Murder Al Fresco

by Jennifer L. Hart

  "Bullying?" Rodrigo looked up from sizzling peppers, his big brown eyes horrified by the word.

  "It's all right," Mimi spoke softly from the office door. She blushed furiously. "He wasn't really bullying."

  Really? Even my sous chef was blushing as she snuck glances at the interloper under her lashes. Rodrigo was like catnip for women, his charm disarming even the shrewdest among us.

  "Grab some plates. Dinner will be up in a few."

  I wanted to argue with him, but I hadn't eaten that night, and there was nothing I could do for Jones or Clayton until I heard back from the lawyer. I was hungry. Still, I felt a little disloyal to just sit down and eat with so much undecided.

  Donna solved the dilemma for me. She plopped her purse on the counter and faced Rodrigo. "What are we having?"

  He answered immediately, while removing a dish from the oven, "Bacon and kale frittata with tequila marinated chicken in a mole sauce."

  "Sounds great," Donna beamed. "I'll set the table."

  "I will fetch the extra stools from upstairs." Mimi vanished, and I made a mental note to give her a raise as soon as I could afford it. She knew I didn't want to eat in view of the destruction in the front room.

  Outvoted and not having the will to do much of anything else, I offered, "Wine?"

  But Rodrigo shook his head, held up the mostly full tequila bottle and countered, "Margaritas?"

  "I know you brought that with you," I informed him. "There's no way a bottle of tequila was hidden in the back of my pantry, forgotten."

  Rodrigo set the bottle down and moved to the walk-in, coming back with a fistful of limes. "I'll let you eat the worm."

  I made a face. "Pretty sure I already had him."

  Unsurprisingly, Rodrigo's food was excellent. There were a few too many peppers in the frittata for my taste, but I was convinced I could alter the recipe to make it nightshade-free for Pops.

  "I would like to fill a tub with this sauce and take a nice long soak." Donna indicated the mole.

  "Glad you approve." Rodrigo had just finished blending the margaritas, and since I didn't have the proper glassware at the pasta shop, poured them into plastic tumblers. "And you, Mimi? What are your thoughts?"

  "It's delicious," my sous chef gushed. "I've never had a savory chocolate sauce before."

  "Mimi's a pastry chef," I told him. "One of the best I've ever known."

  She blushed crimson and focused on her plate.

  "Then you're missing out." Rodrigo launched into a story about working for a chef whose entire menu involved some form of chocolate or another. Both Donna and Mimi listened intently, but I allowed my mind to wander.

  Why was Rodrigo so interested in befriending me? The Diced completion set us up as competitors. Maybe Jones was right, and Rodrigo was the blogger, and the guise of friendship was his way of unearthing all my secrets. And he had been in the pasta shop the day everyone came down with food poisoning.

  I decided to test him, to give him information and see if it ended up online.

  "I'm surprised you even wanted to come here after the food poisoning incident. Most people are steering pretty clear. Did you get sick?"

  Rodrigo blinked, obviously surprised by the change of subject, but he recovered quickly. "No, I was fine. In fact, I hadn't even heard about what happened until this morning. Any idea what went wrong?"

  I studied his expression carefully as I said, "I think someone is trying to sabotage me."

  Both of his dark eyebrows went up to his hairline. "Madre de Dios. Do you have any proof?"

  "Mimi found some mushrooms that neither of us ordered in our prep fridge. I didn't recognize them, and I think maybe they are poisonous. A lot of people were in here that morning, and Kaylee and I left for a little bit, so it's not beyond imagining that someone could have added them to one of the sauces without our knowing. We're just waiting on the lab results to confirm." He didn't need to know that all the food had gone missing with Kyle.

  "But who?" Rodrigo frowned. "Who would do such a thing?"

  Mimi and Donna were having a quiet discussion, not paying any attention to what we were saying. Still, I lowered my voice, not wanting them to hear what I was telling him. "I don't know, but I think it's the same person who sabotaged Al Dente with the bad clams. Maybe even the same one who killed Chef Tobey."

  Rodrigo blinked. "You think Chad was murdered?"

