“Jordan!”
Hearing her name, Jordan peered up at the stage and saw Michael peeking out from the edge of the curtain. He motioned for her to come up.
“Gotta go,” she said, rising from the seat with a sigh. It would be so much more fun if she could watch the competition with her friends, but this cruise didn’t come cheap, and she had to earn her keep.
As she walked up the steps, the band finished up and the crowd roared its approval. She reached for the curtain, which was even more gorgeous up close. The rich, red velvety material with vertical strands of gold thread weaved throughout sparkled under the overhead theatrical lights. She was positive it must have cost a pretty penny, just like everything else on the ship.
It wasn’t called the Carnation Queen for nothing and sported some of the most gorgeous furnishings she’d ever seen. And even though she was hired help, so far, she’d been treated like royalty by every one of the crew members, who hailed from countries all over the world.
“Hurry up,” Michael called out when she squeezed behind the curtain.
Catching her breath after her first glimpse of the stage, she took a moment to study it further. Just like the night of the elimination round, it had been transformed into a gigantic kitchen for the competition. Eight coolers surrounded a huge table overflowing with vegetables and fruits. Another table was lined with spices, liquors, and eight bags of marshmallows. Visions of gourmet s’mores popped into her head, which immediately lifted her spirits. Maybe she could get through this, after all.
“What’s with the grin?” Michael asked, taking hold of her arm and leading her over to the judges’ table where George Christakis and Beau were already seated.
“I’m thinking this could turn out to be fun,” she admitted, now picturing herself dipping a hunk of banana into Rosie’s Amaretto Fruit Dip with the creamy marshmallows.
When they approached, Christakis gave her a tiny salute. Beau, who looked like he could have passed as the poster child for the popular Texas saying “Rode hard and put away wet,” didn’t even bother to glance up.
I’ve been crossed off his hanky-panky list, Jordan thought. What a shame.
Taking her seat between the two men, she wondered if the sweets maker felt as bad as he looked. She seriously hoped he did. She’d never liked cheating men, no matter how much chocolate came with the deal. When Beau raised his head and a soft groan escaped his lips, she smiled to herself, confident he had a huge headache to go with the rest of his hangover.
The five chefs were walking onto the stage and making their way to their cooking stations, which consisted of a double electric stovetop. Overhead mirrors above each station would allow the audience to watch every step of the food preparation. On the way to his station in the back, Thomas lightly touched Casey’s shoulder and was rewarded with a half smile. If Jordan hadn’t already suspected something was going on between the two of them, she would have dismissed it as an innocent exchange between competitors.
But Jordan knew it was more than that and squinted across the stage to roll her eyes at Michael, who had heard the story of the two chefs walking hand in hand around the pool from Victor and responded with a nod. Her attention was quickly diverted when Emily walked onto the stage, dressed in a bright yellow sleeveless dress that showed off every curve to perfection.
And she had a lot of them.
“Get ready, folks. The curtain’s going up in five minutes.” She waved to Jordan and mouthed, See you later?
Jordan nodded. As much as she wanted to hate the woman for looking the way she did, she couldn’t. Poolside, Emily had confided she didn’t make friends easily—had blamed it on working too many hours. Jordan had been flattered when Emily made it clear she’d like to get to know her better. Although Jordan loved the Empire Apartments gang like her own family, it would be nice to have a girlfriend her own age aboard.
Microphone in hand, Michael walked to the center of the stage to address the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to begin the appetizer round of the Caribbean Cook-Off. At the end of the cruise, one of these five chefs will walk away with a contract worth a half million dollars as the spokesperson for Classic Cuisine, Inc. Join me in welcoming our sponsors, Emily Thorpe, owner and CEO of Entertainment and Talent Incorporated in New York, and Wayne Francis, owner and manager of KTLK, the best talk radio station south of the Red River.”
The crowd went crazy as the curtain was raised, and for a moment, Jordan imagined herself at Cowboys Stadium right after the national anthem. She let her anxieties slip away with the excitement, deciding to go with the flow. But just in case things got dicey, she reached for her napkin and placed it in her lap per Rosie’s instructions. A girl had to be prepared for the worst.
