Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense) (16 page)

“Tell me now.”

“I went to some of the vendors as they were packin’ up and bought a couple of new knives. The guy said he sold one to her the mornin’ after the murder.”

“I already knew about it. She told us when we questioned her for Bolzano’s murder.”

“What?” Jordan sat straight in his chair. “Why would she do that?”

“She said her ten-inch chef knife went missing right after the competition. At first she thought it might have ended up in the utensils provided by The Culinary Channel. She checked, but it wasn’t there. She stated she went to the Old Time Knife and Scissors booth at the convention and purchased a new one. That has been confirmed by the vendor.”

“Somebody picked up her knife while the crew was gettin’ things cleaned up.” She sat up straight, her eyes squinted in thought. “So it had to be someone who wouldn’t seem out of place.”

“It could’ve been any one of the contestants. If they used the gloves provided to the staff, then all bets are off.” Jericho pushed away his coffee in frustration, showing the first real crack in his professional cool. “The only person we’ve ruled out so far is Gilmore. He and his partner were out until three in the morning celebrating with friends. His alibi is good. Barrows is still a possibility, but he doesn’t have a clear motive. Miranda Franklin and Austin Kenslo were consoling each other until the wee hours. Even Nick Prochazka was throwing back drinks with the video crew.”

“Didn’t anyone hear the shower going all night?”

The detective pulled out his phone. “Let me check my notes.” He thumbed through the phone and finally tapped on the screen. “Franklin said Ethridge liked his privacy and demanded The Culinary Channel book the suites on either side of his.” He sighed in frustration. “I’m not supposed to be biased. It’s my job to look at things from all sides. All sides. But none of the pieces fit together—we may not have the killer in custody.”

“But you really don’t believe she committed the murders?” Her face lit up with hope. She jumped out of her chair and walked in front of the window while she worried her thumbnail. “Jordan doesn’t think she did it, either. Now how do we prove it to everyone else?”

Jericho shook his head. “My superiors want a quick resolution to this publicity mess. The place is crawling with national as well as local media.” His eyes grew soft as he gazed at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep hammering away until I can find something to prove her innocence. My gut has never let me down before.”

Jordan glared at the detective.
My gut has never let me down before.
He had to stifle a snort and resorted to stuffing the remaining doughnut into his mouth.

“Thank you.” She came back to the table and sat next to Jericho, taking his hands in hers. “You’ve set my mind at ease.”

“No problem. Oh, and don’t forget.” The detective looked at his watch. “There’s a press conference scheduled for two this afternoon. I understand you’re supposed to be there.”

“Why? We haven’t done anything to help yet.” Jordan barely got his question past the lump of dough in his mouth.

“The Culinary Channel is shelling out big bucks for the cost of the forensic analysis. Not to mention the city will be featured prominently in the special they’re doing on Ethridge. KCPD wants to make nice.” Jericho got to his feet, leaned down, and kissed Tilly on the cheek. “I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

“Okay, we’ll be there.”

Jordan followed Jericho to the door. The detective glanced over to the table where she sat sipping her coffee and waving good-bye. “See if you can keep her out of any more trouble.”

“Remember what I said about her being a pain in the ass?” He leaned against the door jamb. “I’ve got my work cut out for me.” He closed the door and turned to see her standing behind him. Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

“Did you just say I was a pain in the ass?”

Chapter Fourteen

“What? No!” His face reddened all the way up to his ears. “I told him to—ah—it was plain as glass.”

“Plain as glass?” She knew what she heard and wanted to see how he wiggled out of telling her the truth. A niggle of hurt wormed its way into her heart. “That’s what you said? Are you sure?”

He brushed past her and grabbed up the bag on the table. “There’s still a couple of doughnuts in here. Do you want one?” He shook the bag under her nose. “One glazed and a chocolate Long John. You know you want one. Come on.”

She pushed the bag away. “Using another man’s doughnuts to bribe your way out of an explanation is just plain tacky. What is plain as glass?”

