. As an experienced cook, he wouldn’t leave something on the stove to burn. Frustration turned to concern. What was going on? It was time to find out if Drew was freezing her out – or if he was simply stuck inside of his professional-grade walk-in freezer.
Callie scanned the backyard looking for a makeshift stepstool and spotted oversized pots of mums, so new they still had price tags on them. Carefully, so as not to harm the flowers, she pulled out the packed dirt filled with the herbal-smelling blooms and placed them gently on the patio. The uprooted flowers listed to the side. Carefully, she climbed on top of the overturned planter and squinted to see inside the house, her nose pressed against the glass. How much is that puppy in the window? If Drew saw her now, they could have a good laugh.
As Callie’s eyes adjusted to the dimness inside, she did a double-take, stepping back and nearly falling. It looked like Drew was on the floor but she couldn’t see all of him, only his jean-clad legs and black high top sneakers. She called his name again and he didn’t move. The burning smell was stronger from this vantage point and she didn’t want his house to go up on flames. She had to act – and fast.
Callie tried the front door and back side door, but both were locked. She already knew that the sliding doors were locked. Blood began pounding in her temples as she tried to find a nail file or any sharp object so that she could slit the screens and lift up the windows.
Dumping her purse on the ground she dug through lipsticks, her daughter Olivia’s emergency asthma inhaler and wallet looking for a nail file or pen. She grabbed her car keys and tried to cut the screen but the end of the key was too dull for the tough mesh. Tears stung her eyes as she kept calling Drew’s name with no answer. Callie knew she should call 911 but if Drew needed CPR, she could give that to him immediately. She learned all about CPR when Olivia had her first asthma attack. If she couldn’t get in the house five more seconds, she’d retrieve her phone from the grass and call an ambulance.
Adrenaline made her strong – she returned to the window and hurled a heavy stone from the landscaping with all of her might. The glass shattered and she ducked. Grateful that the night had cooled off and that she had a brought a coat, Callie took the garment from her arm and carefully placed it over the window sill. She stepped up onto the overturned flower pot again, her bare feet gripping it for balance, and inched her way inside the window, placing each foot on the hardwood floor cautiously. Finally, she was on solid ground.
Callie screamed Drew’s name as she ran to the foot of the stairs. Clenching her jaw, she forced herself to look at what lay on the floor.
Drew was on his back, his wide-open green eyes appearing to look right at her. Not wanting to believe what she saw, it took Callie a few seconds before she registered the large chef’s knife that was sticking out of the left side of his chest. A small, dark red circle stained Drew’s light-blue Oxford shirt, a recent gift from Callie.
CPR wouldn’t be necessary. Drew was dead.
Two
Blood rushed to Callie’s head. She tried to fight feelings of dizziness as she sank to the floor, inhaling deep breaths through her nose and out of her mouth. When she could bear to, she lifted her head and leaned over Drew, placing her fingers on his neck. There was no pulse and his skin felt strange, waxen. Recoiling a little bit, she started to grab the knife but whisked her hand away at the last minute, afraid to disturb the scene. Callie stood up shakily, grabbed her cell phone and called 911.
“Someone’s been…hurt.” Callie stammered to the emergency respondent. She couldn’t bring herself to say “dead.” “574 E. Hamilton Avenue near the bay. Drew Staven’s house. Please, come quickly!”
The operator began firing questions at her. Callie gripped the phone and answered in robotic tones. Yes, she knew the victim. No, he wasn’t breathing. And so on, until the room started spinning again.
She sank back down to the floor near Drew’s body again, fearful she’d fall over if she didn’t. Clutching the cell phone in her hand and answering the 911 respondent in a voice that didn’t sound like her own – she’d been told to stay on the line until the police arrived – Callie reached out and touched Drew gently on his shoulder, but of course, he didn’t move. This can’t be happening. She felt numb.
Callie put her head down and waited until the feelings of dizziness and nausea passed, and then slowly rose to her feet, her emotions swirling around inside of her. She knew it was disloyal, but she had to get away from Drew’s body. Now.
