A Cookbook Conspiracy (28 page)

Savannah cried quietly in Dalton’s arms in the backseat of Derek’s Bentley, all the
way to BAX. I admit I had to wonder if Dalton might be coming to regret being mixed
up in her life, but he seemed wrapped up in her completely. And for that I could’ve
kissed him.

Not that I didn’t think any man on the planet wouldn’t be damned lucky to be involved
with my sister, but there were a lot of emotions flying around these days. Some guys
didn’t handle emotions well. I’m just saying…

By the time we arrived at BAX, police cars and emergency vehicles surrounded the place.
We had to wait at the door until a uniformed officer could find one of the detective
inspectors to allow us inside. Even then, we were shuffled off to a few corner tables
to wait with the other chefs and restaurant staff.

As soon as Colette and Kevin saw Savannah, the three women ran to each other and held
on. There were sobs and sniffles and teary-eyed questions asking why this had to happen
to Monty, of all people.

That was the real question, after all. And I couldn’t help but think that anyone in
this room might have the answer to that question. What had happened to Monty pretty
much put the ol’ kibosh on the random mugger theory. The killer was definitely one
of the chefs.

But which one?

I glanced around. Raoul and Peter were talking quietly in the corner. Raoul was weeping
openly and it made me like him even more than I already did. There was something so
honest and real about a strong man showing such naked emotion.

“Oh, Brooklyn, isn’t it awful?”

I turned and saw Kevin, who grabbed me in a teary hug.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, meaning every word.

“It was so horrible,” she said, her voice trembling.

“What happened? Can you tell me?”

She nodded, then sniffed a few times to catch her breath. “Peter drove me and Margot
over here and we walked in talking and joking, acting like we owned the place. Peter
and I were teasing Margot about the menu.”

“What about the menu?” I asked.

Kevin giggled, right on the edge of hysteria. “She’d forgotten the hoisin sauce recipe
for her spareribs. She was mortified! But when she called her sous chef up in Seattle
to get it, he reminded her that she had threatened him with death if he ever gave
away that recipe. So she’s yelling that it’s her recipe, but he’s adamant. ‘How do
I know this is really you?’ he says.”

Kevin was laughing and crying now and had to stop and take a few deep breaths to calm
down. “Anyway, we were the first ones to arrive. We waited out here for Monty, chatting
and such while Margot made cappuccinos at the bar. But after ten minutes or so, Monty
still hadn’t arrived, so Margot finally decided to get started. She turned the corner
into the kitchen hallway and screamed.” A shudder wracked Kevin’s entire body. “I’ve
never heard anyone scream so loudly. It was awful. I’ll never forget that sound.”

I completely understood, having both heard that sound and been the one making it in
times past. “Did you see what she was screaming about?”

“Yes.” She gulped a few times, then said, “Monty was on the
floor in the hallway. It was a gruesome sight. His back was arched up and stiff, you
know? Like he was lying on a big exercise ball or something. Peter got close enough
to check for a pulse, just in case. I stayed back, but I could still see Monty’s eyes.”
She shuddered again and wrapped both arms around her middle as if trying to soothe
herself, but it wasn’t working. “They were wide-open and…and there was some vile dried
substance around his mouth and…” She gulped loudly. “Oh, God.”

Suddenly she cupped her hand over her mouth and ran out the front door. I assumed
she was losing her breakfast, and I was feeling a little queasy myself now.

But my mind was too busy to indulge my uneasy stomach at the moment. Monty’s back
was arched? A substance dried on his mouth? Eyes wide-open? What in the world could
have caused him to die so horrifically? I was hardly an expert, but it sounded like
some kind of poisoning to me.

And, that traitorous voice inside whispered, who knows better how to poison someone
than a chef?

“Darling.”

I turned and saw Derek hovering inches away. Absurdly relieved, I pushed all thoughts
out of my mind, walked into his arms and grabbed hold of him. “Did you hear what she
said?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “It sounds like poison. Possibly strychnine.”

“I was thinking poison also.” I tipped my head back to look up at him. “But other
than that, I don’t have a clue.”