  I knew I had him on the hook. "Think about it. Three incidents of food poisoning, one of them fatal. I'm pretty sure Chef Tobey knew he was allergic to gelatin and would have avoided any dishes that included that ingredient."

  Rodrigo nodded slowly. "Going by that theory, his killer would have had knowledge of the allergy to use it against him. So it was someone that he knew."

  I nodded. "Right. My incidents of food poisoning were more general and much milder, but his was very specific."

  Rodrigo rubbed his chin. "They say poison is a woman's weapon."

  Our eyes met. "You're thinking it's his wife? But she wasn't here. And I never met her, so I don't know why she'd target me."

  "Maybe only to create confusion. Maybe she knew what had happened on your debut and decided that if the same thing happened here, it would distract the police from looking at Chad's murder. And she could have paid someone to administer the gelatin. They were divorcing—she had motive." Rodrigo's dark eyes gleamed with the light of speculation. "We won't know until we talk to her."

  * * *

  Since Mimi was the only one of us who hadn't tossed back a margarita, she drove Donna's Escalade to the Beaverton hotel. Rodrigo charmed the night clerk, Yvonne Truesdale, into giving us Mrs. Tobey's room number, informing her that we wanted to pay our professional respects.

  "Handsome as the day is long, and he can BS at the drop of a hat." Donna grinned drunkenly. "Where was he ten years ago?"

  "In middle school," I snapped. "I think you should wait in the car."

  "Spoilsport." Donna made a face at me and then staggered off.

  "Lucky number seven." Rodrigo grinned at me. "You ready?"

  "As I'll ever be." Not that I thought Chad Tobey's widow would confess all. I wasn't even sure if I believed Rodrigo's theory that she'd killed her husband. What had started out as a test for him had turned into something of an adventure, and I was just buzzed enough to be enjoying myself.

  My companion knocked on the door to unit seven. "Mrs. Tobey?"

  "Go away," a woman's voice called from inside.

  Rodrigo and I exchanged looks. Yup, she was in there.

  "Sorry to bother you," Rodrigo called out. "But we knew your husband and wanted to tell you that we're sorry for your loss."

  There was a pause and then, "Well, you've told me." Her voice was smooth and accentless, though her words sounded a little slurred.

  Rodrigo shrugged, clearly at a loss for what to say next.

  I cleared my throat. "Mrs. Tobey? Hi, I'm Andy Buckland. I didn't know your husband well, but I have a few questions."

  The door jerked open, and I was standing face-to-face with a tall, stacked blonde woman. She wore a thin nightgown and yesterday's mascara. I couldn't tell if she'd been crying or drinking.

  "What are you doing here?" she hissed at me.

  Stunned that she had actually opened the door, I took a step back and would have tripped if Rodrigo hadn't put a hand out to steady me. "We want to talk to you about your husband."

  "I have nothing to say. You need to leave."

  I couldn't tell if she was frightened or just annoyed. "Please, it'll just take a minute. I don't mean to pry, but I heard through the grapevine that you and Mr. Tobey were getting a divorce."

  She rolled her eyes, though I thought her knuckles tightened on the door. "Please, that's common knowledge, but Chad was giving me everything I wanted—the house, the cars—so I had no reason to kill him."

  "He never hit you, did he?" Rodrigo said.

  She blinked. "Of course not. That damn blogger made that up."


  "You know about Fangirl#1?" I asked.

  "When someone makes it their mission in life to air your dirty laundry all over the internet, you make a point to know everything about them. Stu promised me he'd find out who was behind it, but so far he's come up with bupkes. Isn't that what you're supposed to be doing?"

  "I've been a little busy," I admitted.

  She snorted. "Yeah, giving the whole town food poisoning. Takes a lot of effort."

  I glowered, but Rodrigo stepped between us and asked, "Did your husband carry an EpiPen?"

  She frowned up at him. "Of course he did. Why?"

  Rodrigo shrugged. "Just curious. I would have thought he'd have used it the second he realized what was happening if he had one with him."

  That was a good point. Tobey's body had been found sitting by his dinner. If he'd recognized the signs of food poisoning, it stood to reason that he would have gone for the EpiPen or even the phone, to call for help.

