Chicken Soup & Homicide (5 page)

She shook her head to dislodge the weird, creepy image. Snacks for vampires? Where had that idea come from? Obviously some freaky thoughts were hiding in the sleep-deprivation fog occupying the distant corridors of her brain that hadn't been reached by the clarifying citrus aroma.

"Smells good. Is it some kind of oatmeal?"

Saved from the descent into Queasy Land by the Hot Hubby. Alex kissed her on the cheek as he passed by on his way to the coffeemaker. He yawned repeatedly as he filled his travel mug and dumped in several spoonfuls of raw sugar. When she had finally crawled into bed around 11:00 p.m., he asked if she had fun. He had assumed she and Sophie were out late celebrating a win in the showdown. So he got a wicked surprise when she gave him a recap of her terrible, horrible, unbelievable evening. He had tossed and turned for quite a while after she finished her monologue of murder.

Amy exhaled into the steam rising from the pot. The white mist shifted from the gust of discontent. "Rice porridge. Basically, stovetop rice pudding dressed up with a bit of fruit so it can be a decent breakfast."

"Sounds like an interesting alternative to muffins or pancakes."

"It's the
only
alternative my stomach has decided to allow. My body needs some fuel to make it through the day, but my brain keeps remembering the sight of Chef Britton's body." She spooned the creamy porridge flecked with plumped currants into bowls and handed one portion to her husband. "I'm not feeling very good this morning."

Alex grabbed her free hand and tugged her toward the breakfast nook. Amy collapsed onto the cushioned bench and stared at the snow-covered backyard beyond the window. Bare twigs from the line of blueberry bushes planted along the privacy fence poked out of drifts formed during the storm that had raged through the night.

"I'm sorry. Finding another body…that's just unbelievable." He scooted onto the bench beside her and draped his arm over her shoulders. "I'm going to stay home as long as possible this morning. Not much is going to go on right away with all of this snow."

She blinked as she looked at him. He was in jeans and a long-sleeve gray Henley shirt. He had been in the room for at least five minutes, and she hadn't realized he wasn't wearing his usual dress shirt and tie. She hadn't noticed those basic things about her husband, but every gruesome detail of bloody ice cube Britton was seared into her mind.

"I would like that," she said as she ate a bite of porridge. The hints of orange and vanilla were a nice contrast to the sweet currants. A warm bowl of comfort. "I don't want to be alone with my thoughts today. Did you sign us up for some kind of hidden camera, murder mystery reality TV show?"

He chuckled as he shook his head. "No. I promise I will never even book one of those murder mystery weekend things at a bed-and-breakfast. Is Shepler investigating this case? I'm sure he can wrap this up pretty quickly."

"He isn't…conflict of interest. Carla used to date Britton, and she told him off yesterday morning because he was being an intimidating idiot to me."

Alex's eyes widened. "Whoa. Carla dated
him
? I didn't think crooked slimeball was her type. Plus, he went after you? I wish I had been there to put him in his place."

"It's okay. Childish intimidation doesn't really throw me off much anymore. Sticks and stones." She twisted to look over her shoulder and make sure she switched off the burner under the porridge pot. The tired muscles in her neck, courtesy of tossing and turning most of the night, screamed in protest at the movement. The pain opened some kind of mental doorway and slam-dunked Alex's comments into her consciousness. "You know him?"

"Quantum designed the logo and signage for Cornerstone restaurant." He traced figure eights in his porridge with a spoon. "I decided a year ago that my company would never work for him again. Not only was he a royal pain in the ass of a client, he didn't pay his bills on time. He would skip a few payments. Then when we threatened to send the bill to a collections agency, he started paying, but only half or a quarter of what we billed for that period. It was a nightmare, and it took at least twice as long, compared to any other business, to get our full payment."

