After J. T. removed the dishes and scurried away for afterdinner coffee, she noticed “Ducky,” as she’d dubbed the man who ordered foie gras every week, get up and walk over to the bar. If anyone could describe the entrée, it was this guy.
She dabbed her lips with the napkin, thankful she was wearing the all-day lipstick that didn’t leave traces on the expensive-looking white linen, and then she stood up and headed across the room. Purposely passing Brooder’s table to give the flirting another go, she was disappointed when he didn’t look up.
Okay, that’s another thing I suck at, she thought as she made her way to the bar, the irony of her day job taunting her along the way.
She stepped close to Ducky and tapped his shoulder. When he turned around, his face was scrunched with anger, and Jordan cringed.
Geez! How worked up could you get over a drink order?
“Excuse me,” she stammered as his eyes bored into her. “I’m Jordan McAllister from the Ranchero Globe. I noticed you ordered the foie gras tonight. I was wondering if you could tell me how you liked it for my column this week.”
Her column! It sounded so good rolling off her lips she forgot her initial fear of the guy.
“Who’d you say you were?” Ducky asked, visibly upset at being interrupted.
“Jordan McAllister. I also had the duck and I wanted to get a second opinion about it.”
He whirled around, getting right in her face. “You had the foie gras?”
Again, she cringed as his six-foot frame loomed over her. “Yes, it was terrific. How was yours?”
He mumbled something she didn’t catch then slammed his hand on the bar before turning back to her and attempting a smile. “As usual, the duck was cooked exactly how I like it, tender and succulent.” He leaned in and whispered, “You ate the whole thing?”
Jordan flinched. Had he seen her shove it into her purse? “I may have left a little,” she replied, not wanting to sound like a glutton in case he hadn’t. “Can I quote you, Mr.—”
“I would prefer you didn’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have unfinished business here.”
Okay, then. She’d still use his comments with the information she’d get from Google to write a decent report even if he was a jerk.
Heading back to her table, her self-confidence returned. What could have been a disaster had turned out okay, and she didn’t even have to taste the gross duck liver.
J. T. appeared with her coffee a few seconds after she sat back down. “Just for the record, your secret is safe with me.” He bent down to whisper. “Do you want me to send you home with another piece of cake?”
A man after my own heart. “That would be terrific.” She reached for her purse. “I have to dig my credit card out of all this goo.” She giggled when he handed her a napkin.
Holding the purse under the table, she fished for the card, shuddering when her hand made contact with the squishy duck. When she finally found it, she wiped it off then handed it to J. T. “You deserve a big fat tip, but unfortunately my boss is already going to flip out over the cost of the meal. I’ll never get away with more than fifteen percent. Sorry.”
He met her gaze. “I’ll settle for your phone number.”
She tossed around his offer in her head. Maybe it was time she jumped back into the dating scene. He was adorable. “Throw in another loaf of that yummy bread with the cake, and you’re on.”
It was eleven fifteen by the time Jordan got home, too late to stop by and tell Rosie about her night. Her friend conked out right after the ten o’clock news every night and was up at the crack of dawn. That’s when she was the most creative, she’d explained.
Jordan slipped off her heels and carried them to the bedroom, where she stripped, then hopped in the shower. With the warm water splashing over her, she thought back on her night, pleased with the way it had accidentally turned out. Not only had she completed her first restaurant critique, but she’d also met a cute guy in the process.
Before she’d left the restaurant, the owner had stopped by her table and introduced himself. Tall, olive-skinned, with salt-and-pepper hair falling just below his ears, Roger Mason was handsome in what looked like a tailor-made navy suit. She hadn’t seen too many men in suits like that since she’d moved to the small town. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen too many men in suits, period.
She’d thanked Mr. Mason and assured him she’d found both the food and the hospitality to be excellent, wondering what he would think if he knew what really happened with the meal.
Oh no! She’d forgotten about the duck in her purse. In Rosie’s purse! It must reek by now.
