by Hillary Avis
She raised her head. “Speaking of Hosanna Street, have you asked around about the arson? Does anyone know anything about it?”
“It’s been so busy...”
“You haven’t even asked?!”
“Of course I did—I said I would.” He looked slightly miffed, and Bethany felt a twinge of guilt for assuming the worst. “I had one of the assistants ask around. He said someone saw a creepy old guy lurking around there on Sunday.”
“Was it George Washington?”
Todd shrugged. “They didn’t ask his name. They just noticed he seemed interested in her house. Kept looking over there.”
Bethany rolled her eyes. “He lives next door. Where is he supposed to look? Any direction he looks, he’s staring at someone’s house.”
Todd put up his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m not accusing the guy of anything. I wasn’t even there. I’ve been way too busy planning the gala to play detective. This is just what someone saw, and you wanted to know about it. Don’t shoot the messenger!”
The door to Todd’s office swung open and Don Hefferman stuck his head in. “Hey! If it isn’t Ms. Bradstreet. Sylvia said you were here. Todd’s been telling me how great you are, and I can’t wait to finally taste for myself.”
“Don.” Todd nodded at him.
Bethany stuck out her hand, hoping the last of the tears had dried on her cheeks. “Good to see you. Hope you like clams.”
“Boy, do I. I’ve got a real thing for seafood.” Don shook her hand firmly. “What else is on the menu tonight? No, wait, don’t tell me. Surprise me along with the rest of the crowd.”
She chuckled. “Will do. I’m sure you’ll want to talk with everyone there, so stop by the table early, before the food’s all gone! Actually, speaking of talking to everyone, have you heard anything about the arson on Hosanna Street? I mean, heard any rumors when you’ve been around the neighborhood or whatever?”
Todd shifted uncomfortably, and Don’s broad smile faded a bit.
“Oh, well, I’m not really a man-on-the-street type. I leave that to this guy here.” He clapped Todd on the back. “I’m just the bank account. Frankly, I haven’t heard about any arson. What’s she talking about?” He looked at Todd, who seemed to be very interested in rearranging items on his desk.
“Nothing to worry about, Don. Nothing to do with the condo project, just an idle question. A friend of Bethany’s has a little personal situation, that’s all.”
“Not exactly nothing to do with it!” she blurted out. “It’s the whole reason the project was approved!”
“Not the whole reason, Bethy.” Todd used a tone of voice usually reserved for kindergarteners. “We had layers of approval, permits, planning. This project was going to happen now or six months from now, but it was going to happen. The arson—the fire—just cleared the last hurdle. But we would have gotten there anyway.”
“Not with his money, though.” Bethany pointed at Don, who clutched his chest as though she’d pointed a gun and fired. He sat down heavily in a chair. “He would have walked away if Amara’s house hadn’t been burned to the ground.”
Todd whirled to face Don. “She’s just blowing off steam. Don’t pay any attention.”
Don shook his head. “Is this true, Todd? Did the church redevelopment get pushed through because someone’s home was destroyed?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t change anything about our partnership. One way or another, I’m confident we’d have built the Hosanna Street condos.” He smiled, whitened teeth flashing, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m not so sure,” Don muttered, his head bowed.
“Doesn’t matter now, does it? Everything’s good. We’re moving forward!” Todd’s voice was too jovial, almost pleading, and Bethany cringed internally. “It’s going to be Newbridge’s first luxury development. The waiting list for condos will be a mile long.”
Don raised one hand to stop Todd’s rambling, the other still clutching his chest. “I was sure you would miss the deadline—so sure that I made a major investment in another business. I can’t back out of either one now. I won’t BS you, Todd—we’re stretched very thin here. This condo project can’t go a cent over budget, or we’re all screwed. Bad press, bad reputation, the tiniest thing could send this development into the toilet.”
“I hear you. Roger that. We’ll run a tight operation. No overages, scout’s honor.”
