by Addison Fox
Reed watched her go before he turned to Cassidy. “I’m sorry to have to dig underneath all this. I know it’s a sensitive subject.”
The slim redhead hesitated and Reed gave her the space. He knew her reluctance for what it was—loyalty to a friend—and he only admired her more for it.
“Sensitive. And incredibly raw, despite the passage of time.”
“I take it you haven’t shared your connection theory with her before.”
“No.” Cassidy shook her head. “I didn’t even put it together until Tucker and I were talking last night. And if you weren’t here, I’d likely have waited to bring it up until Violet was back and we could tell Lilah together.”
“What connection do you think there is?”
She cocked her head, interest sparking in her gaze. “You’re a Dallas native, aren’t you?”
“A dubious honor, but yes.”
“Then you know, for all its size, Dallas is a small town. Social circles overlap other social circles and all that.”
Not if you hopped circles.
Reed thought about his own childhood. The friends and life of his youth had absolutely nothing to do with the social circle cultivated for him after his mother remarried.
Brushing off the stubborn old memories, he forced his attention onto the present. “From Lilah’s comments it sounds like she met DeWinter after she went to work. I’m not making the connection with your broader social life.”
“Steven knew my late brother-in-law, Charlie.”
Seeing as how the man was still lying in the morgue, an image of Charlie McCallum rose easily in his mind. “By all accounts, DeWinter was a rising star and your brother-in-law wasn’t. What was the connection?”
Cassidy’s smile was gentle, but her voice remained flat. “It’s amazing how often wastrel behavior is excused on youth. It was only after Charlie married Leah and he maintained his inability to keep a job that we began to figure it out.”
“I still don’t follow the connection to Lilah and DeWinter.”
Cassidy shrugged. “It’s just one of those odd social-circle connections. Leah had already met Charlie and they were dating. Lilah was just out of school, working for DeWinter and crazy in love. I hadn’t met Robert yet but had heard his name mentioned a few times. And then one Friday afternoon on a rare day off for all of us, we made the connection over margaritas in Uptown.”
Reed ignored the irrational spurt of irritation at the idea of Lilah crazy in love and focused on Cassidy instead. “DeWinter and Charlie were friends?”
“Very distant cousins, actually. They had been distant as kids and then started hanging out together as they got older.”
Reed sat back, the plush velvet of his chair sucking him in just like the damn twists and turns of this case.
Who were these women?
And how was he ever going to get to the bottom of what was happening to them if the sands kept shifting?
* * *
Lilah had no interest in her fondant leaves, and after ruining half a tray with her distracted thoughts, she finally wrapped what was left and vowed to work on them later.
Lazy.
Incompetent.
Unwilling to give the work your all.
She shoved the tray into the fridge as the words looped through her mind, whip quick, and delivered in the deep male voice of her nightmares.
Steven.
Her hands fumbled over the edge of a carton of eggs as she grabbed the box, then a large container of heavy whipping cream. Still trembling, she set both on the counter and slammed the fridge door closed with her hip.
This was her kitchen. Hers.
She fought to remember that as the battle with her memories increasingly took over.
His criticisms had started in a kitchen. His kitchen.
She’d been surprised at first, hurt even, but she knew he ran his restaurant with an iron fist and had already observed how he spoke to the rest of the staff and crew. She certainly shouldn’t be immune because they were sleeping together.
So she’d worked harder. Come in earlier. Tried more elaborate creations.
And when she’d won an award as one of Dallas’s premier up-and-coming pastry chefs, Steven had exploded instead of being excited for her. He lamented her suddenly large head instead of focusing on the increased prestige that drove even more patrons into his restaurant, all determined to add several expensive desserts to their already-sizable dinner checks.
Still, she’d soldiered on. Their wedding was only a month away and their nerves were all frayed. The daily grind of the restaurant, his distracted focus with the new location he was opening across town and, of course, the four-hundred-person guest list would take a toll on anyone.
But it was the hard slam into their Sub-Zero refrigerator in their gleaming dream of a kitchen three weeks after they got married that finally began to open her eyes to the man she’d bound her life to in marriage.
He’d apologized, of course. Had told her it was an accident and he’d slipped on the floor and fell into her and, besides, he was so tired. So worn-out. So full of the work and the stress of their new life together that she had to know he hadn’t meant it.
And she’d believed.
Lilah methodically cracked and measured egg yolk after egg yolk into her mixing bowl, their rich yellow breaking on contact with the hard, ceaseless paddles. Sugar followed, blending with the eggs and thickening the mixture into a thin paste.
Not only had she believed he’d changed, but she began to believe him when he told her a new crust she’d perfected wasn’t very good. And she’d trusted when he told her he was going to get some good press when he brought in a guest pastry chef for a few weeks to create a bit of buzz around the restaurant. And she’d blindly followed when he told her he wanted his wife by his side each night greeting his guests in his restaurants and not in the kitchen.
And oh, how she’d paid.
“You want to talk?”
