Death by the Dozen (28 page)

“My Uncle Stan. You know, Detective Stan Cooper, we’re like this.” Mel crossed her fingers and held them up.

“Let her in,” a voice called from behind Jordan.

Jordan gave her a sour look and opened the door wide enough for Mel to stride through.

“Hi, Dutch,” Mel said. She glanced around the room. A cart with champagne and strawberries had been wheeled into the sitting area. “Cozy.”

Dutch ran a hand over his bald head and studied her through his dark eyes.

“What is it you think you know, Mel?”

Mel took a seat and helped herself to a strawberry, then she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to eat anything for which she didn’t know the point of origin. She placed it on a napkin as if saving it for later. Trying to look casual, she glanced up and studied them both. Dutch looked as smooth as ever, but Jordan appeared as twitchy as a treed squirrel.

“I think you know more about Vic’s death than you’re telling,” Mel said.

“You think I murdered the old blowhard, don’t you?” Dutch asked. He sat in the chair beside hers, a look of scorn marring his handsome features.

Mel shrugged. She really hoped Angie could hear her.

“Let me quote something I heard in passing, ‘What if someone finds out . . .’ or here is another little gem, ‘No one is going to find out what we did . . .’”

Jordan went pale and slumped into the chair beside Dutch’s, while he glowered at Mel.

“That was a private conversation.”

“Then why did I hear it?” she asked. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk about murdering people when you’re lounging poolside.”

“We weren’t talking about murder!” Jordan protested.

“Then what were you talking about?” Mel pressed.

“We borrowed something from Vic,” Dutch said. “And we were concerned that if people found out, they would think we murdered him for it.”

“Borrowed what?” Mel asked.

Jordan and Dutch exchanged a look.

“You may as well tell me,” Mel said. “Or I’ll tell Uncle Stan what I know.”

“What’s our guarantee that you won’t?” Dutch asked.

“There isn’t one,” Mel said.

Dutch was silent. Mel waited. She wondered if Angie would think their call had been disconnected. She started to get antsy but tried not to show it.

“All right, you remember how we always suspected that Vic didn’t give us his full recipes when we were in school?” Dutch asked.

Mel shrugged. “Of course, he always teased his students about having a secret ingredient for every recipe, but I never paid much attention. I thought he was kidding, especially since he said he wouldn’t tell me until, well, he said until he died. But it was just a joke.”

“That’s what I thought,” Dutch said. “But then, I found out it was true.”

Jordan nodded vigorously, and Mel stared at them, thinking they were both daft. Her face must have shown her skepticism because Jordan leaned forward.

“It’s true,” she insisted.

“So, you’re telling me that Vic really did withhold ingredients from his recipes to make sure that no one could replicate his dishes exactly?”

“Yes,” Dutch said. “You realize what this means?”

Mel frowned. “No.”

“It means he was a fraud,” Dutch said. “He really wasn’t a master chef, and he wasn’t a great professor. He was just a con man with a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“That’s a lie!” Mel snapped.

“Is it?” Dutch asked. “Then why did he commit suicide after Jordan revealed that she had discovered one of his secret ingredients?”

“He didn’t commit suicide,” Mel argued. “He was murdered.”

“I’m sorry, Mel, but that’s not what happened,” Dutch said.

Mel felt her throat get tight. “Have you told the police all of this?”

“No,” Dutch said. His confidence was oozing forth like cookie dough out of a store-bought tube. Mel hated that prepackaged stuff.

“Tell me what happened the day he died,” Mel demanded. “Don’t leave anything out.”

Dutch gestured to Jordan to speak with a wave of his hand.

“Well, I invited him to breakfast here in my room. I wanted to break it off with him gently.”

Jordan looked at Mel, and Mel got the feeling she was looking for approval. Well, she wasn’t going to get it. Mel gestured for her to continue.

“I was going to make omelets, but you know how fussy he was about his eggs,” Jordan said.

Mel nodded. Vic had been known for his exquisite skill with eggs. The pleats in a chef’s hat are supposed to represent the chef’s knowledge of how many ways to use eggs. In Vic’s case, Mel had thought they always needed to add a few pleats.

“So, I decided to make scones, you know how his scones were so rich and flaky and had that delicious but indefinable savory taste to them?”

“Oh, yes.” Mel had envied Vic’s scones forever.

“I wanted to show him that I did have some food skills, so I added his secret ingredient to them.”

“Okay, put the brakes on right there,” Mel said. “What secret ingredient?”

“It’s the one he used in a lot of his baked goods,” Jordan said.

“Yeah, I got that. What’s the name of it?” Mel asked.

Jordan glanced at Dutch and then back at Mel. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Mel asked. “Surely it had a name.”

“Um, actually no,” she said. “It was just in a plain spice bottle, and it had a handwritten label that said,
For baking
.”

“Did you tell the police about your breakfast?” Mel asked.

“I told her not to,” Dutch said. “I thought if they knew he’d been here, she’d be in trouble. So she just told them that she’d broken things off with him.”

“But left out that it was over a cozy little breakfast,” Mel said. Jordan opened her mouth to protest, but Mel waved her off. “So then what happened?”

“He tried his scone, but when I told him I’d added his secret ingredient for pastries and asked him if he was surprised, he got the strangest look on his face.”

“Strange how?” Mel asked.

“Well, he looked startled and then he got really pale. I thought he was going to have one of his temper tantrums, you know the kind where he yells a lot, so I quickly told him that I couldn’t see him anymore.”

“Nice,” Mel said. “Announce that you have the apparent key to one of his recipes and then dump him. You’re all heart.”

“Hey, I asked him if he was all right,” Jordan protested. Mel rolled her eyes. “But he just looked sickly. I thought maybe he was devastated that I had dumped him, but he got up from his chair and left without answering me. It was the last time I ever saw him.”