  "Look, I don't know what you want me to say." Loretta Tobey was losing patience with us. "The sheriff told me the ME ruled Chad's death an accident. I'll be leaving on the first flight out tomorrow."

  "When did he tell you that?" I asked sharply. "When was the last time you spoke with Kyle?"

  She scowled at me. "Who's Kyle?"

  "The sheriff?" I prompted. "Tall guy, southern accent, blond hair."

  "Look, I don't know what sort of game you're playing, but the guy that came to talk to me had dark hair and a funny accent. I think he said his name was Jones. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an early flight."

  She shut the door in our stunned faces.

  Bacon and Kale Frittata

  You'll need:

  1 pound bacon, cut small

  ½ small sweet onion, chopped

  10 ounces fresh kale, stems removed rinsed and chopped

  1 cup ground oyster crackers

  1 teaspoon dried basil

  ½ teaspoon salt

  9 eggs

  2 cups milk

  1 cup shredded aged cheddar

  Directions:

  In a large skillet, cook bacon and onion over medium heat until meat is no longer pink then add kale and cook until wilted. Transfer to a greased 3-quart baking dish.

  In a large bowl, combine the ground oyster crackers, basil, and salt. Whisk eggs and milk, stir into cracker mixture until blended. Pour over kale and bacon.

  Bake, uncovered at 425°F for 15-20 minutes or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean. Top with cheddar and serve hot.

  **Andy's note: Frittata roughly translates to "fried," even if this dish isn't. Rodrigo's recipe included poblano peppers, obviously a no-go for a nightshade-free diet. The oyster crackers act as the flour element, and I added the kale for that superfood punch. Seriously, best way to eat kale if you don't like it but want the health benefits.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I slept on Donna's couch that night and had to wear the same clothes to the jail the next morning. Though the feds had officially taken my fiancé into custody, his lawyer had insisted he stay in the Beaverton lockup while they investigated the case.

  Jones's lawyer was old Mr. White, the only criminal attorney in town. He was at least eighty-five with liver spotted hands that shook with palsy and the worst toupee on God's green earth. It sat on his head like a beanie, slightly crooked, and threatening to hit the floor if he sneezed.

  "Thanks for meeting me so early, Mr. White," I spoke loudly to overcome his partial deafness. Only with his attorney present could Jones and I have a private meeting, and what I had to discuss wasn't for prying ears.

  "No trouble, no trouble at all, my dear." Mr. White fussed with his briefcase, which was really just a large manila file folder with a rubber band wrapped around it. His voice sounded thin and reedy as he added, "I'm an early bird myself."

  The door opened, and one of the officers escorted Jones in. His eyes were bleary, his stubble scruffier than usual, but all in all he looked better than I thought he would after a night in the slammer.

  I rose to meet him while the officer undid his handcuffs and then shut us in together. We embraced, and I leaned against him. "You okay?"

  "Yeah," he whispered into my hair. "But I missed you last night."

  "I missed you too."

  We both sat down, but I continued to clutch his hands in mine. "I've been trying to get ahold of Rochelle's estate attorney so that I can contact Clayton's grandparents. You don't happen to have their number, do you?"

  "It's in my phone's memory." He grimaced. "The FBI should have it by now. How's Clayton? I'm glad you didn't bring him here, but I would have liked to see him."

  My mouth dropped open. "No one told you?"

  "Told me what?"

  I groaned. "CPS took him and placed him in foster care until his legal guardians can claim him."

  Jones closed his eyes and made a defeated sound. "Oh God, I've ruined everything."

  "I'm going to see him later," I told him quickly. "And I want your permission to legally adopt him."

  "What?" Jones blinked.

  "Mr. White told me that if we start the paperwork and they approve the home visit, they could grant me temporary custody, especially if his grandparents aren't available. The whole town is willing to grant me a character reference, even if I am the Death Chef. I just want to make sure you're okay with it."

  His hands shook as he reached for me. "Okay with it? Andrea, of course I am."

  "This isn't just a temporary fix," I warned him. "If I do this, I'm keeping him."

