A Cookbook Conspiracy (15 page)

“Interesting,” I said, wondering what Derek thought about babysitting a roomful of
murder suspects. Knowing him, it would probably strike him as just another day at
the office. “I’ll call you right back.”

A minute later, Derek confirmed the story. “That’s right, I spoke to Jaglom for quite
a while. He’s allowing the dinner to go forward as a favor to me.”

“So you’re playing chaperone.”

“I prefer that term to babysitter.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “But it’s
not a bad assignment, all things considered. Your sister is an excellent chef.”

“Good point,” I said. “And you don’t mind staying over in Dharma Monday night?”

“If Savannah is cooking, I absolutely insist. But I’ll probably have to spend half
the day on the phone with my office.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” I said, then changed the subject. “Did Jaglom give you
any hints about the chefs?”

He knew what I was asking. “As a matter of fact, he wanted to give me a heads-up on
who to watch out for.”

“That’s right, you’ll be in charge of the whole gang. So what did he say?”

Derek hesitated, then said, “Margot says she heard Kevin threaten Baxter.”

I scowled. “I don’t believe it.”

“I didn’t think you would, but that was her statement. She claims that she followed
Kevin back to the kitchen after Baxter opened Savannah’s gift. And she overheard Kevin
say to Baxter, ‘I’m going to kill you for that.’”

I pondered the statement, then sighed. “Oh, hell. Kevin really did look angry enough
to kill him.”

“Yes, she did.”

“Did Jaglom say anything about that?”

“He thinks Kevin’s hiding something from the police. She mentioned that Baxter was
given an old cookbook and she thought maybe someone wanted it. But she wouldn’t go
into detail about it.”

I nodded. “I heard her say the word
cookbook
to Jaglom, but I couldn’t hear what she said about it. And she also used the word
blackmail
. Did Jaglom mention that?”

“No. But perhaps Jaglom is keeping something back from me.”

“Darn him,” I said. “What else did Margot say?”

“She told Jaglom that Baxter was a rat bastard and she’s glad he’s dead. But she didn’t
kill him.”

“Of course she’d say that,” I murmured. “But it’s interesting to know what she really
thought of him.”

“No one liked the man,” Derek surmised. “Each of the chefs who came to our table had
negative feelings for him. They all hated him.”

“Except Savannah.”

“True,” he said. “And yet your sister had the best reason to hate him.”

“But she didn’t kill him,” I said quickly. “Colette claimed that Margot slept with
Baxter. Maybe he dumped her. But then he invited her to cook at his new restaurant,
so she must have gotten over it. Unless…never mind. I’m going in circles.”

“And I’ve got a client arriving in a few minutes.”

We hung up a moment later and I called Savannah back to officially accept her dinner
offer. I loved her cooking, of course, but I was even more excited by the prospect
of having dinner with all those suspects…er, chefs.

I wondered if one of them would already be in jail by Monday’s dinner. I hoped so.
I was already antsy to get to the bottom of Baxter’s murder investigation. Derek thought
Inspector Jaglom might be holding back information, and if that was true, it wasn’t
fair. They’d put Derek in charge of the suspects, so he should’ve gotten every last
detail the police had. I was tempted to call Inspector Lee myself, but I knew that
would not turn out well.

Of course, I could always turn on any TV station and hear wild-eyed speculation about
each of the chefs involved. The crime news networks featured round-the-clock coverage
of Baxter’s murder, with segments called “Bad Boy Bump-Off.” “Cuisine de Carnage,”
and “Kitchen Crimes.” Hungry newshounds were turning over every rock in the city,
looking for dirt on anyone remotely involved in the case. Finally, Derek and I stopped
watching television altogether, which was probably a good thing on any number of levels.

To distract myself, I headed for the bedroom to start packing for our weekend in Dharma.
As I scoped out my wardrobe for the
big Monday night dinner, I found myself hoping that one of the chefs would share some
tips on how to avoid lumps in my syllabubs.

I had to wonder what it said about my life that I was more interested in obtaining
dessert tips than in the fact that I would be dining with a murderer.

*   *   *

S
aturday morning, Derek and I got an early start for Dharma, trying to avoid the usual
weekend wine country traffic. As we breezed across the Golden Gate Bridge in Derek’s
ridiculously elegant black Bentley, we held hands and chatted about the latest plans
for our apartment expansion.

