Chicken Soup & Homicide (18 page)

The waitress smiled warmly as she took their orders, braised pork cheeks for Amy and a rib-eye steak for Alex. As they waited for the meals to arrive, they chatted about the unusually cold weather and the next competition Amy had targeted to enter. It was supposed to be date night with her husband, a prelude of steamy things to come. Instead, they were lost in the awkward fogginess of a first date. Going out was progress, but something still wasn't right.

Their meals arrived, and they ate in silence. The pork was tender and rich with a glistening stout glaze. The conversational gap twisted Amy's anxiety into a knot. To head off the panicky feeling that something was seriously wrong with her marriage, she watched the activity in the kitchen. It was easy to pick out the new head chef, Michael. He cruised from station to station checking on dishes as they were being prepared. His messy dirty-blond hair, which was a bit on the long side, gave him a casual, beach-bum look that was drawing the attention of every female patron in the restaurant.

Amy turned her focus back to Alex. He scowled at his plate. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Isn't your steak cooked correctly? You can send it back if something's wrong."

He tossed his fork onto the plate and leaned back. Then he pulled his phone out of his pants pocket. "Something is going on at work. My phone is on vibrate, and it's been going nuts since we got here."

"Then you need to check your messages and see what's happening." Amy placed her napkin on the table beside her plate. It was not the time or place to show how frustrated she was. But she couldn't sit there and watch him text his employees. She smiled wearily and stood up. "I'll just freshen up a bit."

As she walked to the restroom, she tried to concentrate on the restaurant's staff, who were buzzing around like bees. Cornerstone was known for its attentive service as much as its gourmet food. In the quiet restroom, Amy touched up her lipstick and brushed her hair. The night wasn't going as planned, and she didn't know how to get it back on track. If something was happening at Quantum, the train had already derailed. She walked out the door and noticed another open door at the end of the hallway. A bank of gray metal lockers lined the far wall.

She glanced toward the dining room and then turned toward the locker room. A quick look around revealed that nobody was in the room. She slipped inside and shut the door behind herself. The knife sticking out of Britton's chest had a black composite handle that sparkled with silver flecks. It looked expensive to her. Like something a chef would use. Possibly a chef who was tired of being bullied by Britton and who just maybe had left their knife kit in one of the lockers.

The chef-killing-chef theory was solid. The hope that the deadly knife's cousins were sitting in plain sight…so, so flimsy. A quick scan down the row revealed only coats, boots, and the occasional pair of jeans or yoga pants in the wire mesh lockers. Underneath them there was another row of lockers with solid metal doors and combination locks. Obviously those lockers were where the employees kept purses, wallets, and cell phones. Chefs spent a lot of money on knives. If any were stored in the room, they would be locked up.

As Amy turned to leave, she heard voices outside the door. No no no! She wanted to get back to Alex to see if he had been able to take care of his business emergency over the phone. Getting caught snooping where she didn't belong would be the knockout punch to the already wobbly evening. A laundry bin full of dirty chef jackets and aprons was in the corner. She dove behind it as the door latch clicked.

"Can you believe we're going to have a staff party? I worked for Chef Britton for over two years, and the only thing I ever got from him was a slap on the ass."

"Do you want to go shopping for new dresses tomorrow? I want to look good for Chef Michael. He just keeps scoring over and over here at the restaurant. I wouldn't mind scoring with him."

"Oh god, shut up. Now every time I go into the kitchen, I'm going to imagine him dressed up like a football player in those skin-tight pants. I blame you if I mess up any orders."

"You're welcome."

The wheeled cart Amy was crouched behind wiggled as one of the waitresses tossed something into it. The women giggled as they left the room. Amy sighed when she heard the door click shut. A quick gopher-style peek over the rim of the cart confirmed she was alone. She stood. Her thigh muscles quivered from the extended squat done with the added challenge of balancing on platform heels. She took one step, and the door handle began to turn. She'd be lucky if Alex was still around by the time she got out of the locker room. There would probably be a note to call a cab to take her home when she got back to the table.

