Her office space consisted of a desk against one wall where her ancient laptop was perched. She had to keep it connected to the power socket at all times, since the battery had died a long time ago. There was a narrow space between the desk and her bed, which lined another wall, with just enough room for bookshelves at the end of the bed that had a small TV screen on top of it. The television wasn’t hooked up to a cable service, just a USB device plugged in the back that was connected to the internet and allowed Jessica to watch Netflix.
Jessica shared the Netflix account with her daughter Ashley, who lived nearby with her deadbeat boyfriend, Jackson. Her Netflix membership level only allowed one viewer at a time, so most of the time Jessica was out of luck if she wanted to watch anything. Jackson was out of work and hogged the account access, bingeing on Netflix most of his waking hours.
The rest of the tiny apartment was taken up with a green, oversized velvet sofa which was comfortable, but had clearly seen better days, and a coffee table where Jessica ate her meals. The kitchen, if you could call it that, consisted of a length of laminate countertop which housed the microwave oven, an electric cooktop, and a sink.
Under the counter was one storage cupboard, a silverware drawer with a fake door underneath, and a refrigerator. The bathroom, such as it was, was behind a curtain by the bookshelves. Pretty much everything Jessica owned fit inside that one twelve-by-fifteen studio apartment, and she hated every inch of it.
There was a knock on the door, and she turned around to open it. Her daughter Ashley dropped by most mornings on the way to her part-time job in a laundromat.
“Good morning, Mom,” Ashley said, pushing past her and slumping onto the sofa. “Do you have any laundry you want me to take care of? I can do it for you and drop it off on my way home this afternoon.”
Jessica put her cup down on the coffee table and folded her arms. “I don’t know why you work in that place. If you’d concentrated on your studies at school like I told you, instead of running around with good-for-nothings like that Jackson fellow, maybe you’d have some sort of a respectable job by now.”
Ashley raised an eyebrow. “You mean like you? Please, don’t take this the wrong way, Mom, but you’re kind of old to be a startup entrepreneur. Why don’t you leave that to Mark Zuckerberg? The sooner you admit you’re out of your depth with an online business and go back to cooking in cafes, the better it will be for everyone. Then, maybe you’d relax a little.”
Jessica raised her hand and began shaking her finger at Ashley. “Listen to me, young lady. Show some respect for your mother for a change. That pig of a father of yours left us with nothing, and I’ve cooked and cleaned for years to make ends meet. I did everything I could for you, didn’t I?”
Without giving Ashley a chance to reply, she continued to rant. “Now that it’s time to do something for me, how are you repaying me? For sure it’s not by being supportive, oh no. My website’s just one more thing that you can use to make fun of me. I suppose you think it’s pretty funny that my business is ruined? And it’s all because of that meddling mother of that friend of yours. I bet you two just can’t stop laughing at me.”
Ashley’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Mom, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who on earth do you mean?”
“Briana Roberts, that’s who.” Jessica said, laughing hollowly. “You know, your teenage partner in crime. Ever since her mother took over as the Food Spy in The Seattle Times, my blog rankings have tanked. It seems like there’s a new local food hero in town, and it’s not me. The latest comments on the blog are scathing, let me see…I’ll read some to you.”
Jessica strode over to her laptop and clicked the keyboard, causing the screen to awaken from sleep mode. “Oh yes, here we go. ‘Cassie Roberts has a tongue-in-cheek way of bringing food to life, whether she likes what’s on the menu or not. The author of the Gourmand Guide to Eats blog could learn a thing or two from Cassie’s knack for down-to earth food reviews served with a delicious dollop of real life.’ Or, how about this one… ‘Boring blog. Let’s have more spice from the Gourmand and less of the nicey nice.’”
Ashley looked up at her mother, her face solemn. “Mom, if you’re going to put yourself online, you’ve got to have a thick skin. Don’t take it personally. For what it’s worth, I think those comments are pure gold. Give readers what they want. Why not ruffle a few feathers, and tell it like it is? If some place you’re reviewing sucks, don’t be afraid to say it loud and clear.”