“Strychnine poisoning is a terrible way to die,” Derek murmured, his tone grave. “Severe
muscular contractions cause the victim to asphyxiate. It’s extremely painful but short-lived.
Death comes quickly.”

My turn to shudder now. “Okay, too much information.”

He hugged me a little tighter. “Sorry, darling. I’m used to you wanting more information,
not less.”

“I’m rethinking my position on that.” I appreciated that he
was trying to keep me in the crime scene loop, but Kevin’s description had creeped
me out thoroughly. No wonder she went tearing out of here.

Strangely enough, I’d recently been involved in another murder by poisoning. If things
kept going like this, I was going to need a follow-up therapy session with Guru Bob.

Thinking of Guru Bob reminded me of something else. While I might’ve been grossed
out by the thought of Monty dying in such a horrible way, this wasn’t about me. No,
this was all about poor Monty, big, brawny, fun-loving Monty, who didn’t have an enemy
in the world until last night. Somebody had killed him brutally, painfully, willfully.
And I vowed to go to any lengths necessary to bring that cold-blooded killer to justice.

I also had to find a way to wrap this up quickly. With two chefs murdered now, I was
more worried than ever about Savannah. What if she had inadvertently seen something?
Or heard something? She might be oblivious to whatever it was, but if a killer thought
she was a threat, he’d stop her as Monty had been stopped.

Oh, God.

Just the thought of how Monty had died turned my stomach, but I had to stay strong.
Not just for him, but for my sister and the other chefs who were my friends.

“I’m going back to the kitchen to talk to the police,” Derek said, snapping me out
of my short mind trip. “Will you be all right out here with your sister?”

It was official. Derek thought I was a wimp. Damn. I was
not
a wimp. Okay, I never did too well around blood. And I hated this “gift” of finding
dead bodies. But I wouldn’t run and hide. Never had, never would. (Despite how much
the craven part of me might want to!)

After a few head-clearing breaths, I said, “I’ll stay here, but
only because they won’t tell you anything if I’m with you. But I’m going to want to
know what happened, okay? I was just a little woozy there for a minute after Kevin
and I talked. I’m fine now.”

He lifted my chin, studied my eyes, and then nodded. “You are absolutely more than
fine, my love. I promise to tell you everything, even if it’s not pleasant.”

“Thank you.” And it wouldn’t be pleasant, I thought, as I watched him cross the room
and disappear down the hall.

I noted at least one glaring difference between the aftermath of Baxter’s death and
that of Montgomery’s: the amount of tears that people shed. With Baxter, there were
a few sad moments when the chefs first heard the news. But with Monty, everyone was
overwhelmed with grief and it didn’t seem to be subsiding.

Oh, there was plenty of laughter when someone recalled a funny line of his or some
melodramatic rant he’d taken off on. But then people would stop and remember and dissolve
into tears all over again.

I didn’t think I could take much more of it, mainly because I was a sympathetic weeper.
Within minutes of arriving, my eyes were drenched and it was a pretty good bet they
would stay that way for as long as I remained with the other mourners. Of course,
there was no way I could leave, not while Derek was still back there talking to the
police. And I wasn’t about to go without Savannah.
She was a mess. I was pleased to see that Dalton had remained at her side. I could’ve
hugged him for that.

So I stayed where I was and occupied my time by watching everyone else. Looking for
a clue. Any clue. Because a stone-cold murderer might not stop at just two deaths.

I thought I had gotten to know these people, but I didn’t know them so well, after
all. If one of them was wearing a mask, it was going to be difficult to see past it.

Colette and Margot huddled together in a quiet corner, and every few minutes one of
them would hiccup or sniffle or melt into another round of tears.

Margot had already contacted Monty’s boyfriend, who agreed to call his restaurant
manager and his parents. That was a thankless task and I was glad I didn’t have to
do it.

I was worried what would happen when the press and the paparazzi got wind that another
chef had been killed. But I refused to dwell on those ugly details right then.