Like Todd was ever a Boy Scout. She snorted, and then coughed to cover up the noise.
Don stood and it seemed to Bethany that he’d aged five years since he’d entered the office. His shoulders slumped and the lines on his forehead had deepened. “It’s more than the budget. You better clean up this arson situation before it gets out of hand. If even one person”—he motioned to Bethany—“thinks there’s some truth to this thing, we might as well dissolve our partnership now.”
Bethany opened her mouth to say that there was truth to it, but Todd shot her such a stormy look that she didn’t dare say a word until he’d ushered Don out of the office with apologies and soothing promises. He returned like a hurricane, slamming the door behind him so hard that it rattled the window.
“What the heck, Bethany?! Why’d you have to ask him about that?”
She sighed. “I just wondered what he knew. Aren’t you curious?”
Todd raked his hand through his hair so it stuck straight up in wild spikes. “No, I’m not, because he doesn’t know anything. He’s just the money guy, my meal ticket—and I shouldn’t have to remind you that he’s your meal ticket, too!”
“I thought he already knew about the connection. Everyone knows about the arson.”
“There’s no connection! It was just a terrible coincidence that has turned into a terrible rumor. And now you’ve weakened my relationship with my sole investor by spreading it around.” Todd sat down at his desk and stared up at the ceiling, blinking furiously, and she realized that he was trying not to cry.
She shrugged. “If it’s just a coincidence, then I’m sure things will be fine with Don.”
Todd pounded on the desk like a toddler about to lay down an adult-size tantrum. “No, things won’t be ‘fine with Don.’” He mimicked her in an ugly, saccharine voice. “Don will be suspicious of any changes to the condo project now. He’ll be scrutinizing every cent. He might even bail on the whole thing! You know, it’s one thing for you to sabotage your own career, and it’s another thing when you try to sabotage mine!”
She leaned forward across the desk until their faces were inches apart. “For your information, I don’t have a career now. I got fired because I agreed to cater your stupid party. So if we’re going to talk about sabotage, you better look in the mirror! You’re the one who coerced me to take a gig under false pretenses!”
He gasped. “What are you talking about? Since when was the biggest opportunity of your life a false pretense?”
“Don isn’t going to invest in a restaurant! He doesn’t have the money. He said himself he’s stretched paper thin just with his current investments. I jeopardized my job because I thought this could be my big break, but you were just using me to get cheap catering for your event.”
“It’s not that cheap.” Todd jutted out his chin. “I had no idea Don had already committed to another project. Anyway, you didn’t know he was tapped out until after you brought up the arson, so you have no excuse for the way you tried to ruin me!”
Bethany’s mouth fell open. “So you think I’d be justified in trying to ruin you if it was for revenge? What kind of person are you?!” The kind of person who would set someone’s home on fire for personal gain? His reluctance to even casually investigate the fire, his extreme reaction to her questions for Don...why was he acting so strange? She put her hands on her hips, daring him to avoid the question. “Where were you on Sunday evening?”
He gazed sullenly at the floor. “Why does it matter?”
“You know why.”
“Because you think I did it? You thin
k I burned down Kimmy’s childhood home?” He pressed his lips together and avoided eye contact, his arms crossed tightly. “If that’s what you think of me, we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”
Her stomach knotted, not because he was breaking up with her, but because he’d used their relationship to artfully dodge the question. “Where were you on Sunday evening?” she repeated calmly.
“I didn’t set that house on fire.”
Her heart sank. “But you were there, weren’t you?”
He stood up abruptly and walked to the window, staring out at the Hosanna Street church steeple in the distance and gnawing on his lip. “Fine. Yes, I went to Amara’s house on Sunday to ask if she’d come to the city council meeting the next day to speak in favor of the condo development. She was one of our biggest allies in the neighborhood and my last hope for getting the project approved. But her house wasn’t on fire when I left.”
