“How do those two differ?” Sarah whispered to Grace.
Chef Marcus’s next sentence made it seem like he had overheard her. “Southwind’s Civic Center contract was only for a year. With new leadership coming in, the board is bound to rebid the contract. Even if we don’t win it again, we want people to associate Southwind and our catering efforts with quality. That’s why it’s important the Southwind booth, displays, and samplings tied to the Food Expo go well, but we also have to keep the workers and board members satisfied behind the scenes.”
Jane nodded fiercely beside Chef Marcus.
He ignored her. “Unfortunately, I got a text from Emily that she’s tied up at the police station. Because we don’t know how long she’ll be, we’re going to have to divide up her responsibilities, too.”
Jane immediately stepped in front of Chef Marcus. “I can supervise the Civic Center staff table and take over supervision of the exhibition area.”
“Oh, no,” Grace said so softly only Sarah heard her.
From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Grace relax when Marcus responded. “Thank you, but that’s too much to ask of one person. If you stick to making people happy at your Southwind exhibition table and doing a bang-up job during your food presentation and the contest, that will be more than enough.”
He consulted a piece of paper he was holding. “I’ve made a list of assignments for each of you in addition to the shifts you’ll be putting in at the booth and restaurant. Grace, I’d like you to oversee the backroom staff table. Jacob and Richard, I need you to keep track of the exhibitor and volunteer boxed lunches and make sure we have enough ice and drinks on hand. I’m going to meet and greet and try to massage a few egos. Okay, all?”
“What about me?” Sarah asked. “Hopefully, Emily will be back soon, but what can I do in her place in the meantime?”
“Thank you. It’s kind of you to offer to pitch in for her, Sarah. Normally, your sister would have overseen everything to do with the Civic Center food contract.”
Involuntarily, Sarah shrank into herself as her hand went to her neck.
For the first time, Chef Marcus smiled. She couldn’t help but note he had an engaging grin that made him appear downright boyish.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her stuff. Hopefully, she’ll be back by the time the Expo opens, so why don’t you just help Grace get Emily’s display area set up.”
Sarah wished Chef Marcus’s list could tell her how to help her sister. Now that Peter had matched Emily’s fingerprints to those on the fork, it was going to be harder than ever to make him look for another suspect. Her stomach was flip-flopping at the thought of investigating without her twin’s help, but she knew she had no other choice.
She missed the next direction Chef Marcus gave, but he caught her attention when he turned back to her. “It also would be great if you’d try to contact Emily and find out if there is any specific prep or shopping she needs done for her personal demonstration and contest entry.”
“Sure, but we might need a plan B.” Sarah carefully avoided hinting at Emily being arrested and unable to return, but it didn’t matter.
Chef Marcus had moved on to something else.
“Don’t worry about plan B yet,” Grace whispered. “You called Harlan. He’ll have her back in plenty of time for the exhibition. He’s fantastic. In the meantime, let’s see if we can figure out what’s still needed for Emily’s booth.”
Sarah nodded, but she didn’t feel Grace’s confidence.
Chapter Twelve
Standing with Grace in front of the Southwind booth, Sarah couldn’t believe the shambles it was in. It was a direct contrast to the back room where Marcus had held his meeting and to the two rows of booths in the exhibition hall that sat behind the Southwind row. In those areas, almost everyone had gone home for the night.
Sarah stepped back to get a better view of the three companies sharing the first row. People still were working in the single stalls housing the Vino Shoppe and Kathy’s Cookies, which adjoined either side of Southwind’s three-section booth. Both booths appeared well on the way to being ready in time for the opening of the Expo.
The same thing couldn’t be said about the space under the Southwind banner. A good dent had been made in cleaning and setting up the two outer sections, but the center area was a disaster. Torn crime-scene tape flapped and a mound of obviously soiled tablecloths had been dumped on the booth’s center table.
“This is Emily’s part of the booth.” Grace pointed toward the untouched middle. “Between being gone today and concentrating on the Holt dinner, she didn’t get much done. And when she was here, I don’t think she was eager to be in this room.”
“I can understand why,” Sarah said. “Doesn’t it creep you out to be standing near the place Emily tried to resuscitate Bill?”
Grace shook her head and started toward the end of the row. Staying put, Sarah shuddered and averted her gaze from what she imagined was a stain on the carpet. Instead, she focused on the long tables used to divide the Southwind booth into three distinct stations.
The back of each of the three squared-off sections was set up with a microwave, large convection toaster oven, mini-refrigerator, and two-burner cooktop. Although she thought the tables made three separate squares, she realized, as she followed Grace through an entrance at the far end of the booth, that a slight opening had been left between the appliances and ends of the side tables so one could easily get from section to section of the booth without having to leave Southwind’s designated area.
Sarah stopped in the middle of Emily’s tables and surveyed the situation. Emily or someone apparently had wiped most of the fingerprint powder off her microwave, large convection toaster oven, and two-burner mini-stove, but the rest of Emily’s area made Sarah want to turn and run. She looked at Grace. “Where do we start?”