Lilah heard Cassidy’s voice a moment after she registered the slamming beat from her music dock had stopped. She never looked up; instead she kept her gaze on her bowl. She measured the cream by sight, adding it smoothly into the mixture. “It’s nothing we haven’t talked about before.”
“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t talk about it again.”
“It’s the past, Cassidy. And it’s well behind me.”
“Well, that’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard and that includes the pile of bs Melinda Crosby’s cheating fiancé tried to level on me when I caught him in the dressing room with Melinda’s maid of honor.”
Lilah looked up despite herself, shocked at the news. “He was getting it on with Shanna Thomas? Why didn’t you tell Vi and I that part?”
“Because I am a discreet proprietor who can manage my clients in their less-than-stellar moments.”
Lilah shook her head, sad at the news. “And she still married the dog.”
“Despite my best efforts to gently persuade her to rethink this major life decision, yes, she did.”
“It’s not for us to fix. Even when we see the glaring signs of a future of misery.”
“Which is the reason I’m standing here, actually.”
Lilah flipped off her mixer. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You did escape a future of misery yet here you are, wallowing in it.”
A renewed shot of anger bloomed in Lilah’s stomach, a preferred counterpoint to the sickly coating of nausea that had lingered along with the bad memories. “Don’t go there with me. You have no right to go there with me.”
“I have every right. I’m your friend. And I’m here for you. And it’s my job to keep you honest when you’re falling back into the idea that you somehow brought the whole damn thing on yourself.”
<
br /> “Of course I brought it on myself.”
“And there we go with the piles of crap again.” Cassidy gentled her voice before reaching out.
Lilah wanted to reject the kindness and understanding and keep on with her misery, but the promise her friends had made to her several years before echoed in her ear.
We’re here for you.
Cassidy and Violet had made the promise and they’d lived it each and every day since.
Lilah took the proffered hand and squeezed tight before pointing to her mixer. “I’m at a delicate phase.”
“Is that your Bavarian cream?”
“Yep.”
Cassidy took an exaggerated step back. “Don’t let me be the one to keep the angels from weeping. I’ll wait until you’re done.”
Lilah finished the mix quickly, the cream one of her trademarks, as she caught Cassidy’s movement from the corner of her eye. Her friend kept out of her way, crossing to one of the kitchen’s work spaces to snag a stool.
The paddles kept up their work, as well, mixing the cream into thick, stiff peaks as she dropped in the last few ingredients.
“Please tell me I can dip in a clean spoon for a taste.”
“I’ll do you one better.”
Lilah snagged a small bowl from underneath the counter and scooped out a small serving of the cream. Handing it over, she still saw the concern in Cassidy’s gaze, but was pleased to see it warred with avarice over the fresh treat.
She hated pity.
Give her a crazy bride, a demented mother-in-law and a side order of wedding drama and she’d handle it like a pro. Pull three all-nighters in a row to finish up the cake and desserts for the wedding of the season and she’d push through like nobody’s business.
But put her oldest friend with a pair of sad eyes and a concerned tone in her light Texas twang and Lilah froze all the way through.
Pity suggested weakness.
And she’d vowed after finally leaving Steven that she’d never be weak again.
“Where’s the detective?”
Cassidy smiled before licking the edge of her spoon clean. “You mean Detective Yummy?”
“I believe his last name is Graystone.” Lilah scooped her own small bowl, breaking one of her usual requirements to avoid indulging in her own creations.
“Only if you’re blind.” Cassidy’s gaze sharpened, no sign of pity in sight. “And you’re not.”
“Let’s put his attributes aside for the moment. What did you tell him?”
“The long-standing connections between Charlie and Steven. And if you add in Robert, there’s a merry little threesome going on there.”
“Two of whom are now dead.”
“Yep.” Cassidy set her empty bowl on the counter, her gaze flitting briefly to the mixer before looking away. “It’s suspicious.”
“But not that surprising. Yes, they were three men who knew each other, but they also knew a heck of a lot of other people around town. I’m not making the connection.”
“Someone didn’t just happen to know there was a cache of faked British crown jewels underneath our shop floor. Someone found out. It would make sense it was people who know us.”
Lilah shook her head, puzzling through what they already knew. “But Mrs. Beauregard said several times she and Max’s grandfather never told anyone after they buried the cache.”
“They did pull in an appraiser before they buried the fake crown jewels and the real rubies. Maybe the guy talked.”
“But he was a friend.” Lilah stopped, knowing full well it was futile to speculate. Mrs. B. and Max Senior might have said nothing, but it didn’t change the fact they brought a third person into the mix. Even someone with an innate understanding of when to keep his mouth shut couldn’t necessarily be expected to keep a secret over fifty years in the making.
“Has Reed run down the old appraiser?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Where is he, by the way?” Lilah meant the question as an innocent one, but instantly regretted the words at her friend’s sly smile.
“He had to go to the precinct. He said he’d be back later.”
“He’s nosy.”
“He’s doing his job.”
“His nosy job.”