“Welcome, everyone,” Emily began when the crowd finally quieted down. “With tonight’s competition the hunt is officially on for the best chef among these five worthy competitors who were handpicked from all over the state of Texas. We’re so glad you chose to stay with us after the unfortunate incident last night. We promise you won’t be sorry you did. Now, let’s get on with tonight’s competition featuring appetizers.” She paused, turning slightly as the crowd acknowledged the chefs with another rousing round of applause.
“Before we get started, I’d like to introduce you again to our chefs and give you a little background on each,” she said when the noise died down.
For the next ten minutes Emily reintroduced the competitors to the crowd; then she waved her arm toward the judges’ table. “Now, let’s meet the three people with the difficult job of picking the best chef. Please give a warm Carnation Queen welcome to my friend and celebrity chef, George Christakis.”
For what seemed like a good five minutes, the audience showed their appreciation. Beau and Jordan were introduced to a shorter but no less enthusiastic welcome.
Moving back to the front, Emily walked over to Casey’s station. “Tonight, our chefs will be preparing an appetizer of their choice within a thirty-minute time limit. Along with their favorite main ingredients, each will be provided with a basket with four ingredients that they must include in their dish.” She opened the basket and pulled out a jalapeño pepper and a bottle of cayenne pepper. “Being from Texas, you all know, the spicier the better,” she explained.
Reaching in again, she came out with a small bottle of honey and a huge mango. “As I mentioned, every one of these four items must be included in the dish. So, without further ado, let’s get started.” She raised her arm in the air and brought it down as a signal to the person operating the overhead countdown clock. “Chefs, get ready. Start cooking now.”
The stage erupted in activity as the contestants ran back and forth between the tables in the back and their workstations, gathering their ingredients. For the next half hour, the aroma of cooking food permeated the entire theater. Jordan took the time to chat with George Christakis, deciding she liked the man, who seemed utterly indifferent to his own celebrity status. She discovered he had a partner and a school-age son back in New York and was a huge Giants fan. Despite that last fact—the Giants were one of the biggest competitors of her beloved Cowboys—she greatly enjoyed the chat.
Finally, the overhead clock signaled time was up, and the chefs stepped away from their stations, hands in the air to show they had stopped cooking, finished or not. Emily had been moving from station to station and chatting with the contestants about their dishes the entire time. Now she announced that each chef would explain their entry to the judges and then wait for the critique and the score.
Jordan swallowed hard and looked out to her friends for courage. Seeing Rosie giving her a thumbs-up helped a little. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was about to find out what kind of acting skills she possessed.
She said a quick prayer to Saint Jude, the patron saint of hopeless cases, just in case she came up short.
CHAPTER 10
Casey was first to approach the table carrying three small plates, which she
set in front of Jordan and the other judges. Four stewards dressed in freshly starched white uniforms passed out her plated appetizer to the tasters in the front row of the middle section of the theater. A quick glance at Casey’s entry told Jordan all she needed to know. This one would end up in her napkin. She fought to keep the plastic smile on her face.
Mentally high-fiving herself for pretending to look excited about the small brownish blob on her plate, Jordan was soon brought back to reality as the smell wafted up. Quickly, she placed her napkin over her mouth and nose. She didn’t need to hear Casey’s description of her entry to know she’d never be sharing this concoction over margaritas with friends. All the same, she nearly gagged when Casey described her Chicken Liver Pâté, Southwest Style.
No way ‘chicken liver’ and ‘Southwest’ should ever be uttered in the same sentence, Jordan thought.
No God-fearing Texas cowboy would even consider putting this stuff anywhere near his mouth. It ranked right up there with cow patties, in Jordan’s book, and it was a certainty this one would end up in her napkin. She snuck a peek Beau’s way and eyed his napkin in case she needed a clean one for her nose when the others presented their dishes. He was so intent on eyeing up Marsha, he didn’t even notice when she discreetly slid his over and onto her lap in one swift movement.
