Chicken Soup & Homicide (12 page)

"Oh my goodness, your cupcakes are spectacular," Deanna Lochlear said as she slipped her bid into the box. Deanna was the real estate agent who sold Amy and Alex their house. She took a step sideways and studied the chocolate Bundt cake that Amy had coated with rich chocolate ganache. "Your cake looks divine too. I am going to have to eat salad for a month if I win any of the auctions."

Low-calorie and decadent dessert were two concepts that didn't pair up often. Amy patted her tummy. "I know what you mean. I swear my skirt is getting tighter just thinking about how many calories are in this room right now."

Deanna chuckled as she filled out a lavender donation slip. "At least I can help out a few charities. It's too bad that none of them benefited from the chicken soup thing. Chet always left a vortex of chaos swirling behind him. I hate to say it, but neither his murder nor the mess it made of the event was much of a surprise."

Hello. Murder clue off the starboard bow. Now to play it cool like an iceberg. "I didn't realize you knew Chef Britton. I take it he wasn't easy to work with."

"Or be with." Deanna frowned for a few seconds, then shook off the funk with a slight nod, like a true real estate professional. Clearly, years of experience in putting on a happy face despite cracked house foundations and leaky roofs had made her a pro at hiding her feelings behind a smiling mask. She continued, "Let's just say he was my most difficult client. What he could afford and what he wanted were often two very different things. He tended to pitch a temper tantrum when deals didn't go his way."

Amy snagged a couple glasses of pink champagne with a raspberry bobbing in the bottom of the crystal flutes. She offered one to Deanna and asked, "Do you think he could've been killed over a real estate deal? Was there enough money involved to warrant murder?"

Deanna gulped down half of the cocktail in one swallow. "Don't get me started on the money I've lost from his screw ups. You should see the messes I'm trying to clean up with Bridget since she took over Cornerstone Property Management."

Amy took her own giant gulp of booze. Mrs. Mahoney had been hiding something. Chet's management company owned at least half a dozen restaurants in the area that Amy could think of off the top of her head. It must've been his main source of income, so how did Bridget end up running it? "Bridget Mahoney? I didn't realize she owned that business too."

"Like I said, Chet didn't have a clue about much of anything. As far as I can see, the most sensible thing he did was buy a lot for that community garden charity he was trying to win the showdown for. Of course, purchasing a cheap lot isn't what got him into trouble." Deanna tipped her glass up. The raspberry rolled into her mouth. "I'm not sure what exactly happened, but losing his company was a big business fiasco."

There was an announcement over the PA system that there were ten minutes left in the bidding period and winners would begin to be announced in half an hour. Deanna leaned closer. "Sorry to gossip and run, but I need to find my husband."

"No problem." Amy waggled her fingers good-bye. "Thanks for donating and bidding on my cupcakes."

Amy decided to freshen up her makeup. There were a lot of desserts on display, so the winners' list would take a while to get through. She bustled out of the ballroom and turned right. There was a smaller, less-crowded restroom up the hallway. Applying fresh lipstick was much easier when there weren't a dozen other women jostling for a glimpse into the same mirror. Her bathroom in the conference center boonies tactic worked. The restroom was empty. After slicking on more deep-red lipstick and performing the mandatory hair-fussing routine, Amy scooted into a stall. As soon as she shut the door, the outside door to the bathroom opened. A chorus of voices filled the room.

"What are you going to do now that your boy toy is gone, Bridget?"

Amy swallowed. Could the woman be talking to Bridget Mahoney? She was a widow who enjoyed the finer things in life. Younger men could be one of those things. If the women realized they weren't alone, they could stop chatting. Most likely the conversation would just be juicy gossip, but if the new owner of Cornerstone Property Management and admitted nonfan of Chef Britton was the Bridget being addressed, there could be clues. The realization that Mrs. Mahoney could have more information on the murder spurred Amy into action. Other women in the group laughed and made snide remarks. It was a catty group of women, but their conversational darts gave Amy time to conceal herself.

