Chicken Caccia-Killer (A Jordan McAllister Mystery) (22 page)

After shooting the breeze with the man for a few more minutes while he wrote out the recipe, Jordan thanked him and moved on. By the time she’d reached the other end where she and Bernardo Petrone’s son had played flag football the day before, she’d sampled five other delicious Italian entrées and had scored recipes for all of them. Mentally, she high-fived herself for a job well done.

Glancing down at her watch, she decided she’d stayed long enough to be considered sociable. With the wine flowing like a downhill stream after a particularly wet rainy season, it looked like the party would go until well after midnight, and she needed to get home.

Setting her empty wine glass on a counter with a few others, she hastily declined the offer of a refill from a pretty Italian woman dressed in the traditional red, green, and white colors of the flag of Italy. Walking back to the entrance, she felt a tap on her shoulder from behind.

“Hey, beautiful, where’ve you been?”

She turned to face Frankie O’Brien who looked quite ridiculous in cutoffs and an NYU tank top.
Skinny arms like his should never be on display in a shirt like that
, she thought.

“It’s good to see you, Frankie, but I was just leaving. Tomorrow’s the big day for all of you, and I thought you’d want to party by yourselves. You all deserve to have fun without the press looking on.”

He ran his fingers up her arm, sending involuntary chill bumps all the way to her elbow. “You can’t go home yet. The real fun’s just getting started.”

“I see the liquor arrived,” she said, backing up when he moved closer and she got a whiff of breath that reeked of alcohol. She moved a few more steps to her left to get away from his fingers still doing a slow dance up and down her arm.

“You got that straight. I was beginning to worry about it before—” He stopped talking as three men approached and stood directly in front of him.

“What’s up, Frankie?” Speaking with a slight accent, the man sandwiched between two bigger ones had a smile on his face, even though his eyes remained hard when they zoned in on Frankie O’Brien.

If Jordan hadn’t been looking right at Frankie, she would’ve missed the sudden shudder that coursed through his body before he smiled up at the new arrival. “We’re partying, Romero. Let me get you a beer.” He turned to walk away when the bigger man held up his hand and stopped him.

“That can wait. Right now I want to know why I had to make a trip all the way out here to find out why you’re not holding up your end of the bargain.”

Jordan knew the polite thing to do would be to walk away and let the two men have a private conversation, but she couldn’t make herself do that. If there was even a smidgen of a chance that she’d learn something that might help Alex’s sister, she had to be rude and stay put.

While the two men talked, she sized up the new arrival. Standing about six-two with black hair and eyes to match, the man loomed over Emilio Calabrese’s much smaller stepson. Although he had on a T-shirt with sleeves, it was obvious he worked out because his muscles strained at the thin cotton covering his upper arms. Jordan couldn’t help wondering how he’d look wearing the tank top that was so pathetic on Frankie O’Brien.

When she heard Frankie begging the other man for more time, she was jerked out of her imagery. She leaned in closer, hoping they wouldn’t call her out for the overt snooping, but she needn’t have worried about that. They were so engrossed in the conversation, they wouldn’t have noticed a five hundred pound gorilla standing beside them.

“I think I made it perfectly clear what happens to people who don’t come through on their promises,” the big man was saying.

“It wasn’t my fault the shipment was stolen, but I’m going to get it back.” Frankie’s face reflected his fear.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass whose fault it was. All I know is I’ve got a lot of money riding on that delivery. I’m tired of listening to my customers griping at me.” He reached over and yanked Frankie’s upper arm, almost lifting him off the ground.

The fear on Frankie’s face escalated to terror. When Romero eased his grip and Frankie realized the guy wasn’t going to smack him around, his shoulders relaxed, and he tried to smile. “I need a few more days. Next week you’ll have the shipment. I promise.”

“Need I remind you of what happened to your partner the last time he didn’t deliver?”

