Murder Al Fresco

by Jennifer L. Hart

  We talked plans for improvements, and Jacob showed me the back patio, which was in the final stages of development. He talked about updating the kitchen, adding a sous-vide machine, which I approved, and replacing the stove, which I flat out refused.

  We argued over redoing the office and the bathrooms and decided to leave well enough alone for now since we wanted the pasta shop up and running as soon as possible.

  "What are you thinking, timetable-wise?"

  "I'll have to talk to my contractor, but I think we can set the re-launch for two weeks from today."

  "That soon?" I'd anticipated being down for close to a month.

  He sent me a devilish grin. "What can I say? I'm that good."

  "Then I'll leave you to it." I had a blogger to unmask and a competition to win. Plus I wanted Jones's input about the changes to the Victorian and to ask if he thought we could swing it. I dug through my purse, hunting for my cell, and finally yanked it free, only to have the entire bag upend itself all over the alley. "Freaking great," I mumbled and crouched down to scoop up my belongings. This sort of fumble wasn't helping my confidence level. I needed to breathe, maybe do some of the yoga breaths Donna had insisted were so helpful. Positive thoughts, I needed to remember that I was supposed to think positively and attract good things.

  I couldn't find my wallet. Damn, I knew I should have bought the neon-purple one, instead of the drab brown that blended all too well with my surroundings. Crouching behind the Dumpster, I peeked underneath, and sure enough, my wallet had slid beneath. Glad I had a change of clothes in my trunk, I tried not to think about the years of decomposition as I lowered myself onto my belly. The alley always smelled sour, but the day was already heating up, adding eau de hot garbage to the mix. Naturally, it was trash day, and the truck hadn't come by yet.

  "Positive thinking," I grunted, straining for the wallet.

  "Querida?"

  The sudden voice, when I'd been sure I was alone, startled me, and I jumped, smacking my head against the bottom part of the Dumpster. Rodrigo had snuck up on me. Great, just the position I wanted my competition to see me assuming prior to our cook-off. I was just about to call out when another voice spoke.

  "Mon amour. What are you doing here?" Lacey hissed.

  "I had to see you."

  I froze, not wanting to alert Lacey or Rodrigo, for surely no one else spoke in that same sultry Spanish, at least not in Beaverton. Turning my head, I could just see their shoes, her ridiculously high pink pumps and his shiny dress shoes. They were standing way too close together for propriety, even if the endearments hadn't tipped me off. And then I heard the distinctive sounds of passion. Kissing and frantic groans. Oh hell, I'd stumbled onto an international love triangle. Or maybe it was a telenovela.

  Either way, it should be preserved. My cell phone was still in my hand, so quietly as I could, I selected the video function and hit record. Not that I doubted Jacob would believe me when I told him about this little tête-à-tête, but if there's one thing I'd begun to appreciate, it was the undeniable value of hard evidence.

  "You shouldn't be here." Lacey's voice was breathless. "My husband is right inside."

  "Have you told him yet?" Rodrigo whispered.

  "No." Lacey sounded bitter, and I could just envision her pert nose crinkled with dislike. "Andee has been particularly needy."

  Needy my substantial Italian backside. A soft growl escaped my throat before I thought better of it.

  "What was that?" Lacey asked.

  I closed my eyes and tried to not make another sound.

  "Probably just a dog somewhere," Rodrigo soothed. "Andy has been surprisingly resistant to my charms."

  "I thought you said you could handle her." Lacey's tone was irritated.

  Handle? Moi? Good one, tutti-frutti.

  "I can," Rodrigo insisted. "But she's smitten with that photographer, so I had to take a different angle."

  "By seducing her mousy little assistant?" Lacey scoffed. "That iz rich. And what happened?"

  My breath caught, eyes going wide. Was I right? Was it really Rodrigo who'd been behind the Bowtie Angel's sabotage after all?

  "I don't know." Rodrigo sounded baffled. "Not a thing, carina. One moment she was fine, and the next, she had fallen to the ground."

  There was a scuffling noise from farther down the alley, and Lacey gasped. "I have to go. Jacob could come out here at any moment"

  "Wait—when will we see each other again?" Rodrigo asked.

