Death by the Dozen (17 page)

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Authors: Jenn McKinlay

BOOK: Death by the Dozen
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She carefully climbed out of the bed so as not to disturb him. It bothered her to think of how long he may have been out on the street.
She had a few hours before she had to be at the festival. She decided it might be a good idea to see if she could talk to Jordan Russell. Uncle Stan had said she broke up with Vic the morning that he died. Something about that struck Mel as being awfully convenient.
Mel had not liked the woman when she met her. Jordan had struck her as cold and calculating, and the thing that really gnawed at her was that she couldn’t figure what Jordan would have to gain by breaking up with Vic.
She couldn’t have known that they would make her a guest judge, could she? Unless Dutch had somehow managed to make that happen, but how? They could have asked any number of famous Phoenix chefs, such as Mark Tarbell or Tammie Coe. No, that had to have been a lucky happenstance for Jordan.
Mel mulled over the possibilities while she showered and dressed. Captain Jack hadn’t moved, so she put more tuna in his bowl and refreshed his water before she slipped out the back door. Since Jordan was Vic’s protégée, she was betting that Jordan was staying at the Hotel Valley Ho, too.
She was just unlocking her bike when Angie pedaled up beside her on her purple mountain bike. Unlike Mel’s utilitarian cruiser, Angie’s bike was tricked out with a rear bag and custom fenders, and Angie looked the part as well in her black bicycling outfit and bright yellow helmet with a mirror attachment.
“How’s Captain Jack?” she asked.
“Snoring,” Mel said. “On my bed.”
“So, it’s just like having Joe there,” Angie teased. She unstrapped her helmet and shook her hair out. The April morning was already heating up, and a sheen of sweat coated her hair where her helmet had been.
“Just so you know, he’s not allergic to cats,” Angie said.
“Not that it matters since Captain Jack isn’t staying,” Mel said. “He needs a real home with kids and a dog to annoy.”
“I can hook you up with a dog,” Angie offered.
“No!” Mel said. It came out more forcefully than she’d intended, and Angie smirked.
“Oh, shut it,” Mel said.
“Fine,” Angie said. “I was going to bike down to the Dutch Brothers Coffee Shop on Scottsdale Road and then window-shop a bit. You game?”
“Is that why you’re taking your bike?” Mel asked. “To keep from buying anything too big?”
“I find it curbs the spending if I can’t get it home,” Angie agreed. “You want to tag along?”
“Nah,” Mel said. “I have an errand to run.”
Angie stared at her. “You’re not taking Captain Jack to the pound, are you?”
“On my bike?” Mel asked. She thought it spoke well of her that she didn’t add
duh
to the question.
“Sorry, that was dumb,” Angie acknowledged. “It’s just that I’d hate to see the wee fur ball get put down.”
“You could always adopt him,” Mel said.
“Can’t.” Angie shook her head. “Not until I know if I’m staying.”
Angie didn’t talk much about the fact that Roach had asked her to move to Los Angeles with him, but Mel knew she was considering it. Mel found that if she didn’t think about it, it kept her from panicking.
“Well, he’s very sweet and cuddly,” Mel said. “I’m sure someone will adopt him.”
“So, what’s the errand, then?” Angie asked.
“It’s nothing,” Mel said. “Just a little thing, no big deal.”
Angie stared at her. “Great, then I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Mel said.
“But I want to,” Angie insisted. “It’ll be fun. But you have to wear your helmet.”
Mel never wore her helmet. It was hot and sweaty and made her short blonde hair stick to her head, which made her look like a dude. She hated it.
“Safety before beauty,” Angie said. Mel took one look at the stubborn set to her jaw, and she knew that not only was she stuck with Angie for the ride, she was also going to have to wear the stupid helmet. She was not happy.
She stomped up the first three steps to her apartment and then remembered the kitten was sleeping, so she jogged quietly up the rest and eased through the front door.
Captain Jack burrowed deeper into the blanket when she entered, and she smiled at his fuzzy white body lost amidst the lilac comforter on her bed. She didn’t want to disturb him, so she quietly opened her closet door and dug out her bicycle helmet, which was buried beneath a pair of cowboy boots and a tennis racket.
