My attention wandered again. I needed to keep track of the time to make sure we got to the FanciFoods demonstration by six-thirty, to allow time for setup. It worried me. If Hannah chose to stick around talking on TV, I didn’t know how I was going to stop her. Go on camera and drag her off? Not acceptable. I decided to leave that particular worry to Naomi, who probably had ways of dealing with any such problems.
Naomi wasn’t standing at the side where she had been. She wasn’t anywhere in the audience that I could see. Troubled, I poked Kim, who stared entranced at the glossy young man who’d replaced the glossy young woman at the host’s side.
“Where’s Naomi? How do we spring Hannah?”
“Relax,” Kim whispered back. “Hannah knows what time it is. We don’t have to leave until six, you said.”
“That’s if traffic is not too bad.” The FanciFoods store in Pacific Heights was halfway across San Francisco. If traffic was gridlocked, it could take closer to an hour to get there, and Hannah’s class/demonstration began at seven-thirty. “Where’s Naomi, anyway?”
“She probably went to Hannah’s dressing room to get everything ready. Hannah won’t wear that TV makeup for an instant longer than she has to. They really glop that stuff on. But she’ll be quick getting it off, and then we’ll go. You’ll see, Liz.”
I worried for nothing. In a few more minutes, another commercial break came along, and this time, in the game of talk-show musical chairs, Hannah was out. She thanked the host and was ushered off the stage. Kim led the way to a corridor with dressing rooms opening off it. “Let’s just wait here,” she suggested. “Those rooms are tiny, and there’s nothing to see anyway.”
There was nothing to see, but plenty to hear. “Can’t get away with it,” Naomi shouted shrilly. “My attorney—”
Hannah’s words were harder to discern. “Signed the agreement—”
Naomi cut in. She was practically gibbering, but as far as I could tell, she’d moved the argument away from the crepe maker. “Morton . . . investigation,” we heard. Kim and I looked at each other, raising our eyebrows.
Hannah’s answer came in a lull in the incessant noise of the stagehands. “If it’s investigations we’re talking about, what about your brother Tony’s death? That was convenient for you, wasn’t it, dear?”
Naomi was silent for a moment. I looked at Kim. Her face was white. “What’s she talking about?” she whispered to me. “My uncle had a heart attack. We always joked about him using so much butter and cream. No one was really surprised.”
I strained to hear Naomi’s reply, but for once she wasn’t shouting; all that came through the door was a low rumble. The doorknob turned.
“Let’s get back a little,” I hissed, and we stepped quickly away. I was acting on instinct; something told me that if they knew we’d overheard their conversation, things would be even more unpleasant.
Hannah swept out of the dressing room, followed by Naomi with a more than usually sour expression on her face.
“Let’s go,” Hannah said brusquely. “Where’s my water?”
She looked at me, but I hadn’t thought to provide myself with water.
“It’s in the limo.” Kim threw herself into the breach.
“Let’s move then. We can’t hang around here anymore.”
We followed her into the elevator and out to the car. No one spoke. Hannah scowled. Naomi sulked.
Don brought up the rear with Kim, but his teasing didn’t make her giggle as it usually did. When we got to the limo I would have to paw through the cooler bags to find the bottled water. “Did we bring a glass?”
She looked at me blankly, then seemed to hear what I said. “I sure didn’t. She’ll have to swig from the bottle like everyone else does."
“Kim—about what she said—about your uncle—”
“I can’t talk about that now. I can’t even think about it.” Kim pressed her hand to her throat, as if to hold her head on. “I’m sure it was just a lie. My aunt might be hard to get along with, but she’s not—she wouldn’t—”
Hannah reached the limo; the driver opened the passenger door at her regal nod. Kim turned away.
Hannah slid onto the seat, then stopped.
I peered over her shoulder into the limo to see what the hang-up was. She stared fixedly
at the square white envelope that rested on the leather seat.
“Someone left you a fan letter, looks like.” I thought that would make her happier and relieve some of the tension she exuded.
I was wrong. She looked at the envelope as though it was a snake. Finally she reached to pick it up. She looked at Naomi, who had gotten in the other door. Naomi looked back, her eyebrows raised in a silent question. Don resumed his seat by the chauffeur, and Kim and I crawled into our seats facing backward. But those two didn’t even notice me scrounging through the bags. They were busy staring at each other.