“Right here.” Grace pulled a box from under one of Emily’s side tables. Grace opened the box and removed a stack of clean tablecloths. She handed them to Sarah. “After I wipe the tables, you can put these on them.”
Her hands emptied, Grace scooped up the pile of dirty linens and tossed them on the floor outside the booth. She threw the other trash cluttering Emily’s tables into a nearby garbage can and reached under one of the tables for a roll of paper towels she used to wipe the tables off. Once she finished, she nodded toward the tables. “They’re ready for you.”
Sarah immediately unfolded and placed the clean tablecloths on Emily’s three tables. She smoothed the creases out of the cloths. “What else do we need to do?”
“Stockpile the serving areas and put the extra stuff out of sight under Emily’s tables.” When Sarah froze in place, Grace added, “Things like extra plastic cups and utensils. Once people start taking samples, you’ll be amazed how fast everything you put on the front table disappears.”
Sarah nodded. She’d been to enough of Emily’s food fair tables to know how people devoured free samples.
“How many forks and cups do I need to put out?”
“Cover the entire front table with those mini plastic cups. Emily plans to fill each one with a taste of crisp or spinach pie, assembly-line style, just before the guests arrive. That way, her food will taste fresh.”
“That makes sense, but what if she doesn’t get back in time? I’m not sure what to do.”
“Don’t worry. Harlan will get her back.”
“You sound like you know Harlan fairly well?”
“Well enough to trust him to spring Emily with time to spare before the Expo, but if he doesn’t, Emily and I started making her spinach pies and rhubarb crisps yesterday afternoon. We have enough spinach pies to start with, but the rest we’ll have to make from scratch. I have Emily’s recipes, but I’m going to need your help.”
“But I’m not a cook.”
“No, but you have two hands. In a kitchen, that can be important. While I’m running around doing my other duties as assigned, you can help me heat and serve
. I promise, if we have to, we’ll pull it off.”
Grace was ahead of her. She’d already thought through the scenario of Emily not being back for the Expo. Apparently, she wasn’t as confident about Emily’s immediate release as she seemed. Either her earlier bravado was an act for Sarah’s benefit or to ease both of their fears. Grace’s physical appearance might have been off-putting at first, but now Sarah found she liked this woman.
“Grace,” Sarah said, “I was wondering, is there something going on between Chef Marcus and Jane? She certainly seemed willing to do anything for him.”
“We all are. He’s a good guy.”
“He seemed pretty upset this afternoon.”
“Chef Marcus had a right to be. He’s worked hard to make Southwind a great restaurant.”
“Well, they seemed pretty friendly.”
Grace shot Sarah a look she interpreted as either quizzical or a message to back off. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. Chef Marcus is super-friendly, a real charmer and something of a flirt, but he never got between Jane and Mr. Blair.”
Sarah concentrated on smoothing a wrinkle out of the tablecloth. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. I just wondered, seeing them together earlier, if they are good friends like Emily and you seem to be.”
“I guess.” Grace picked up an empty box marked NAPKINS.
Before Grace could move away from her, Sarah hurried to ask another question. “What about Richard and Jacob? Do you think either one of them might have cut the cord on the refrigerator?”
Grace leaned closer to Sarah and dropped her voice. “I can’t think of why they would. Jacob is too goody-goody and it wouldn’t be in Richard’s best interest, but it might have been one of Richard’s friends.”
Sarah waited, hoping Grace would continue.
“Richard got in with a rough crowd in high school. After a few of them were arrested, he settled down and ended up in culinary school. He’s willing to work, but I can’t say that for all of his friends.”
Her interest piqued, Sarah started to follow up with her line of questioning, but Grace cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Speaking of working, why don’t you clean the fingerprint powder off the display holder and set it up on the corner between the front and side tables while I go get the samples of Emily’s rhubarb crisp and spinach pie I was able to save last night.”
Sarah followed the direction of Grace’s finger to where a dusty fixture with shelves lay partially hidden under a table. “What? I thought the police took all of Emily’s rhubarb crisps. Did you hide some?”
Grace laughed. “They took the real rhubarb crisps. That’s why either she or the two of us are going to have to remake them for the Expo. What I’m talking about is a plastic mock-up Emily made and painted. It looks real but, believe me, if Mr. Blair got a mouthful of it, he might have puked, but it wouldn’t have killed him. Don’t worry. By the time you finish helping Emily or me, you’ll be a kitchen pro.”
Sarah doubted that, but as she dutifully set up the display while Grace went to get the mock-ups, she stared at the sign’s printed words promising spinach pie and rhubarb crisp. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Instead, she prayed for Emily to be back soon.
Chapter Thirteen
At eight a.m. on Friday, Sarah unlocked the front door to Harlan’s office and punched in the alarm code. She worked her way from the front door through the first floor of the old house, flipping the light switches on as she went. In his private office, she dropped the cheese and apple pastries she’d picked up on her way to work and the newspaper she’d retrieved from the lawn onto his desk.
Next, she brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Eight thirty still was too early for Harlan to be in, but she wanted everything purring smoothly when he arrived at nine. Not many bosses were as kind, understanding, and generous as Harlan had been since Wednesday night. Between rescheduled appointments and a motion docket at the courthouse, today was going to be busy.
