The Complete Death Du Jour Mystery Collection

by Hillary Avis

  “I swear, people will do anything to be on TV,” Bethany said to Olive under her breath.

  “The show is putting up the prize money,” Olive said in a low voice. “A big pot, too—a hundred grand.”

  “A hundred grand?!” Bethany blurted out. She realized her voice was too loud when several people turned their heads toward her, so she lowered her voice. “A hundred grand?! That’s so much. I thought the show was just going to donate to the restoration fund.”

  “They’re doing that, too.” Olive nodded. “It’s a national program—they can afford it. Have you seen an episode? The prize money makes some competitors really cutthroat.”

  Bethany shook her head and was about to comment when Ben cleared his throat.

  “I just got a call that two of our judges, Mayor Strauss and Judge Gallagher, won’t be joining us today. They’re having a debate for the upcoming mayoral election. For the purposes of this meeting, I’ll stand in for Mayor Strauss and act as the master of ceremonies, and Ned here”—he pointed at Ned, who raised a hand—“will stand in for Judge Gallagher and explain the rules. The Tenderizer will provide the culinary expertise and color commentary.”

  “And a smackdown to anyone who needs it!” Chuck added. The group chuckled politely. Bethany winced—she hoped he didn’t decide that she was one of the people who needed a smackdown.

  Ben grinned. “So, a little bit about the format of the competition. You will cook your best chili and present it to the judges in Waterfront Park on Sunday morning. The three judges will taste and score each chili to determine a winner, who will receive the generous prize put up by the Ultimate Freakin’ Cook-off. This contest is a fundraiser for the historic restoration, so we’re selling tickets to the public. They’ll taste and score your chili as well! The winner of the popular vote will also receive a prize—a food feature in the Newbridge Community Observer.”

  He motioned to the back of the room. Bethany turned and saw Milo Armstrong stand and give the room a polite wave. Milo was the restaurant critic for the local paper and his food features had launched more than one culinary career. He made eye contact with Bethany and grinned. She blushed—she’d promised him a date after he wrote a very complimentary feature about her soup kiosk a few weeks ago, but they still hadn’t made plans.

  Olive raised her hand. “What if the people vote for the same chili that the judges pick?”

  Bethany raised her eyebrows. Olive must be pretty confident about Garrett’s cooking ability if she thinks he might win both.

  “Good question.” Ben nodded. “If the judges and the public agree, one chef will win both prizes. Chuck, how often does that happen on your show?”

  “I don’t know—I’m not the freakin’ accountant!” Chuck laughed loudly and clapped Ned on the back. “Ask this little guy. He keeps track of that stuff.”

  “It happens about half the time,” Ned said quietly, adjusting his glasses.

  Ben motioned Ned to the front. “Why don’t you come on up and fill us in on the rules now? Pretend he’s Judge Gallagher, folks.”

  Ned uncapped his bottle of water and took a swig, and then fumbled through his pile of belongings to find a book and a stack of papers. He walked swiftly around the circle of benches, handing a sheet to each contestant. Then, clutching the book, he stood before them, staring at it.

  Poor guy—he’s nervous.

  “Um...as you can see in the first paragraph...”

  “Boo!” Chuck heckled. “Boring! Liven it up!”

  Ned flushed and set his jaw. “As you can see in the first paragraph, this cook-off isn’t too heavy on the rules. We just ask that you prepare the chili yourself, using the ingredients of your choice. You’ll have time at the event for some finishing touches. No side dishes are permitted.”

  Bethany raised her hand, and Ned nodded to her. “Are there any rules about beans versus meat or whatever? I know some people have strong feelings about that.”

  Olive chuckled beside her, and a few other people did, too.

  Ned shook his head. “Nope. If it looks like chili, smells like chili, and tastes like chili, we’re calling it chili. We want you to make your version of this classic dish with as much personality and originality as possible. Really try to set yourself apart from the other chefs.” His eyes gleamed, and for the first time, Bethany got a sense that he wasn’t just a production assistant—he had a real interest in food.

  “Any other questions?”

  Chuck raised his hand. “Yeah, Teach. When are we getting to the fun part?”