She took a step backward and resumed the torture position behind the cart. It sounded like two people had entered the room. One was definitely a woman in heels, judging from the hollow thuds on the tile floor. Nobody who worked at the restaurant would wear slippery-soled heels, unless it was a waitress coming in to get ready for her shift.

"I only have a minute," a male voice said quietly. "What's up?"

"If a minute is all I have, then I want to make it as enjoyable as possible."

The unmistakable voice startled Amy. She toppled backward onto her butt, which turned out to be more comfortable than the excruciating squat position. Once again, she was hiding and eavesdropping on the powerful grande dame of Kellerton, Bridget Mahoney.

Amy grimaced as she heard the sound of a zipper and then a gasp. Ewww. Checking out the locker room was such a bad idea.

"I really need to get back to the kitchen. Can we do this later?"

"Sure." The zipper went back up. "I have a surprise for you anyway. You are doing such a good job as head chef, you deserve a reward."

"Okay. I…I'm flattered. Can't wait to see what it is."

"I'm sure you'll enjoy it and the rest of the evening," Bridget purred. "Come straight to my house when you're done here."

"I can do that."

Amy held her breath as she heard the door latch click open. The new tidbit of information made her squirm. She couldn't stay scrunched up behind the laundry cart much longer. Mrs. Mahoney had an affair with Chet when he was alive. Now she was giving gifts, and other things Amy didn't want to think about, to Cornerstone's current chef, who had to be at least twenty years her junior.

The door thumped shut again. Amy leaned sideways and did a quick check around the side of the cart. The room was empty again. This time she didn't bother shaking out the muscle cramps. As she hurried to the door, she checked her reflection in the full-length mirror on the opposite side of the room. Chevrons had been a good choice in fabric pattern for her dress. The zigzags hid wrinkles and creases well. She opened the door a crack. Nobody was in the hallway. She darted out the door, angling toward the women's bathroom so that her exit trajectory from the hallway appeared as if she'd left there instead of the busy locker room.

Alex was still scowling at his phone when she sat back down across from him. "Sorry, I ran into someone I know." Was it a lie if she knew he would interpret that statement differently than the truth? She did know Bridget, so it wasn't a flat-out fabrication. "Everything okay at work?"

"No." He tossed the phone on the table. "I'm sorry. Can we get dessert to go? I need to tackle this problem tonight."

Disappointment tasted like a bitter aspirin tablet dissolving on her tongue with no water to wash it down. The date night hadn't been the magical marriage balm she had hoped for. "I don't need dessert. We can go now."

"Thank you. I'll make it up to you." A baby step in the right direction. He slid the receipt out of the leather bill binder. "I'll go pull the Jeep up to the entrance."

She slipped her hand into his as they walked to the restaurant's reception area. He squeezed her hand tighter before dropping it and hurrying out the front door. Amy retrieved her coat from the coat check attendant and shrugged it on.

"Your husband is yummy but very distracted. You should nip that in the bud now. There's no turning back when men realize they can ignore you but you'll stay with them anyway." Bridget had sneaked up behind her while she was pouting about the stunted evening. The stealthy millionaire took a step closer, and Amy could smell her rose-scented perfume. "By the way, I like my men younger and motivated. I like you. You have spunk. So if you wanted to know who I was seeing, all you had to do is ask. You didn't need to spy on me."

Amy stopped breathing. How did Bridget know she had been in the locker room? It didn't matter. If Mrs. Mahoney was playing it straight, she needed to follow suit. Show her spunk. "I was looking for clues in Chet's murder. The detective in charge is horrible. He's trying to pin the murder on me and my friends, and I know none of us did it."

"Very noble of you, to try to clear them. However, I doubt you'll find any clues here. All of the employees are glad he's gone." She sighed. "He was a horrible businessman. When the dust settled on one of his failed schemes, much to his regret, I was Cornerstone's owner. I promoted Michael three weeks before the showdown. Chet had the choice to either
quietly
work the salad station or leave. He worked a grand total of five hours after moving to his new position. There was no reason for anybody from here to kill him since he was pretty much already gone and out of their hair."