  "After the competition. Good luck, mon cher, "she hissed, and then the sound of her heels clicking echoed down the alley.

  I shut off the recording and texted Jones. Meet me in town ASAP! You were right about R.

  Slithering out from under the Dumpster, I rose and whirled on my heel and ran smack into Rodrigo.

  "Hola," he said.

  "Cripes," I gasped, putting as much distance between the two of us as I could. "You scared me."

  He studied the area beneath the Dumpster and then scrutinized my face. "You heard everything?"

  There was no denying it. Lifting my chin, I stared him straight in the eye. "Enough to know that you're having an affair with my father's wife, and she asked you to seduce me for God alone knows what reason."

  A little shiver of fear coursed through me. People didn't react well when you figured out their secrets, and both Lacey and Rodrigo had been sneaking around behind Jacob's back. I was trapped in an alley with him, never a good situation, especially if he'd been doing dangerous things.

  "Not seduce you." He shook his head. "Distract you. Lacey knew if you found out you'd tell Jacob."

  And what better way to keep me from seeing the truth than to have him play my own romantic lead? Sooner or later someone would walk down this alley. The construction crew or maybe one of the people associated with the Diced Showdown. I was probably safe but decided to bluff my way out of this just in case I was wrong. "Shows how much she knows, I don't even like Jacob."

  Rodrigo nodded. "That's what I told her. You have no loyalty to him, blood or no blood."

  "So your secret is safe with me, as long as you stay away from Mimi and out of my pasta shop."

  I made to push past him, but he caught my arm. "Wait. I do like you, Andy. Very much."

  My temper got the best of me. "Right, so much so that you're trying to dupe me. You know she's never going to leave Jacob, right? Lacey's a pampered poodle, and she's used to luxury. You may be famous, but you can't compete with his money. Speaking as a 'friend,' you'd be better off finding a woman who wants to be with you and only you."

  He stared at me for a minute. My heart thudding, I glanced pointedly down at my arm, where he still held me. Would he let me go, or was I about to see an even uglier side of him?

  My instincts told me Rodrigo was a lover, not a fighter and certainly not a killer. I'd agreed to keep the affair secret, even if my fingers had been crossed behind my back, but I'd been cornered too many times to take anything for granted.

  After what felt like an eternity, he released my arm. "Good luck in the competition today."

  "You too," I answered and scurried out of there as quickly as my legs could carry me.

  * * *

  "You think Lacey's the blogger?" Kyle raised an eyebrow.

  "Sssh." I waved frantically, trying to get him to keep his voice down. "I know it sounds crazy. I don't know for sure, but it feels right. She hates me and wants to discredit me. She knows enough about food and drinks that she could pull off a mass poisoning and make it look like an accident. That's a bunch of secrets she desperately wants kept. If Chad Tobey figured it out, she might have killed him to keep it quiet. Plus, my keys were at her house the night of the break-in, so she could have easily been behind that. And if she made a copy, she could have gone back and put Spice in the ventilation system. It all fits."

  Kyle held up a hand. "One problem with that. Lacey is an undercover FBI agent."

  I stared at him blankly, the words not making sense.
"Lacey L'Amour works for the FBI? Kyle, have you lost your frigging marbles?"

  He heaved a sigh. "That's what I found out in Atlanta. The FBI contacted me about the food poisoning incident and told me they already had someone working the case."

  My head was shaking back and forth, denial burning through my system. "Special Agent Lacey L'Amour. You can't be serious. Jacob would know." Then an even stranger thought struck me. "Wait, why would the FBI send someone to investigate a simple case of food poisoning? And undercover no less?"

  Even though the rest of the office was virtually deserted, Kyle shut the door to his office. "Look, I don't want you to panic, but there have been threats."

  "Threats?" My eyes went wide. "What sort of threats?"

  "Anonymous ones targeting the Diced Showdown."

  "And you're only telling me about this now?" I couldn't keep the screech out of my voice.

  It was Kyle's turn to make a shushing sound. "I don't know how serious it is or how much danger could be present. But Chad Tobey also received threats prior to his death."