Thank goodness she had chosen the stall farthest away from the mirrors and sinks. She snatched one of the paper toilet seat protectors out of the dispenser on the wall and put it in place. Then she took off her right shoe, positioned her foot on the toilet seat, and grabbed the top of the stall wall while dangling the shoe off her hooked pinky finger. It was a bit of a stretch. Okay, it was a feat that should've only been attempted by a licensed contortionist, but she somehow managed to pull herself up and to stand on the toilet seat. The problem was, she needed to hold on to the partition to keep her balance, but she had to remove her other shoe so she could put her left foot down instead of staying in a ninja-esque stork pose until the other ladies left the room.

She exhaled and slowly began lifting her foot while splaying her toes to make sure the rhinestone-embellished pump stayed on despite being canted at an odd angle. Finally, after feeling the burn in her thighs for way too long, she snatched off the shoe and assumed a much more stable two-footed position. The conversation continued as Amy pressed her fists against opposite stall walls to stabilize herself. Her fingers cramped from dangling the shoes from her pinkies, but eavesdropping was not the time to wimp out.

"Believe me—it's not that much of a loss." Amy blinked as she stared at the gray veins in the white marble wall. Bridget Mahoney had a distinctive voice, very much like Lauren Bacall's signature throaty purr. There was no doubt whom Amy was hiding from. Mrs. Mahoney continued, "Chet was the human equivalent of a slinky toy. He only had one rather unimpressive trick that quickly got boring. Besides, having a lover who was more high maintenance than I am was rather irritating."

Laughter bounced off the stone walls of the bathroom. Amy's left eye twitched. The hand cramps were almost unbearable, and Bridget's comment was a nuclear bomb of a clue. Dealing with all of that while trying not to fall into a toilet wasn't how she had expected to spend part of her glamorous evening.

The layer of paper may have protected her tootsie from germs, but it was also slippery. It had only taken one attempt to slightly shift her weight to make it perfectly clear that she needed to keep her feet absolutely still or risk a splashdown that would surely give her presence away. By the time the group left the bathroom, Amy felt like she had been doing yoga for an hour, even though she'd only had to maintain the balancing act for five minutes at the most.

The trek back to the ballroom was painful as her muscles got used to moving again after the marathon spread-eagle stretch. The slowness worked to her advantage, though. Mrs. Mahoney and her posse didn't realize she was following them. The emcee, a local television news anchor who looked like a Ken doll, was already onstage when she hobbled through the ballroom doors. He should've skipped the last coat of spray tan. Instead of a healthy glow, like he had been in the Bahamas for a month, his skin had the hue of a pumpkin pie latte. Amy slid into a seat next to Sophie, who didn't acknowledge her since she was too busy chatting with the gorgeous clothing store owner. Trisha and her hot-sauce red dress were nowhere in sight. It seemed that Amy's single friends were having a very good evening.

Amy didn't mind the alone time with her brain. She stayed on alert for the announcer to call her name so she could see who won her desserts, but she mostly thought about the information she had uncovered. Her gut still told her Bridget didn't plunge the knife into Britton's heart, but could Chet's affair with Bridget have something to do with his death? If she took over his company, maybe he wasn't the only one with questionable business ethics.

Carla drummed her fingers on the black granite-topped table. She had never been to Nibbles & Noshes, but letting Amy pick the restaurant was the least she could do after begging her friend to come out in the bitter cold just to calm her nerves. It sounded like the police station had become a battleground. Pitts wasn't laying off on his affair-gone-wrong angle, and he reminded Bruce of it every chance he could get. Her stoically handsome boyfriend's standard expression had gone from a smooth and emotionless poker face to scowling and pissed off. Not good that a weaselly coworker was getting under his skin. A bad sign for his job security and relationship with her. Hopefully Amy had come up with a long list of viable suspects.

She plucked a couple more kernels of popcorn out of the bowl that had been delivered to the table as soon as she was seated. The waitress said the fluffy kernels were popped in bacon fat, then sprinkled with bits of maple candied bacon. If Amy didn't arrive soon, the free treat would be gone before she got a chance to sample it so she could then dissect the bar snack and figure out exactly how it was made. Apparently the thought was a mental beacon, because Amy walked through the restaurant door. Or at least it appeared to be her friend. The woman's curtain of blonde hair looked correct, but her face was buried in a bulky cowl made of thick gray yarn. The accessory stretched from shoulder to shoulder and climbed past the woman's nose. A cabled beanie completed the knitted portion of the cold-weather outfit. A voluminous black wool coat was so long the bottom hem brushed the top of a pair of fur-trimmed lace-up snow boots. The arctic fashionista removed the hat and Carla waved. It was definitely Amy.