Quickly, she turned off the water and stepped from the shower. After toweling dry, she slipped into her Cowboys T-shirt and running shorts, her usual bedtime attire, and padded to the kitchen. Grabbing Rosie’s purse, she put the stopper in the sink and dumped the entire contents, hoping the smell wouldn’t gag her. Leaning over, she held her breath, just in case.
Disgusting! There was duck in the grooves of the lipstick tube, smeared all over Abe Lincoln on her five-dollar bill, and even oozing from the teeth of the zipper. No doubt her friendship with Rosie would be past tense.
First, she sprayed the money, then placed it on a kitchen towel to dry. Clean or not, it was tomorrow’s lunch money. After rinsing off the rest of the items, she turned the purse inside out, taking more deep breaths to keep from upchucking. A tiny sparkle caught her eye as it clattered into the stainless-steel sink.
It was one of Rosie’s rhinestones from her jewelry-making supplies. She rinsed it and threw it into Maggie’s bowl, watching it skitter through the water and settle in the rocks at the bottom. Before she’d finished spraying the purse, five more fell out and were added to the fish’s watery playground.
Tomorrow, she’d confess about the purse and make amends to Rosie. She’d probably have to break down and buy her a new one if the smell didn’t go away by morning. That meant skipping lunch all week.
Jordan sighed, wondering how she’d gotten herself into such a financial mess. Her boss had been right. She could have gotten a better job if she’d stayed in Austin after she graduated, but she’d been in love and thought Brett was, too. All her friends warned her to let him go to Del Rio by himself for a year or two before following, but she hadn’t listened. Now she was too embarrassed to go home with her tail between her legs and admit her stupidity.
Her eyes were drawn to Maggie swimming fast and furiously around the six rhinestones now glittering among the rocks at the bottom of the bowl. She sighed, thinking every female in the world loved bling. Apparently, girlie fish did, too.
CHAPTER 3
Jordan dropped her review on Dwayne Egan’s desk and stepped back to await her fate. She’d spent the entire morning researching foie gras on the Internet and had come away outraged and ready to make a stand on the issue.
That was before Egan grabbed the report and lowered his eyes to read, and all her bravado dissipated. Shifting nervously and second-guessing herself, she tapped out the melody of a rock song along the side of her slacks with her fingers.
Too late to change her mind as Egan motioned for her to sit.
She eased into the chair behind her, eyes fixed on the editor while he finished the first page and flipped to the second. Her nerves were like aliens ready to burst through her skin.
“You actually ate this?” he asked, finally glancing at her over the top of his silver-rimmed reading glasses.
“Yes and no,” she replied. “Mostly, no.”
Egan had already turned back to the report, rereading the first page. “And this is how they get the duck liver?”
Her eyes lit up. Maybe he wouldn’t scream at her after all. “Yes sir. They force-feed the animals to fatten them up.” She paused, remembering how the pictures had sickened her, how seeing the tubes shoved down their throats had nearly made her gag. “The ducks are kept in tight cages so they can’t exercise or even move around.”
“Geez!
And they’re serving this right here in Ranchero?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly. “At a price that would water your eyes.” She stopped, not sure she wanted to remind him how much she’d charged on the company card.
Egan dropped the report on his desk and leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head, making his ears protrude even more. “This is going to ruffle a few feathers at Longhorn Prime Rib.” He grinned, obviously pleased with his play on words.
Jordan shifted in the chair. “I was totally complimentary about the restaurant in general.” She thought about the Chocolate Decadence Cake that had doubled as breakfast that morning. “The desserts were phenomenal and the service—fantastic.”
Egan studied her face, his head tilted as if in deep thought. “I had you pegged for a simple meat-and-potatoes girl. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why you’d order this when you’re obviously so outraged at how they get it.”