“But what about the advertisers?” Jessica asked, jutting her chin out. “If I don’t keep them happy, I won’t have any income.”
“Mom, in case you didn’t know, you’re supposed to be impartial,” Ashley said with a sigh. “And it kind of goes without saying that if you don’t have any readers, you won’t have any income either. I haven’t read Cassie’s column, nor have I spoken to Briana in ages, but I’m sure if I asked her, she could get her mom to call you with some tips for your column.”
Jessica’s voice reached a high-pitched shriek. “Don’t you dare, missy. I never cared for that smug Roberts family and right now, I care for them even less. They were nothing but flashy cars and fancy houses. I don’t think any of them ever did an honest day’s work in their life. And what you just said is so typical of you, stabbing me in the back every chance you get. I’m finished with you, Ashley, so get out of here, and don’t bother coming back.”
Her daughter stood up, and said in a pleading voice, “Mom, you’re taking this the wrong way. That’s not what I meant. I’d help you myself, if I knew how, but I don’t know anything about cooking or restaurants. The internet’s a big place, and there must be loads of opportunities you haven’t even thought of. There’s nothing wrong with asking friends for help. I’m sure Briana and Cassie would be more than happy to swap ideas with you.”
Jessica held the door open. “OUT. All you do is take, take, take, and cause me nothing but worry. And you, of all people, have the nerve to come around here and criticize me? Why don’t you look closer to home? For starters, how about that sleazeball of a boyfriend you have, and what type of sad, hopeless future you’ll have with a loser like him. That’s not much to look forward to, is it?”
She stood back while Ashley squeezed past, her head and shoulders slumped down. For a moment Jessica felt a twang of remorse at upsetting Ashley, but something inside her made her want to push the knife in, and hurt her even further. “Don’t forget to send Jackson my regards. “Oh, I forgot, you’ll be working all day while he’s lounging at home, eating the food you bought, in the apartment you pay the rent on, right?”
Ashley looked up at her with tears in her eyes, and still Jessica continued. “Oh yeah, I forgot. I guess he’ll be watching movies on my Netflix subscription which I’ll be canceling today. If you want to do one positive thing for yourself, Ashley, kick that deadbeat out before he drags you down with him. Goodness knows, I’m living proof of how a man can ruin your life.”
“Goodbye, Mom,” Ashley said as she left her mother’s apartment. She walked down the hallway, her hand raised to her eyes to wipe away the tears that kept coming.
Jessica slammed the door with a bang. She hated how Ashley did that pathetic puppy dog act of looking sorry for herself every time Jessica told her the truth about Jackson. Ashley’s father, Pat, had been just like Jackson when Jessica had been married to him. Why she’d put up with him until Ashley was ten, she’d never know. The only times Jessica saw Pat now was when she wanted something. Usually it was to ask to use the kitchen at his business premises to try out recipes for her blog, since the cooking facilities in her apartment were so limited. Pat was always agreeable to her requests, and he was even friendly when they did meet. Jessica suspected he’d never gotten over her, and probably still hoped they could get back together, but in her opinion, he was sad, delusional, and weak. It was no surprise that Ashley was just like him, and Jessica despised them both.
She walked the couple of steps back
to her desk and stared at the laptop screen. Jessica winced when she read the blog comments again. When she’d started the blog a year earlier, it had taken off through word of mouth, thanks to a couple of local radio interviews. As a result, Jessica had restaurants calling her to ask for reviews, some with offers of payment or free meals in return for favorable reviews. Back then, Jessica didn’t know there were Federal Trade Commission rules about disclosure of endorsements or advertisements online. She thought since it was her blog she could write whatever she wanted, and if she’d been paid to write it, it was nobody’s business but her own.