She slipped back out and locked the door behind her. Angie had put her helmet back on, and Mel envied the wave of dark brown hair that ran out from under the helmet and over the shoulders. Angie never looked like a dude when she took her helmet off.
“Where to?” Angie asked, and Mel climbed onto her bike.
“Hotel Valley Ho,” Mel said.
“Cool, we can grab breakfast at their café,” Angie said.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Mel said. Perfect. She could leave Angie in the café while she hunted down Jordan for a little chat.
It took only minutes to arrive at the hotel. The parking valet did not recognize Mel—she blamed the helmet—but was fine with letting them leave their bikes near the main entrance.
“Come on,” Angie said. “I’m starving.”
They arrived at the café, and Angie asked the hostess for a table outside that overlooked the pool.
“I haven’t been poolside since last summer. Remember when Tate and Christie were here all of the time?” Angie asked.
“Vaguely,” Mel said. She was checking out the people beginning to fill up the funky lounge chairs around the pool. She wondered if maybe Jordan was out there.
“Just think if Christie hadn’t been murdered, Tate would be married by now,” Angie said.
Mel pulled her attention from the pool and stared at Angie. “What?”
“Tate would be married by now,” Angie said. “Weird, huh?”
“Welcome to Café Zuzu,” the waitress greeted them. “Can I start you with some coffee?”
“Two, please,” Mel said.
“Coming up,” the waitress said and left them.
“Angie, what are you talking about?” Mel asked.
Angie shrugged. “Nothing. I guess it just hit me how different our lives would be if Christie and Tate had gotten married.”
Mel blew out a breath. When Tate’s fiancée had been murdered six months ago, it had been a turning point for the three of them and the friendship they had maintained for more than twenty years.
“What do you think would be different?” Mel asked.
“Well, Tate would be married, for one thing,” Angie said.
“Does that bother you? After all, you probably still would have met Roach and started to date him,” Mel said.
She wondered if Angie could sense that she was fishing. Angie was holding off on making a decision about moving in with Roach until he was back from his tour. Mel wondered how much of her hesitation stemmed from the fact that she had always been and most likely still was in love with Tate.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Angie said. “I’m just acknowledging what might have been. What looks good to you?”
She scanned the menu in front of her, clearly wanting to change the subject. Mel was not feeling that accommodating, however.
“Angie, are you still in love with Tate?” she asked.
“I . . .” Angie looked up at Mel, and her brown eyes were troubled.
Mel felt as if Tate were breathing down her neck. This was what he needed to know to get off his butt and tell her how he felt. Because, of course, being a man, he had figured out only after Angie had met someone else that he was in love with her.
But now they were hitting critical. If they were going to keep Angie from moving to L.A., then Tate had to screw up the courage to tell her how he felt. Mel knew that if she told Tate that Angie still had feelings for him, it would motivate him to do the same.
“Well, lookey here,” a voice broke into their conversation like a fist through glass. “What are you two doing here when you’ve got your third challenge coming up today?”
“We
were
enjoying a peaceful breakfast,” Angie said with a scowl. She didn’t like Bertie since they had dropped on the leader board.
Bertie Grassello ignored her and pulled out a chair.
“Well, since you’re on a downward trajectory, maybe it’s no matter,” he said.
“We’re not worried,” Mel said. “We’ve got a few more rounds to go. We’ll be all right.”
“Assuming you don’t get cut,” Bertie said.
Mel thought she heard a gloating note in his tone. She wasn’t surprised. Bertie had always despised anything and everything that was Vic’s, including his favorite student.
“We won’t get cut,” Angie growled at him.
The waitress stopped by, and Angie ordered the threecheese egg sandwich while Mel ordered Zuzu’s breakfast casserole, both of which would give them enough protein and carbs to get through the next round.
“I hope you’re not thinking of scoring us low just because of old grudges,” Mel said. “I’d hate to have to complain to the festival officials when you’re about to begin your new television show.”
Bertie’s face turned a sickly shade of gray. “What are you playing at?”
