Death by the Dozen (6 page)

“No worries. See you at the festival, Polly,” Mel said with a genial wave. Polly nodded and dashed after her parents.

The bells rang on the door once again, and Mel glanced up from the counter. What now?

She shouldn’t have asked. Obviously, the rule of threes was in action here, as in three high-maintenance customers in a row. She glanced at the clock. It was only four o’clock; closing time at eight seemed eons away.

The tall black man who approached the counter gave her a slow smile. It was the smile of a man who was used to getting his way.

“Dutch Johnson,” she said. She didn’t return the smile.

“Melanie Cooper.” His smile became blinding.

Mel figured the reading on his charm-o-meter went right into the red zone as he approached the counter with a swagger that on a lesser man would look ridiculous. Dutch, however, made it look like the zoo had lost one of their big cats, as he walked in a gait that was purely predatory.

Both Angie and Oz stood frozen watching the stunningly handsome black man approach Mel. She had to admit he looked like something that had walked off the cover of a men’s health magazine.

Muscles rippled under his purple silk dress shirt. He wore his hair so closely shaved to his head that it was impossible not to notice that even the shape of his head was attractive. When they were handing out good looks, Dutch had obviously gone back for thirds.

“So, how is my favorite classmate?” Dutch asked.

“Oh, please, I’m only your fave because I’m the only one who didn’t sleep with you,” she said.

“Yes, which damaged my self-esteem beyond repair,” he said.

There was a twinkle in his eye, and Mel knew he was teasing her. The truth was he had never hit on Mel. She liked to think it was because he respected her culinary skills, but she suspected he was just not that into her. She’d had a relapse into her big-girl pants after her father had died and had been significantly larger back then.

“You look amazing,” he said. “But then, you always did.”

Mel squinted at him.

“What?” he asked, the picture of innocence.

“You’re so full of it, I’m going to need a snow shovel to dig out of here tonight,” she said.

“I’m hurt.” He put his hands on his chest as if she had mortally wounded him.

“I’m sure,” she countered. She glanced behind her, where Angie and Oz were still rooted to the spot.

“This is my partner, Angie, and our intern, Oz,” Mel said. “Guys, this is Dutch Johnson. We went to cooking school together.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dutch said. “I can see Mel isn’t the only beauty in the Fairy Tale here.”

Angie sagged a bit in the knees, and Oz quickly braced her with a hand at her elbow. She gave Dutch a weak smile.

It was harder to tell what Oz was thinking, given that his eyes were covered by his mop of hair, but since he was a teen male, the awe in his voice spoke volumes.

“How do you do that?” he asked, obviously referring to Dutch’s ability to make women go limp

Dutch spread his hands wide. “It’s a gift.”

“Yeah,” Mel snorted. “The gift that keeps on giving.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re unhappy with me,” Dutch said.

“Not unhappy, just immune,” Mel said. “I can’t tell you how many girls I saw sobbing into their crème brûlée because of you. It was more effective than a vaccination.”

“Huh.” Dutch grunted, but Mel was pretty sure it was meant with respect.

Shaking her head as if pulling herself out of a trance, Angie stepped away from the counter. “Come on, Oz, I need to go inventory the walk-in cooler.”

“But we did that yesterday,” Mel said.

Angie gave her a flat stare. “Your point?”

Mel glanced between Angie and Dutch. Oh. “Don’t have one.”

“I thought not,” Angie said.

They departed through the kitchen door, and Mel turned back to Dutch.

“So, I’m guessing you’re not here just to catch up,” Mel said. “What brings you by, Dutch?”

“What? A guy can’t look up an old friend?”

Now it was Mel’s turn to give the flat stare.

“All right, all right,” he said. The veneer of charming rogue slid off him like a snake shedding its skin, and he gave her a straight face. “I’m one of the judges in the festival.”

Mel’s eyes widened. “The pastry division?”

He nodded.

“But you and Vic can’t stand each other.”

Dutch nodded.

“Awkward,” Mel said.

“Little bit,” Dutch said. “Which is why I need you.”

“Does Vic know you’re one of the judges?” Mel asked.

“I’m sure he must,” Dutch said. “I was surprised he left
World Chef
to come and be a judge. But then I’m sure when he realized it was another opportunity to screw me over, he jumped at the chance.”

“Dutch, be serious.” Mel shook her head.

“I am. They were filming in India, so why would he leave the shoot early unless he had a reason?” The bitterness in Dutch’s voice was as tart as Mel’s lemon curd but lacked its subtle aftertaste.

“I sincerely doubt that Vic dislikes you so much that he would travel halfway around the world just to damage your career. If he left his cooking gig in Southeast Asia, it’s because it was done.”

Dutch snorted. “He had no qualms about forcing the network to pull the plug on my cooking show.”

“He didn’t force the network to sack you. You weren’t cooking,” Mel argued. “You were being a poser, and Vic called you out on it.”

A flash of anger sparked in his dark eyes, and Mel grimaced, afraid she’d gone too far. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she felt compelled to be honest.

“So he got to you, too,” Dutch said. He spun away from the counter, anger in every line of his rigid body, then he turned back, looking defeated. “Even you believe the lies he spread about me.”