“Lilah. This thing isn’t over. I’m glad Reed’s taken an interest in us. He’s committed to finding out who’s responsible and making sure we stay safe in the process.”
“I know. Damn it—” Lilah broke off, her ridiculous petulance fading in the light of the truth.
“Look. I know we’re in danger. And I know there’s someone out there who’d like nothing more than to remove us as a collective obstacle to getting what they want.”
“Which is why we’re going to stay one step ahead and figure out who this mystery person might be.”
“I’m sorry I wigged out over Steven.”
“I’m not.” Cassidy laid her bowl on the counter. “You’re not a robot. And hiding in here day after day or racing around town making deliveries doesn’t mean you can run from the past.”
“I’m not hiding.” At Cassidy’s wide-eyed skepticism, Lilah pressed her point. “Come on, I’m serious. I’m not hiding. This is our business and I want to see it be successful.”
“I know you do.”
“Then why the sudden accusation that I’m working too hard? Last time I checked, you and Vi clocked as many hours as I did.”
“We still find time for outside interests.”
“One week with Tucker Buchanan does not make you an expert on outside interests.”
At the mention of Tucker’s name, Cassidy seemed to come alive. Electrified from the inside out. “No, but it does make me see hearts and flowers everywhere I go. Which is why I suggest you hit on Detective Yummy as fast as you can.”
* * *
Steven DeWinter surveyed the quiet interior of his restaurant with a satisfied nod of his head. They were closed for lunch this week to manage the city’s annual Restaurant Week festivities and he had a full house scheduled for the night.
He smiled to himself as the previous evening came to light in his mind’s eye. They’d crushed it, with a packed house from five o’clock on. His sommelier had busted his ass, as well, securing several sales of some of their most expensive bottles.
It was a subtle fact Steven had learned his first year in business—people did love to spend when they felt they were being oh, so generous to the city’s homeless. Even if his only requirement for participation was a small portion of the meal. He did his part and gave his fair share to the food bank the event benefited, but the drink revenue was all his.
He glanced down at the receipts his manager had prepared, a dark cloud spoiling the good news from the dinner crowd even a few high-priced bottles of wine couldn’t assuage. The damn dessert revenue was still down.
He’d have to fire Wilhelm after this week was done. The guy did a decent soufflé, but his pastry crusts were thick as sand and about half as tasty.
A fleeting image of Lilah drifted through his mind, a quick shot of anger following on its heels. She’d been damn good. Better than he’d wanted to believe.
She’d also been his one weakness.
Her light-as-air mousse had flown off the menu and he still, even after all these years, had patrons asking about her Bavarian cream puffs.
His staff had been threatened to within an inch of their lives not to mention those same cream puffs could be had for a quick call across town to that damn warehouse hole she and her girlfriends now called a business.
Suddenly irritated, the triumph of the previous evening vanishing as if it had never been, he stomped toward the kitchen and the jovial voices of his prep team. He zeroed in on Wilhelm, the big man’s smile as wide as Texas as he mixe
d up a batter for his evening’s creation.
“Wilhelm.”
The man snapped to attention at the sound of his name, the smile fading in full. It was only when he belatedly realized his mixer still beat in heavy, thwapping circles that he shut off the machine. “Yes, sir?”
“Dessert sales were off last night.”
“I beg pardon, sir? We’ve got the small trios as part of each patron’s meal. I plated them myself last night. Everyone received a dessert plate.”
“We had very few add-on desserts.”
A quick slash of fear heightened the color in the man’s cheekbones as he pondered the criticism. “But we have offered dessert as part of the special menu for Restaurant Week, sir. I’ve used the desserts as a springboard for the fall menu and will be writing up the guest commentary. They were selected carefully to gain learning for fall.”
“And I’m focused on now. Today. Fall sales don’t matter to me if August sales are crap.”
Wilhelm grew quiet, his eyes wide with fear. Steven reveled in that look, the large man so stymied by common business sense he appeared on the verge of tears. None of his comrades in the kitchen staff were all that eager to help, either.
Further proof of their loyalty.
“See that you visit the tables personally this evening. I expect to see a difference in tomorrow’s receipts.”
He moved off, the quiet kitchen coming back to life with the rustle of pots as he headed for the main dining room.
Wilhelm needed to go. He toyed with firing the man on the spot, but common sense won out. They had a full set of reservations for three seatings a night through the end of the weekend. He detested the sniveling bastard but he needed him.
And he hated needing anyone.
Another shot of irritation speared through his midsection, cut off only by the hard buzz of his phone in his pocket. Steven dragged out the slim piece and nearly barked out a hello before he caught sight of the name on the screen. Pulse galloping, his throat was already dry as bones picked clean by vultures as he lifted the phone to his ear.
“DeWinter.”
“My place. Thirty minutes.”
“Of co—”
The phone had already clicked off before he could complete his sentence and Steven was oddly grateful for that fact. Conversations with the Duke were blessedly rare, but when they came it was better to take your lumps and move on.