Here it is! This was where she’d have to admit she was clueless when it came to fancy food. This was where he’d realize what a big mistake he’d made giving her the job. “The waiter recommended it. Said it was imported from Canada. Since I knew it was too expensive to ever try on my own, I went with it.”
“I still find it hard to believe you’d even order the dish, knowing how you feel about it.”
“I thought it was chicken,” she blurted, looking away for a moment, imagining the pink slip falling from this week’s pay envelope.
Egan threw back his head and laughed. And continued to laugh until Jordan finally gave in and smiled.
“So, let’s see,” he began when he was finally able to speak. “I have a culinary expert who has no idea what she orders at restaurants.” He slapped the desk. “That’s rich. Loretta would never see the humor in that, of course, nor would she be caught dead ordering anything but a thick, juicy steak.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “And just between you and me, she wouldn’t know foie gras from chicken piccata, either, even if it bit her on her overpaid butt.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Maybe you should give this job to someone else.”
His eyes bored into her. “Are you joking? This is going to grab the attention of every animal lover in Ranchero who probably has never even looked at Loretta’s column before.” He slid the papers across the desk. “Take this down to the copy room ASAP. I want it in tonight’s edition.”
Stunned, Jordan grabbed the report and headed for the door.
“Oh, and McAllister?”
She whirled around, expecting her little bubble of excitement to burst like a piñata at a birthday party with eight-year-old boys on a sugar high.
“From now on, you’ll do two columns a week with recipes and food information. Fancy food like this. A couple of exposés would be great.” He rubbed his hands together. “If my gut is right, with the exception of the restaurant owner, the good citizens of this fine town are going to love you.”
“What about the personals?”
He smiled. “Look at this as a freelance opportunity,” he said. “And the personals as your day job. Now go.”
Jordan wondered how he could say that with a straight face, but she was too excited to care. She hurried out the door, surprised to see Jackie Frazier smiling. She’d obviously been eavesdropping. She imagined her, as Roseanne Roseannadanna, saying, It’s always something, and she smiled back.
Who knew fatty duck liver could wipe the sarcasm off the secretary’s face and maybe even jump-start her career?
“You actually scooped up the duck guts and shoved them into your purse?”
Jordan nodded, looking across the table at Victor Rodriguez before turning to Rosie, her eyes pleading with her not to be angry. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I’ll buy you a new one. I tried to eat it, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Please, child, that purse is as old as Raymond here.” She pointed to Ray Vargo, the retired cop and the oldest one in the group, who lived three doors down the hall. “No offense, Ray.”
“None taken,” he replied. “When you look as good as I do, age doesn’t matter, right, honey?” He squeezed Lola’s hand.
Lola Van Horn was the local psychic and tarot card reader who lived next door to Ray and shared more than a cup of sugar with him. “Ain’t that the truth?” She lowered her eyes, the pink flush spreading across her cheeks.
“Criminy!” Victor said. “Can you two make it through dinner?”
Ray laughed and gave his lady an adoring smile. In her seventies with blackish red hair one shade shy of maroon, Lola smiled back, licking her plumped-up, flaming, red lips. A freebie from a plastic surgeon who couldn’t make it through the week without one and sometimes two tarot readings.
“Come on, I’m starving. Jordan can tell us about last night while we eat,” Michael Cafferty said.
Rosie stood, still grinning. “I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall to watch you cram that mess into the tiny purse in the middle of that fancy-schmantzy restaurant. Bet you got a lot of strange looks.”
“Nobody saw me do it, except the waiter. That’s why he sent me home with an extra piece of cake.” Jordan giggled, suddenly remembering her goldfish and the rhinestones. “When I was cleaning your purse, several crystals dropped out. I put them in Maggie’s bowl for safekeeping. You’d think I had given her chocolate the way she swims around them. I meant to bring them tonight but forgot. After we eat, I’ll run over and get them.”
“Sweetie, crystals went out of style two or three years ago. I’m into turquoise and big colorful stones now. Let Maggie enjoy them.” She headed for the kitchen with Lola following close behind.