Carla looked like one of Pogo's old doggy toys, bedraggled and falling apart, as she walked up the path from the driveway. It broke Amy's heart to see her friend so distressed. Being accused of murder and breaking up with her boyfriend on top of having a constantly stressful job had sapped the life from her normally energetic friend. But if everything went smoothly, a bit of joy would be reappearing in Carla's life very soon.

"Thanks for stopping in. My mind is such a tangled mess right now. I need you to help sort everything out," Amy blurted when she opened the door. Was she imagining things, or did she speak faster when she was nervous? Luckily, Carla didn't appear to be in the mood to decipher body language and speech patterns.

"No problem," Carla said as she brushed past Amy. "Sorry to be rude, but I need to sit down. I don't mind helping, but it's been a long night in the ER."

"Have a seat. I'll bring your brunch and coffee." Amy quickly poured a huge mug of coffee and took that to Carla, who was slumped in the breakfast nook looking like she would fall asleep while sitting up. After the caffeine was delivered, Amy went back to the kitchen island and retrieved the individual tomato cobblers. She returned with a tray full of savory brunch yumminess and said, "I hope you don't mind tomatoes this early in the day."

"I'm working third shift again. This is dinnertime for me, so tomatoes are fine."

Not good. Third shift had been fine when Carla was happily single with nothing better to do than work odd hours so other nurses with families could take the day shifts. She had switched to day shift herself after things with Shepler got serious. They got to spend much more time together when they worked similar schedules.

"I know you're tired, so I might as well get started telling you what I've discovered." Amy pulled out her new notebook, a sedate black-covered spiral-bound model that fit the seriousness of the situation. She ran through all of the things she had turned up while poking around, from Chef Jake's wicked temper to Bridget Mahoney's newest boy toy.

Carla nodded in acknowledgment as she nibbled on bites of the cobbler. When Amy was done reciting her list, Carla said, "It still sounds like any of them could be the murderer."

"I know. I'm sorry." Amy slammed the notebook shut. "Nobody is standing out to me either. I think we need to let Shepler know. Maybe he'll be able to make more sense of this tangled mess."

"Why tell him?" Carla scowled at the cobbler as she pried bits of the crumbly topping loose with her fork. "He's not involved with me anymore, so there's no reason for him to endanger his career any further by meddling in the murder investigation."

"Umm, I think we should tell Shepler because Pitts is an idiot." Amy nudged Carla's foot with her toes under the table. "Would you stand back and let your coworkers purposely give a patient a lethal dose of the wrong medication? How about letting them tarnish the reputation of the entire hospital because of their incompetence?"

Carla shrugged and resumed her vigil, staring at her cobbler. The ding of the doorbell snapped her head up. The breakfast nook jutted out from the side of the house, so she twisted to look out the window behind her to see who was at the door.

Amy hopped up to let Shepler in. She made a wide arc around the end of the table to stay out of Carla's reach. Amy let Shepler in and let him lead the way back to the table. He made a great big human shield in case Carla exacted some physical retaliation for the unexpected reunion.

"Good morning, ladies. Sounds like you have some information for me."

He nudged Carla further into the nook with his hip as he sat down. She furiously scooted to the middle of the U-shaped bench. Amy was going to get a cup of coffee for Shepler, but she decided it was better to cut off the escape route. She sat down at her spot again, facing him. Carla had no choice but to stay put. Amy hurriedly repeated her list of suspect theories so Carla didn't have a chance to launch a verbal assault. She wrapped up her speech with a question. "What happened to Pitts after the interview on the morning news?"

He rolled his eyes. "Who knows. Maybe he has a delicate constitution, and being cornered by the reporter upset him."

Amy snorted. "Yup…I'm sure that's it."

Shepler winked at Amy. "Of all the people you just told me about, do any of them seem more likely to be the murderer?"

"Possibly Preston, but nobody liked Britton, and everybody has something to hide." Amy rested her elbows on the table and her chin on her palms. As soon as Shepler walked in the door, something had seemed off. She realized what it was. "Why aren't you wearing a suit? Is it your day off?"

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "No, I've been put on unpaid leave for continuing to interfere in Pitts's investigation."