"According to Carla, Britton's personal life was just as messed up. We've chatted about him a few times since she found out I'd be competing against him. If he treated all of his business and personal acquaintances the same way…he was probably about as popular as a moldy bagel. The detective that took over the case from Shepler could be facing a tangled pile of cooked spaghetti, if suspects and motives were spaghetti." Her stomach growled. That's what she got for using multiple food references in a conversation when she was hungry. "I just hope he does figure it out soon. Arguing with a murder victim hours before he was killed is pretty much the equivalent of Carla wearing a bull's-eye on her shirt. He's bound to target her first, I think. Shepler knew about the spat between Carla and Britton before he even talked to me. When this Pitts guy interviewed me later, he didn't ask about the argument, just wanted to know what happened after I almost got tackled by a dead man."

Alex's phone vibrated in circles on the table. He picked it up and frowned. "I guess I was wrong. Looks like I need to get to the office." He swiped his thumb over the screen to scroll through a message. "Soon. I'm sorry."

He put his bowl of untouched porridge in the sink and walked out of the kitchen. Without even asking if she would be okay if he left. Had he even heard her say she didn't want to be alone?

* * *

After Alex left for work, Amy took a decidedly unrestful nap. She dreamed she was backstage again. Every way she turned, dead bodies toppled toward her. Running in her sleep left her feeling more tired than before she curled up on the couch with Pogo, her pup who was always ready for a nap, snuggled against her stomach. The gravely rumble of a plow truck clearing snow off the street woke her.

She reached over her head and grabbed her phone off the arm of the couch where she had left it, easily within reach if Carla needed her. Except she had slept through the text message alert. The blip must've blended in with the nightmare's soundtrack. Luckily, it wasn't Carla, just Alex letting her know he wouldn't be home until after dinner. Again.

Assuming Carla's silence was a good thing, Amy decided to check on Sophie. The horror-story plot twist in the showdown had turned her cooking partner into a hot mess with a bad case of freak-out stomach flu. Amy scooped up Pogo and settled him on a fluffy pillow in the corner of the couch. She would never make it to Riverbend Coffee if she didn't get up and put on some decent clothes. Sophie's cozy coffee shop was casual, but not the schlumpy sweatpants brand of low-key attire she was sporting.

Half an hour later she snagged one of the coveted parking spots just a few doors down from Riverbend. Amy wrapped a fuzzy, hot-pink scarf around her neck. The snow had stopped for the time being, but the wind continued to blow. Even if the trek into the coffee shop was only twenty feet long, she still needed some winter armor. The fine, powdery snow was a familiar foe since she had lived in Michigan her entire life. It swirled into drifts and tried to sift down shirt collars if there was even a tiny gap between skin and coat. But the snowflakes hardly ever got a chance to torture her thanks to her extensive scarf and cowl collection. Her favorite, bold statement necklaces of summer were replaced with elaborate wool or mohair neck warmers in the winter. A necessity for any Michigander who didn't want to turn into an icicle.

Amy struggled to push the Mini's door open against a gust of wind. She scrambled out of the car and hurried down the sidewalk. When she pulled open the front door of the coffee shop, the roasted, almost savory scent of espresso wrapped around her like a luscious caffeine blanket. She stepped up to the counter, ordered an orange mocha, and asked the familiar barista if Sophie was around.

"In the kitchen, baking about a million things from being stressed out. I have a feeling the soup kitchen will be getting a big donation tonight," the barista said as she delivered the steaming hot beverage to Amy. The white ceramic mug looked like a cereal bowl with a handle. One of the new styles of mugs and plates Sophie was trying out before the small coffee shop expanded into a roomy café stretching into two newly acquired storefronts.

Amy backed into the swinging kitchen door while trying to channel her eighteen-year-old former waitress self and not spill any of the dark chocolate espresso treat. A wall of warm vanilla-scented air greeted her in the small but admirably efficient kitchen. Trays of scones, cookies, and miniature cakes were stacked in huge rolling cooling racks that towered over her. She was the unofficial recipe consultant for Riverbend as the shop expanded its menu beyond pastries and sandwiches. While Amy was appointed the savory recipe developer, Sophie was working at coming up with more sweet treats to fill the pastry cases.

"I see I'm not the only one who stress-cooks," Amy said as she squeezed between a cooling rack and the industrial sink piled with dirty bowls.