Jordan dissolved into tears with a noisy hiccupping accompaniment. Mel wanted to tell her to put a sock in it, but then she wondered if Jordan had really had some feelings for Vic.

She turned to Dutch. “And you really thought not telling the police any of this was a good idea?”

“Look, I’m starting a new gig with Bertie, and I don’t want any bad publicity mucking up my shot, you feel me?”

“Like a hemorrhoid,” Mel snapped. “Honestly, is success so important to you that you don’t care that Vic obviously left that breakfast in some distress and then he
died
?”

She jumped up from her seat and glared down at them.

“What did you expect us to do about it?” Dutch rose, matching her combative stance.

“Why did you really do it?” Mel asked Jordan. “Why did you cook him a meal using an ingredient that he supposedly kept to himself?”

“Well, to show him . . . that I . . . that we . . .” Jordan stammered and looked helplessly at Dutch.

“You made her do it, didn’t you?” Mel asked, turning back to Dutch. “You did this. You stole his lover and had her serve him one of his own recipes just to destroy him. Admit it.”

“I . . . it . . .” Dutch took a steadying breath. “Bertie made me do it. Bertie gave me the spice bottle and told me it was what Vic used in his baked goods. There wasn’t much in it, so I told Jordan to use it all.”

“Why?” Mel asked. “Why would Bertie have you do this?”

“Because he hated Vic; you know that. If I wanted a spot on his show, he told me I had to sleep with Jordan and reveal to Vic that we knew he withheld ingredients from his recipes and that we had figured out what they were. That was the deal I made with Bertie to be his costar—basically I agreed to humiliate Vic.”

“What?” Jordan shrieked.

“Baby, I’m so . . .” Dutch reached for her, but she stumbled away from him.

“Oh, no, don’t you ‘baby’ me! I thought you did all this for me. I thought you did this to prove to Vic that we didn’t need him. I thought it was because you wanted
me
, not because you were involved in some twisted revenge scheme of Bertie’s to forward your own career.”

A knock like gunfire sounded on the door, but Dutch and Jordan were oblivious. Mel circled them and hurried to open the door. She had a feeling she was going to need backup.

There was Angie, holding two large soda spritzer bottles, looking ready to unload the contents should the situation warrant it.

“Where did you get these?” Mel asked as Angie handed her one.

“Passing bar cart,” she said and strode into the room. “Very fortunate that it passed by right when it sounded as if someone needed a cool-down.”

“You used me!” Jordan was shrieking now. “And I let you. I was just a way to get to Vic for you and Bertie, wasn’t I? Wasn’t I?”

Dutch raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, which was an unfortunate mistake as it further enflamed the rage that was Jordan.

“Listen, sweetie,” he began, but Jordan let out a grunt and started looking around for a weapon.

“Get your target sighted,” Angie ordered. “I’ve got the brunette.”

Mel aimed the business end of her spritzer bottle at Dutch. Jordan began to hurl strawberries at him, which landed on Dutch’s shirt with a series of solid plops. When she was out of those, she grabbed ice cubes from the ice bucket. One nailed him in the eye, and he went down clutching his face. Jordan wasn’t done, however. She took the chocolate dipping sauce and upended the entire bowl on Dutch’s bent head.

“As much as I’m enjoying this . . .” Angie said, and Mel nodded. Enough was enough. Angie gave the order. “Fire!”

She and Angie squeezed their triggers. Angie got Jordan full on the chest, making her gasp and sputter. Mel fell a bit short and had to take two steps toward Dutch to hit him with the full impact.

“Hey!” he shouted as he reared back.

“I’m getting the stains out,” Mel retorted when her bottle fizzled to a stop.

“Ah!” Jordan was doused from head to foot and seemed incapable of speech.

“I suggest you two separate until you calm down,” Angie said.

“What are
you
doing here?” Dutch asked.

“Listening in,” Angie said. She put her bottle on the table and fished her cell phone out of her pocket and ended their call.

“You . . .” Dutch turned hostile accusatory eyes on Mel.

“Backup,” Mel said. “Don’t leave home without it.”

“I had thought this was just among friends,” he said.

He took a pile of napkins off the champagne cart and dabbed at his shirtfront.

“We have never been friends,” Mel said, “because you are not capable of friendship. You’re so busy trying to be ‘the man,’ you’ve lost sight of everything that’s important.”

“I have not,” Dutch protested.

“Eh, please,” Mel said with a dismissive wave. “What is Bertie’s room number?”

“Why should I tell you?” Dutch said. “So you can tell him what you found out and screw up my last chance at being a celebrity chef? Hell no.”

“Fine.” Mel fished her phone out of her purse and started to scroll through her contacts. “Let’s see . . . Uncle Stan, where is Uncle Stan, oh, there he is.”

She was about to push the dial button when Dutch said, “All right, all right. He’s in the suites on the first floor, number fourteen.”

“Thank you,” Mel said. She turned and looked at Angie. “Shall we?”

“After you,” she said. Then she turned around and looked at Dutch. “Maybe you should leave with us?”

He glanced at Jordan, who was soaked and whimpering, and back at them. “Maybe you’re right.”

Mel and Angie trailed Dutch out the door, closing it with a snap behind them.

Dutch headed to his own room down the corridor, and Angie followed him.

“Hey,” she called. “Wait for me. I don’t want you calling Bertie and warning him that we’re coming.”

He turned to look at Angie with one eyebrow raised.

“If you wanted to be alone with me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Oh, hurl,” Angie said. She turned to Mel. “I see what you mean about becoming immune to his charm.”

“Yeah, it wears thin after a while.”

Dutch looked offended but they ignored him.