Still clutching the phone and listening to the calm tones of the operator, Callie wandered dazedly through the house, passing through Drew’s dining room and into his well-stocked kitchen, an oasis of warmth and cleanliness. Stainless steel appliances dazzled like diamonds. Inspecting the range and kitchen island that Drew used as a cooking work station, she saw he had created a mis en place for the meal, with herbs and vegetables on a chopping board. His knife block sat nearby, each slot neatly filled.
The burning smell she’d gotten a whiff of outside grew stronger as Callie neared the stove. Bluish flames flickered underneath a large Dutch oven set atop the state-of-the-art range. Dinner. Callie jumped up and searched for a kitchen glove before turning the knob to “off,” then inspected the contents of the pot. As she lifted the lid, the luscious smell of garlic wafted out on a cloud of fragrant steam, with the carbonized odor of burning beef underneath. Nearly all of the braising liquid was gone and the food looked dry; it was nearly scorched. An apple tart was already made and sitting on a trivet on the counter. Callie placed her hand above the tart. It was warm. Peering at the floor, she saw it was strewn with garbage, another price tag for mums and a crumpled paper towel.
Wait a minute. The killer could very well still be in the house, watching and waiting. Callie felt a cold chill begin on the top of her head. With silent apologies for not staying in the house with him, she rushed past Drew’s body, unlocked the front door and went outside to wait, the voice of the operator assuring her that the police would be there soon.
Callie held onto the front porch rails and tried to stop shivering in the only slightly chilly fall evening. Everything was so quiet that she could hear ducks on the water with the snickering sounds of their distant quacking. Crickets chirped a haphazard concerto. Hugging her arms to her chest, Callie rocked herself back and forth as if to comfort herself but it didn’t work. She felt as if she were about to sink through the floor.
Homes in this upscale neighborhood were not placed close together and so far, Callie didn’t see any neighbors. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the faint whine of sirens cut through the calm night air and grew louder as they approached the home. A police car and an ambulance pulled up with a screech and in seconds, Callie found herself in a flurry of activity. Still gripping the phone in a sweaty hand, she told the operator that the police were here and hung up. EMTs rushed into Drew’s house
While rattling off her vital statistics to a stocky officer whose name she didn’t quite catch, a tall man with a thin face and sad hazel eyes walked up the steps and joined them. His presence made Callie feel on her guard. She stood up a little straighter and waited while Officer Mumble introduced them.
“Detective Sands, Calliope Costas. She says she’s a friend of the deceased.”
“Ms. Costas,” the detective
spoke soothingly and surprisingly with a British accent. “I need you to tell me everything that happened here, starting at the beginning,” Sands said.
Callie swallowed hard. She told him about her planned dinner at Drew’s house and how he hadn’t answered the door when she rang. “I stood on a planter and peeked inside his window. That’s when I saw him sprawled on the floor, so I broke a window and came inside.”
Callie shivered remembering Drew’s glazed expression. “He was dead when I found him. I checked his pulse but…” She stopped a minute as a wave of emotion swept over her. “Then I called 911.”
“So the window was intact when you arrived?”
“Yes, I saw him on the floor and thought he might be hurt or sick. I don’t have a key and there was no other way for me to get in. I thought I might be able to help him because I know some CPR training. I didn’t know he was already dead.”
“I’m going in the house,” Sands said, standing up abruptly. “You stay here.”
Callie sat down on one of the cushiony wicker chairs that decorated Drew’s spacious front porch. Closing her eyes and trying to stem the tide of nausea that kept washing over her in waves, she found herself thinking about the times she’d visited Drew’s home and how happy he’d always been to entertain guests.
The first time she’d ever met him was at a Chamber party and she’d been thrilled at a chance to get a look inside such a beautiful home – not to mention a chance to meet its handsome owner. It was so airy, so majestic, so perfectly decorated. Of all this I could have been mistress; a line from Jane Austen, popped into her head and Callie knew she was losing her composure.
Inhaling deeply, she remembered how impressed and flattered she’d been when he’d offered to give her a tour on their fateful first meeting. Polished handrails on both sides of the staircase in the massive living room led to a lofted area highlighted by a large window that framed the changing seasons. The home had gleaming, dark hardwood floors, framed artwork and expensively re-fitted bathrooms. As Drew had led her from room to room, she remembered thinking that it looked like a Pottery Barn catalog: clean, bright, contemporary and somewhat unlived in.
