Chicken Soup & Homicide (22 page)

Amy sat in her car in the municipal parking lot next to Buttercream Cupcakery while she worked out the soup recipe in her mind. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a big white sign in a window across the street. Even though it was the middle of lunch hour, Nibbles & Noshes was completely dark and sporting a giant For Rent sign in its window. It had only been a week and a half since she and Carla had lunch there. That was when Jake said that business was going great because Britton's snarky interview had backfired. What else had the trendy, man-bun-sporting chef lied about? Maybe killing Britton? And another person just clawed his way to the top of her suspect list.

As she drove to Dunbar Farms, she wondered what Pitts's suspect list looked like. Was it as long as hers? It almost certainly wasn't prioritized like hers. Maybe Trisha could shed some light on what her new beau was thinking. A few minutes later, Amy pulled into the driveway of Dunbar Farms. In the bright sunshine, the white house was almost indistinguishable from the snow surrounding it. The sign on the adjoining shop said Open, so she walked in. A bell over the door tinkled to announce her arrival.

"Amy. What a wonderful surprise," Trisha said as she walked through the screen door that led to the main part of the house. Most people didn't have screen doors inside their house, but it was a great idea to provide a barrier to customers while giving Trisha an idea of what was happening in the shop before she walked in.

"I want to make chicken soup for dinner, and I thought you may have all of the herbs and vegetables I need here. I would rather buy from you than the grocery store."

Trisha wiped her hands on the navy blue canvas apron she was wearing. "I just dug up some carrots, parsnips, and quite a few other root vegetables. I'm washing them off in the kitchen. You're welcome to take some."

"Thanks." Amy pointed at the adorable bay laurel tree in a bell-shaped white pot. "I want that too. It needs to come and live on my console table in the living room."

"I'm sure it's going to a loving home." Trisha grabbed the plant and set it on the counter. She wrapped it in a cocoon of several layers of newspaper to protect it from the cold. "What kind of herbs do you need?"

"How about some mint, cilantro, and Thai basil?"

"Those herbs are going in your soup?" Trisha asked as she handed the bundled-up bay plant to Amy. "Are you making Thai chicken soup?"

"Maybe." Amy tilted her head from side to side. "I feel like experimenting, so who knows what it'll taste like when I get done throwing things in the soup pot."

"That's the best way to cook." Trisha held the screen door leading into the hallway open. "Why don't you head into the kitchen to pick out the vegetables you want while I gather the herbs?"

Amy only took one wrong turn in her trek to the kitchen. Moose, the lab, didn't even bark when he found her wandering in his house. Instead, he performed the crazy-circles happy dance, then handed her a soggy tennis ball. "Thank you," she said as she tossed the toy down the long hallway leading to the front door.

Piles of freshly scrubbed root vegetables were lined up on the counter next to the sink. She plucked carrots, parsnips, and a couple sweet potatoes from the piles and laid them out on the table in the middle of the kitchen. She didn't plan on using all of them in the soup, but the remainders could go toward future dinners.

Trisha returned with Moose trailing behind her, wagging his tail. The herbs looked like an exotic bouquet minus flowers. In her other hand, a bundle of leaves were tied together into a fat cigar shape using butcher's twine. She held it up. "This is the bouquet garni Chet and I were using in our chicken soup. There's everything from thyme to kefir lime leaves in here. I thought you might like to try it in your soup since you're in the mood to experiment."

"I would love to. I'm always game to try new things. Maybe it'll be a tonic to get rid of some of my stress." She smiled halfheartedly at Trisha. "I know you like Pitts, but he's putting me and my friends through hell accusing us of Chet's murder. Why is he doing this? There are quite a few other people, like Jake and Preston, that I think are much more likely to be murderers."

Trisha laid the herbs on the table and went to the sink. She began scrubbing the vegetables remaining in it with a wood-handled brush. "I've asked him about the investigation. He won't tell me anything other than I'm lucky I wasn't killed too."

"So he still believes the murder has something to do with the showdown, not a business deal gone wrong?"