Finally Hannah turned away, tucking the note into her handbag. I noticed she used only her fingertips, as if she was saving the fingerprints. Naomi noticed too.
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“No.” Hannah didn’t look at Naomi. She stared straight ahead, not looking at Kim or me either. “I have an idea what it says. I’ll just save it for the lab.”
“Lab?” Naomi’s voice came out as a croak. “What do you mean, lab?”
“I hear they can find DNA these days in even the smallest amount of saliva. Whoever licked that envelope to seal it left their DNA. The police will be able to find out who’s—” She broke off, noticing Kim and me. I was frankly hanging on every word.
“Since when do you take your fan mail to the police?” Naomi scoffed, but her voice sounded nervous.
“I think you can pinpoint it, if you try.” Hannah looked at Kim. “You said my water was out here.”
“Here.” Kim handed over the green glass bottle I had placed in a cup holder. “I didn’t bring a glass. Sorry.”
Hannah took the bottle, but reluctantly. “You know how I like it.” She looked at me. “You should know too.”
“Ice halfway up the glass, water, a lime wedge squeezed and then dropped into the glass.” I spoke promptly. “Kind of hard to produce in a car, though.”
Hannah leaned forward and pressed a button on what I’d thought was just a console between Kim’s and my seats. A door swung open, revealing a small refrigerator compartment, which contained tiny bottles of liquor and wine, but no glasses or lime.
“There are ways,” Hannah said, “of doing almost anything, if you’re motivated enough.” She stared at Naomi as she spoke, and her voice was very cold.
We rode the rest of the way in silence.
Chapter 7
Judi Kershay walked into the demonstration area of the FanciFoods store at 7:10. I was so glad to see her I almost cried.
“Thank God you’re here. Everything is too, too weird.”
She patted me on the shoulder. “Let’s make sure the event is set up right, then we’ll talk.”
Kim and I had been very impressed with the demo area when we’d arrived twenty minutes earlier. The store was a lush temple to food, with sparkling black and white floor tiles and lavish displays of everything edible, not to mention a gourmet take-out section that Kim said rivaled the place where she worked in Boston. On the second floor, up a winding staircase that gave panoramic views of reverent produce pyramids, was an auditorium of food with raked seating. Even those in the back could easily see the action on the gleaming marble counter, inset with stove burners and backed with a rank of ovens, the whole area reflected in a huge, tilted overhead mirror that projected the action to the audience.
Kim had started right in assembling the spare casserole of
huevos rancheros;
she was sprinkling its top with grated
queso fresco,
which Greg, the FanciFoods event coordinator, had been only too happy to supply. The air was scented with chorizo and the tortillas she’d heated on the
comal
that had been part of Hannah’s equipment. I had been the scullery maid, cleaning up her pots and pans while she worked swiftly to assemble the layers of tortillas, chorizo, and the salsa-like tomato sauce. She had poached eggs in the wide skillet without any trouble at all. Watching Drake poach eggs, I had gotten the idea that it was a major operation with a chancy outcome, but Kim did it in minutes with no fuss. She’d nestled the eggs into hollows in the sauce that topped the warmed tortillas and chorizo, before sprinkling on the grated cheese. She put the casserole in the oven, and Greg showed us how to program it to bake the dish and then turn off.
I introduced Judi to Kim. “What do you want us to do?”
“I’m just going to cut up some more limes and make sure all the condiments are okay.” She had arranged a pottery bowl of avocados, limes, and peppers on the counter. “Liz, could you look in the cooler and find that container of sliced avocado? And the jicama batons you cut this afternoon?”
I checked in the zippered cooler bags, bringing out the containers she wanted. “Here. Should I put them on a plate or something?”
“These bowls look nicer.” Kim handed Judi a couple of terra-cotta-colored bowls with Aztec motifs, shinily glazed. “Could you do that? And Liz, find the paprika in the crate under here and put some in this little dish.” She handed me another terra-cotta dish, this one very small, stamped with a pattern of blackberries and twining vines. I filled it with paprika while Kim squeezed a couple of limes into its twin.
“What’s this for?”
“The jicama. You dip the end in lime juice, then in paprika. It makes a nice-looking accompaniment.”
