Every Trick in the Book (33 page)

“Yes, we understand you’re quite the hero,” Franklin said. “Tracking down the murderer
of Melissa Plume and Tilly Smythe.”

Jude pulled out a chair. “Have a seat, milady. I believe you sustained an injury during
your adventure.”

“Thanks.” Grateful to get the weight off my leg, I sat down. “But how did you find
out?”

“I heard a news report on the radio when I drove in this morning,” Zach replied, “but
we got the important details from our own Miss Vicky.”

“I thought they should know,” Vicky said, sitting perpendicular to Bentley, ramrod
straight with her hands clasped on the table. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I shook my head. “No, not at all.”

As Franklin returned to his chair, he asked, “Lila, do you know what prompted that
young man to murder those two women? I can’t imagine.”

As succinctly as possible, I summarized the connections between Tilly, Melissa, and
Justyn.

“Well,” Vicky said, “his actions are quite a commentary on the societal issues of
drugs and unwed mothers and the foster care system.”

“Some young people make mistakes that can end up having a dramatic impact on others.
They don’t mean to be hurtful; they’re just immature and foolish.” Flora lowered herself
to her seat. “I can’t help but think that Justyn Kershaw might not have turned into
such a rotten apple if he hadn’t had such a rough start to his life. Such a sad and
lonely childhood.”

“He was a boy who grew into a man who made bad choices,” Jude noted. “One can choose
to have their past
dictate their future or leave it behind to set a new course for their life. Justyn
used his past as an excuse to do wrong.”

“He’s not the only bad guy Lila helped bring down.” Zach clicked his pen several times.
“She got that dope-dealing hippie tossed into the slammer, too. Our Lila’s a force
to be reckoned with.”

Bentley cleared her throat. “We are all grateful that Lila’s involvement contributed
to making our small part of the world safer, but perhaps we could get the meeting
started?”

We shuffled our chairs to get comfortable and directed our attention to Bentley, who
removed her glasses and began. “I called this meeting because I wanted to commend
you all on a very favorable few weeks. First on the agenda, I would like to applaud
Vicky, who, although she has only been with us a short time, has been running this
office with extreme efficiency and flawless professionalism. I can’t imagine how we
managed without her.”

Vicky’s cheeks turned a dark shade of pink, and she blinked behind her glasses as
we all clapped our agreement. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m only doing my job, and this
is a lovely place to work.” She cast me a sidelong glance. “There’s never a dull moment.”

Bentley held up her hand. “And we cannot underestimate the success of our first book
festival. Not only did our agency benefit from the exposure; I believe we signed three
new authors as a direct result of the event. To show my appreciation for your hard—”

A knock on the open door interrupted Bentley. Big Ed walked in carrying a tray containing
a mound of sandwiches. “Where should I put this, Ms. Burlington-Duke?” he asked, glancing
around the room, obviously eager to divest himself of his burden. He must have struggled
to bring it up the stairs.

Bentley waved her arm in the direction of the credenza against the wall. “Put it there,
thank you.”

I was so busy watching Ed that I had failed to notice Nell enter the room. She was
right behind him, encumbered by a large cake box on which was stacked packages of
plates, napkins, and cutlery. Ed put the tray down and turned to remove the items
from the top of the cake box. Shoulder to shoulder they arranged the lunch buffet
and unveiled the cake, a beautifully decorated confection in the shape of a large
open book. When they were satisfied with the presentation, their eyes met. It was
more than a look of congratulations at a job well done. I could almost see a spark
travel between them, and in that moment I knew for certain that Big Ed had finally
found the courage to ask Nell out.

“Will there be anything else?” Ed asked when he pulled his gaze away from Nell.

“No, thank you,” Bentley said. “It looks wonderful. Now,” she continued once Big Ed
and Nell had departed, “as I was saying, to show my appreciation for all your hard
work, I am treating you to lunch today.”

“Woo hoo!” Zach blurted out. “I’m starving.” He pushed himself out of his seat.

“Before we dig into the food let’s get through the agenda.” Bentley directed a steely
look at Zach that caused him to sit back down. She continued by confirming recent
signings and sales. Each of us shared our client news, and Vicky explained her new
system of tracking statistics for the agency.