“Dutch, I watched the show,” Mel said. “What were you doing? You had all these celebrities on, and if I remember right, they were supposed to be cooking with you, but you didn’t do much cooking. You did do a whole lot of dishing around the stove but not on plates. It was like watching a gossip show with recipes for cute appetizers.”

Dutch opened his mouth to protest and then closed it again. Mel gave him points for knowing when he was beat.

“So, what if I was toying with being a talk show host?” he asked. “I could have been good.”

“On the Food Channel, they’re not really looking for the latest celebutante martini recipe,” Mel said.

Dutch turned to look out the large front window. Mel studied his profile and watched his jaw clench and unclench.

“You know why Vic went after you,” she said. “You have skills. You were one of the best in our class—”

“Present company excepted,” he interrupted with a smirk.

Mel had been a better student than Dutch, that was true, but she forged on to make her point.

“It drove Vic crazy that you didn’t live up to your full potential. He believed in you; that’s why he was so hard on you.”

Dutch shook his head. He didn’t want to hear it.

“He was always jealous of me. He knew I was going to be a bigger star than he was, and he stopped it before it could happen.”

“Is your ego really that big?” Mel snapped. She was out of patience. “Do you really think Vic cares if you’re a star or not?”

Dutch turned back to her and shook his head as if this conversation had not gone the way he’d expected and he was giving up.

“Look, it doesn’t matter, that’s not why I’m here. I really do need you.”

“Oh, so there
is
more to your visit than renewing our old friendship?”

Dutch gave her a small smile, and she was reassured that there were no hard feelings between them.

“Bertie Grassello is going to be judging the contest as well,” Dutch said.

“Are you kidding me?” Mel asked. “Vic is going to have a stroke.”

Bertie Grassello was another teacher from their days at the culinary institute. Both Mel and Dutch had studied with him as well as Vic. Dutch had been Bertie’s favorite, while he seemed to merely tolerate Mel.

She had often suspected that Bertie disliked her because Vic favored her. Bertie opposed everything about Vic. It was no matter to Mel because, as far as she was concerned, Vic was the more talented of the two teachers and she learned more from him in a day than she did in a week of Bertie’s classes.

“A stroke, huh?” Dutch asked. He grinned. It wasn’t a nice smile.

“Yeah.” Mel wouldn’t be surprised if Vic popped a blood vessel over this, because if Dutch and Vic disliked each other, then Vic and Bertie absolutely despised each other.

“Here’s the thing: Bertie has some business in the works that could be very good for me, and I was hoping if the opportunity presented itself, you’d put in a good word with Bertie for me, you know, remind him of my skills and charisma.”

“Should I work this into my challenge to the chefs presentation?” Mel asked. “Maybe deliver my dessert plated in a raspberry syrup that spells out your name with hearts around it?”

“You’d do that for me?” Dutch asked. “See? I knew you always liked me.”

“Seriously, Dutch, why would Bertie listen to me? I wasn’t his favorite, you were.”

“Yes, but you are one of the best and the brightest of our class,” he said. “And everyone, even Bertie, respects your opinion.”

As if he’d flipped a switch, the charm was back on full force. Angie came trotting through the swinging doors, took one look at him, and turned back around and left.

“I like her,” Dutch said.

“She has a boyfriend,” Mel said.

“Ain’t that always the way?”

“Listen, I can’t make any promises, but if I see Bertie and the opportunity presents itself, I’ll do my best to plug you,” she said.

“You’re a peach, Mel.”

“Just remember that when you’re judging the contest.”

With a salute, Dutch headed out the door, and Mel felt herself collapse against the counter. Suddenly, the contest that had seemed like such a good idea was looming up like a storm cloud on the horizon, and she didn’t have an umbrella.

“Long day?” Joe asked as he refilled Mel’s wineglass.

“You could say that,” Mel said. “Between cranky customers, crazy festival competitors, and judges, I’m done.”

“How long does this thing last?” Joe asked as he stretched out beside her on the futon.

“Well, it starts with forty-four competitors, and they whittle us down each day until the last four remain.”

“Wow,” Joe said. “I think I’d rather try another serial murder case.”

“It’s going to be great publicity if we win.”

“You’ll win,” he said. She loved the note of certainty in his voice. “You make the best cupcakes in the state. I feel bad for the poor shlubs going up against you.”

Mel smiled. This was her favorite part of the day, curled up with Joe after a nice meal, flipping through the channels while they talked about their day. It just didn’t get any better.

She had only had one significant relationship in her past, and that had been years ago when she was working as a marketing whiz in Los Angeles, before she pitched it all to go to culinary school. Her boyfriend had dumped her when she’d dropped out of the rat race.

Sometimes it frightened her how much she cared for Joe. It made her feel vulnerable in a way she had never experienced before. She truly didn’t know how she would cope if their relationship didn’t work out. She pushed the thought away as soon as it crept into her head. If her father’s death ten years before had taught her anything, it was to live in the moment.

That being said, she wondered if Angie had heard from Roach. Would their relationship die now that they were on separate continents? How would Angie handle it if it did go up in smoke?

“Whatcha thinking about?” Joe asked.