Chicken Caccia-Killer (A Jordan McAllister Mystery) (18 page)

She glanced to the right for Loretta’s article and had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle the scream that bubbled up in her throat. In bold letters besides Loretta’s name, the words, Ginny’s Chicken Cacciatore, glared at her, followed by the recipe for the wonderful dish.

No wonder people were congratulating Loretta. Swearing under her breath, Jordan wondered how Loretta had convinced Ginny into letting her print the recipe before the festival ever started. She’d upstaged Jordan and had taken round one of the competition. Next to the fantastic recipe, Jordan’s article seemed dull and boring.

She opened the bottom drawer with the key from her purse and pulled out the files with her notes from the interview with the Italian sisters. Flipping through the pages, she looked for Ginny’s recipe to compare it with the one Loretta had posted, secretly hoping the woman had left out a key ingredient or something. Grinning to herself, she imagined how angry the readers would be if they went to all the trouble of making the dish only to find out something was missing.

Her heart raced when she realized Ginny’s recipe was nowhere to be found. An audible sigh escaped when she couldn’t find Carlita’s Cake Ball recipe in the folder, either. Going through her notes a third time, she felt panic rising. What could have possibly happened to the recipes? She had been vigilant about keeping the drawer locked, and the key had remained in her purse except when she needed it.

Just then Loretta walked back to her desk and noticed the look on Jordan’s face. “What’s the matter, Red? You look like you’ve lost your best friend.”

Something about her tone and the look on her face had red flags waving in Jordan’s brain. In that instant she knew beyond a doubt that Loretta had somehow managed to get into her drawer and steal the recipes.

“Give me the other one, and I won’t go to Egan with this.”

Loretta looked confused for a second, and then raised her eyebrows in question. “And tell him what? That you’re mad because I printed the recipe before you did? He’ll think it’s just sour grapes.”

“He knows you better than you think,” Jordan fired back.

The other woman hissed. “That may be true, but even he can’t prove I stole this recipe from your locked desk.” She narrowed her eyes. “I told you that you weren’t dealing with a rookie. I’ll get my old back job back no matter what I have to do.” Although she turned toward her computer and pretended to be busy with something, the smile never left her face.

Fury almost choked her. Loretta was right. There was no way she could prove the woman had stolen her recipes. She might as well get used to writing only the personals again.

Putting the file back, something caught her eye in the back of the drawer. Reaching in, she pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper that had been jammed into the back. Smoothing out the wrinkles, she nearly jumped for joy. No wonder Loretta had seemed confused when she’d mentioned there was more than one recipe. Carlita’s Cake Ball recipe must have fallen from the folder when Loretta grabbed it.

Jordan resisted flaunting it in front of her nemesis and simply tucked it into her purse. Maybe Loretta had won the first round of the culinary war, but she wouldn’t win the next one. Jordan held the trump card. As good as Ginny’s Chicken Cacciatore was, nothing compared to Carlita’s Italian Cream Cake Balls.

Loretta was about to find out why you shouldn’t piss off a redhead.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

The rest of the workday dragged by without any further confrontations with Loretta, although it had been rather annoying listening to everyone stop by her desk to thank her for the great recipe. Jordan wanted to scream that the cheat had stolen it from her. Somehow, she managed to hold her tongue, but she couldn’t quit thinking about how she would explain to Ginny and her sister why the recipe was in print before the festival had even opened.

At the thought of Ginny Bruno, she wondered how her morning at the police station had gone. That was another reason the Italian woman would be furious at her. Jordan did feel badly about involving her in the murder investigation. But what she’d told them about seeing a man go up the stairs with Tina the night Marco was killed was crucial if they were ever going to prove that Kate had nothing to do with his death.

As soon as Jordan was out of the building and into her car, she dialed Alex’s cell phone. If anyone would know how Ginny’s day at the Plainville Police Station went down, it would be him, since he had also spent the morning there with his sister.

He answered on the first ring. “Hello, beautiful. I was just thinking about you.”

“Is Kate at home?”

“Yes, thank God. The police decided they didn’t have enough evidence to hold her, and they released her with a warning not to leave the area.”

Jordan’s spirits were lifted. “That’s wonderful news. Kate must be so relieved.”

“For now, but if we don’t get some hard evidence to clear her name soon, she could be on her way to jail again very soon.” He paused briefly. “No more talk about that. Are you headed home?”

“No, I’m going out to the fairgrounds to see if I can get a couple of interviews before the festival opens this weekend and nobody has time to talk to me. I mentioned that this morning when you called, remember?”

She hated lying to him but it was necessary, and truth be told, it was really only a half lie, if there was such a thing. She was on her way to the fairgrounds right now, but she had no intentions of interviewing anyone. Her mission was to suck up to Frankie O’Brien to try to find out why his sister was mad at her father for insisting she go through with her marriage to Marco.

She remembered how Frankie’s face had scrunched up in anger when he’d mentioned that Marco and his mother had gotten it on. She was counting on using that anger to manipulate him into spilling his guts about Tina and Emilio Calabrese.

“Wish I could go with you,” Alex said, interrupting her thoughts. “But Jeff is coming over after dinner to brainstorm with us about what the next step should be. Trust me when I say there’s nothing I’d rather do than take my best girl out to the fairgrounds for samples of food from my mother country. I’d especially enjoy plying her with a few decanters of chilled Italian wine so that she wouldn’t be able to resist me.”

Jordan laughed. “Hello? Do you know who you’re talking to? You don’t need a few decanters. All that would happen after maybe one and a half glasses of the good stuff.”