Sophie turned away from the mound of dough she was kneading. Her usually perfectly slicked-back ponytail was lopsided and messy. Long strands of espresso-brown hair framed her face. Dark smudges traced under her bloodshot eyes. Basically, she looked like she was aspiring to be a zombie. "I need to keep moving, or I'll fall asleep on my feet. I'm running on pure caffeine with booster doses of sugar today. Every time I fell asleep last night, I dreamed about Chet coming back to life, pulling the knife out of his chest and chasing me around."

So she had
dreamed
of zombies. That certainly wasn't a good way to rack up beauty sleep. Amy patted Sophie's shoulder and said, "That was a gruesome scene last night. I know you weren't feeling well then, so I came in to check on you today."

"Thank you. You are so sweet, especially since you probably had an even worse night after having Chet's body literally fall on you." Sophie swiped her flour-dusted hands on her black apron, leaving behind ghostly white handprints. "The big question is, are you okay?"

Amy shrugged. "I would much rather have won the showdown instead of finding a dead body, that's for sure. I have to say, the second time around was
not
any easier, especially with all of the blood. The raspberry pie filling on Mandy Jo made that incident rate a bit lower on the freak-out scale. Having a plate of butter slapped out of my hand by a frozen, blood-covered body has to be the most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me. Ugh."

"I can't believe he's dead." Sophie turned back to the dough and began patting it into a circle. "He was obnoxious as hell. I certainly wished he would just disappear many times myself. Sometimes right out of my bed. It's kind of surreal that somebody made that happen."

Wow. Britton had dated Carla and proved himself about as appealing as a rotten fish pretty quickly into the relationship. What was up with Sophie and the mini culinary tormentor? "I just met Britton when we all started meeting for the Chicken Soup Showdown. Sounds like you know him beyond that."

Sophie picked up the metal bench scraper and used it to cut the circle of dough into triangles. She arranged the pieces, which appeared to be flecked with chunks of chocolate and some kind of dried fruit, on a baking sheet. She stayed silent as she carefully brushed each scone with cream and sprinkled them with coarse sugar crystals. When the task was done, she slid the sheet into the oven and looked around the kitchen like she was making sure Britton's ghost wasn't lurking in a dark corner. Finally she sighed and turned to face Amy again. "You already know I was the pastry chef at Cornerstone a little over a year ago. Working in the kitchen night after night with Chet was a marathon torture session. Unfortunately, when I first started working there, I thought he would be different when he was away from the restaurant. We were lovers for a few months. I quickly found out his personality was the same everywhere, all the time. Then when I broke up with him, he really cranked up the nastiness toward me at Cornerstone. I finally quit because I couldn't stand ending every shift in tears after being verbally abused for hours."

Another tale of love gone wrong with Chef Britton. If two of her friends had miserable relationships with him, how many other fed up and angry women were there in Kellerton? "That sounds horrible. My friend Carla also dated him. Very briefly. From what she's said, I'd say he treated her the same way, except she didn't have to work with him too. About the only thing I thought was remotely physically appealing about him were those blue eyes. What did you see in him?"

"I was lonely. He was persistent and a minor celebrity. Also, he did quite a bit of work for charity. I donate leftovers from Riverbend to the soup kitchen. I would never have known about the organization if it weren't for Chet giving them Cornerstone's surplus food." She scanned the kitchen for spirits again as she twisted an apron string around her index finger until it was encased in the black cord. "When that grumpy detective with the slicked-back hair talked with me last night, he made me feel guilty even though I didn't do anything. So when he asked if I knew Chet, I just told him I used to work at Cornerstone and left out the lover part. Do you think I should've told him about the relationship? What if he gets mad if he finds out about it from someone else?"

"That detective just transferred into the department from another state. His new coworkers don't even know what to expect from him. Shepler, the detective that investigated Mandy Jo's death, had to step away from the case because he's dating Carla, and she's connected to Britton." Amy smiled as brightly as she could and added, "Even if Detective Grumpy Pants isn't happy that you left out the relationship, you were working at your booth on the expo floor almost all day. Once they figure out the time of death, they should be able to find people to vouch that you were nowhere near him."

"Should. I did take a few bathroom breaks." Sophie untwisted the apron tie. Her finger was red and covered with ridges from being strangled by the fabric. "I knew I shouldn't have drunk so much coffee yesterday."