"I look and feel like a penguin," Amy grumbled as she pulled the cowl over her head. Static fluffed her hair into a fuzzy, golden aura around her head. "I can't wait until winter is over."

"I can't wait until this witch hunt of an investigation is over." Carla slid the bowl of smoky, sweet popcorn toward Amy. "Maple bacon popcorn. You have to try it."

Amy popped a few nuggets of popcorn into her mouth before she shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the back of the tall chair. She hopped onto the seat and sighed. "I'm sorry. I've come up with quite a few suspects, but no one with a flashing neon guilty sign."

"I'll welcome any ideas. Being under Pitts's microscope is brutal. Bruce and I are competing for worst bad mood. I could go to jail. He could lose his job. Both of us have a lot to lose if the real murderer isn't found. The problem is, I don't think Pitts is trying to find anybody else. He's enjoying torturing us too much."

"That sucks." Amy extracted a shard of the sticky bacon from a kernel of popcorn. "I know he's looking into other people, though. Besides rattling me and Sophie, he's also interrogated Holly and Preston Neale. Also, he's talked to Trisha a couple times trying to pry everything out of her memory banks, looking for suspicious behavior that didn't seem suspicious to her." She wrinkled her nose. "Although I think he's more interested in getting a date with her than actually getting information on the case."

"Eww. Who would want to go out with him? He's the walking, talking poster child for bad attitude."

"I think she's in the middle of a relationship draught. She's spun his bad attitude around and sees him as an irresistible bad boy. Although, that might not be a bad thing." Amy picked up the menu the waitress had left when she delivered the popcorn. "If I stir up some promising suspects, maybe she could sweet talk him into looking into them. It should be easier than you or Shepler trying to convince him."

"So we're all on Pitts's shit list?"

Amy grabbed Carla's hand with ice-cold fingers, even though she had just removed her black leather gloves. "Yes! We're all in a pickle now." She scooted her chair closer. "Truth be told, while I don't like it, I think it shows he is somewhat doing his job. He absolutely should be looking into the showdown competitors. You never know how badly some people want to win."

She had a point, but it didn't make Carla feel any better. Maybe Amy would still be on Pitts's suspect radar, but stooping low enough to quibble with Chet had made things so much worse for both of them. No wonder Bruce wasn't happy. Her propensity for calling people out for bullshit was having devastating ripple effects on the lives of everybody that she cared for.

"Hello, my venerable former competition." A man dressed in a gray chef's jacket, with Jake embroidered in red thread on the pocket, said as he grinned and patted the table in front of Amy. Behind him a group of women sipping on rainbow-colored cocktails swiveled in unison to check out the chef. "Bummer that the showdown turned out like it did. Although, going into it I thought I was going to be the one to die. Man, I was feeling rough."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "I thought you didn't look like you felt well. What was going on?"

He leaned forward. "I can't say for sure, but I think ol' Chet was playing dirty, trying to take out his competition. The morning of the showdown he insisted I try his butter-poached shrimp. I thought it tasted funky but credited that to his poor chef skills. Within half an hour I went from feeling fine to being sicker than a dog. I didn't hear of anybody else at the expo getting sick after eating his samples."

"That's horrible." Amy's eyes widened. "Was Chef Britton that evil? I can't imagine purposely making someone sick."

"Oh, he was absolutely that much of a lowlife. Winning by forfeiture would just be another way to prove his superiority. All who defected from the Camp Britton had to be destroyed with any available weapon."

"Like bad reviews?"

Jake snorted. "Yeah. I guarantee that didn't work out like he wanted. Business here has doubled since he had the little hissy fit about Nibbles & Noshes being low priced non-gourmet. I think people stopped in for the first time because they were curious to see what we offered. Now I'm seeing more and more repeat customers, so I guess they like my concept."