“Nothing,” Mel shrugged. “Just that it would be a shame to have bad publicity, about you being biased against your predecessor’s favorite student, for instance, accompanying the launch of your show. Don’t you think?”
“Are you threatening me?” Bertie asked. His voice was just above a hiss.
“Do I have to?” Mel asked.
“You’d better watch yourself, little missy.” Bertie reared back from the table like a walrus on the beach. The metal legs of his chair scraped harshly against the concrete patio. “You don’t have Vic to pave the way for you anymore.”
“You did not just call her ‘little missy’!” Angie snapped. “What decade are you living in, you big gas bag?”
“How dare you!” Bertie blustered, and Angie roared out of her seat.
“Oh, I dare,” she said. She looked like she was about to launch herself at him, so Mel swiftly rose from her seat and hooked Bertie by the elbow.
“She’s got a bit of a temper,” Mel said. “If I were you, I’d get out of her line of fire.”
She spun Bertie around and gave him a solid push toward the exit. He stomped into the café without looking back.
“What a jerk,” Angie fumed. “Do you think he’ll get us kicked out of the competition?”
Mel thought about it for a second. “No, he’s too smart. He knows I’m not kidding about the bad press. If he doesn’t judge us fairly, I will ruin his television debut with bad press.”
“Would you really?” Angie asked, looking impressed.
“For Vic, yeah, I would,” Mel said.
Angie snagged a newspaper from a nearby table and began to peruse the headlines.
Mel glanced over her head at the pool and saw the ohso-buxom form of Jordan Russell being led to one of the cabanas by a pool attendant. She appeared to be alone.
Now was Mel’s chance. She said, “I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll save your seat,” Angie said, not looking up.
Mel headed toward the restroom and waited for a few moments until a family, two weary parents with young children, passed her on their way to the pool.
As the father swiped his card to open the pool gate, Mel stepped forward and offered to hold it open as the parents shuttled the kids, bags of toys, and floatation devices into the pool area. Mel took a quick look around and then stepped into the pool area.
When she glanced back, Angie was immersed in the day’s crossword puzzle, and Mel hoped that she would be back before she was missed. She loved Angie to pieces, but her temper would not help Mel with questioning Jordan.
She checked her phone. They still had a few hours until the competition, which was probably why Jordan was out sunning herself like a turtle on a log. Why not? Her old lover was dead. She had to keep up her healthy glow so she could reel in the next big, fat fish.
Mel supposed she was being unfair to Jordan, but she really didn’t care. Yes, Vic was responsible for their affair, too, but still she found she blamed the younger woman more.
It was very old school of her. Blame the other woman and not the man, but with Vic being dead, it made it difficult for her to be as mad at him as she would like, so it was all getting channeled onto Jordan.
Mel strolled along the wall of cabanas until she reached the one she believed was Jordan’s. Each cabana was made up of three thick concrete walls with a long, hanging white curtain that closed across the front for privacy. There really wasn’t a place to knock, so she wondered how exactly she was supposed to announce her presence.
She decided to clear her throat when she heard voices coming from the small enclosure. She had thought Jordan was alone. In a panic, she slipped into the vacant cabana next to Jordan’s and held her breath.
“Do you really think it’s wise to be drinking before the competition today?” a male voice asked.
“Oh, please,” Jordan’s voice sounded irritated. “My nerves are shot. If a mimosa will get me through the next hellish few hours, than I’ll drink one. Shoot, I’ll drink three if I have to.”
“There are other ways to work out your tension,” the man said.
Mel recognized the voice. It oozed charm like an oil slick on water. Dutch was in there with Jordan. She remembered overhearing his fierce defense of her to Johnny Pepper and how Johnny seemed to think there was something going on there.
“Don’t be pushy,” Jordan whined. “No one likes a pushy male.”
“You used to like it when I pushed,” he said. His double meaning made Mel want to gag, and he sounded petulant, like a child denied his favorite plaything.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Jordan said. Her voice had changed from whiny to soothing. “It’s going to be good between us again, baby, I promise. I just can’t get Vic’s death out of my mind.”

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