Eat, Pray, Die (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 1)

by Chelsea Field

  Connor grunted. “Anyone else?”

  “No, not that I can think of.”

  “Has Yates or anyone at the company contacted you since?”

  “Well, I’m not expecting an invitation to their Christmas party if that’s what you mean,” Josh said in a failed attempt at levity.

  Connor stayed silent, to no one’s surprise.

  Josh realized Connor was still waiting for an answer. “No, they haven’t.”

  “Who else might benefit from you having an accident?”

  “Well”—Josh rubbed his forehead—“I ousted Albert Alstrom from his three-year title of California Culinary Champion this year. He didn’t threaten me either, but I’ve heard rumors he was furious. I know one of the judges on the panel, and she told me he was hassling them about their decision. Even accused her of rigging the competition.”

  He paused for a bit, pondering the dark subject of who else might want him dead.

  I wondered how many people I’d be able to name with a motive to kill me if I were under interrogation. Bruce-the-Bruiser immediately came to mind. And that girl I’d hit in second grade, even though she’d started it. There was one overly competitive Shade graduate who’d taken a particular dislike to me, too.

  “I guess the charities in my will would benefit from my death, but I’m a regular donor, so I’m worth more to them alive in the long run.”

  Connor nodded, as if that thought had crossed his mind, too. I, on the other hand, had never considered a charitable organization might murder for money. It was going to be a steep learning curve.

  “Anyone else?”

  “No, that’s all I can think of.” Josh’s voice betrayed the first sign of irritation.

  Connor just stared at him. When that didn’t work, he prompted, “Nothing of a more personal nature? What about family members?”

  “I don’t have any family.”

  He said it quietly, and I felt a stab of pity for him. No matter how successful he was, or how much wealth and fame he amassed, that simple fact wouldn’t change. Faced with the choice of having my family or living in a mansion like this and never worrying about money again, I wouldn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t swap my family for anything.

  Okay, maybe I’d exchange Aunt Alice and her perfect children for some cash, but no one else.

  “Ex-lovers then?” Connor asked. “Old enemies? Anyone who has a reason to harm you for something other than money?”

  “No.” Josh’s hands clenched involuntarily. They relaxed again so fast that if I’d blinked I would’ve missed it. But I didn’t miss it.

  My dad wasn’t an accomplished man in many senses of the term, but he was good at reading people. It’s what made him a great salesman and an even better poker player. I’d inherited some of his talent, though I was less confident about it after being blindsided by Steve. Dad had never liked Steve.

  Now I was sure Josh was hiding anger. But whether it was anger at Connor for being such a hard-ass, or anger at some personal memory of his, I wasn’t sure.

  “I hope I don’t need to remind you that there’s a woman’s life at stake here,” Connor said.

  “I’m well aware.” The words came out clipped, and guilt rolled off him in waves so big I didn’t need any special talent to see it. It’s not every day a man lets a woman take the bullet meant for him, let alone a woman only half his age. And if my suspicion that there was something going on between them was correct, it would be even harder.

  Connor stood up. “Okay, show me where you prepared the meal.”

  My fickle heart gave a little jump of excitement at the thought of seeing Josh’s kitchen.

  I couldn’t help it.

  Josh led the way, with Connor close behind. I tried not to step on his heels in my rush.

  “Who buys your groceries?” Connor asked.

  “Tahlia does. She graduated from my culinary school for inner-city kids, so she knows how to select the best ingredients and finds the extra income useful. She’s loyal to me. I’m sure she had nothing to do with it.”

  We rounded a corner, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Pale stone countertops stretched out before us, beautifully lit by the skylights positioned above. A selection of the world’s most elite appliances gleamed at me from all angles. The Synesso Hydra espresso machine alone, with its handcrafted timber handles, was worth more than all my worldly possessions. Even including the Corvette, which wasn’t actually mine. It was the most orgasm-worthy object I’d laid eyes on in two years.

  Connor hadn’t batted an eye at the kitchen. “What did you use to make the soufflé?”

  Josh recounted the list off the top of his head. “I used my six-inch saucepan, stand mixer and mixing bowl, a favorite spatula, and a few ramekins, all of which your guys took for testing.”

  That answered my question about whether professional chefs used measuring cups and spoons. Unfortunately, it didn’t give me any insight into the situation at hand.

  “And the ingredients?”

  “Flour, butter, milk, eggs, salt, lemon zest, and fresh blackberries.”

  My bet was the Ambience would have been planted in the blackberries. It came in tablet and liquid form, and the liquid was blackberry flavored.

  Unless Dana was mistaken in thinking it was Ambience. She could’ve been misdirected by the real blackberries.

  “And can you tell me when you last used each of these items, or if any of them were unopened before last night?”

  Josh could and did so.

  Connor jotted his responses down. “So, the culprit must have planted the poison in the last week and a half. I need the names of everyone who has a key to your house, as well as everyone who’s been here in the last two weeks, to your knowledge. While you’re writing them down, I’m going to check out your security system.”

  Josh nodded and grabbed a pen.

