A Cookbook Conspiracy (25 page)

Dalton looked askance. “Bootsie? You’ve named a stray cat Bootsie?”

“It’s a perfectly good name.” I pointed at the cat. “Look at her. She’s got four black
boots.”

Dalton stared at the cat, then gave me a stern look. “She’s plainly mortified by the
name.”

“She is not,” I said, laughing.

“And she’s not a stray,” Derek said. “She’s clean and well behaved. I believe she’s
roaming the neighborhood, hunting for a safe place to have her kittens.”

“Oh, she’s pregnant,” Dalton said. “My God, how did I miss that? Her stomach is huge.”

“What’s going on out here?” Savannah asked, as she stood in the doorway.

“That little white cat is back,” I told her while the animal in question purred under
Dalton’s fingers. Then I took a harder look at my sister’s features. Her normally
cheerful expression was tight, as if strained to the breaking point. A hard night
could defeat even Savannah’s easy nature. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Savannah admitted, folding her arms across her chest. “Everyone’s leaving.
It’s time to go home.”

We left Bootsie to her nocturnal hunting and returned to the dining room to say good
night to our dinner mates. While we chatted with the chefs and made plans for Margot’s
dinner two nights later, Dalton took the opportunity to check behind the bar for the
cookbook. He searched every conceivable hiding place but had no luck back there, either.

The cookbook was nowhere to be found.

We arrived home at one o’clock in the morning. There was no way Savannah could drive
back to Sonoma tonight, so she helped me fix up the couch for her to sleep on. It
might have been a futile exercise, judging by the temperature of the looks she and
Dalton were giving each other. Odds were, she’d spend the night in his bed. But we
carried out the task of making up a place to sleep anyway.

And why did I suddenly feel like somebody’s mother, chatting inanely while pretending
all was safe and sunny? A few minutes later, Derek and I went off to our room and
left the youngsters on their own.

“I feel so old,” I said as I climbed into bed.

Derek chuckled. “Me, too. We’re like the grown-ups chaperoning the children on their
first date.”

I groaned. “Then we’re doing a crappy job as chaperones. Their first date is going
to be a lot hotter than ours was, I think.”

“Come here, then,” he said, pulling me closer to him. “I’ll just make that up to you,
shall I?”

I laughed. “That’s such a great idea. I love it.”

“And I love you.”

I kissed him. “Love you, too. But please don’t ever call me a grown-up again.”

*   *   *

T
he next morning I stumbled out of bed and ran into Savannah at the coffee machine.

“Praise Buddha for automatic coffeemakers,” I mumbled, reaching for the pot.

“Hallelujah.” She held out her cup.

I filled her cup, then mine, then gave her the once-over. She wore a simple turquoise
sleeveless crop top and a pair of pajama bottoms that didn’t match. Not the world’s
hottest outfit for a night of wild jungle sex with a gorgeous stranger. That left
me wondering whether she’d slept on the couch all night or not. “You sort of look
like you could use another eight hours of sleep.”

“Thank you, sis. You look pretty, too.”

I chuckled, then sobered. “Look, Savannah, if you don’t feel like talking about it,
I understand, but I’d really like to know if—”

She held up her hand to stop me. “I’m not discussing where I spent the night, so don’t
bother asking.”

I pulled the half-and-half out of the fridge and added some to my coffee. “I don’t
care where you spent the night.” Liar, liar.

“Then what’re you talking about?”

We both sipped our coffee until I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Was Baxter blackmailing
you?”

She bobbled her coffee mug. “W-what?”

“You heard me. You don’t have to tell me what he was blackmailing you for specifically.
But if he was doing it, if you were paying him money, I want to know.”

“Why in the world would he blackmail me?”

“He was blackmailing every other chef you went to school with. Why not you, too?”

Her shoulders drooped a little and she shook her head. “No, he wasn’t blackmailing
me.”

I studied her expression, looking for the tiniest sign that she might be lying to
me. Finally I sighed. “Okay, I believe you.”

“Great.” She sniffed. “And if you’d thought about it for more than a split second,
you would’ve realized I have nothing in my past that’s worth being blackmailed over.”

