Chicken Soup & Homicide

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CHICKEN SOUP & HOMICIDE

by

JANEL GRADOWSKI

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Copyright © 2015 by Janel Gradowski

Cover design by Lyndsey Lewellen

Gemma Halliday Publishing

http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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"Are you ready to rumble?" Chef Jake Sawyer asked the question in a booming sports-announcer voice. The Chicken Soup Showdown would begin in a few hours, and Amy was ready. Or at least she kept telling herself she was ready in a fake it until you make it kind of way as she walked around the civic arena and tried to enjoy the Eat Local Expo. Chef Jake pointed the faux microphone, a wooden spoon, toward her. "Who's going to take down the egomaniac, Chef Britton?"

Amy smiled at the pro wrestling-style commentary. Chef Jake had delivered the questions with a smile and a wink, but there was a sharp edge to his description of their rival. The afternoon could get very interesting. What she had thought would be a friendly charity competition might not be so friendly after all. She had no idea what an amped-up wrestler sounded like, so she just answered in a normal tone of voice. "I have no idea who will win. I think we're all pretty evenly matched teams."

"Very diplomatic. I think you are a nicer person than I am." He swept his arm over the array of food samples on the table between them. "Would you like to try something?"

"I would love to." She studied the display for Nibbles & Noshes restaurant, Jake's foodie business baby. On the white linen tablecloth, small cups of walleye ceviche were lined up beside glistening cubes of braised beef short rib on tiny plates. She selected the fish, flecked with bits of purple onion and green jalapeños. The ceviche was perfectly tangy and spicy. She held up the empty cup in a toast. "Mmm…I could make a meal of this. I'm sure you've been busy keeping up with the demand for samples. Are you ready for the showdown, especially the talking-to-the-crowd part?"

He nodded and flashed another toothpaste commercial-worthy smile. His dark hair was twisted into a small knot on the back of his head. He had a full, closely trimmed beard and sapphire blue eyes that glittered in the harsh arena lighting. In short, he was so hot he could melt a stick of butter by looking at it, despite having dark moons under his eyes. Prepping for the Eat Local Expo must've been exhausting. He rolled his eyes and said, "I'm going to pretend it's just another dinner shift. I figure if I focus on one person, like I'm talking just to them, I won't get stage fright and freeze up. Are you ready to cook a meal in the spotlights?"

She had been trying to forget about the fact that they were going to be cooking in the theater at one end of the civic arena. It had 500 seats. Considering the event had sold out weeks earlier, whenever she thought about it, the nervous butterflies in her stomach turned into giant bats. So she and her best friend, Carla, were wandering around the expo, munching on food samples while Amy tried to distract herself from worrying. Hopefully her stomach would stop grumbling and settle down soon so she could concentrate on making soup and a salad for the competition. "I'm ready, but the audience-participation thing is freaking me out too. We're really supposed to try to get the audience wound up like they're at a game show? I'm not used to being a cheerleader while I cook. Rah, rah…I'm putting chopped celery in the pot."

He nodded as he chuckled and handed her a short rib sample. "I've cooked in worse situations. As long as Britton doesn't win, I don't care what happens. His partner from the herb farm seems really nice, but he's going down. "

"Do you think so?"

"Hell yes. Believe me, there will be nothing better than watching Britton get taken out by one of the underlings he tortured."

Tortured underlings? Chef Jake had animosity to spare. Sophie, the owner of Riverbend Coffee, was Amy's partner in the Chicken Soup Showdown. Before opening the coffee shop, Sophie had been the pastry chef at Cornerstone, the high-end restaurant owned by Chef Britton, the target who was in Jake's crosshairs. As Amy and Sophie worked on their menu for the showdown, Sophie told her about the acidic, local celebrity chef. Life behind the Cornerstone kitchen doors, ruled by the vindictive dictator, sounded about as fun as getting a root canal every day. According to the chef bio on the showdown's web page, Jake was a former sous chef at the restaurant. He must've had run-ins with the combative chef, too.

"We'll see soon enough." Amy deposited her empty glass and plate into the dirty dishes bin at the end of the table. "Good luck!"

She looked around and located Carla at a nearby table loaded with bouquets made of fruit. The shop talk about cooking, a chore that her friend tried to avoid as much as possible, probably drove her away from the Nibbles & Noshes booth. Amy nudged Carla's shoulder, then plucked a skewer of grapes and pineapple chunks from a grass-green vase. "I'm done talking shop. Ready to move on."

Carla grabbed a business card from the vendor. "These are really good. I needed a bit of fruit to counteract all of the sugar, bacon, and cheese I've eaten so far."

The Eat Local Expo certainly wasn't a health-food extravaganza. Braised pork belly, ultimate grilled cheese sandwiches, and dark chocolate tortes were more prevalent than fruit kebabs on the sample tables. Restaurants, bakeries, and food producers from three counties around Kellerton, Michigan, were offering little bites of their most decadent treats. Exercise-fanatic Carla did indulge in decadent food, but she was probably calculating how many extra laps she'd need to make at the health club's pool to burn off the calories.

Amy and Carla walked in silence for a bit, checking out samples and getting a nice dose of vitamin C courtesy of the fruit. Amy was grateful for the company. If she had been alone, she'd be wandering around wringing her hands and going a bit insane waiting for the showdown to begin. Or hanging out in the Riverbend Coffee booth bugging her partner and drinking all of the espresso samples. Not a smart thing to do unless she wanted to look like an infomercial for the side effects of consuming too much caffeine during the showdown. Even though Carla couldn't stay for the actual competition, she had rearranged her day to come to the expo and play mental health anchor.