“That about covers all the business items,” Bentley concluded. “Any other concerns
or announcements?” She regarded us. We all shook our heads. “Jude and Lila, don’t
forget about finding a ghostwriter for Marlette Robbins’s
sequel. I know you’ve been busy, but the publisher is getting impatient, so I’d like
you to get on that right away.”

Jude glanced in my direction and nodded. “I think we can find some time to put our
heads together,” he said, winking at me.

“Definitely,” I concurred. This project excited me, and I was eager to focus my attention
on book-related tasks, having had my fill of crime fighting.

“I have one final announcement to make before we indulge in our repast,” said Bentley,
perching her glasses on her nose and peering at a sheet of paper. “I am thrilled to
announce that the construction of the Marlette Robbins Center for the Arts is on schedule
and it will open in the spring with a huge celebratory event featuring books and food.”
She looked up with a smile. “Two things none of us can live without. Famous chefs
will prepare items from their cookbooks in front of an audience, and any big-name
authors who feature food in their works will be invited. That’s where we come in.
Would anyone be willing to volunteer in coordinating this extraordinary event with
the Arts Center staff?”

I pictured myself standing beside Rachael Ray, helping her prepare Moroccan spiced
lamb with a pistachio and mint couscous, and before I realized what I was doing, I
had raised my hand.

“Lila? You have time for this?” At my nod, Bentley quipped, “As long as you’ve given
up your unpaid position with the Dunston Police Department, you’ve got the job.”

The rest of the agents burst out laughing and made their way over to the platter of
sandwiches. I held back and watched, savoring this moment. These were my coworkers,
my friends. I had my dream job, my son was on a good path, and our world was safe
once again. Life was good.

I helped myself to a Moriarty panini, smiling a little as I took a bite of tender
roast beef and potent horseradish. This was as close as I wanted to come to a shady
character ever again.

AFTER A LONG DAY OF CONTRACT NEGOTIATIONS, PHONE
calls to authors and editors, and a meeting with my fellow literary agents, the last
thing I expected was to come home to find my kitchen on fire.

I knew something was wrong the moment I opened the front door. The acrid smell of
burning meat assaulted my nostrils and clouds of gray smoke plumed from the kitchen
into the hall. I heard a man bark out a string of colorful expletives seconds before
the downstairs smoke alarm blared.

Dropping my purse and briefcase on the floor, I rushed into the kitchen and took in
the chaotic scene.

High flames were rising from a frying pan on the stove top, police officer Sean Griffiths
was holding a burning dish towel, and a shower of sparks was spreading over the apron
he wore. I quickly grabbed the fire extinguisher from the
pantry, and though I’d never used one of the devices before, I let my instincts guide
my hands. Yanking out the metal pin, I aimed the funnel-shaped nozzle and covered
my boyfriend, countertops, and stove with a layer of white foam.

“Are you okay?” I shouted to Sean over the shriek of the alarm.

He looked down at the smoldering towel in his hands and nodded. “I think so!”

Now that the flames had been doused I had a chance to really look around my kitchen.

The table had been set for a romantic dinner for two. I glanced from the lit candles,
folded linen napkins, and the vase stuffed with bright pink roses, to the handsome
man wearing my apron. It was embroidered with the text
All Great Chefs Drink While They Cook
. Apparently, he had taken the motto to heart. Not only was there an open bottle of
red wine on the table, but a cognac bottle had capsized on the counter next to the
stove and had emptied its contents onto the cabinets and floor.

I set the extinguisher gently on the table and picked up the bottle of wine positioned
next to the roses. Eschewing a glass, I raised the bottle to my lips and took several
long swallows. In light of the mayhem in my kitchen, I figured that my less-than-impeccable
table manners could be excused just this once.

“I’m so sorry, Lila!” Sean yelled over the alarm and moved to the sink. He dropped
the dish towel in the basin, turned the water on, and began to scrub his hands.

I took another swallow, dabbed my mouth with a napkin, and opened the back door. Smoke
immediately rushed outside. I darted around the first floor of my little cottage,
cracking windows and turning on ceiling fans.