  Ned rolled his eyes. “Anyone else?”

  No one raised their hand, and he shrugged. “Everything’s on the sheet. If you think of anything that’s not covered there, I have the rulebook. I can look up any fine details you have questions about. Oh yeah—punctuality is a must for TV production. Come early, stay until the end, and don’t wear loud prints!”

  He sat back down, and everyone clapped politely. Ben stood and resumed his place, smiling benevolently at the group.

  “He’s sure in a good mood,” Bethany murmured to Olive.

  Olive nodded. “This renovation has been his dream for a long time. I’m glad it’s happening now, before he retires.”

  Ben waved Milo up to the front. “We’re going to have a round robin now. Milo will ask some questions for the feature he’s writing up in the Sunday morning paper about the cook-off. This is what’s going to get people to come out and buy tickets, folks! So give it all you got.”

  Milo stood with his notebook in front of the crowd for a moment, then spotted a stool nearby and dragged it over and perched on it with his feet on the bottom rungs. “Here we go!” he said cheerfully. “I’d love to get a sense of your personalities for this piece. Why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves and maybe talk a little bit about our culinary points of view? Mr. Bolton, you, too, since you’re also a chef. Go ahead and grab some refreshments while you wait your turn.”

  “I’ll go first, then!” Chuck said. “Ned, are you getting this?”

  Ned picked up the camera and circled around behind Milo so he could film Chuck. “Ready.”

  Chuck slammed his fist into his palm in what Bethany could only assume was his signature move. “I’m Chuck ‘The Tenderizer’ Bolton. I cracked heads when I was a pro wrestler, but now I crack eggs as a chef on America’s favorite food program, the Ultimate Freakin’ Cook-off. I travel around the nation watching you pound your opponents into the ground in the meanest, the nastiest, the bloodiest cooking battles this country has ever seen!”

  He stood there, breathing hard until Ned lowered the camera, and then relaxed and plopped back down on his bench.

  “Wow.” Milo scribbled some notes, wearing an expression that was equally bewildered and bemused. “You’re giving me a lot to work with.”

  Bethany snorted, and Milo looked up at her. “Why don’t you go next?”

  Busted.

  “I’m Bethany,” she began, but stopped short when Ned waved at her frantically.

  “Stand up, stand up!” he said, sweat glistening on his forehead. “You’re on camera. Look alive!”

  Bethany grudgingly got to her feet, glad that Chuck’s earlier ambush had made her think a little bit about what she wanted to say. “I’m Bethany Bradstreet. I have a soup kiosk here in Newbridge Station, and I love using in-season ingredients to make my soups du jour. I entered the contest because chili is a soup—it’s a natural fit!”

  “No it’s not,” Garrett said dourly from the bench beside her.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere!” Chuck said, slapping his hands together. “A little competition in the house! Are you getting this, Ned?”

  Ned moved closer to their bench and aimed his camera lens at Garrett. “What’d you say, Mr. Underwood?”

  “I said,” Garrett enunciated, “that chili is not a soup.”

  “Well, what’s a soup?” Bethany shrugged. “Liquid with stuff in it that you eat with a spoon. So chili really is a type of s
oup. I serve it at Souperb, and nobody complains.”

  “No accounting for taste.”

  Olive frowned at him. “Don’t be severe, dear.”

  “Why don’t we move on to another contestant?” Milo suggested. “Mr. Vadecki?”

  “Alex Vadecki.” Alex stood up and Bethany couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Her ex-boss was dressed like an extra in a mobster movie, with his hair greased back and a black leather trench coat swallowing his frame. His eyes bulged out as though his loud necktie were tied a little too tight. “I run a chain of seafood restaurants called the Seafood Grotto. Stop by sometime and have yourself the best fish and chips on the eastern seaboard!”

  “Stop, stop.” Ned leaned to the side of the camera so he could see Alex. “You can’t plug your restaurant on the show. We’ll mention it in your bio reel, but don’t talk about it in the interviews. People don’t want to watch an hour-long commercial.”

  Alex pointed indignantly at Bethany. “She did, though! She talked about her soup kiosk!”