“That’s not a bad thing, Bugs.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m boring. The always cheerful, do-the-right-thing good girl. Lucky
me.” She gulped down the rest of her coffee, rinsed out her cup, and placed it in
the dishwasher. Then she opened the refrigerator to forage for food. “Listen, do you
mind if I stay here with you for a few days?”

“Not at all, but what about your restaurant?”

“I called Steve and asked if he could fill in for a while.”

Steve Farelli owned Umbria, the Italian restaurant down the Lane from Arugula. He
was a member of the commune and our family had known his for years. He had three grown
sons who also cooked, so among the four of them, they could cover both restaurants.

“Aren’t you afraid he’ll slip some pasta Bolognese onto the menu?”

She smiled. “He promised to keep things clean.” She pulled a small dessert dish from
the fridge. “What’s this?”

“It’s a syllabub. It’s like a pudding.”

“I know what a syllabub is. But where’d you get it?”

“I made it.”

“No way.” She turned it this way and that, examining it clinically. “It’s so pretty.”

“It tastes good, too.” I grabbed a spoon from the drawer and gave it to her. “Try
it.”

She hesitated, but then managed to take a small bite. “Wow. It’s delicious.”

I wanted to squeal with glee since this was supreme praise
from my sister the chef, but I managed to maintain some dignity. “Thank you.”

“You really made it?” She took another bigger bite. “It’s so good. Mm. How’d you get
it so smooth?”

“Okay, now you’re just teasing me.”

“No, I’m serious. This is excellent.” She stuffed another spoonful into her mouth.
“You should make this for one of our dinners.”

“Do you mean it?” Coming from my sister, that was a huge compliment. “I could do that.”

“Good. I’ll tell Margot.” She gobbled up the last spoonful. “Is there any more left?”

“There’s one more, but I should save it for Derek.”

She pouted and used her spoon to scrape the sides of the bowl. “Okay, but you have
to make it again.”

“I will.” Wow, this was great. My first real cooking success! Almost enough to take
my mind off of murder and blackmail. Almost.

I took her dish to the sink and rinsed it. “So, listen, do you need to borrow some
of my clothes while you’re here or…”

“No, Dalton and I are going to drive out to Dharma to pick up some of my things, then
we’ll be back later this afternoon. You sure you’re okay with me staying here?”

“Of course I’m okay with it.” I gritted my teeth and added, “I just don’t want you
to…”

She planted her fist on her hip. “Don’t want me to what? Have sex in your guest bedroom?”

“No, smart-ass.” I lowered my voice. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

She was taken aback at first, but recovered and grabbed me in a fierce hug. “I love
you. You’re my favorite sister.”

“Of course I am.” I rubbed her back. “I love you, too.”

“Believe me, I don’t intend to get hurt,” she whispered. “Dalton’s awesome and everything,
but I’ve got my eyes wide-open.”
She stepped back, grabbed her already-rinsed mug and refilled it. “Now butt out, please.”

I laughed softly. “Okay, okay. Not that I can blame you. My God, he’s so cute.”

“I know!” She did a dramatic sigh. “It’s like I’ve got my very own Derek doll.”

I snorted. “Please don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Hear you say what?” Derek said.

We both jumped and I laid my hand against my heart. “You scared me silly.”

“He should wear a bell,” Savannah muttered, then glared at him. “How long were you
listening in?”

“I just got here,” Derek said, as he wiped his forehead with his gym towel. “And I
brought bagels.” He pointed to a brown bag on the bar.

“My hero.” Fresh bagels from Hello Deli, a favorite spot over by South Park, were
a rare treat. “Thanks.”

“Cream cheese is in the bag.” Derek nudged his way into our compact kitchen area.
“Is there any coffee left?”

I moved out of the way to give him access to the coffeepot. He wore gym shorts and
a faded Oxford T-shirt with the sleeves torn off. His tanned skin glistened with sweat
from his morning run. My poor little heart was getting quite the aerobic workout.

Savannah eased past me and left the kitchen. “Oh, hi.”

“Hello there.” Dalton said, his voice low and seductive.

I glanced through the bar opening and saw him kissing her. He was dripping in sweat,
too, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

Oh, yeah, no danger there.

My sister didn’t stand a chance.