She felt guilty over how much time Emily and she had taken away from Harlan’s paying law practice and his sleep. From when she woke him two nights ago to meet Emily at the station, Harlan had been a prince. Most lawyers working pro bono would have run as fast as they could in the opposite direction once their client was released. Instead, Harlan went back to the police station with Emily for her statement, sat with Sarah to hear Jane’s RahRah and jewelry accusations, and stayed with Emily while Peter questioned her most of last night.
If Sarah got anywhere near the stack of spinach pies and rhubarb crisp casseroles she bet Emily was madly making since she left the station house, she gladly would put her hand on one to swear she’d never again tell a lawyer joke. Coming to the office early today was the least Sarah believed she could do in exchange for getting a reprieve from having to cook or be involved in a food presentation.
Sarah had finished typing the last of the backlog of letters Harlan had dictated when she heard his key in the back door. A moment later, his footsteps echoed in the back hall that led to his office.
She waited to speak until he came out of his office. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” He zeroed in on the coffeepot. “Coffee from today?”
“Absolutely. Plus, I ran by the bakeshop. On your desk is your choice of an apple or cheese pastry.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I stopped for breakfast at The Grill on my way in.” He stood in front of her desk without saying anything.
She tried not to squirm under his silent gaze. “I’ve typed and printed all of the letters you left me. I’m sorry I got behind with these.” She pushed a manila folder across her desk toward him. “Here are the ones ready for signature. I’ll print the last one and bring it to you in a moment. I also typed the e-mails and sent them to your draft folder . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized she was rambling. “Harlan, is there something wrong ?”
“Come into my office, please.”
She picked up a pen and notebook and followed him into his office, racking her brain to figure out an argument she could use to keep her job if he said her services were no longer needed. If she were in his position, between her having been behind on his correspondence, taking the long lunch hour yesterday, and bringing her personal problems to the office, she’d be inclined to let herself go. She wished she could point to her otherwise stellar performance as his secretary/receptionist, but she knew that wasn’t the case. Perhaps there was another argument? Other than the fact that she was nice to his clients and they both volunteered at the animal shelter, none came to mind. Considering Harlan managed with only a part-time typist before he hired her, she was thankful he’d tolerated her various gaffes up to this point.
She tried to push her mind into overdrive. Nothing happened. Instead of coming up with a list of good reasons he should keep her, she was ready to fire herself. If she didn’t need this job to pay her bills and put some money aside to go back to school, she probably would, out of fairness to him. To distract herself from such drastic action, she stared at the wood coat-tree in the corner of his office. His coat took one prong of the coatrack. The raffish cap she hated and he loved, probably because it shielded his bald spot, was on the second while the third was empty. For some reason, her mind fixated on what should hang on that hook, instead of how she could continue to hang around the office.
“Sarah?”
She tore herself away from the coatrack. Harlan repeated her name and gestured toward the guest chair near his desk. She sunk into the chair. She had tuned him out. Another moment of being inattentive.
Harlan sat in his high-backed leather desk chair and took a few pieces of paper out of the inner pocket of his blazer. Smoothing them out, he handed them to her.
“What’s this?” Sarah scanned the documents. “Bill’s will . . . and something about Bill and the animal trust for RahRah. Where did you get these? Did you draft them?”
“No, a Birmingham attorney did. When I was with Peter and Emily at the station last night, Peter gave me these c
opies to share with you.”
“They can’t be real!” She dropped them on his desk.
“On their face, they look pretty real to me.”
Sarah shook her head, her face screwed in utter disbelief.
“If I read this one right”—Harlan handed her a page with several signatures on it—“it purports to be a codicil executed by Bill giving Jane control of RahRah and the animal trust.” He picked up the other papers. “This other document is a will leaving his physical and personal property, wealth, and any unspecified assets to Jane.”
She glanced at the paper without reading it. “There must be some mistake. Bill wouldn’t leave everything to one of his flings.”
“It seems Jane was more than a fling.” Harlan gently took the page back from her and dropped it and the other pages on his desk. He put his hands together, prayer-point style. “Jane claims they were planning a wedding and, well, when Bill talked to me about the zoning question, he seemed to indicate he was expecting to make more changes in his life than simply remodeling the big house.”
Sarah leaned forward and reached for the pile of papers. She flipped through them again, noting some of the pages Peter had given Harlan were typed, but some were handwritten. “I can’t believe this. Surely these are fakes. Besides, you’ve always said handwritten wills don’t fly in Alabama.”
Harlan shrugged. “There is one exception and this may meet it.”
“But Bill wasn’t an exception guy. He wasn’t particularly exceptional, either.” Noting the look Harlan shot her, Sarah pressed her lips together. She walked to the window and looked out. “As I found out during our divorce, his business dealings might have been just this side of shady, but they were drafted in a foolproof manner. Bill Blair would never have left anything in a state it could be challenged.”
Harlan took the papers back from her and dropped them on his desk. “Well”—he tapped the stack of documents with his hand—“from the face of these, I don’t think you knew him as well as you thought.”
One Taste Too Many Page 6