It was early spring and the morning sun shining through the moonroof warmed my shoulders.
The choppy surface of the bay glittered like a thousand diamonds. Everything seemed
clean and new and crisp today. Or maybe it was just me and my happy mood.

Listening to Derek’s ideas and plans for our future was like being in a dream. Sounded
sappy, but really? He was perfect for me. Everything I’d always wanted in a man, but
never really expected to have. No wonder it was so hard to keep the smile off my face.
Every minute or so, he would squeeze or kiss my hand as he spoke about things he hoped
we would do together. Design our new living space. Visit his parents in England. Sneak
away for a long weekend in Chicago or New York. Sweet.

Oh, I still had moments when I doubted that Derek could really love me. I chalked
it up to a quirk of human nature that made most people insecure when it came to trust
and love and all those matters of the heart. But in my case, I had no idea why. I’d
been raised by two wonderful people who had shown their immense love for each other
and their children every day of my life. Why wouldn’t I automatically expect to experience
the same joy and fulfillment in my own life?

I sighed. It was another mystery for the ages. But for now I refused to dwell on doubts
and instead vowed to enjoy every minute of our time together. Just in case, I offered
up a little prayer to any gods who were listening, to please make us always happy
to be with each other.

“Brooklyn, love, did you hear me?”

I was jolted out of my reverie. “What? Sorry, I was thinking about…never mind. What
did you say?”

“Have you decided if you’ll speak with Robson while we’re in Dharma?”

“Oh, you mean about the…Yeah, that.” I’d told Derek about my mother’s reaction to
Baxter’s murder and how she was more worried about me than about Savannah. Derek agreed
with Mom’s reasoning. He also agreed that having another conversation with Guru Bob
might be helpful.

“I’m not sure it’ll do any good, practically speaking,” I said. “I mean, it’s not
like he can put an end to murder.”

“True.”

“But talking to him always makes me feel more at peace with myself.”

Derek nodded. “Things do seem calmer when he’s around.”

Guru Bob, otherwise known as Avatar Robson Benedict, was my parents’ spiritual advisor
and leader of their commune, the Fellowship for Spiritual Enlightenment and Higher
Artistic Consciousness. He had established the group more than twenty-five years ago
when he and a few hundred followers had moved to Sonoma County and purchased a thousand
acres of prime wine country farmland.

My parents believed that Guru Bob was a man of divine higher consciousness, whatever
that meant. He was certainly compassionate and a good listener. And he was smart.
He saw the big picture, not just in spiritual matters but in everything. He also recognized
a good investment when he saw one and had enjoyed
watching his family—as he called all eighteen hundred of us—prosper over the years.
With our thriving winery, thousands of acres of primo grapevines, and a small town
center filled with charming stores and upscale restaurants, the commune had grown
rich and the members eventually made the decision to incorporate the town. The group
had voted to name our little corner of the world Dharma.

Strictly speaking, the word
dharma
meant
law
, but in a broader sense it meant “to live in harmony with the law.” Or as Guru Bob
chose to interpret the word, “to follow the Path of Righteousness.” This was the basis
of his teaching, and his followers thought it was the most appropriate name for the
home they had found with him.

Derek cracked open the moonroof and let the outside air filter through the car.

“The cool air feels good,” I said, then glanced at him. “I guess I’ll make up my mind
when we get there. See if an opportunity presents itself to talk to Guru Bob.”

“Sounds sensible.”

“Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you,” I said, changing top-ics. “My mother has announced
that she’s taking a workshop on exorcism.”

“That’s a bit disturbing,” he said, as a small furrow of concern appeared on his brow.

And who could blame him? My mother was a wonderful woman and I loved her, but her
experiments in the realm of otherworldliness could, and often did, get out of hand.

“I thought she was going to be a witch,” he said.

“She’s that, too,” I said. “I’m trying to keep an open mind. She’s threatened to perform
a protection ritual for me and I’m a little worried that she’ll try to work in some
devil extraction chant.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he muttered, then chuckled. “Your mother is certainly one
of a kind.”

“Isn’t she?”

“And on the positive side, you can always use the extra protection.”