I hadn’t seen Dalton standing on the other side of the bar and I wondered again how
much of our conversation the two men had overheard. I mentally replayed our words
and decided it didn’t
matter all that much, except for my sister’s slightly twisted “Derek doll” comment.

Savannah’s cell phone rang and she pulled it out of her pocket. “Hello?” There was
a long pause as she listened and then she said, “What?”

She sounded so distressed that I hurried into the dining area to find out who was
calling her. Derek joined me and we watched her eyes widening more and more at the
news she was hearing. A minute later, she hung up, looking shell-shocked.

“What’s wrong, Bugs?” I demanded. “Who was that?”

“It was Kevin. She’s freaking out. The police have taken Peter in for questioning.
She thinks he’s going to be arrested for Baxter’s murder.”

“They must’ve found out about the blackmail. Why else would they arrest him?” Too
frantic to sit down, Kevin zigzagged back and forth across the living room of her
plush hotel suite. Wearing trim jeans, a simple T-shirt, and flip-flops, she looked
like she’d be more at home playing catch on the Marina Green.

“They haven’t arrested him, Kevin,” Derek pointed out. “They’re just asking him some
questions.” Derek had called Inspector Jaglom on the way over to Kevin’s hotel. He
was in the middle of the interrogation, but had briefly told Derek they weren’t planning
to arrest Peter. Not yet, anyway.

“Kevin, you should sit down,” I said. “You’ll make yourself sick if you get too worked
up over this.” I watched her from the elegant club chair I’d chosen. Two matching
chairs had been arranged on either side of a delicate tea table in front of the large
window that overlooked Union Square.

The view was fabulous and the room was beyond deluxe. I had been impressed with Baxter’s
generosity when I heard that he’d paid for these Campton Place suites for his chef
friends. But now, after hearing all the blackmail accusations, I had to wonder who
had really picked up the tab.

“But who told the police about the blackmail?” Kevin demanded of no one in particular
as she ignored my pleas and kept up her frantic pacing. “I mean, it was just us there.
And if someone told about Peter, why not Monty and Margot, too? Why Peter in particular?”

“We don’t know that it is only Peter being investigated,” Derek said in that oh so
calm British manner of his.

I blinked at him. Hadn’t considered that. Just because we hadn’t heard about anyone
else being called in didn’t mean others hadn’t been.

“That’s true,” Kevin said, and she seemed to take a calming breath.

“Besides,” I continued, “the police might be questioning Peter about something completely
different.”

“What could that possibly be?” Kevin’s eyes widened.

“All I meant was,” I said quickly, “maybe they’re just trying to clear up some loose
ends.”

She flashed me a look of hope that faded quickly. She wasn’t totally buying my words
and I couldn’t blame her.

“But…” Savannah frowned in confusion. “Kevin’s question still stands. How did the
police find out about the blackmail?”

Dalton sat on the arm of the suede love seat next to her. “It does seem a bit of a
coincidence that they picked Peter up less than twelve hours after several of you
confessed to being blackmailed.”

In silence, the five of us exchanged glances with each other, trying to figure out
what that might mean. Savannah finally broke the silence. “It had to be one of us.
Some big-mouth chef squealed to the cops.”

Squealed?
I almost laughed. “You channeling Edward G. Robinson or what?”

She scowled at me. “Maybe I am. I’m so pissed off. It wasn’t a coincidence. Somebody
called the cops on Peter. That’s so mean.”

“You’re right,” I said. “It was mean and nasty and a complete betrayal of the friendships
you’ve all maintained for years. But which of you did it?”

Tiny lines of worry appeared on her forehead and I knew what she was thinking. She
could accept that someone had betrayed Peter, but she didn’t want it to be someone
she knew and liked. She could accept that there were harsh realities in the world,
but she didn’t want to see them up close and personal.

This was my sister in a nutshell.

“Maybe it was one of the waitstaff,” she said weakly. “They were there all evening,
listening to us talk.”

“You think one of the waiters called the cops?”

“No.” She groaned and waved her hands in frustration. “I don’t know, but I’d rather
believe it was a stranger than one of our friends.”

“I know you would,” I said sympathetically.

“But why just Peter?” Kevin’s voice cut through it all. “I mean, as far as we know,
he’s the only one being questioned, but Monty and Margot both confessed to being victims,
too.”