"Yes." Trisha shrugged as she tossed a plump carrot on the kitchen towel laid out across the counter. "I told him it was a friendly competition. We were playing for mainly for charities, and everybody's charity would get money no matter what place the team came in."

Amy grabbed the edge of the table. Anger made her knees shake. Why was Pitts so intent on pursuing the least likely suspects? Even his girlfriend was telling him he was barking at the wrong tree. "If he wants to stay with the ruthless competitor angle, he should be looking into Jake. About a week ago, he told me that nasty comment Britton made in an interview actually helped his business. I just drove past Nibbles & Noshes. It was closed with a For Rent sign in the window. Plus, Holly's son went from a promising chef to a drunk living with his mama because of one of Britton's bad business deals. Has Pitts mentioned looking into them?"

The thick blonde braid hanging down Trisha's back swayed back and forth as she shook her head. She continued to viciously scrub another carrot. "He just tells me to stay away from you and Sophie because you guys could be dangerous. He's never said a word to me about any other suspects."

Dangerous? Did Pitts think butterflies and bunnies were scary too? "I don't want to cause trouble. Since you aren't supposed to be around me, do you want me to leave?"

Trisha's braid swayed faster. "No. That's Dale's opinion, not mine." She placed a burgundy-colored beet on the towel and turned to look at Amy. "This is still a romantic fling, not even to relationship status yet in my book. We certainly haven't been together long enough for me to feel like I have to obey him. He doesn't get to choose my friends. On the other hand, I don't seem to have any influence over him either. No matter what I say, he still insists you have something to do with the murder."

"How am I supposed to defend myself?" Amy crumpled onto one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm trying to figure out who the real murderer is, but it isn't easy. I'm better at baking angel food cakes than solving murders."

"What about Mrs. Mahoney?" Trisha asked as she sat down on the chair across from Amy. "She's a pretty ruthless bitch. As I've been making deliveries this week, I've heard a lot of people in restaurant kitchens talking about her having an affair with Chet. He never mentioned it to me, but considering the number of people who are talking about the relationship, I'd say it's true."

Trisha was helping dig up clues. Had she told Pitts her theory, or did she know he wouldn't listen? Too bad she was probably wrong. "It definitely is true, but I've worked with Bridget at charity events for years. I think she's too smart to risk losing everything by getting involved in a murder."

Trisha frowned as she tapped her forehead with her index finger. "Or maybe she's smart enough to get away with murder."

Amy plunged the spoon into the bubbling stock to get another taste. She blew on the liquid to cool it a bit and then slurped it up. Very interesting. Layers of herbaceous flavor from the familiar, slightly soapy taste of the cilantro to a faint bitterness that Amy didn't recognize. What kind of exotic herbs were in the tightly bound bouquet garni? If Chet and Trisha had won the Chicken Soup Showdown, it most likely would've been because of Trisha's expertise with using herbs.

Amy's cell phone beeped. She had left it on the kitchen island, instead of on the charger dock in the bedroom, as she cut up the vegetables for the stock, hoping Alex would call to say he'd be home for dinner. The beep meant someone had texted her. She tapped the screen and read Alex's message. He had to work late on the LAST, in all caps, big project that he needed to wrap up. Could it be true? The season of the missing husband was almost over? She sent him a reply that she would see him in the morning.

At least the chicken soup would comfort her stressed-to-the-max body, even if Alex was once again unavailable for the job. She hadn't shown him the lace chemise she had purchased from La Belle Femme yet or the gorgeous Grecian-style gown Bridget had given her. It was hard to feel sexy when potential murder suspects were lining up to demonstrate their own special version of crazy. And Pitts was oblivious.

Some serious meditative cooking was in order. She used tongs to lift the whole chicken out of the stock pot. After that was safely deposited on a platter to cool, she strained the stock into a smaller pot. The onion skins, carrots, celery, and garlic cloves had done their job in giving their flavor to the stock. Once again she tried a spoonful of the rich, gold liquid. Nope. Still couldn't figure out what was in Trisha's special soup-flavoring bundle. Colorful little mountains of diced vegetables sat on a cutting board next to the stove. Celery, onions, red and orange sweet peppers, carrots, and white button mushrooms made up the healthy rainbow of vegetable goodness. She picked up the wooden cutting board and carefully slid the vegetables into the broth to simmer and soften. The kitchen smelled so good. A warm foodie hug on a cold and lonely night.