When she found out that wasn’t the case, she realized her previous business model was unsustainable, and she had to start writing independent reviews which just happened to coincide with the time Cassie had started her Food Spy column in The Seattle Times. As far as Jessica was concerned, it wasn’t bad luck, bad timing, or anything she’d done. The decline of A Gourmand’s Guide to Eats was all because of one thing, Cassie Roberts, and the unfair push her column had been given by The Seattle Times when it launched.
As a result, three months later Jessica’s business was about to collapse. The time to save it was rapidly running out, and there was only one solution Jessica could think of. She’d been running it through her mind for days, and she kept coming back to the same answer.
Bye-bye Food Spy, she thought to herself, and so long Cassie Roberts. Your fifteen minutes of fame is about to end.
CHAPTER 8
Jules Moreau whistled to himself as he checked his reflection in the full-length bedroom mirror. He sucked in his stomach and smoothed down his dress shirt, reaching up to fix his fat bow-tie. Pulling it out at either end, his adjustments took some time as he painstakingly made sure the edges were straight and symmetrical. He’d been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder as a child after a manic episode involving a muddy kitten, a scrub brush, and a bottle of bleach.
Jules had turned the scrub brush and the bleach on himself after the dirty kitten had jumped up on him, and his arms still had the scars to prove it. The kitten, Frisky, wasn’t hurt, although she definitely hadn’t appreciated Jules’ attempts to dunk her in a bathtub filled with steaming hot water and his mother’s scented bubble bath. Frisky escaped from Jules’ clutches and jumped out the bathroom window, taking refuge in a neighbor’s garden where she was eventually found, cowering behind a flowerpot, by a search-party of eight-year-olds.
Looking good, Jules, he thought to himself, turning sideways to admire the view. Despite the paunch, which was an occupational hazard for a restaurateur, he considered himself to be in good shape for his age, which had been stuck at forty-nine for at least five years. His swarthy looks and dark hair had often drawn comparisons to Johnny Depp, although in Jules’ own opinion, he was aging far better than Johnny. He licked his finger and smoothed each of his eyebrows.
“Jules, if you don’t hurry up, the awards ceremony will be over.” His wife’s shrill voice brought him out of his mental movie and back to reality. He pulled on his tuxedo jacket, grabbed the car keys off his dresser, and headed downstairs.
If Sheila Moreau thought he was looking good, she didn’t bother to mention it. She was his second wife, and had given him the children his first wife had been unable to produce, but any romantic affection he’d once had for her had left long ago. He was far too much in love with himself to share that with anyone else, so he and Sheila lived separate but amicable lives. Since their children had left home, Jules spent six days a week at his restaurant, Frogities, and Sheila spent his money on spa trips and clothes. The arrangement suited them both.
“You look stunning, ma cherie,” Jules said, kissing Sheila on the cheek. He always made a point of complimenting his wife on her appearance, even though she rarely returned the favor. As arm candy, she never let him down. Her poker-straight, black, chin-length hair with bangs, contrasted against her pale complexion and blue eyes, and her shimmering silver gown caught the light in all the right places, accentuating her curves.
In the car, Jules cleared his throat. “I need to run this speech past you. Tell me what you think, okay?”
Sheila regarded him with a quizzical smile. “Isn’t that a little premature? We don’t even know who is going to win the Restaurant of the Year award, unless there’s something you haven’t told me. And if I’d known it was going to be you, I would have brought my camera.”
Jules smiled. “Sheila, you know modesty isn’t my strong point, but I do think this is our year. Frogities has been the runner-up too many times for it not to be our turn at the podium. All the improvements we’ve made over the past year speak for themselves. Think about it—a Michelin-starred chef, the outdoor terrace, and the rave reviews by all the critics. That’s about as good as it gets.”
“You could be right,” Sheila said, thinking it over. “That new Food Spy in The Seattle Times wrote a great review of your restaurant, and she’s pretty tough to please, from what I understand. Okay, shoot. What have you got?”
Jules straightened his face, and glanced at himself in the rear view mirror. “I thought I’d start off with something like… ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m speechless with surprise. Please, allow me a moment…’ And then, I’ll bow my head and sniff, like I’m all choked up.”