Kevin sat at the bar, talking softly to Peter, who stood close by. She was leaning
into him and he was comforting her, and the love they felt for each other was downright
palpable. To me, at least. I thought it was too bad they’d found each other again
under such painful circumstances. If they made it through these next few days together,
their relationship would be that much stronger for it.

Raoul stood alone, leaning against the large plate-glass window and staring out at
the street. Was he gazing at the park across the street, wishing he was out there
flying a kite instead of here in Baxter’s restaurant where murder was becoming the
special of the day? Mission Dolores Park provided such a beautiful view with its green
grass climbing up that massive steep hill and the chunky, iconic palm trees that lined
Dolores Street’s median. Who wouldn’t rather be out there than in here?

He looked so lonely gazing out the window that I almost walked over to console him.
But I didn’t want to intrude on his
private grief, so I stayed where I was and continued to play the casual observer.
It was a good thing, because a moment later, Raoul turned and I saw something in his
soulful brown eyes that I’d never seen there before. Burning anger mixed with raw
hatred.

Who was he looking at?

Suddenly it was hard to breathe. His expression so unnerved me that I stood up and
dashed to the ladies’ room to escape the corrosive quality of his vibe. Staring at
myself in the bathroom mirror, I felt a little silly for getting so worked up. I splashed
some water in my face and told myself to snap out of it. Whatever “it” was. Fear?
Shock? Sadness? Maybe a little of all three. Make that a
lot
, especially fear. That look in Raoul’s eyes had freaked me out. He was normally such
a sweet, easygoing man. What had happened to make him so bitterly angry? To fill him
with so much of the hate I’d read in his eyes? Or had I glimpsed the
real
Raoul in that expression while the man I thought I knew was only the mask?

I’d always imagined Raoul was too kind ever to hurt another living creature. Now I
wondered if he’d been fooling us all for years. Had the anger inside him turned him
into a killer?

I kept replaying that moment in my mind, when he turned away from the window and focused
that laser beam of anger on…who? I pictured the room in my mind, the small groups
of people sitting together in different parts of the restaurant. Peter and Kevin.
Colette and Margot. Dalton and Savannah. Me. The uniformed officer standing guard
at the hall entrance.

“Are you all right?”

I glanced at the door and saw Savannah peeking in. “Come in. I’m fine. I just got
a little light-headed out there for a minute.”

She walked in and closed and locked the door behind her. “I know how you feel. I’m
so emotionally unbalanced right now, I wouldn’t be surprised to find myself crawling
on the ceiling.”

I gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s scary, but you’ll get through this. We all will,
eventually.”

“But two murders in just a few days? It’s too much.” She shook her head, at a loss
as to how to take it all in. “I don’t know how you do it, Brooklyn, but you’re obviously
built to handle these things better than I am.”

Et tu, Bugs?
I thought. I was getting that a lot lately. Why did everyone assume I was attracted
to this kind of stuff? I frowned at her reflection through the mirror. “You know I
don’t do it on purpose, right?”

“I know, sweetie.” She sat on the small couch behind me. “But you know what I mean.
It’s different for you. You have this natural but weird sort of thought process you
go through. It’s completely unlike mine. I’m not sure why—maybe it’s from working
on all those books. They’re like puzzles. You take them apart and then have to figure
out how to put them back together in a whole new way. And when you have a problem
to solve, you look at it from all these different angles, and then you fix it. It’s
a lot like solving mysteries, isn’t it?”

I turned and smiled at her, inordinately pleased that she actually understood me.
“That’s exactly what it is.” Leaning closer, I added, “But I’d still rather not deal
with so many dead bodies.”

“I don’t blame you there.” She shivered. “Gross.”

“Totally.” I turned back to the sink and splashed one more handful of water into my
puffy, tear-soaked eyes, then dried my face and hands and fixed a smile on my face.
Checking the mirror, I could see I looked a little grim, but it would have to do.
“Let’s go.”

The police were well into the interview process when we returned to the main room.
I didn’t see Derek anywhere, so I figured he was still somewhere in the back with
the cops. I avoided looking at Raoul. I wanted to talk to Derek about what I’d seen,
but that would have to wait.