  “She didn’t mention the name or tell viewers to visit. Let’s shoot that again.” Ned wiped his brow and put his eye back to the camera’s viewfinder.

  And I didn’t lie about my kiosk being a chain, either. Bethany wanted to call him out on the exaggeration, but with a newspaper reporter and a TV camera in the room, she decided not to risk the bad press.

  Alex leaned toward the camera lens and stared straight at it. “I said what I meant, and I’m not changing it for you. Edit it out if you don’t like it.” He sat back down on the bench and crossed his arms.

  “This is getting good!” Chuck crowed from the food table. He ladled himself a bowl of soup and stuck a couple of breadsticks in the top. “Keep that camera rolling!”

  “Who’s next?” Milo asked, tapping his notebook with his pen.

  “Enough with the taking of the turns. We are all adults here.” Monsieur Adrian stood, brushing breadcrumbs from the front of his chef’s coat. “I’m Monsieur Adrian, I own a French restaurant, and I’m the best chef in this town. I entered for honor, because without me, this is no competition at all.” He resumed his seat.

  Chuck Bolton put down his soup and gave him a slow clap. “Way to throw it down, Frenchy! I like your style!”

  “Can we take a break for minute?” Ned asked, his shoulder sagging under the weight of the camera.

  “Breaks are for wimps! Stick it out, Nedster.” Bolton shifted on his bench so he could put his feet up on it. “This is your job.”

  “We’ve only got a couple more contestants to cover,” Milo said apologetically. “Think you can manage?”

  Ned nodded tersely and repositioned the camera, but Bethany could tell he was struggling to keep it together.

  Olive must have noticed, too. “I wonder if he needs to visit the little boys’ room?” she whispered. Next to her, Garrett stood up.

  “Garrett Underwood here. Everyone thinks my wife’s the cook in this family, but I’m not so shabby myself. I like things the way they’re supposed to be.” He sat back down.

  “What do you mean by that?” Milo asked, and Ned moved closer to Garrett to capture his response.

  Garrett shooed the camera away like a pesky fly. “I mean that chili should taste like it did when you were a kid, cooking it over a campfire. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. That’s my ‘culinary point of view,’ as you’d put it.” He didn’t sound like he held much stock in culinary points of view, but Bethany noticed Olive beaming with pride.

  No one can doubt they love each other.

  “Last, but not least!” Milo looked in her direction, and at first Bethany thought he was staring at her, but then she realized he was indicating the person behind her. She turned and saw someone she recognized—Clementine, one of the cooks behind a local eatery called Toast with the Most. She was a slight, pale woman with freckles and blonde hair fixed in two braids, like Heidi of the Alps.

  “I didn’t know she could cook,” Bethany said under her breath to Olive. “Don’t they just put stuff on bread?”

  Olive giggled. “Toast, dear. And toasting is technically cooking, isn’t it?”

  Bethany made a face. “If we’re going to get technical, baking the bread is cooking. Toasting is just warming.”

  “Well, they get their bread from me, so I’m not complaining.” Olive winked at her.

  Clementine awkwardly got to her feet and stood twisting her hands. “I’m Clementine Gourd,” she began softly.

  “Amp it up!” Chuck called.

  Ned rubbed his throat, turning slightly green. “If you could just speak up a bit? That’d be helpful.”

  “OK.” She flushed, looking down at her hands. “I’m Clementine Gourd, but my friends call me Clem. I’m a vegan chef here in Newbridge, but usually I work as part of a collective. This is the first time I’ve done anything on my own. I guess I want to give chili an update for this century—take out all the garbage and replace it with ethical, healthy foods. Sorry,” she added, looking at Garrett.

  “Go ahead. You’re digging your own grave,” he muttered, his mustache twitching.

  Olive smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Be nice. She’s young.”

  Clementine flushed, her lower lip trembling. “I think the judges will like it. Or I hope so.”

  “I’ll be sure and let you know!” Chuck laughed loudly from across the room. “That’s my job—telling it how it is.”

  “Thanks, Clem.” Milo smiled broadly at Clementine, and Bethany felt a tiny ping of jealousy. But his attention didn’t linger long. He turned to Chuck. “What do you think of our contestants here in Newbridge, Mr. Bolton?”