  I hovered by his elbow. I was a failed nobody, and he was wildly successful, but he was still human. A distraught human. And Connor was about as empathetic as a cactus having a bad day. “Mr. Summers? It’s an honor to meet you. I just wish it was under different circumstances…”

  The pen paused, and his eyes met mine. “Thank you.”

  “It’s not your fault, you know.”

  “Thank you,” he said again, quieter this time.

  He turned back to his list, and I gave the espresso machine one last wistful glance before following after Connor.

  I caught up with him a few rooms later. “What are you looking for?”

  Connor eyed me, and I watched the microexpressions on his face go from surprise that I was still here, to remembered resignation that he’d have to drag this unproven Shade with a bad attitude around on this investigation. I wanted to tell him he wasn’t such great company either, but I also wanted him to include me on the case and pass me on my final assessment, so I returned his gaze in silence.

  I could use silence to get my way, too.

  After a good fifteen seconds, he released me from his stare. “I’m trying to see how easy it would’ve been for our perp to get in without an invitation. There are cameras around the grounds, but the security team hasn’t uncovered anything suspicious yet, and inside there’s no surveillance. If we know the level of skill needed to break-in unobserved, we can narrow our suspects to those Josh knew were here, and people with particular skill sets.”

  I nodded. That made a lot of sense. “And why did you introduce me as your colleague when you keep lecturing me on maintaining my girlfriend cover?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Because appearing professional in front of a distressed client is more important?”

  “Correct. But everywhere else on this investigation, you’ll be my girlfriend.”

  Lucky me. “Got it.”

  He turned back to his inspection of possible means of entry and the exterior security system. I trailed behind him uselessly, trying not to stare at his ass.

  It’s not that I didn’t want to help, I just knew
nothing about security.

  “It’s difficult, but not impossible,” he said at last.

  At first I thought he was talking about not staring at his ass. Then I remembered his focus was on the security system.

  “We’re looking at either a hit for hire or someone who had a reason to be here. Only an expert could get in and out without being caught on video or leaving any sign of entry.”

  I nodded wisely.

  “Let’s go see how Josh is coming along with those names.”

  I followed his ass back to the kitchen. I really wanted to ask about Dana’s surname but thought it best to let him work free of any interruptions while we were here.

  Connor took the completed list from Josh and slid it into his rumpled notepad without looking at it. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Summers. Have you checked to make sure your spare keys are where they’re supposed to be?”

  “There’s only one, and yes, it’s there.”

  “Do you keep it inside or outside?”

  “Inside. I’ve been famous long enough not to be a complete idiot about security.”

  Connor didn’t bother to agree. “And have you lost any keys in the last few months?”

  “No.”

  “Good. We may have more questions as the case progresses, but for now we’ll be on our way.”

  Josh showed us to the door, shaking my hand warmly as if I’d contributed somehow. His palm bore the calluses and scars of long hours in the kitchen, reminding me he’d reached his celebrity status through sweat and blood. It also reminded me that I was walking away from one of the most famous chefs in the world without having tried any of his cooking.

  Then again, the last person to eat something he’d prepared was in a coma, so I managed to bite back my disappointment.

  As soon as we were in the car, I turned to Connor. “What’s Dana’s last name?”

  “Williams, why?”

  I felt like I’d been sucker punched. “She taught me for the first month of my training.”

  It was bad enough imagining a Shade I’d never met fighting for her life, but this was Dana, the person I credited for getting me through those first miserable, homesick weeks of vomiting my guts up.

  My class of eleven had consisted of three star-struck girls who thought hanging off a celebrity’s arm would be glamorous (two of them dropped out a few weeks into the course); five internationals who wouldn’t speak a word of English to me, despite having to understand it to be training with us; one bitter, scary guy who’d been chewed up and spat out by life and didn’t want anything to do with anyone; and one woman my age who I might have been friends with had she not been so competitive that she’d poisoned one of my few untainted meals to make me miss an important test.

  Dana was twenty-five, younger than me, but had been a Shade for years already and was the down-to-earth type of person I could relate to.

  “Once you’ve survived eight months of being poisoned every day for training, the job itself is a cinch,” she’d told me with a laugh.

  I’d dreaded her being called back to the real world to take on a new client. The day she left, I found a large box of Haigh’s chocolates on my bed, shipped all the way from South Australia.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. If there was even the slightest chance I could help, I had to try. Even if Connor didn’t want me to.

  “Josh wasn’t completely forthcoming with us,” I said.

  He didn’t respond, so I elaborated.

  “I think there was more to Josh’s relationship with Dana than Shade and client and that there were other leads he didn’t tell us about. Leads of a more personal nature maybe.”

  Connor raised an eyebrow, and for a second I thought he might be impressed with my powers of observation. Then he opened his mouth.

  “Trust a woman to see romance in the air. There’s no rule against it, you know.” His gray eyes met mine suggestively. “You’re free to play around with your clients, just so long as you don’t keep doing it at the end of your assignment.”

  I felt my fist clench—I could hardly blame Josh for getting annoyed at Connor.