Frankie shook his head, and Romero released his hold on his arm. “Okay, then, as long as we’re both aware of the consequences, you can get back to your celebration.” He turned without ever acknowledging Jordan and walked away with the two big men taking their positions on either side.

When the entourage was far enough away, Jordan stepped in front of Frankie. “Who was that?”

For a second, Frankie looked embarrassed, apparently realizing she’d seen him being bullied. “He’s a business associate. That’s all.”

“He seemed pretty angry about not getting his shipment.” She had no idea what that meant, merely repeating what she’d heard Romero say.

Frankie turned to her, his face now red with anger. “That’s none of your business, and you’d be wise to forget what you heard.”

“You’re right. It is none of my concern. I guess I’ll see you then.”

He reached for her arm. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice to you. It’s just that Romero Ortiz did upset me a little, and I could use a stiff drink right about now. I’d love for you to join me.”

She wanted to say that since he was well on his way to the proverbial three sheets, the last thing he needed was more alcohol. Instead she pulled her arm away. “Sorry. I’m already getting a headache from just one glass of wine, plus I have a long day tomorrow.” Then as if to smooth things over, she added. “I’ll be here tomorrow night with my friends, though. We’d love to have that drink with you.”

He frowned. “I don’t do well with crowds. I was thinking more along the lines of something a little cozier with just you and me.”

She fought hard not to wrinkle her nose at the suggestion. “I’m not sure my boyfriend would be too happy about that.” Turning, she started toward the exit, wishing she could see his face after dropping that little tidbit.

When she was in the car on her way back to Ranchero, she began to think about what she’d just witnessed between Frankie and Romero. Frankie was definitely afraid of the man—and with good reason. Anybody who looked like Romero and showed up with two goons built like Sumo wrestlers was not to be taken lightly. His thinly veiled threat left Jordan searching her brain, trying to remember an earlier her conversation she’d had with Frankie.

And then it came to her. The first time she’d met him, he’d mentioned that he’d been in some kind of a business deal with Marco Petrone, then covered by saying he meant family business.

Hadn’t Romero Ortiz just said he didn’t want Frankie to end up like his partner for not delivering the goods? Could he be referring to Marco Petrone?

Holy crap! Had Romero just confessed to killing Marco? And who had Georgette Calabrese been screaming at?

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

“You’ve hit a home run with this recipe,” the tall blonde hollered across Jordan’s cubicle, flashing Loretta Moseley a thumbs up.

Jordan’s head shot up from the stack of personal ads she’d been working on since she’d walked into the building several hours before. She figured there must have been another sale on them because there was double the usual number waiting for her when she walked in the door. She’d had to put everything else on hold in order to get the ads ready for the weekend edition and hadn’t even stopped to heed nature’s call. That in itself was a miracle considering the huge amount of caffeine she’d already consumed since she’d arrived.

She’d been so busy she’d totally forgotten about planting the bait recipe in her locked drawer before she’d left the night before. Glancing to her right, she made eye contact with Loretta, who was smiling at her—and not in a friendly way. It was more like an I-bested-you-once-again smirk.

Jordan studied her face for a few moments before grabbing the key from her purse and opening the drawer, fully expecting to find the recipe missing like the last time. But it was there—right where she’d left it. Relief washed over her when she realized Victor’s prediction of Loretta breaking into her drawer again had been wrong. She was just beginning to upgrade her faith in the honesty of mankind when she heard Loretta snort.

“You don’t think I’d be dumb enough to give you the evidence to run to Egan and report the recipe missing, do you?”

Jordan squinted with a fake-surprised look. “What are you talking about, Loretta?”

“You know good and well what I’m talking about, Red. You just got another step closer out the door.” She chuckled. “Go ahead. Check out today’s culinary column. Yours is all about how the Italian Festival started back in San Francisco over a decade ago, and mine is a recipe for an awesome braided spaghetti bread.” She chuckled again, this time louder. “Which one do you think the readers will like the best?”