Mercifully, the alarm ceased its deafening ringing as I made my way back into the
kitchen.

Sean had dumped the dish towel into the garbage can and was now stuffing my ruined
apron in there as well.

I got a bucket and mop from the pantry and then paused for a moment, leaning on the
mop handle and surveying the mess. “What happened?”

With a remorseful expression, Sean gestured at the table. “Today’s our nine-month
anniversary, so I thought I’d surprise you with a delicious meal. I even bought a
new cookbook from the Constant Reader. It’s supposed to help beginner cooks make gourmet
meals that come out looking and tasting like they were made by a professional chef.”
He shot a rueful glance at the book propped open near the stove. Its pages were charred
and unreadable.

I couldn’t help but smile. “What was on tonight’s menu?”

“Chicken flambé,” Sean said. “But I was behind schedule and so I didn’t bother to
measure the cognac. As it turned out, pouring liquor directly into the pan was a serious
mistake. Cognac dribbled everywhere.” He pointed at the offending bottle. “I had the
gas flame set too high and once the alcohol hit…” he trailed off and gave me a sheepish
shrug.

He looked so forlorn that I couldn’t possibly be angry. After all, the only real damage
was to the dish towel, apron, and cookbook. The rest of the room could be returned
to order in no time. Slipping on a pair of yellow latex cleaning gloves, I joined
Sean by the sink.

“Why don’t you order us takeout from Wild Ginger? Maybe some sesame chicken or beef
and broccoli?” I moved closer, doing my best to avoid the fire extinguisher foam still
clinging to his pants, and kissed him on the cheek. “After
all, we still have a lovely bottle of wine and I don’t want to waste the candlelight.”

Sean’s smile of relief was blinding. He cupped my chin in his damp hand and turned
my face so that my lips would meet his. “I am a lucky, lucky man,” he murmured and
kissed me tenderly.

A moment later, I wriggled out of his arms to fill the mop bucket with soapy water.
“And take your pants off, Officer Griffiths,” I scolded lightly. “I don’t want fire
extinguisher foam to get on the hall rug.”

“You want me to take off my clothes? Now that’s an order I could get used to.” He
grinned and reached for the takeout menus I kept in the drawer below the phone.

By the time the Wild Ginger deliveryman rang the doorbell, the kitchen was clean,
the windows were closed, and Sean was clad in the sweatpants and sneakers he kept
in his gym bag. He insisted on plating the Chinese food at the counter while I enjoyed
some wine. After placing our supper on the table, he dimmed the lights, and raised
his glass in a toast.

“To not setting the house on fire when we celebrate our first year together!”

“Hear, hear!” I cried happily, clinking the rim of his glass with my own.

We dug into our meals, quite hungry by now. Both of us preferred to eat around six
thirty and it was nearly eight o’clock by the time I speared my first piece of beef
with the point of my wooden chopstick.

“Learning to cook is harder than I thought it would be,” Sean said after his initial
hunger had been sated. “I’ve been getting by with frozen dinners and fast food. Maybe
I should watch that TV show you love so much.”

“The one with Chef Klara?” I attempted to shovel rice into my mouth using the chopsticks,
but I couldn’t grasp more than a grain at a time. Surrendering, I grabbed a fork from
the cutlery drawer and polished off the rest of my meal. “
Tales from the Table
is the best cooking show on television. It’s not just about food, but about the memories
certain foods invoke.”

Sean refilled my wineglass and pushed his empty plate away. “Well, I was smart enough
to buy ice cream for our dessert, so if you’d like to curl up on the sofa and find
an episode on the DVR, I’ll bring you a big bowl of chocolate mocha chip and we can
watch Chef Klara together.”

“I am a lucky, lucky woman,” I said, echoing his earlier sentiment. I tried to carry
my dishes to the sink, but he refused to let me do the washing up. Instead, he uncorked
a bottle of sweet and airy dessert wine, poured me a generous glass, and shooed me
into the living room. By the time he joined me, I was feeling more than a little light-headed.

Snuggled against each other, we ate ice cream and listened to Chef Klara talk about
how invigorating it was to plant the first herbs of spring.