“I did these,” I bragged to Judi, showing her the tray of drink skewers I’d made with alternating maraschino cherries and small cubes of prickly pear cactus. “For the tequila sunrises."
“The Sunrise Brunch Beverage,” Kim corrected absently. She’d set up one end of the counter with a pitcher of orange juice, another of grenadine, a bottle of tequila, and the skewers. “You can make them without booze.”
Judi admired the skewers, then looked around. “Where’s Hannah? For that matter, where’s Naomi?”
Kim cast a worried glance behind the demonstration area, where a hallway led to offices and restrooms. “Hannah’s freshening up in the manager’s private bathroom. Naomi was supposed to help her, but when I was back there, she’d found the manager’s private stock of Scotch.”
“Naomi’s drinking?” Judi pursed her lips.
“She isn’t an alcoholic or anything,” Kim said defensively, “but when she starts, it can get ugly.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I couldn’t figure out how Naomi could get any meaner, and wasn’t anxious to know firsthand.
“Fill me in quickly,” Judi said as we left Kim at the counter, mincing scallions. “And aren’t you lucky,” she added, “that the food stylist is very nice and willing to do the prep work. Usually they are picky about what they do.”
“Kim’s delightful.” People were coming up the stairs for the event. Platters of fruit and cheese and bottles of red and white wine had been set out on a side counter, and the customers stood around convivially, chatting as if it was a party. “It’s very nice here. Must be costing FanciFoods an arm and a leg to put all this food out.”
“The audience paid handsomely to attend.” Judi nodded at a couple of women nearby, each of whom clutched a copy of
Hannah Hosts Brunch
. “This is the first program in a series. FanciFoods was lucky to get such a big name to kick it off.”
Naomi appeared at the hallway opening. She pushed her way through the crowd around the food and helped herself recklessly to the sauvignon blanc.
Judi watched this with a brooding eye. “So what’s happening? Put me in the picture.”
“Naomi and Hannah have been fighting practically since the moment they landed. It got really nasty in the dressing room at the TV station.”
“They were yelling?” Judi grimaced. “Terrible place to pick for a falling out. There’ll be gossip for sure.”
“It seemed kind of personal. Each of them accusing the other of—well, eliminating anyone who stood in the way. It was not pleasant.” I hesitated. I have had some experience, not of my choosing, with people driven to the extreme of murder. The vibes I felt around Naomi and Hannah were horridly reminiscent of that. “Do you think they would really do anything? Like hurt each other?”
Judi made tut-tutting noises, but she looked worried. “I don’t think it would come to that. You say they accused each other of that—of murder?”
The word hung between us.
“Not really.” I shivered a little. “But there was a nasty scene earlier when Naomi found out Hannah was going to promote the new crepe maker on TV. Naomi claims to have invented it, but Hannah sure didn’t give her any credit.”
“I caught the show.” Judi stared at Naomi, gulping the wine as if it was Kool-Aid. “Hannah is very good at what she does.”
“Good at the performance aspect, and at knowing everything about food. She’s not good at people.”
“That has never been a requirement for being a celebrity,” Judi said. “A lot of them aren’t good at people.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s go beard the lioness and see how bad it is.”
I held her back. “Judi, I hope I haven’t ruined your business. If I’d known what I was doing—”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “Even a pro would have been hard-pressed to respond differently when slapped. Don’t worry about it. I sure won’t. There are other fish in the sea besides Hannah Couch, and some of them are not only nice to work with but glad to be my clients. I’ll survive.”
I followed her down the hall into the manager’s office. Hannah was just emerging from the manager’s bathroom. She had fixed her hair without Naomi’s assistance, and it showed by being a bit less perfect than usual. Her makeup had been skillfully applied, though. She looked formidable, an iron-haired woman at the peak of her powers.
“Well, Hannah.” Judi stopped in the door to the manager’s office. “I just stopped in to monitor the tour. How are you doing?”
Hannah scowled at both of us. “I would be doing better if you’d given me a professional instead of this ignorant woman.” Her indignation lent a spark to her stern countenance. “She knows absolutely nothing about keeping the clients happy.”
“Is it necessary for the clients’ happiness to beat on the escort?” Judi sounded mild, but I could tell she was upset. “Because that isn’t allowed. If you want to physically abuse your help, you had better go elsewhere to find it.”