“Anyone see you leave? Forgive me for not taking your word for it,” she said sourly.
“Besides Amara herself? I don’t know. Wait, the creepy old neighbor guy I was talking about!”
“So it was you who saw him, not some nameless employee?” Another lie...they were piling up.
He nodded. “He was trying to push his lawnmower into a shed, but it was getting hung up on something. I helped him move it inside. I remember because I got gasoline or oil or something on my shoes and had to have them cleaned. The old guy didn’t even offer to pay for it.”
If she hadn’t smelled the gasoline herself on Monday night, she wouldn’t have believed him. But she remembered the sharp smell clearly. He must have had a reason for helping George, an ulterior motive—maybe he wanted an alibi?
“Since when are you the type to lend a hand to anyone if you aren’t getting something out of it?”
Todd’s face crumpled. “I’m just trying to build goodwill, that’s all. You have to understand, on Sunday night I was pretty sure the development wouldn’t be approved at the city council meeting, and I was worried Don was going to bail on the deal once we missed the deadline. I thought it couldn’t hurt if another Hosanna Street neighbor had a good opinion of me, OK? Like maybe the guy would put in a good word, too. Is that so horrible?”
He looked so pitiful that she felt the teensiest bit bad for being so hard with him. Not bad enough to keep dating him, though. “It’s a little horrible. Most people would help just to be nice.”
He rubbed his face with both hands, and then slicked his wild hair back down into its usual perfect coif. “I guess I’m a little bit horrible then. Nice knowing you, Bethy. Don’t worry about the catering tonight,” he added smoothly. “I’ll pick up some deli trays from Cheapko. Don will appreciate my newfound thriftiness.”
He walked over to his office door and opened it so she could leave, revealing Shirley standing on the other side with a horrified look on her face. She’d clearly heard everything that had gone on inside the office.
“Sorry!” Shirley chirped, and scurried back down the hall toward her desk.
Todd jerked his head after her. “You can follow her out.”
You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Bethany put her hand on his arm. “Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I’m backing out of our catering agreement.” If Todd had something to hide, she wanted to know what it was—and the best place to find out was that gala. Plus, it was the only paycheck on the horizon now that she’d been fired from the Grotto.
He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “You’re not?”
She shook her head. “No, we made a verbal contract, and I’ll honor it. Anyway, I already ordered the food. What am I going to do with 1500 clams?”
“Wow, huh.” For once, Todd seemed at a loss for words. “Thanks, Bethy.”
She grinned. There was an upside to the end of the relationship—she didn’t have to put up with that dumb nickname anymore. “Don’t call me that ever again. I really hate it.”
“My bad.” Todd shrugged. “See you at the gala, I guess.”
So much enthusiasm. So much gratitude.
On her way out of the building, Bethany couldn’t help but wonder if she’d accepted his reason for the breakup too quickly. His only rationale was that she wouldn’t want to be with someone as morally bankrupt as him—which was true! But surely that would be her decision, not his. He must have a hidden reason for ending our relationship.
Not cute enough, not ambitious enough, not successful enough. She ticked off the reasons on her fingers. But he knew all that stuff about her before, and he was still planning their power-couple life together. The only thing that had changed was her curiosity about the arson.
Her phone buzzed in her purse. Mom. She hesitated a second and then sent the call to voicemail. The last person she needed to talk to on the day she lost both her job and her boyfriend was her mother, who would tell her to come home and “get back to business” earning a law degree. She just didn’t understand that cooking was Bethany’s business now.
I’ll call her back when I have a new job.
She pushed open the glass doors and stepped out into the refreshing spring afternoon. She paused for a moment, leaned up against the smooth gray marble that clad the outside of the building, and let the brisk breeze wash over her. The tension in her shoulders melted away and she was finally able to sort out her thoughts about her argument with Todd.