Sheila chuckled. “You’re such a drama king, Jules. They’ll see right through it, but do go on.”
Jules glared at her. “Then, I’ll say I’m honored and humbled to have been chosen from such an esteemed shortlist. Oh, and of course I’ll compliment the losers for being so wonderful.”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “It’s going to kill you to have to say nice things about Le Bijou Bistro. I mean, you might choke on your words, and that would be pretty embarrassing.”
“Funny,” Jules said as he turned the car onto the Seattle waterfront. “They’ll know it’s all baloney, of course, but everyone will smile and nod and play along. Le Bijou Bistro gave Frogities a shout-out last year when it won the category, even though Frogities is their main competitor.”
“I’d say more of an arch-enemy.” Sheila paused as the car slowed down for the line of traffic that was using valet parking at the luxury Edgewater Hotel. “Still, it was the least Bertrand from Le Bijou Bistro could do, since he must have known how close it was. I hope he’s as gracious a loser as you were last year, when your name’s announced as the winner.”
Jules’ jaw tightened. He didn’t like being reminded of his humiliation the previous year. He’d been so certain he’d be taking home the Restaurant of the Year plaque engraved with Frogities’ name on it, he’d jumped up when the winner of the award was announced, not realizing for a moment that it wasn’t him. He’d been very quick thinking when he’d corrected the mistake by giving Bertrand Christolhomme a standing ovation when his nemesis had walked up to the stage. How Jules had contained the rage that consumed him that night, he’d never know. Despite his smiles for the cameras, inside he was plotting revenge. And tonight, his moment would come.
“Good evening, sir,” the valet said, greeting him through the open car window. Jules opened his car door and handed the keys to the valet as he stepped out of the car. He linked his arm through Sheila’s and smiled at his peers as they entered the lobby of the hotel, only too aware of what a striking couple he and his wife made. Jules always wanted to be the center of attention, and to be ignored was one of his pet peeves.
Once inside the hotel, they made their way to the cocktail reception in The Olympic Room, named for its commanding view of the mountain range in the distance.
“Be nice,” Sheila hissed at him through gritted teeth, as she lifted a glass of champagne.
“I am,” Jules hissed back. “Stop smiling like that. It looks like your grin is painted on.”
Sipping champagne and mingling with the other restaurant owners who he privately considered to be beneath him didn’t require much effort on his part. His superiority complex told him they were lucky he’d even talked to them.
“Smug alert,” Sheila whispered, when they were alone for a moment.
Jules looked around, surprised. “Where?”
She sighed in an exaggerated manner. “You, Jules. You are being a pain in the you-know-what. Please try and remember not everyone thinks you’re as wonderful as you do. Have the class to show at least a little modesty.”
Jules shrugged. “I see no reason to hide my light under a bush, or whatever the saying is. These people will soon be witnessing history in the making. Tonight may be the first award for Frogities, but it won’t be the last. And that’s a promise.”
“What is?” A slim man with a mustache said as he stepped up beside them. “Sheila, my dear. May I say how ravishing you look tonight?”
Sheila raised her glass to the man and smiled.
Jules eyed him with disdain. “Ah, Bertrand,” he smirked. “I was just saying to Sheila that this evening will be a night we won’t forget for a long time. I see you’re sweating. I’m not surprised. I would be too, if I were you.”
Bertrand wiped his brow. “I see you’re as charming as ever, Jules. It’s just as well I’m so good-natured, or I might take offense. There’s nothing keeping me awake at night, except perhaps the pending visit from The Food Spy next Wednesday, but you, on the other hand, look as though you could do with a good eight hours of sleep.”
Sheila giggled behind her glass, only looking away when Jules stared her down.
“How nice of The Food Spy to warn you she’s coming. I guess you need all the advance notice you can get. She loved Frogities, of course. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t fault it.”
Murder at Le Bijou Bistro: Northwest Cozy Mystery Series (Northwest Cozy Mysteries Book 5) Page 6