When she saw George tasting the pâté, she took a deep breath before sectioning off a tiny portion with her fork. Then she shoved it into her mouth, sliding it over to the corner just as Rosie had instructed and holding her breath at the same time so the smell didn’t do her in. After pretending to chew for a moment, she touched the napkin to her lips as daintily as she could and spit out the liver.
Yuck! She reached for her water glass and took a big drink to wash any residual liver gunk out of her mouth.
“Okay, judges,” Emily said, moving swiftly to the table. “Tell us what you thought about our first entry. You have five cards in front of you with each contestant’s name. Please rate the dish on a scale of one to five, using creativity, presentation, and taste as the criteria.”
Jordan reached for the card with Casey’s name and quickly scrawled a 3 on it. She figured going the middle of the road would neither hurt nor help Casey. The only real score would come from Christakis, as Victor had so delicately put it.
“George, what did you think about Casey’s dish?” Emily asked, moving first to her friend.
Christakis held up his card, showing a large 3. “As much as I adore chicken livers, they should never be used with peppers and honey.”
My thoughts exactly! Jordan bit her lip to hide her glee. Maybe she didn’t suck as a judge, after all.
“In my opinion, Casey would have been better served using a chicken wing or even a thigh to go with her required ingredients. That said, it didn’t taste bad, but it did taste like she simply threw the ingredients together without blending the flavors.”
Jordan cast a glance at Casey and noticed the anger radiating from her eyes and her pursed lips. She was glad the woman didn’t have a sharp fishing hook in her hand right now.
“Jordan, what did you think?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. This was make-or-break time for her.
“I actually thought exactly the same thing as George. Although it had a good flavor, I can’t imagine any of my cowboy friends trying this one, nor can I picture gourmet cooks out there preparing it. It’s too fancy for one and not fancy enough for the other.”
She deliberately avoided eye contact with Casey as she held up her card, again giving thanks that the chef didn’t have a sharp instrument in her hands. Something about this woman scared her. Maybe because Jordan had seen her in action on the fishing boat and then overheard her self-incriminating conversations with Marsha.
When it was Beau’s turn to evaluate Casey, he gave her a 4.5 and mumbled something about liver with a spicy flavor starting a new trend.
Yeah, a trend with you buttering up Marsha’s friend so you can play house with Marsha right under your wife’s nose.
As Emily once again strolled over to center stage, Casey walked back to her station with a half smile on her face. She probably thought the decent score from Beau would keep her in the game.
Next, Luis brought his dish to the judges, and Jordan sighed in relief. Warm Mushroom Salad with poached egg and spicy mango vinaigrette. Although the name brought up images of food she’d never order anywhere, Jordan was able to swallow the bite she took, thinking it wasn’t half bad.
George Christakis gave the dish high praise and rated it a 4, as did Jordan, leaving Luis poised to walk away with high marks.
Until Beau gave it a 2.5, complaining that the lettuce was soggy. Jordan couldn’t help wonder what was up with that, especially when she saw the look that crossed between the two men before Luis turned and walked back to his station.
Phillip’s entry was Seared Scallops with Mango Salsa, which Jordan was also able to get down. She’d never had scallops before and probably would never order them from a menu, but at least they didn’t end up in her napkin. With George’s 4, her own 4, and Beau’s 3, Phillip had the winning entry so far. Jordan relaxed in her chair, thinking this was way easier than she’d expected.
Until Thomas set his entry in front of her.
“Pan-Seared Sweet and Spicy Salmon Bites with a Diced Jalapeño and Mango Salsa,” he announced, obviously proud of his creation.
Once again, Jordan was pretty sure this one would never find its way to her stomach since she preferred her fish with a heavy cornbread batter, but she was willing to give it a try. “Pan seared” meant not totally cooked, in her book. She convinced herself that if she stared really hard at it, the fish would jump off the plate. She prepared her palate for the worst as she placed a small portion in her mouth. All her good intentions to at least give it a chance went out the window, and she couldn’t even pretend to chew before she dabbed her mouth with her napkin and spit it out.