He laughed with her. “Who said I was talking about you?” He didn’t wait for her response before adding, “We both know I was, so there’s no sense in trying to play it cool. Unfortunately, that fantasy will have to wait. I will take a rain check, though.”

“You’re lucky you added that part about it being me. I’ve already been reminded lately that I’m a skinny redhead, and you know what they say about redheads and their tempers.”

“Yeah, well, a little Italian food will help with the skinny part but not the Irish temper.”

“Maybe I can get Ginny Bruno to give me a little more of her chicken cacciatore and find some fine Italian wine to go with it. I promise I’ll think about you the entire time I’m smacking my lips,” she teased before she remembered why she’d called him in the first place. “Hey, speaking of Ginny, what happened when they interviewed her this morning at the police station?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Ginny Bruno wasn’t at the hotel when the police got there, so they haven’t been able to talk to her. Jeff called a few minutes ago and said they still haven’t been able to locate her.”

“That’s odd. She’s rooming with her sister. Did anyone ask Carlita Bruno about Ginny?”

“As a matter of fact they did. She said Ginny got a phone call from someone from the Planning Committee early this morning. Something about the newspaper ads for the festival. Apparently, she’s in charge of that.” He tsked. “Anyway, she met whoever it was in the lobby and never came back to the room.”

“Oh God, I hope she’s all right.”

“Why would you think she wasn’t? The police believe she’s just off somewhere taking care of business and hasn’t bothered to call her sister yet.”

Jordan swallowed hard. “I hope they’re right.” Even as she said it she couldn’t stop worrying about the woman who’d been kind enough to feed her and Victor the day before. Even if she had gone a little ballistic with a serving ladle.

“Anyway, Kate is calling me now, so I have to run. I’ll call you tonight after you get home. Maybe we can have a little phone sex.”

“Don’t let your mother hear you,” Jordan teased. “She’ll start naming our kids.”

She slapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the words slipped out. What in God’s name was the matter with her? Now, Alex would think she was pushing him in their relationship. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she said softly.

“Oh yes, you did, and you’re right. My mother already adores you and would love to see a few more little Moreland babies running around.” He paused before adding, “I can’t say I find that notion unappealing myself.”

Before she had time to digest that, he said, “Gotta see what Kate wants. We’ll finish this conversation later.”

She couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face. Maybe when this was all over and Kate had taken her mother back to Houston, she and Alex could sit down and figure out if the relationship was headed toward bambinos or not. Even though they hadn’t talked serious commitment yet, he had let a little “love you” slip out the other night on the phone, hadn’t he?

She forced herself to shove all the romantic stuff to the back of her mind so she could concentrate on what was ahead of her at the fairgrounds. She was determined to get the lowdown on Tina Calabrese and her father, and instead of thinking about bearing Alex’s children, she needed to figure out how she would seduce Frankie O’Brien.

As soon as she pulled into the parking lot, her heart picked up speed. It had already been established that she pretty much sucked at outright flirting, and the mission depended on her doing just that. She reached into her purse for the coral lip gloss and smeared it across her lips. Then with a newfound determination, she got out of her car. If she was going to fall flat on her face, at least her lips would be shiny.

The first thing she noticed after walking through the gate was that neither Ginny Bruno nor her sister Carlita was at their booth. Normally, that wouldn’t have been unusual since Carlita had mentioned both she and her sister liked to work in the early morning hours to avoid the killer Texas sun. But there was something different about their booths, and Jordan had yet to figure it out.

She glanced at both booths on opposite sides of the fairway several times before it dawned on her what had caught her attention. The CHICKEN CACCIATORE sign that Victor had helped Ginny Bruno post above her booth only days before was no longer hanging there.

She swiveled around to check Carlita’s booth, only to find her sign advertising the Italian Cream Cake Balls missing as well. The whole thing was very odd, and she wondered if perhaps they’d skipped town to avoid Ginny getting involved in the murder investigation. But that made no sense. The police only wanted to talk to her, not put her in jail. Why would she feel the need to run?

She continued walking down the fairway, making a mental note to find out where the Italian sisters were staying so she could visit them at the hotel the next day. It was probably nothing, but she couldn’t shake the bad feeling percolating since she’d first heard Ginny was missing. She hoped she was wrong—that it was only her overactive imagination stirring up trouble, as usual.

Searching for Frankie O’Brien, she walked up and down both sides of the fairway and was about to give up when she noticed a group of adolescent boys playing flag football in an open field behind the last booth. Smiling to herself, she remembered how she and her brothers had spent many hours doing that exact thing nearly every day after school back in Amarillo.

Since Alex would be tied up with his sister and Jeff Hamilton all evening, and with Frankie O’Brien MIA, she really had nothing better to do. No one even noticed when she wandered over to the sidelines where the boys were engrossed in their game. It didn’t take long for her to get caught up in the match as well.

There were four boys total, all with olive skin and dark hair. The two on one side wore shirts while the other two were without. Within minutes, she figured out that the shirtless team was noticeably better. In the short time she’d been on the sideline, they’d scored three touchdowns while the less-talented “shirts” remained scoreless.

Unable to resist, she walked across the open field to where the boys in shirts were huddled up, preparing for the next play. When she reached them, both looked up, surprised to see a female on their field.

“You’re holding the ball too long,” she said to the shorter of the two who was the quarterback. Pointing to the taller one, she added, “You need to run along the sideline, then cross over to the middle as soon as you clear the defender.” She turned her attention back to the quarterback. “And then you throw the ball down the middle even if your teammate isn’t there yet.”

Both boys stared at her like she had two heads.

“I’m just saying it’s all in the timing. You have to trust that your receiver will be in the middle of the field to catch that pass.”

“What would you know about it?” the taller one asked with a frown. “You’re a girl.”