Jordan leaned back in the chair and glanced around the table. Michael and Victor were bickering back and forth, totally oblivious to the others in the room. Michael was the local DJ at Ranchero’s only radio station, and Victor had just opened an antiques shop downtown. They’d pooled their money and bought the apartment building a year ago, sinking every available penny they had into renovations. Empire Apartments had come a long way but still needed a lot of work. Apparently, something Michael said on the air about Victor’s frivolous spending habits wasn’t sitting well with his partner.
Ray, retired from the police force for several years, doubled as the maintenance man for the apartments and cooked a mean pumpkin pie. Despite his age, he looked like he could still take on a bad guy or two and come out on top. Religiously working out several times a week at the local gym with a couple of retired cops, he would roll up his sleeves when prompted and show off his “lethal guns.” As a widower with no children of his own, he had taken Jordan under his wing that first day, and God help anyone who messed with her.
These people had adopted Jordan from the start and still doted on her. Friday nights were potluck get-togethers at Rosie’s, followed by a serious card game of Screw Your Neighbor.
Since Rosie was the only one besides Ray who could actually cook, the others brought the fixings and pitched in on the meat. Jordan always stopped at the Food Warehouse on her way home from work and picked up a ninety-ninecent loaf of hot Italian bread, which suited both her budget and her culinary skills.
“Come and get it,” Rosie hollered.
Needing no coaxing, they surged to the kitchen, where Rosie and Lola had the dishes lined up, buffet-style, on the small countertop by the stove. Like Pavlov’s dog’s, Jordan’s mouth began to water with one look at the steaming dish in the center. She’d skipped lunch to finish her copy, and other than the cake and a Ho Ho, hadn’t eaten all day.
Okay, two Ho Hos.
Grabbing a plate, she scooped up a generous portion of the casserole and a small salad before heading back to the dining room table. When they were all seated, the chatter stopped as Rosie said grace before they pigged out.
“Mmmm, this is divine! What is it?” Victor asked. “I think I’ve died and gone to the great boutique in the sky.”
Rosie smiled. “Potato Chip Chicken. It’s one of my mother’s fav
orites.”
“And now, one of ours,” Lola said, reaching for a second helping from the casserole dish Rosie had positioned in the middle of the table. Lola loved food and didn’t mind anyone knowing it, covering her slightly overweight body in free-flowing caftans that swished when she walked.
Jordan finished hers in record time and also reached for a little more. “You outdid yourself, Rosie.”
The older woman beamed. “Thanks, dear. Nothing I like better than sharing my food with good friends like y’all.”
“I second that about the good food and good friends,” Victor said, licking his fingers, narrowing his eyes before shooting Michael a look.
When the casserole was completely gone, Ray got up and went to the kitchen, returning with his signature Pumpkin Pie Crunch. “So, Jordan, you never finished telling us what your editor said about your review. Did he like it?”
Jordan shoved the last bite into her mouth and dabbed her lips with the paper napkin. “That’s the best part, Ray. After I told him how they fatten the ducks, he went nuts.”
“What do you mean nuts? Like ‘You’re ready for the big-time’ nuts or ‘Go back to writing personals only’ nuts?” Michael asked, cocking one eyebrow.
Jordan laughed. “Don’t get carried away. It was only one review, but I did get promoted in the process.”
“Fantastic!” Victor reached over and high-fived Jordan. “No more bologna sandwiches for you.”
She scrunched her face. “Not exactly.”
Ray set a slice of the dessert in front of her. “Not exactly what, Jordan?”
She dodged the question. “Egan is convinced the people of Ranchero will be just as upset as I was about the inhumane treatment of the ducks. He thinks I’ll touch a lot of readers with the story.”
“Oh, you definitely will,” Victor said. “I’m ready to go down to the restaurant right now and boycott.”
Liver Let Die Page 3