The pasta water was boiling, so she added in a handful of stelline pasta. The tiny stars needed to cook a bit so they didn't absorb all of the chicken broth when added to the soup. Chicken and stars soup was a childhood favorite. It always seemed to taste better than regular chicken noodle soup with the long noodles that needed to be slurped up, often leaving her shirt dotted with oily yellow splatters. The Asian-inspired broth would add some adult zing to the kiddie-style soup.

Chopping vegetables into tiny uniform cubes was the soothing Zen part of the cooking process. She attacked the chicken with two forks. Shredding chicken, ripping it apart with pointy utensils and her bare hands…that was the getting out her frustrations part. If only she could rip Pitts's warped theories apart the same way.

After returning the chicken to the pot and transferring in the cooked star pasta, she left the soup to simmer so the flavors would meld together. In the living room she picked up a book. Escaping in the pages to a world far away from reality seemed like a good idea. The women's fiction book was set in France and was filled with hunger pang-producing descriptions of food. Her cell phone rang again. Was it Alex saying he had wrapped up his work already and was on his way home?

She sprinted to the kitchen and snatched up the phone. "Hello."

"Amy? It's Bridget Mahoney."

Okay. Not who she was expecting, but considering they had chatted about the murder, the conversation could be far more interesting than Alex telling her when to expect him home. "Yes. What can I do for you?"

"I just thought you would be interested to know that I'm sitting in my car watching Cornerstone burn."

Oh yeah, much more interesting, but horrifying at the same time. "Are you okay? Was anybody hurt?"

"I'm fine. No injuries. The firefighters have it contained now, but I'm sure the restaurant will be a total loss. Two of the walls have already collapsed."

"I'm sorry. It must be hard to see that happen to a business you own."

"Nothing I can do about it, at least to stop the fire now. You just have to take what life gives you and keep going." The sound of sirens filled up the pause in the conversation. "I thought, after our conversation the other day, that you should know how this happened. I decided to test Michael to see how he would react in an unpleasant situation. I told him I was bringing in a more experienced chef from New York City to take over at Cornerstone. That conversation was at 11:00 p.m. last night. The fire started as the kitchen staff was prepping to open for dinner tonight."

Damn. Accidents happen. Restaurants burn quite often. But the timing of this one was chilling. "That sounds a bit suspicious."

"Oh, it's a total lie. When I demoted Chet, I had hidden cameras put in the restaurant, just in case he decided to make any unexpected visits. I, or my security people, can check in from any computer. As soon as I got the call tonight that there was a fire, I had my security team review the recordings. Michael came back in the middle of last night and dumped some sort of liquid in the storage room. Smoke began pouring out of the room a few minutes after he visited it to get some spices this afternoon. So there's your proof, my dear. If he's capable of arson, it wouldn't surprise me if he would also commit murder."

"I'm sorry. I know you're in a relationship with him. That's so scary. Please watch out."

Bridget laughed, but it sounded more bitter than humorous. "That's what gates and security systems are for. My house will be more impenetrable than Fort Knox until the police can track Michael down. They've already issued a warrant for his arrest."

The realization of what Bridget did slapped Amy in the back of the head. "Did you make up the new chef story just because I suggested Michael could've murdered Chet?"

"Yes and no. The thought had crossed my mind before you said it, but I was having too much fun playing with him. He was like a shiny new toy. After I talked with you, I realized there were a bunch of things that pointed to Michael having a very dark side. I had to find out for myself how dark before I got in over my head, especially after I remembered he was working in the Cornerstone booth at the expo the day Chet was killed."

"That's some pretty compelling evidence that he could be the murderer."

"Absolutely. Who knows what the police will find once they start digging into Michael's life."

A set of knives with silver-flecked black handles, and one conspicuously missing, would be nice. A confession would be even better. Amy said, "I can't wait for the murder investigation to be over. I feel like my life has been thrown into a blender and set to puree."