  Chuck stood up and scanned the room, hands on his hips. Then he faced the camera directly. “Not too bad for a little town like this, but everyone needs to step it way up for the competition on Sunday. Bring your A-game, bring your championship attitude, bring your big guns to the battle! No more excuses. And no more apologies!” He glared at Clementine and slammed his fist into his palm for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning.

  “I’m sorry, but—” Ned said faintly, as he set the camera down on a bench.

  “No apologies!” Chuck yelled at him, his voice echoing up to the cavernous ceiling of the concourse.

  Ned clutched his throat and crumpled to the floor.

  Chapter 2

  MILO LEAPED OVER A bench toward Ned, but Chuck got there first, straddling Ned’s prone form. He slapped Ned hard across the cheek. “Wake up! C’mon, get with it!”

  “He needs an ambulance,” Milo said urgently.

  Ben already had his phone out and was dialing. “I’m on it.” He turned away with the phone to his ear and began speaking with the operator.

  “Turn him on his side,” Milo directed Chuck, who for once seemed at a loss for words and did as instructed. “Make sure there are no obstructions.”

  “You want me to stick my finger in his mouth?” Chuck winced. “No thanks.”

  Why did Ned collapse so suddenly? Epilepsy, maybe?

  Bethany stood so she could get a better view of what was going on, but Olive held her arm and shook her head. “Don’t get in the way. They’ll handle it.”

  Bethany frowned. She called to Chuck, “Is he allergic to anything? Or does he have any special conditions?”

  Chuck snorted. “Not unless you call being a featherweight a special condition.”

  All heads in the room swiveled toward Chuck. Even Alex looked disgusted. “Look at him, man! You don’t need to cut him down—he’s already down.”

  Chuck got to his feet, his face red and his fists clenched as he strode toward Alex.

  “Settle down, everyone.” Milo’s calm voice carried across the room. “This is about Ned getting the help he needs.”

  Just then, the front doors of the station flew open and two paramedics rushed in with their equipment. They quickly assessed Ned. Bethany couldn’t see what they were doing, but after a few short moments, they lifted him onto a gurney a
nd made a mad dash back toward their waiting ambulance outside. Ben hurried after them.

  “He’s probably worried about his insurance liability,” Chuck said, chuckling.

  Milo looked at him in disbelief. “Ned was barely breathing. Have a little respect, why don’t you?”

  Chuck rolled his eyes. “Just trying to lighten the mood.” He picked up the camera Ned had left on the bench. “Ned probably just didn’t want to haul all this crap back to the hotel. Guess I’m the grunt today.”

  Why would he say something like that? “You think he was faking it to get out of work?” Bethany asked.

  Chuck snorted. “Wouldn’t put it past him. The guy’s too quiet. You never know what he’s up to.”

  Monsieur Adrian stood abruptly. “Are we finished with this thing? I have work to do.”

  “We all do,” Alex said sharply, and Garrett grunted his agreement. Monsieur Adrian glanced at his watch, but he sat back down in his seat.

  Clementine had gone even paler than usual and wrung her hands. “I don’t feel well. Maybe entering this contest was a mistake.”

  “Can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. There’s the door, honey.” Chuck pointed to the front doors where Ben was just returning from the ambulance. Clementine’s lower lip trembled as she gathered her purse and started to leave.

  Bethany shook her head and glared around the room. “Don’t any of you care what happened? Ned collapsed right in front of us, and you’re all acting like it doesn’t even matter? Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

  “I am,” Milo said quietly, coming to stand beside her. “What do you think happened?”

  She checked out the pile of equipment Ned had left behind that Chuck was now manhandling into a large duffel. “Well, it could have been something medical, like a seizure.”

  “Or something he ate,” Alex said pointedly.

  Of course Alex would say that—he didn’t cater the meeting.

  She crossed her arms. “What’d he eat? Anybody know?”

  “I think this is his bowl,” Clementine said timidly, picking up the dishes on the bench next to where she’d been sitting. “I saw him put it down earlier before filming started. Looks like he had soup and bread.”