Something seemed...off. Breakup aside, why had he tried to hide that he was on Hosanna Street if he had nothing to do with the house fire? Especially since helping George was the perfect alibi—George would have seen him come and go. It just didn’t make sense.
Could Todd have been lying about the whole thing? What if he didn’t help George at all, and the gasoline was on his shoes because he had used it to set the fire?
But if Todd was the arsonist, why did he choose Amara’s house? Why not one of the other historic homes on the street. After all, Amara had been helping the developers, not working against them. It didn’t add up that Todd would choose her house to destroy, especially not with her asleep inside! He might be callous, but he wasn’t evil—was he?
I better talk to George again and confirm Todd’s story about the gasoline on his shoes. His version of events will prove one way or another whether Todd was involved.
She shook her head, desperate to clear the cobwebs of suspicion from her mind. What am I thinking?! Todd was a capitalist, not an arsonist. He probably broke up with her because he was tired of the smell of french fries, not because he committed a crime.
Her phone buzzed in her purse.
Mom again? Crap, it’s Kimmy. The produce had been delivered to Café Sabine. There was no more time to relax in the sun and think about the arson right now—she had a gala to cater.
Chapter 12
Wednesday
“I PUT SOME STOCK ON the back burner for you,” Kimmy said without turning her head. She focused intently on the cutting board in front of her as she minced herbs and chopped onions. “And half this veg is for you. What took you so long?”
“Thanks for the head start. I got stuck at Todd’s office.” Bethany looped a Café Sabine apron around her neck and washed her hands at the deep copper sink. She nodded hello to Amara, who was breading veal cutlets on the center island, and found a place to set up her work station.
It was always a pleasure to cook in the kitchen here. Light streamed through high, arched windows and glinted from the handmade tiles that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. It was a far cry from the plastic countertops and fluorescent lighting at the Seafood Grotto. Maybe her next job would be somewhere more like this, somewhere with character and class. “I hope I didn’t set you back for dinner service.”
“Don’t worry about it. Auntie helped me, so I’m right on schedule.”
“Kimberly made sure you had time for all your hanky-panky.” Amara stepped gracefully around Bethany to rinse her hands in the sink, her nose in the air.
Bethany grit her teeth so she wouldn’t sa
y something she’d regret. “Actually, it took so long because he broke up with me.”
Kimmy gasped. Her knife clattered onto the cutting board as she turned around to face Bethany. “He didn’t!”
“I warned you those party pants wouldn’t keep a man,” Amara said, as she dried her hands on a linen towel. “I know these things.”
“Guess you were right.” Bethany smiled thinly.
Kimmy shot Amara a warning look. “Auntie, be nice. Does this mean you aren’t catering tonight?”
“That’s why the conversation took forever. He was afraid to break up with me because he thought I might bail on the gala. I finally told him that I’d cook for it no matter what, and then he ended things.”
“What?! You should totally bail! He can’t treat you like that and still expect you to cook your heart out for his stupid party.” Kimmy crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter.
Bethany sighed. “It’s tempting, but I really need the gig. I maybe sort of got fired this morning.” She mumbled the last few words to the checkered tile floor.
Kimmy jolted upright, flung her arms around Bethany, and squeezed. “Oh, honey.” Bethany felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she took a deep breath and shook off the self-pity. There was no time for that.
Amara clucked her tongue. “You girls better get cooking, then. This affair won’t cater itself.”
“Right again,” Bethany muttered. Why does she always have to be right?!
Kimmy turned back to her cutting board, and Bethany took a cart and headed for the walk-in cooler, where she retrieved a box of corn on the cob, tiny plump tomatoes and zucchini for the veggie skewers, and lemons and cucumbers to put in the refreshing drink she’d planned. As an afterthought, she grabbed a bunch of basil and another of mint.
She tasked Amara with peeling and slicing the cucumbers and lemons for the water while she made the vegetable skewers. The kitchen settled into the comfortable rhythm of slice and chop until Kimmy broke the quiet.