  "You said that was ruled an accident."

  Kyle wouldn't meet my gaze. "I sort of fibbed about that."

  "Fibbed?" I stared at him uncomprehendingly. "You mean lied? You flat out lied to me." "Don't get all high and mighty with me when you and your boyfriend go hacking into records you have no business seeing. I had to keep you from snooping somehow."

  I blinked at him, seeing a ruthlessness that I hadn't thought him capable of, and it was like a lightbulb went off. "Oh my God, you were the one who had Jones arrested for kidnapping, weren't you?"

  He didn't deny it. "Don't look at me that way. If your boyfriend had done the paperwork—"

  "How could you?" I whispered. "And it wasn't just Jones either. Lizzy too."

  "Now that was an accident," he said. "And I'd appreciate if you didn't tell Lizzy about it."

  "They took Clayton away," I seethed. "Kyle, how could you?"

  "I made sure Clayton was placed with a respectable foster family, and didn't I help you get him back?"

  "That's not the point. He was scared. I was terrified for him—and for Jones. Didn't I have enough to deal with without all that heaped on top?"

  "This is bigger than you, Andy. No one was hurt."

  "That isn't the point," I said through gritted teeth. "How could you just go ahead and lie to all of us, Kyle? About something so important?"

  He puffed out his chest. "I did what I needed to do to keep this town safe. You, Lizzy, Kaylee. And, Andy, the blogger's been focused on you, so I'm worried you're going to be in the center of whatever might happen."

  "Does Stu know about this?"

  When Kyle shook his head, I gasped. "Kyle, tell him. He'll shut the show down."

  "If he does that," a new voice said from behind me, "we'll never catch him."

  I turned, stunned to see Lacey. "What happened to your accent?"

  Her gaze slipped from me to the sheriff and back. "Just part of my cover."

  "This can't be happening."

  "And for the record, I don't hate you, Andy. But I couldn't afford to befriend you either and have you blow my cover. You're too smart. You would have figured it out."

  "So when I knew you in culinary school?" I was starting to reevaluate everything I'd known about her.

  "I was on a case. Reports of sex being exchanged for grades with certain teachers. I wasn't FBI then."

  "And your affair with Rodrigo?"

  "He was a suspect," she said. "It was part of the investigation."

  "And my dad?" The words were out before I could stop them. "Does he know about you?"

  Lacey shook her head. "No."

  "He'll be heartbroken." I was sure about that fact.

  "He'll get over it."

  I looked between Kyle and Lacey. "God help us all with you two doing the protect-and-serve routine. I think the only serving you're doing is for yourselves."

  They exchanged a glance, and Kyle sighed. "Look, Andy, we wouldn't even be telling you about this, except that we can't have you blabbing about Rodrigo and Lacey to everyone under the sun. Just give us until the end of the competition, and then you can call us out, ruin my reelection, whatever. Considering what's gone on here the past eighteen months, I doubt I would have been reelected anyway."

  "And I'll be moving on as soon as this gets wrapped up. Then you can tell whomever you like." Lacey shrugged.

  Angry or not, I still had one question. "Will anyone get hurt today? There's not going to be a massive bombing or anything, right?"

  Another unreadable look passed between them. Lacey finally said, "No, no bombing. Whoever is behind it all favors poison, so that's the method he will use."

  "He?" I asked.

  "Or she," Lacey admitted. "I haven't been able to come up with an accurate profile yet. But it's someone who knows you, Andy, who is capitalizing on your reputation as the Death Chef. He or she might try to blame the whole thing on you."

  That had been my fear as well. "Any advice on what I should or shouldn't do?"

  "The show is providing your ingredients, correct?"

  When I nodded, she continued, "Keep an eye on them. Make sure they haven't been tampered with. I'll be sitting in as one of the judges, so I'll be able to keep an eye on things. Signal me if anything seems off."

  "You're going to be a judge?"

  She smiled and then said in her fake accent, "Of course, Andee. I am a culinary goddess, am I not?"