Jordan exited the personals page and pulled up the home screen showing today’s edition. Even before she clicked over to the culinary column, she already knew what would be there. And she wasn’t disappointed. BRAIDED SPAGHETTI BREAD stared out at her in bold letters across the top of the page. Ginny’s Braided Spaghetti Bread recipe minus a cup of spaghetti sauce, proving that the woman definitely had lifted it from the drawer.

Ah ha! You’ve just made your first big mistake, missy.

Biting her lower lip to keep from smiling, she turned to her nemesis. “I hate to tell you this, but the reason I haven’t published the recipe myself is because it’s missing a key ingredient.”

Loretta’s face fell. “What key ingredient?”

Jordan shrugged. “I have no idea. All I know is that Ginny left a message on my voicemail that she’d messed up when she wrote it out and that she’d be calling to fix it.” She crossed her fingers behind her back as if that would neutralize the lie. “I’m still waiting on that information.”

Loretta grabbed the phone and quickly punched in a number. After waiting a few seconds and tapping her nails nervously on the desk, she shouted into the receiver. “Hank, have all the copies of today’s edition gone out yet?”

Jordan didn’t need to hear the man in the print room on the other end. Everyone knew the day’s newspapers had already been delivered in the middle of the night, and she was pretty sure the frown on Loretta’s face was caused by hearing Hank confirm that.

She slammed the phone down before turning her fury on Jordan. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Jordan feigned innocence. “I had no idea you would be stupid enough to steal from my drawer a second time, Loretta.” She raised one eyebrow. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and no one will notice.”

“You’re a bee-otch.”

“Takes one to know one.” Jordan turned her attention back to the computer and pulled up the personals again. She had to call on every ounce of willpower she had not to sneak a peek at Loretta’s face right then. When she heard Loretta’s audible sigh of frustration, she couldn’t help herself and smiled once again.

Chalk one up for the new girl.

The rest of the day was uneventful, although every time Loretta’s phone rang, Jordan’s ears would perk up and she’d lean to her right to listen to the conversation. But there were no angry calls from readers or a summons to Egan’s office, which made sense since there hadn’t been time for anyone to try the recipe yet.

At exactly five o’clock, she gathered up her stuff and headed out, unable to resist a grin as she passed Loretta’s empty desk. Shortly after lunch, the woman had pleaded a headache and gone home—probably to work on a damage control strategy.

Driving down Main Street, Jordan glanced up at the overhead banners announcing the festival and felt a surge of excitement. It was a big deal for the area and the vendors who needed a big turnout. She hoped everything went well.

She pulled into a parking space halfway between Lola’s Spiritual Readings and Yesterday’s Treasures. She, Lola, and Victor planned to meet Ray and Rosie at the festival. Michael and his radio crew had already been there since four that afternoon to broadcast from the fairway.

As if he’d been watching for her, Victor emerged from the antiques shop and locked the door before sliding into the backseat of her Camry. Immediately, he began to babble on about seeing Loretta’s recipe in the newspaper.

“You should’ve seen the look on her face when I told her the key ingredient was missing,” Jordan said, waving hello from the front.

“What? Why’d you go and tell her that? Now she can just reprint it tomorrow,” he said, looking up when Lola opened the door and slipped into the front seat. “Hey, girl friend, is that a new mu mu?”

She gave him a disgusted look. “For a fashionista like you claim to be, you should know they don’t call them that anymore. I’ll have you know I’m wearing a below-the-knee caftan.” She smoothed the front of her dress over her generous figure and winked at Jordan.

“Whatever,” he said, leaning closer to Jordan. “Back to you. Did you tell Loretta you left out the key ingredient on purpose, or did it slip out accidentally?”

“Of course I meant to tell her. She would’ve run to Uncle Earl so fast, it would’ve made my head spin. And I suspect after all the complaints they get tomorrow, Egan and his boss won’t think our little plan is as funny as we do. I’ll be back to writing only the personals before you can say spaghetti bread.”