“Olivia’s innocence.” He looked everywhere but at her. “Coffee, we need more coffee.” He raced over to the small coffee maker and pulled out the complimentary coffee packet. He grabbed the glass pot. “Excuse me. I’ll go get some water.”

“My cup is still half full.” She took the carafe from his hand and set it on the small countertop. “And I distinctly heard ‘pain in the
ass
.’”

“Eavesdropper,” he grumbled, and threw the coffee packet on the counter beside the pot.

“Oh, it’s my fault I heard you say it, hmmm?”

“I basically told him to back off, that you were taken.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her hip to one side. “By telling him I’m a pain in the ass?”

“Sure.” He gave her a wan smile. “It’s not easy putting up with someone as pigheaded as you. It takes an individual who’s equally as stubborn. Personally, I don’t think the guy has the chops.”

“He looked rock steady to me.” She waved her finger in the air. “Just because you saw me naked doesn’t give you the right to run my life. Got it? We’re goin’ too fast. I don’t want to end up another statistic because, Lord knows, I’ve already been down that road and the damn horse went lame.” She bit her lower lip. How many times did her lack of judgment about men come back to bite her on the butt? In spite of this gorgeous man lobbing hormonal hand grenades in her direction, she needed time to think. She took him by the arm and led him to the door. “Go on. I’ll see you at the press conference.”

He balked for a second. It was there in the dark depths of his eyes. He didn’t want to leave without winning the debate, but he finally nodded with a sigh. “Okay. Call me if you need anything. See you around two.” His hand came out to touch her cheek, stroking her skin with his thumb and stoking the embers into a flame. That incorrigible thumb feathered across her bottom lip. Little shards of desire skittered down her spine.

“Jordan, please.” She didn’t want to give him the pleasure—or ego boost—of letting out so much as a small moan. She lost the battle. The ache of emptiness grew stronger, the need to be filled pooled between her legs.

“‘Please’ what?” His breath whispered over her skin. “Tell me.” His self-satisfied tone threw water on her heated libido.

“Go.” She jerked back from his caress. “Just go.”

He held up his hands in surrender as he backed out of the door. “We’ve got until two.”

“Forget it. I don’t want to see you until the press conference.”

“But—” Tilly pushed the door shut in his smiling face.

The morning had started off with an
almost
bang and ended in a whimper—hers.

She needed something to do, anything to take her mind off his proposition to while away the time until the press conference. It would be too easy to give in to him. She’d already caught up on work, but it wouldn’t hurt to check in with her executive chef in her Louisville restaurant about the shipment of turkeys for the Thanksgiving rush.

The rest of the day loomed into a vast wasteland of television or Pay-Per-View movies. She hated the idea of running into Miranda and Nick if she left her room to go shopping. They’d follow her around for no good reason except they were bored and needed something in the can for Hirschberg.

The media lay in wait the minute either she or Jordan made an appearance. It was a madhouse. She had to get out of here, get some fresh air before she went crazy, took a page from Jordan’s book, and went ninja on everyone.

She rummaged around in her purse for a pair of overlarge sunglasses. The goofy things were another gift from Sarah. The glasses had bright red, heart-shaped frames with rhinestones around the lenses. She carried them to feel closer to her kid, but now they might help her get out of the hotel without being noticed.

She slid them on and searched in her luggage until she found the red and blue scarf to hide her famous red hair. She grabbed up her purse and jacket and left the hotel, going down the stairs and into the kitchen where she used a side entrance. Once outside, the fall wind picked up, the chill of it biting her fingers and toes. The walk was only a couple of blocks down the street to a Starbucks, but Tilly kept looking over her shoulder just in case Miranda or Nick caught sight of her.

She opened the door, thankful for the warmth. The thick smell of fresh espresso flavored the air. The line at the counter was long, but she had no real desire for coffee or any of the treats offered in the glass cases. Instead, she pulled out a chair at one of the small tables and made herself comfortable. Once seated, she checked her phone for local numbers until she found Barrow’s Bites. She entered the number and waited.