Unable to stop the shudder that followed, she hoped no one had seen it or, God forbid, that Casey’s pâté didn’t fall from the napkin and expose her for the fraud that she was.
After George’s 4.5 and her 2.5, it was Beau’s turn to evaluate the dish. Before he flashed his card, he narrowed his eyes and smirked.
“Salmon done right is my favorite fish. This one, however, was done so totally wrong, it was barely palatable.” He held up the sign with a 2.
Anger flashed across Thomas’s face before he inhaled noisily and turned on his heel without a word. Apparently he thought killing Beau on the spot would not be his smartest move. Jordan almost felt the need to warn Beau to be on the lookout for some sort of retaliation. She’d seen the same look on her brothers’ faces when they’d been dissed, and each time someone had paid a price when they least expected it.
As Thomas made his way back to his station, Emily stepped up to the mic. “As you can see, this contest is far from being over. So far, we have Phillip at the top with an 11, followed by Luis and Casey with 10.5 each, and Thomas close behind with 9. It’s anybody’s guess who will walk away a winner and who will walk away period. Remember the contestant with the lowest score is eliminated. So, let’s see what our final contestant has to offer.” She pointed to Marsha. “Show us what you’ve created.”
Marsha picked up the three plates and brought them over to the judges’ table, walking first to Beau. As she set the plate in front of him, she licked her lips seductively.
Give me a break! That ought to get her a penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct, Jordan thought.
“Hope you like this. I made it special just for you tonight. It’s sweetbread with a dipping sauce made from pureed jalapeños, honey, and mangoes.” She placed the other two dishes in front of Jordan and Christakis.
Jordan almost felt sorry for Beau when Marsha turned again and zeroed in on him. She hoped his wife was far enough away that she couldn’t see the silent conversation between the two of them or the way Marsha made sure her leg made contact with
his before she turned back to position herself in front of all the judges. Trophy wife or not, no red-blooded female would be able to tolerate being humiliated in front of the huge crowd by the obvious mating ritual going on between those two.
Thomas’s wrath would be child’s play compared to the rage of a scorned diva.
Glancing down at the appetizer, Jordan was surprised to see that it resembled a chicken nugget. So far she’d made it through four of the appetizers without making a complete fool of herself. She was pleased to see that the last entry might be something she actually enjoyed.
Reaching for one of the chunks, she dipped it into the sauce. As soon as she popped the morsel into her mouth, she let out a relieved breath. Although it didn’t taste exactly like a chicken nugget, it was close enough that she was ready to declare Marsha and her sweetbread the overall winner.
She ate the other two chunks, pleased with herself for having survived the evening. With her lips still burning from the jalapeño dip, she wiped her mouth with the clean napkin, then pushed the plate to the side. Choosing the scorecard with Marsha’s name, she scribbled a big 4.5, taking off half a point for the sauce. If it had been served with a nice avocado ranch or a creamy honey mustard dip on the side, she would have given it a perfect score.
“It looks like we’re ready to hear the judges’ decision,” Emily said, moving to stand beside Marsha. “This is the all-important vote where we find out who is eliminated tonight and who wins and gets an advantage in tomorrow night’s competition. Judges?”
Somehow Marsha had managed to open the top button of her purple sweater. Even though most of her chest was covered by the apron, a tiny bit of her ample cleavage peeked through. A visual designed to get the judges’ attention, which it definitely had. Poor Beau was nearly foaming at the mouth.
What was it about men and boobs?
“George, what did you think of Marsha’s sweetbread?” Emily asked.
Christakis eyed her for a moment, glancing once toward Beau, making Jordan wonder if he knew something was going on between him and Marsha. Then he held up the card with a large 3 scribbled on it. For a minute, Jordan thought the audible gasp had come from her, but then she realized it had actually been Marsha, who was now staring at Christakis in disbelief.
Murder for the Halibut Page 9