"These sound good." Amy stopped in front of a table. What looked like balls of dirt nestled in fancy foil wrappers were lined up in front of a chalkboard that said they were Pecan Pie Energy Balls. She popped one in her mouth and chewed tentatively, hoping the vegan snack wouldn't taste like potting soil. As advertised, the treat was sweet and chewy. She grabbed another sample and handed it to Carla. "They do taste like pecan pie. They're supposed to give you energy. You should buy a case of them. They have to be healthier than the gallons of coffee you drink at work to keep your energy up."

Carla sniffed the snack then took a bite. She nodded. "These
are
really good, but I can't believe you're criticizing my coffee consumption. I've seen the stash of coffee beans in your pantry."

"My point is, you and Shepler are still rolling along at the hot-and-bothered relationship level. I'm sure multiple sources of energy for both of you can come in handy. You need some natural sugar, carbs, and protein to go with the caffeine." Amy handed money to the smiling cashier behind the Nature's Nuggets table. She plucked a bag of the homemade energy bites from the display and tucked them into Carla's tomato-red tote bag. "Between your work hours and hanging out with him, you must be running with your energy tanks on empty all the time."

"Thank you." Carla hopped out of the path of an old woman zooming down the aisle in an electric wheelchair. "I've been working extra hours so I can take a few days off in a couple weeks. Bruce and I are planning a little romantic getaway."

Amy flinched as another red tote bag slammed into her hip. The reusable shopping bags were being passed out at the entrance to the Eat Local Expo. It seemed that every person roaming the civic arena floor was carrying one. Judging from the impact, apparently a vendor was selling barbells instead of barware. She rubbed the tender spot and asked, "Where are you going, and why haven't I heard about this until now? If you're leaving soon, there are all kinds of things you need to do to prepare for a romantic getaway, starting with buying more energy snacks here."

Carla ran her fingers through her short, cognac-colored hair. Now that it was fall, she had opted for darker walnut streaks instead of the honey highlights she wore in the summer. "We're thinking about going to Petoskey or maybe Grand Rapids. If the weather looks bad, we may even just stay somewhere nice in downtown Detroit. I didn't tell you until now because I don't need to prepare that much for two nights away. I'll just throw a few things in the overnight bag you gave me for my birthday, and I'll be good."

"No you won't! That little bag will not hold enough supplies for a romantic getaway." Amy twisted her straw-blonde ponytail into a bun and tucked the ends underneath to secure the temporary updo. It was time to get serious with her best friend, so she needed a serious hairdo. The Vera Bradley bag was quite large, and very cute, but even if Carla and Shepler spent most of the weekend in bed, they'd need more stuff. "You have to at least pack a cooler and garment bag with a nice dress."

Carla grimaced and shook her head. She wasn't convinced that more than two minutes of planning was in order, so Amy soldiered on with the reasons why. "You can pack snacks and drinks in the cooler, then you won't have to waste money on room service. When you two actually get out of bed, I bet your hunky sweetie pie will want to take you out to dinner…that's why you need a dress."

"We'll manage." Carla held up a square of muffaletta sandwich, which was skewered by a blue tassel-topped toothpick. She swiped the stratified sandwich sample back and forth like a miniature sword. "We may not be as organized as you and Alex, but we are adults. I promise we won't starve or go schlepping around town in dirty clothes. We'll be fine."

"But if you take the time to plan, maybe make a batch of cheesecake-filled, chocolate-covered strawberries, your weekend could go from fine to outstanding." Amy's mind filled with all of the decadent treats that would be perfect for a romantic getaway—gooey caramel-filled chocolate truffles, buttery shortbread cookies to dip into thick fudge sauce, and some champagne Jell-O shots to add some whimsy to the spread of snacks they could feed each other with their fingers. No utensils or napkins needed. Carla obviously didn't have the time or inclination to make the sexy treats, but Amy didn't mind helping out her formerly commitment-phobic friend.

Carla rolled her eyes. "I don't do things like fill strawberries. How do you even do that? Fussy foods are in your arena. Maybe Bruce and I will get some strawberry cheesecake ice cream cones."

Would she actually consider making them if they were simple? It wasn't like she was suggesting Carla prepare a four-course buffet for aliens. Scoop, fill, dip. Three easy steps. "You get giant strawberries and scoop out their cores, pipe in sweetened cream cheese, then dip in melted chocolate. I'm sure I can find a melon-ball tool for you here before you leave."

"No, thank you. I'm fine with my ice cream version of your foodie fantasy. Handing a cashier money is the most work I want to do outside of the hotel room."

The aisle ahead was blocked. Amy stopped to figure out how to get past the logjam of people clustered in front of the Cornerstone restaurant booth. The display area was about four times larger than any of the other booths, but apparently the added space still couldn't accommodate the crowd scrambling for the gourmet restaurant's food. Worker-bee chefs in starched white jackets and tall, ribbed paper hats scrambled to fill sample plates. Amy couldn't see the menu board, but it didn't matter. While she didn't mind chatting and sampling Chef Jake's food, she had no interest in anything from Chet Britton's restaurant. That would be like munching on the terrine of evil concocted by the wicked warlock of the Chicken Soup Showdown. During the preliminary competition meetings, he hadn't been quite able to hide his disdain for being pitted against mere mortals in the culinary world.