I smiled, grateful that Derek appreciated my mother’s quirks as much as I did. The
two of them were great friends, having once conspired with each other to save my life,
using a pizza and not much else. It had brought them a closeness I almost envied sometimes.

Derek and I didn’t talk much as he skirted the flat, wide marsh and wildlife area
along San Pablo Bay before turning onto Highway 121 and heading north toward Sonoma
wine country.

Finally I turned to him. “I don’t suppose Inspector Jaglom ever called you back.”

He smiled. “He did call back.”

“Well, don’t just sit there driving,” I said. “Tell me everything.”

Sadly, there wasn’t much to tell, despite the fact that Inspector Jaglom had always
been deferential to Derek.

“Nathan phoned me back to reiterate his earlier warning that I call him if anything
untoward occurs during the dinner.”

“That’s it? He didn’t give you any more meat?”

“No meat.”

“But you’re in charge of these characters for the night.” I frowned. “He should’ve
gone over all their alibis with you. Their quirks. Turn-ons. Pet peeves.”

His mouth twisted in a smile. “He did give me a number of overall impressions. For
instance, Montgomery was seriously overwrought.”

“Like we needed a cop to tell us that,” I muttered. “And it’s not really fair. I know
Monty calls
himself
a drama queen, but he isn’t. Well, once in a while maybe. But that’s true for everyone.”
Except Derek, I added silently.

Derek paused to check his rearview mirror, then continued. “Nathan also told me that
Peter appeared suspicious and nervous. And that Raoul charmed Inspector Lee to such
an extent that Nathan finally had to tell her to stop talking about him.”

“Good to know she can be charmed,” I said. I could relate to Lee’s reaction. Raoul
was irresistible to most women. Except maybe his own wife. “What did he say about
Colette?”

Derek glanced at me. “He thought she was lying.”

“Really? I thought so, too. And it annoyed me that she tried to make everyone sound
culpable, especially Savannah. And her own husband! Did Jaglom give you his opinion
about her?”

“He thought she came across as insecure and shallow,” Derek said, frowning. “She talked
too much, and that made him wonder what she might really be hiding.”

“Wow,” I said. “Way to make a good impression.”

But as soon as I said it, I felt a tug of sympathy for Colette. I immediately gave
myself a stern internal lecture. Feeling pity for Colette was stupid and contrary
to my own best interests, considering how she’d practically slandered my own sister.

There. I felt better. “What did he say about Margot?”

“He liked her,” Derek said. “She made him laugh. She also offered to cook for him,
which is apparently the way to touch his heart.”

“Mine, too.” I shifted in my seat to get a better look at Derek. “Did he say anything
about Savannah?”

Derek reached for my hand and I took that as a really bad sign.

“Something’s wrong,” I said. “What did Jaglom say?”

He squeezed my hand. “He said he liked Savannah very much and hoped she wasn’t guilty.”

“Oh, great.” I made a grouchy face. “That means he’s not sure yet.” I refused to dwell
on that detail. I knew Savannah was innocent and it was only a matter of time before
the police realized it, too. “Did he say anything else? Any dark secrets? Did he tell
you who his chief suspect is?”

“Give me a minute,” he said, checking the rearview mirror again. The car ahead of
us was moving too slowly, so Derek waited a few more seconds until he got a clear
view of the road ahead,
then revved the engine and passed the car. Once we were back in our own lane, he said,
“Except for Colette, Jaglom didn’t single out anyone else in a negative way.”

“Okay, did he give you any positive impressions of anyone?”

“Yes. Raoul is madly in love with his wife. Kevin is obsessed with an old cookbook.”

“He still didn’t mention anything about blackmail, did he?”

“No, nothing,” Derek said, as his eyes narrowed in deliberation. “And that’s interesting.
You heard her say the word, yet Jaglom said nothing. It makes me think the subject
of blackmail might be a hot topic for the police. We’ll have to keep our eyes and
ears open for any hints.”

“Yes, we will.” I settled back in my seat and spent the next few minutes lost in thought,
absorbing the news. Before I knew it, we had reached the small town of Glen Ellen,
where live oak trees sheltered the highway like a tunnel. I loved these old trees
with their dark, gnarly branches that twisted and turned and dipped before spreading
up to the sky.