Fiona Silk Mysteries 2-Book Bundle (11 page)

“My partner's dead.”

“You don't have a partner.”

“Not a law partner, but I had business dealings with him, investments,” Philip yelled.

“Did you say dead?”

“Yes. Killed on the highway near St. Aubaine, yesterday. Don't you even listen to the radio? What do you do all day?”

“What do you mean, don't I even...never mind. That's terrible. Dead. I'm sorry.”

“That's right. Danny's dead. So you'll understand I have other things on my mind beside your money grab.”

I stood there with my mouth open.

After a while, Philip said, “Fiona? I'm a busy man. Hello? Are you there?”

I was there all right.

What's more, I had finally figured out why the face of the man in the Escalade was familiar. I'd met him with Philip, without the sunglasses. He'd given me the finger then too. Metaphorically, of course.

Danny Dupree.

Courtesy of Sgt. F.X. Sarrazin

1 bunch of asparagus, the nice thick kind, not the skinny ones
Wooden skewers soaked in water for twenty minutes
Olive oil

Sea salt, the best you can afford

Pre-heat
BBQ
grill to medium. Snap asparagus at their natural breaking point. Discard woody ends. Attach asparagus, four or five at a time, with skewers (across, not lengthwise). Brush asparagus with oil. Season with sea salt, to taste. Grill just until nice grill marks appear.

Live a little.

Luckily, I still had Sarrazin's telephone number from the troubles of the previous fall. I dialed it before I lost my nerve.

“I know who he was now,” I said.

Sarrazin simply grunted on the phone. Of course, he'd already known the answer.

“Daniel Dupree. A colleague of my husband.”

“And you just figured this out how?”

“I told you before that there was something familiar about him. When Philip mentioned this morning his friend had been killed, I realized where I'd seen the driver.”

“Hard to believe you wouldn't recognize him right off.”

“Shouldn't be. I met him at some business reception a couple of years ago, when I was still married. I probably saw him a few times at fundraisers and cocktail parties. He wasn't wearing sunglasses then and whipping past me in a vehicle.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Do you have anything else you want to tell me?”

“What else would I want to tell you?”

“You never spent any amount of time with this guy?”

“I didn't even like him. He was sort of a blowhard. Anyway, I wasn't his type. He always seemed to have a beautiful young woman with him.”

“You didn't like him. Did he have a problem with you?”

“I'd be surprised if he even remembered my name. I don't think he even noticed me.”

Sarrazin paused before speaking. “Are you sure? You
are
the kind of woman that men notice.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Sure you are. Just your hair alone is enough to get attention. And how many people have violet eyes? Maybe he just pretended.”

I wish people wouldn't talk about my hair. I have nothing but trouble with it, and I don't get what the fuss is about. “Trust me. There's a type of man who doesn't register your existence if you're over thirty. Or maybe even over twenty-five. He was definitely that type.”

“Oh, come on. You were the wife of a colleague. He must have been polite.”

“I'm telling you, he never acknowledged my presence. He didn't say hello. He didn't shake hands. He looked right through me. I felt invisible. Of course, I disliked him instantly.”

“Did your husband get upset about the way he reacted to you?”

“You mean the way he didn't react to me. No. Philip would be absolutely oblivious to anything like that.”

“Huh. Maybe you complained.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn't have wasted my breath. First of all, Philip would have told me it was because I was wearing the wrong clothes or standing the wrong way or being generally unworthy of notice. I don't know why you are asking these things, but you're definitely barking up the wrong husband.”

“Could be. The scene on the highway as you described it has a personal feel to it. Don't you agree?”

“Yes, I do agree. It felt personal at the time. I was kind of shaken. But I don't believe it was. I drive a ten-year-old Skylark with timing problems. I'm used to jerk behaviour aimed at me.”

“Maybe.”

“I bet you don't encounter it in your full-size police vehicle, looking like you do.”

“What do you mean ‘looking like I do'?”

“I mean a large man who carries a gun. And anyone could tell you're a cop. I'm pretty sure that would be a good deterrent. So you don't comprehend how the rest of us live. By that I mean non-cops, non-men, old car drivers.”

“Okay. You don't have to get huffy. So you think he gave you the finger because you were a woman driving an older model car? Because there are a lot of people who fit that description. You know what bothers me, as a cop?”

“No, what?”

“The coincidence that you actually knew him.”

“Speaking of being bothered, any word about the woman in the Escalade with him?”

“That woman who wasn't there? No, madame. There's no word about her.”

“Well,” I said, with all the dignity I could manage. “Thank you very much, Sgt. Sarrazin. Goodbye now.”

He wasn't ready to hang up. “Listen, about that cookbook of yours.”

I didn't recall mentioning that project to Sarrazin.

He kept talking. “It's still officially spring, so you have to include asparagus. I do mine on the grill with really good olive oil and sea salt. I can write out the technique for you.”

It was hard to decide which was less erotic: asparagus or Sarrazin. “I'll take it, I said.”

I'd been stuck for hours in front of my computer working on
a plan for the book. Let's just say the screen was still blank, and it matched my mind. Finally, I had the slightest glimmer of an idea. I picked up the phone and called Lola.

“How about this? I'll do a little back story of a couple who meet, and I'll set up the meals they make as their relationship deepens.”

“Oh, blech! Stay away from romance, Fiona. Just make it
sexy
with beautiful, lively food. Come up with something that has a lot more sizzle than that. And remember, time is short.”

I was alternating between staring at the blank screen and at a piece of paper, when the front door banged.

“Okay,” Josey said, “if we are going to make this work, we have to do our homework.”

“Speaking of homework, how's the exam preparation going?”