  He raised my knuckles to his lips. "So long as you agree to keep me too."

  I grinned, utterly relieved. "That can be arranged." Apparently being incarcerated had done wonders for his priorities.

  "Any idea who reported Clayton as being kidnapped?" I raised a brow.

  Jones shook his head. "Not a clue."

  I glanced over to where Mr. White was softly snoring then back to my fiancé. "Why did you pretend to be the sheriff with Mrs. Tobey?" And more importantly, why hadn't he told me?

  He grimaced. "I didn't exactly tell her I was the sheriff. That would be fraud."

  I put the pieces together. "But you went to see her wearing the uniform and let her think you were the sheriff?"

  "It was a Halloween costume. I went during Clay's nap."

  "Why the ruse? You could have just told her you were investigating her husband's death." Something I'd learned about Jones, he took subterfuge to a whole new level. Though he rarely lied, he was a master at twisting the truth to make it dance to his tune.

  "She's cagey, wouldn't talk with just anyone, not after that blogger dragged her name through the mud."

  "Did you find out anything useful?" I didn't hold out too much hope, since he would have mentioned it to me if he had.

  As expected, Jones shook his head. "She's a bit of a pill and not the brightest bulb in the strand, but her alibi is airtight. She was hosting a luncheon in Texas at the time of death. There are no phone calls to anyone in North Carolina on either her home or cell. The son, though, he's another matter. He has a secret. I'm convinced of it, but he wouldn't say anything in front of her. And she watched him like a hawk. I thought if we exposed the blogger she would relax, and then we could get to him. Did you see him last night?"

  Miffed that once again he'd known more than he had told me, I folded my arms over my chest. "The son wasn't there when we went last night, not that she let us into the room."

  "Us?" Jones asked.

  Crap, I hadn't meant to tell him that part. "Um, Rodrigo and Donna and Mimi and me. We went to offer condolences. At least, that's what we told her."

  Jones's eyes narrowed to blue slits. "Why was Rodrigo part of this ensemble cast?"

  "I was setting him up—to see if he was the blogger. I figured if we took him on an adventure and I shared a few of my suspicions, if he is Fangirl#l, there would be no way he could resist reporting on it."

  Satisfaction rolled through me as Jones blinked
, clearly surprised. "Andrea, that is a remarkably well-thought-out scheme."

  "Thank you." My smugness died away quickly. "I checked the blog when I got up, but so far, nothing."

  "Be patient. This blogger is crafty and tends to choose her moment." He looked over at his sleeping attorney. "Is Lizzy out at least?"

  "According to Mr. White, she's been released on bail. Because you don't have a permanent residence here, arranging yours is trickier. I told you we should buy a house."

  We'd need to now, just to have enough room for Clayton. Donna had promised to scour the listings for me that morning.

  Jones cast me a rueful smile. "I wish you wouldn't go to such lengths to be right."

  "Knowing Lizzy, she's doing the same thing I've been doing all night, hitting redial for Rochelle's estate lawyer. Hopefully he will put us in touch with the grandparents, and we'll be able to get you out of here before the press conference this afternoon. I need you to dial that blogger's cell, if we haven't found him by then."

  Jones's eyebrows went up. "You're going through with the Jacob reveal?"

  I nodded. "This madness needs to end, even if my grandfather never speaks to me again."

  "I'm so sorry, Andrea. For everything."

  "It's as much my fault as it is yours. I never should have let Stu bully and bribe me into being a part of the show."

  "So the Diced competition is still on?"

  I nodded. "Starting tomorrow. That's why I'm sure the blogger will be hanging around town. Whoever it is has a vested interest in bringing down the show and anyone associated with it. Something Donna said to me last night resonated. We've been playing whack-a-mole."

  Jones blinked. "What?"

  Cultural breakdown yet again. "Remember that game we played at the fair last year, where you took the mallet and bopped the little fuzzy things, trying to keep them down?"

  When he nodded, I continued. "Right, well that's what I've been doing all week, knocking out one problem only to have another pop up somewhere else. Much of it seems random, like you being charged with kidnapping and the pasta shop being vandalized, but it's all served the same purpose."