“Barrow’s Bites. We delight.” Anthony Barrows answered in his deep baritone.

“Chef Barrows, this is Tilly Danes.” She kept her voice low for fear of someone overhearing what she wanted to say.

“Ms. Danes, this is a pleasure.”

“Oh, thank you.” She glanced around the room for any would-be journalist or curious people taking pictures on their cell phones. So far her camouflage had worked. “Would it be possible for you to meet me at the Starbucks just down the street from the hotel?”

“I guess so.” Curiosity flavored his deep, melodious voice.

“Great.” She sighed with relief and put her hand over her heart. She was startled to feel it racing. “How fast can you get here, or would you prefer to meet somewhere else?”

“The coffee shop is fine. Let me check on something.” The phone went silent for a second or two before Barrows took her off hold. “I have a dinner party scheduled for this evening, but my sous chef says she can handle the prep while I’m gone.”

She bit her lower lip. The last chef with a dinner party on his schedule was sliced up like so much sushi. She didn’t want Barrows skewered on the sharp end of a knife. “Oh, and wear a disguise.”

“What?”

“This is all very hush-hush. Take my word for it. Okay?”

“Okay,” he chuckled. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you.” She ended the call and decided to get something to eat. The thought of anything resembling pastry was out of the question. A breakfast sandwich and coffee with a giant slug of half and half sounded like the perfect thing to pass the time. She got her order and settled down with the local paper to wait for Barrows. The murders were front page news, featuring a picture of Olivia’s face caught mid-scream.

Somehow, some way, she knew they could prove her innocence. It might be a small clue, a thing that everyone had missed so far.

“Ms. Danes?” The deep voice told her that Anthony Barrows had arrived. She glanced up from her paper to see him standing next to her seat. He smelled of cold and vanilla. His signature dreads were stuffed into a rainbow striped knit cap.

“Sit, sit. Can I get you anything? My treat.” She leaned over to pull out the chair next to her. “Call me Tilly. Ms. Danes makes me feel like my mother.”

“It’s Anthony, and no, I’m fine. Never could drink coffee before catering a big dinner.” He blew on his hands to warm them. “It’s stone cold out there this morning.” He took off his coat and hung it over the back of the chair. “To be honest, I can’t stay long. Charlise, my sous chef, had a hissy fit when I told her I had a meeting with you—begged me to take her along. She’s a big fan. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

He pointed at her face. “What’s with the sunglasses?”

“Oh.” She pulled them off and set them on the table. “I’ve been goin’ incognito. The Culinary Channel is filmin’ a special about the murders. They want Jordan and me to help the police as consultants. They’re always on the lookout for material. There’s the local and national media camped out in the lobby, just waitin’ to ambush us. I had to make a break for it.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Gone over the wall, have you?”

“That’s about the size of it.” She picked at the edge of her half-eaten sandwich. “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”

“If it’s about the murders, I’ve told the cops everything I know.”

“Same here.” She picked up her disposable cup with her left hand and sipped the cooling brew. “I don’t think Olivia killed Ethridge, and I plan to prove it. The police aren’t lookin’ at the big picture.”

“That’s a tall order,” he scoffed. “How do you plan to do that? More to the point, there’s nothing I can do to help her.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” She heaved a sigh and sat up straight. “Okay, here goes. Did Bolzano do anything out of the ordinary?”

His brows furrowed in thought. “Not that I know of. He was angry Friday night. I told the police he hinted that he knew something about Vargas and Ethridge. I mean, the man was pissed. The night of the competition he hinted that Ethridge would have his face all over the tabloids.”

“Interestin’. So that means he might have had contact with Ethridge prior to the competition.” She pursed her mouth in thought. Her finger scraped against the side of the Styrofoam cup while she worked to put the puzzle pieces together. “We know she slept with Ethridge on Friday afternoon to get an edge. That blew up in her face. Maybe Bolzano found out and tried to cut her out by blackmailing Ethridge.”