  “Here’s a useful lesson for you, free of charge,” I said. “The word “relationship” is not a synonym for sex. I only meant that their relationship is somehow complicated. He showed more grief and guilt than I’d expect to see for someone he hasn’t known long. I thought it might be relevant.”

  Connor said nothing.

  I was learning to consider this as preferable to him contributing to the conversation.

  “And for the record,” I said, “the Taste Society may not have a policy against sleeping with clients, but I never mix work and play.”

  I had no idea if that was true or not, but I thought it best to nip that one in the bud. The only type of playing around I wanted to do with Connor involved a picture of his face and a fistful of darts.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

  For a long moment, the sole noise was that of the engine.

  “You’re right, though,” Connor said, “that he was holding back on us.”

  I didn’t allow myself to smile.

  “It doesn’t matter how nice you are, everyone has someone with a personal grievance against them, but he only mentioned enemies in the industry and those who’d get money from his death.” His voice went low and sharp. “I’m sick of celebrities valuing their reputations over another person’s life, but it’s not uncommon. We’ll just have to question others who know him well.”

  “But how do we find out who knows him well?”

  Connor pulled Josh’s list out of his pocket and handed it to me. “The people with a key to his house is a good place to start. Read it to me.”

  The list was dismally short. “It just says Tahlia and Dana. He doesn’t even trust his maid enough to give her a key.”

  “Then let’s talk to Tahlia.”

  5

  Tahlia lived in a charmingly restored Spanish-style bungalow in Mid-Wilshire. The small home was hidden by a front yard overgrown with brightly flowering trees, shrubs, and a single lemon tree.

  Once we’d found our way through the garden to the front door to knock, it was opened by an African-American woman. She looked to be in her midtwenties, with enigmatic eyes, sensual lips, and flawless skin broken only by a smudge of flour on one cheek and a small scar on the other. This must be Tahlia. I didn’t know why it was that everyone was so attractive in LA, but it was starting to grate. It’s like they didn’t even realize the rest of America was experiencing an obesity crisis.

  I caught my hand straying upward to pat at my hair, and turned it into an awkward nose scratch.

  Tahlia smiled at us without guile, unaware of her assets, and my annoyance lessened. It may also have had something to do with the smell of brownies drifting out of her kitchen.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m private investigator Connor Stiles, looking into a confidential matter for your employer, Josh Summers. Do you mind if we come inside?”

  Tahlia’s smile went away. Mine would have too if he’d called me ma’am. One hand fiddled with the pocket of her well-used apron, and her eyes flicked to me.

  “This is my girlfriend, Isobel. She’s just along for the ride.” Connor shot me a sheepish glance. “It was supposed to be my day off.”

  She was watching us with a wary expression, so I shrugged. “I’m used to him working all the time. We try to make the most of it.”

  Her features scrunched in sympathy, making me warm to her even more.

  “By the way, are those brownies I smell?” I was starving after skipping the burger, and they smelled amazing.

  Moments later, I was munching happily on a brownie. They were the dark chocolate, gooey-in-the-middle kind fresh out of the oven, and I was in heaven. Somewhere between my first and second brownie, I remembered Connor might be hungry too. “Want some?” I asked, offering him the one I’d just bitten into—to check for poisons of course. He shook his head, and I went ba
ck to my munching.

  The inside of the bungalow was even more charming than the outside. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through timber-framed windows and set off the warm whites and yellows that made up most of the decor, brightened by a fun combination of florals and stripes. We sat in the dining room, facing a sideboard that overflowed with fresh-picked flowers and pictures of Tahlia with her family as well as one or two of her in a kitchen with a group of other chefs. No boyfriend or husband that I could see. Probably for the best, if my experience was anything to go by.

  I grabbed another brownie and tuned back in to the conversation. Connor was asking a bunch of questions about Josh, and I took note of how he phrased things to skirt around the true nature of Dana and Josh’s relationship, and by extension, the existence of Shades. The more questions he asked, the less information Tahlia seemed to give. I got the impression she didn’t like cops, and Connor reminded her entirely too much of one.

  I was wondering how to get him out of the room when his phone rang. He eyed the caller ID. “Excuse me, I have to take this.”

  I waited until he left before saying, around my mouthful of brownie, “These are delicious.” There was no need to fake my enthusiasm. They would’ve gone perfectly with my coffee shop’s single-origin Costa Rican bean with its brown sugar and bittersweet chocolate notes.

  Tahlia smiled at me, her eyes not quite meeting mine. “Thank you. I was taught by the best.”

  “Josh said you graduated from his culinary school. He seems like a pretty amazing guy.”

  “He is,” she said, now fiddling with the tablecloth. She raised her head, her dark eyes serious. “He’s the best man I know.”

  I reached across the table and took her fiddling hand. “Tahlia, I know Connor comes across a bit strong, but he’s on Josh’s side. He thinks the real target might have been Josh, and if he doesn’t work out who’s behind the attempt, they could try again.”

  Her hand tensed under mine as the implications sunk in.

  “The reason Connor’s asking you all these questions about Josh and everything else, is that sometimes people don’t mention things they think aren’t important, or they plain forget. We don’t know what’s important yet, so we’re trying to learn everything we can.” That sounded plausible, right?