“Piece of cake. It's time to get serious about your book.”

“I am serious about the book, Josey. See, I've started to work on it.” I pointed to the piece of paper in front of me. So far, the only word written on it was “asparagus”. But it was a start.

“We gotta go beyond print. We need television to sell it. I've been looking into this. All the chefs on The Cooking Channel have lots of cookbooks. And sometimes magazines. The show sells the books. Books sell the show, and the show sells products. Business, Miz Silk.”

“I don't know, Josey.”

“You see all the fuss about
En feu! Hot Stuff!
and the number of people in town just because they're going to be shooting it. Food is big business, and not just the food you eat. It affects everything. If Rafaël or Marietta buys something at CeeCeeCuisine, everyone's going to want it. Every restaurant in the village will be competing to get them to come for dinner.”

“Really? I find that hard to...”

“Oh, believe it.
TV
chefs are real stars. They get a huge
viewership on The Cooking Channel, on W and Life and other channels too. You should check it out. Woody's got cable and digital and the movie channel and everything.”

“Woody would never watch something like The Cooking Channel.”

“You're wrong, Miz Silk. He's hooked on
Extreme Sauté
and.
The Slam Dunk Chef
and
Close This Restaurant! NOW!”

“You're making up those programs.”

“Nope. He likes
Killin' on the Grill too.
Trust me.”

“I despair.”

“Don't despair. You should try to make it work for you. If we get you a television show, think about what will happen with your cookbook. Into the stratosphere.”

“Couldn't happen.”

“Sure it could. There's no one on now with your type of looks. I think the camera would like you.”

“What?”

“That's what they call it.”

“Who calls
what
that?”

“
TV
people. Doesn't matter. The thing is people like you. You have sort of a way about you. Sympathetic. Personal. All that kinky ashy-blonde hair.”

“It's very nice of you to say that, Josey, but...”

“I read somewhere that Naughty Marietta gets ten thousand emails a week. Or maybe it's ten million.”

“People email television chefs?”

“Well, sure. This new book could catapult you into full-time celebrity. You'd have to have a blog.”

“I don't believe this. I am a writer, not a cook, not a cookbook writer, not a celebrity. And the last thing I would ever want is ten thousand emails a week. What's a blog? It sounds disgusting.”

“Okay, forget the blog. But this is a pretty big opportunity.”

“Sure. What would they call the program?
Shoot This Chef?”

“Come on, Miz Silk. They'd come up with something. Maybe
Romantic Recipes with Fiona Silk.
Or
Fiona's Feel Good Food
or something sexier.
Silky Sensations
or hey, how about—”

It was time for a counter-attack. “When do you watch all this television with school and homework and your business?”

“Not the point. They're on all the time. Everywhere. You can't miss them. And I need to find new business opportunities if I'm going to get my driver's licence. That takes cash. Your project is perfect. And the main point is these people are in St. Aubaine. You have a chance to meet them.”

I must have turned pale, because Josey said, “Don't worry about it. I can do the background work. First you have to be a bit professional. You have to learn who's who and what's what. You have to catch on to the personalities and the language. When I was making the list for your supplies, I noticed you don't have any wooden spoons or spatulas or any of those nice little clear glass bowls in different sizes. You need to get your kitchen stocked up to test your recipes.”

The bowls again. I said, “I was planning on very simple foods, nothing at all complicated to make. I don't imagine people will be reading an...I mean a romantic cookbook for the cooking instructions.”

Josey said, “Have it your way. But you're still going to have to jazz up your kitchen. Even if I do the prep work, I don't even know how the food stylist would manage.”

“The what?”

“Never mind. I'll just take stock, okay? You need equipment. You've got no time to waste before you lose your house in order to hang on to that old picture.”

“Be my guest,” I said. “I can't buy any equipment right
now, and I'll have to pay you for these jobs later.”

She sniffed. “Not everything's about money, Miz Silk.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“I'll try the Roi du dollar first. You can settle up later. Maybe we can get some product placement deals.”

I would have said something sensible, but of course, the door had already banged behind her.

“I
do
think it's great news,” I said to Liz. I wasn't sure how much work I could get done on this ridiculous project if people kept dropping by in the middle of the day. Not that Liz would care what I thought. She watched me from the beanbag chair and wiggled her toes. I added, “But good news or not, we're not having Courvoisier.”

She pouted, because pouts still look good on her. We'll see how that goes in another ten years.

She said, “Is that because you're jealous that
I
have something to celebrate for once?”

“No, it's because it's the middle of the day.”

“Maybe you're pissed off.”

“Well, I am pretty ticked off, actually. I know this is a huge thing for you, and you're really happy to purchase a property. But how come you didn't think to mention it to your best friend of forty-one years, which would be me, until the day you're taking possession?”

“Actually, it's the day I'm moving in. I knew you'd disapprove. For someone so passive as a rule, you have to admit you are pretty tight-assed about development in the village.”

There was so much to react to in that sentence. I took a deep breath before I responded. “It's your money, and quite a chunk
of it too. If you want to sink it into one of Jean-Claude's condos on the waterfront, what business is it of mine?”

“That's what I mean about tight-assed.”

“I'm trying to be a supportive friend,” I said. “I can understand you were tired of renting.”

“I know what you're thinking. Environmental factors, damage to the waterfront, changing the character of the community, lining Jean-Claude's pockets. Yada yada yada. Did I leave anything out?”

“How about going into debt to accomplish those other things you said?”

“I can manage the mortgage and condo fees easily. I
do
have a medical practice.” She glanced at her watch and frowned.

“But you just told me that you were dead broke because of all the expenses. Did I hallucinate that?”