  I stood up, my knees watery, my head swimming. I opened the door but paused, glancing over my shoulder. "What you told me about your family running a restaurant and bar, was that true?"

  I didn't expect her to answer but was surprised when she nodded and again spoke in a no-nonsense voice. "Yup, but it was in Des Moines, not France."

  I looked to Kyle. "Can I tell Jones? I don't want him or Clayton there, but if I don't tell him why, he might come anyway." Same went for Kaylee, Donna and her whole family, my grandparents…

  Kyle was shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but we need everyone to behave as they normally would. Trust me to keep them all safe."

  "Trust us," Lacey added.

  "Easier said than done." Though it was an effort, I didn't slam the office door behind me.

  Jones had texted to say he'd meet me in front of the pasta shop before the first round commenced. With only a few minutes to go, I bustled out of the building, my mind whirling. I was halfway across the green when Stu caught up to me.

  "Any luck on unmasking the blogger?"

  After Kyle and Lacey's confessions, I'd almost forgotten about Fangirl#1. "We were close yesterday, but things went sideways. I have the blogger's phone number—it's an untraceable cell. We tried tracking it, but it's been off. Chances are they'll turn it on for the competition though, wanting to record and upload. If we can get a quiet moment, my fiancé is going to try to call it today, and then we'll know who it is."

  "Good. By the way, I hope your sous chef is all right," Stu said. "I can recommend a great rehab place, if you need it."

  "Thanks," I said automatically, not wanting to explain that poor Mimi had been victimized and didn't have a drug problem.

  "Anyway, there's something I found in the files," Stu continued. "We have a few minutes before the first round. It's in my van."

  "Where are you parked?" Honestly, the entire town looked like a parking lot at this point. "I'm meeting Jones in a few and need to get changed before my round."

  "Just a few streets over, behind the elementary school."

  "There's a shortcut behind the bakery," I said, but Stu was already heading in that direction. "I guess you have this town pretty well mapped out by now."

  He shrugged. "Not much to it." We crossed the playground at a steady pace, going too quickly for me to try to text and walk. For a little guy, Stu knew how to move.

  "What did you find?" I huffed.

  "It's better if you see it for yourself."

  "Oh." Not the answer I'd
been expecting. We had just made it past the jungle gym when I stopped dead. "Why did you say that?"

  "Say what?" Stu glanced over his shoulder, pausing when he realized that I had stopped.

  "About Mimi and rehab. The doctor said he wouldn't tell anyone about what caused her seizure. The only way you could have known is if…"

  Our gazes met, and I felt a stab of genuine fear. "If what, Andy?"

  If he put the drug in the vent system. I didn't voice the thought, instead taking off at a flat-out sprint back to Main Street and the huge crowd.

  "Catch her!" I heard Stu shout to somebody. "She knows."

  Oh God, someone was helping him?

  I was tackled from the side by someone I couldn't see. Sprawled on the ground, I struggled, trying to fight my way free. Behind us, Stu was saying something, but the one who'd tackled me grabbed my head and smashed it against the ground with blackout force and pain faded to nothingness.

  White Stuffed Shells

  You'll need:

  18 jumbo pasta shells

  20 ounces fresh spinach, chopped

  2 cups cooked chicken, shredded

  1 tablespoon fresh basil, chopped

  16 ounces low-fat ricotta

  1 large egg, beaten

  ¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese

  ¼ teaspoon black pepper

  16 ounces Alfredo sauce

  Directions:

  Prepare pasta shells according to package directions. Stir together spinach, chicken, basil, and next 4 ingredients. Spoon mixture evenly into shells. Spread half the Alfredo sauce in a lightly greased 13x9-inch baking dish. Arrange stuffed pasta shells over sauce, and pour remaining sauce over shells.

  Bake, covered, at 350°F for 40-45 minutes or until filling is heated through and sauce bubbles. Remove from oven, and let stand 10 minutes and serve.

  **Andy's note: To make ahead, prepare recipe as directed sans the baking. Cover and freeze up to 1 month. Thaw in refrigerator 24 hours. Let stand at room temperature 30 minutes. Bake, covered, for 1 hour and 20 minutes.