Anthony’s eyes lit up, his face glowed as he snapped his fingers. “Wait, wait. I was at the bar with some of the other chefs after the contest. We were celebrating, and Bolzano walked in. He didn’t want to join in, but he did order a bottle of wine.” He leaned back in his chair with a groan. “Oh man, why didn’t I remember this when I was being grilled by the cops? He came back down about ten minutes later saying Ethridge was an asshole. The man took the wine and spit in his face. That’s when Bolzano laughed. He said he’d be surprised if our favorite food critic showed up to judge the competition the next day.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “What wine did he order?”

“It was a red zin.”

“Oh, oh. I’ve got to go.” She gathered up her purse and coat. “How would you like to be a guest on my show?”

His eyes grew round with pleasure and surprise. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope. We kinda talked around it earlier. Consider it a done deal.” She slipped on the glasses. “I always mean what I say. Besides, you’ve got some awesome dishes to share with the world.”

“Wow, oh wow.” He stood. “That would be—there’s no words—I don’t know what to say.”

“How about thank you.” She smiled up at him. “You don’t know how much you’ve helped. I predict you will go places.” She rewrapped the scarf around her head and pulled on her gloves. “I’ve got to go. Good luck.”

She sailed out of the coffee shop and back to the hotel. Miranda was in the hotel restaurant, but she managed to sneak past her without detection. A couple of reporters perked up and looked her way. Just then, a gaggle of romance authors intercepted them and Tilly scooted into the middle of the crowd. The heart-shaped glasses provided the perfect smokescreen as she followed the herd into the elevator. Once in her room she called Jordan.

“I thought you didn’t want me to contact you until the press conference with Detective Iron Jaw.” He had his back up. Too bad. She had things to discuss.

“Guess who bought a bottle of red zin the night of the murder?” She pulled off the sunglasses and threw them on the table by the couch. Her gloves and coat followed. She slumped down in the soft cushions. “Unless you’re not interested? I’ll call Tyler and tell him what I learned.”

“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

She ended her call with a smile. There was nothing like a good clue to lure a man like Jordan out of a full-blown snit. It took less than two minutes for him to make his appearance.

…

He knocked, still miffed at the way she’d dismissed him earlier in the morning. The sparkle in her eyes set off eddies of lust that threatened to suck him under. He didn’t like the way she led him around by the short hairs. “What is it now?”

“I had a brainstorm.” Her face glowed with excitement.

It irritated him that she was so jubilant after she’d pushed him out the door. He leaned over until he was in her face. “Anything like Porky?” He didn’t bother to keep the snarkiness out of his voice. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and gave a snort of exasperation. “You didn’t steal any corpses or figure out how to make a homegrown forensics lab in your bathroom, did you?”

“No.” She narrowed her eyes until the faintest glimmer of blue shone through the slits. “I’ll have you know that I did a little investigative work after you left—”

“After you told me to leave.” He wasn’t about to let it go—he’d earned a good sulk. The identity of whoever bought red zinfandel was intriguing, but he wasn’t about to let her know she had him hooked.

“Oh, suck it up.” Her smile held the merest hint of humor. “I met with Anthony Barrows this morning.”

“Why?” He didn’t like the fact she went out on her own. Hadn’t he already explained the danger to her, especially if the killer thought she might be on to something? He’d rather she’d taken Jericho with her than traipse off by herself on a one woman Scooby Doo mission.

“Okay, I’ll play this game your way.” She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him toward the door. “Tyler will appreciate what I found out. See you later. Bye.”

. He dug his heels in and made it hard for her to budge him from where he stood. “Okay, okay, you’ve piqued my curiosity.” He held up his free hand in surrender. “What’s so important that you have to interrupt my afternoon?”

“Are you goin’ to quit gripin’, or what?”