Murder Al Fresco (2 page)

I bit my lip then spilled the beans. "I might have a shot at a television competition."

She made a high-pitched keening sound and jumped up off her stool. "OMG, that's like so amazing, so you're gonna be on TV again? Will they come here? Will there be cameras everywhere? Oh, wow, this is so exciting!"

"It's not for sure yet." I patted the air in a classic simmer-down gesture, needing to unwind her before she burst a blood vessel. "There's no guarantee they'll even pick me."

"Oh, they totally will." Kaylee had complete confidence—the kind only a teenager could muster. "I know you'll be picked. So what's the challenge?"

"I have to come up with a menu suited to special dietary needs. Some appetizers, some entrees, some desserts, but all with the same restrictions. Unfortunately…" I glared at the pot of bubbling glop. "I'm not used to cooking this way, and it shows."

"Well, at least they can't smell it on TV." Kaylee drummed her fingers on the counter. "Aunt Cecily might have some ideas."

I was already shaking my head. "No way. Have you ever heard Aunt Cecily's take on special dietary needs?" I lowered my voice and adopted her thick Sicilian accent. "If God wants him dead by turning my good food to poison in his belly, who am I to stop Him?" I shuddered. "She's not exactly down with the sensitivity training."

Kaylee grimaced. "Yeah, okay. I see your point."

Ignoring the mess on the stove, I plopped down onto the barstool and slid the family's recipe book closer for inspiration. "I'm sure I could modify almost anything in here. The problem is that I don't know what direction to take it."

"Well, if it's got pasta in it, I'm sure you can make it taste good." Kaylee slid off her barstool and removed her apron. "I gotta jet. Dad's taking me to the movies tonight."

I smiled. "Dad, huh?"

She blushed and toed a crease in the linoleum. "Yeah, well, it makes him like crazy happy. Emphasis on the crazy."

I laughed. "Kyle can be a little high strung."

She tilted her head to the side, studying me. "Somehow I just can't picture the two of you together. He's so happy, and you're…"

I raised a brow, wondering how she'd finish that sentence. Donna had once told me I was like Aunt Cecily in training. The thought still sent a chill down my spine, hence the attempt at positivity.

She shrugged. "Well, you're a better fit with Malcolm is all I'm saying."

"You got that right, kid." I popped up and gave her a hug, still a novel experience. Having given her up for adoption when I was still a kid myself, it blew my mind that this incredible person had come from me.

Kaylee picked up her backpack, which I assumed doubled as her purse since school was out for the summer, but paused by the back door. Even, white teeth sank into her lower lip, and she hesitated.

"Something on your mind, sweets?" I prompted. After a rough start, we'd struck a balance in our relationship, and I tried not to pry, but I sensed she was testing the waters.

"Speaking of daddy issues…"

I blew out a breath. "I know where you're going with this, kid. Let me save both of us the time. I don't know what to do about him."

The
him
in question was my biological father, Jacob Griffin, who had recently moved back into town. Much like Kaylee, I was having a hard time adjusting to the fact that a person I'd never met wanted to be a part of my life. Truth be told, my daughter was handling the family upheaval better than I did.

Kaylee picked at her nail polish, not meeting my eyes—a sure sign of guilt. "I ran into him at the gas station the other day. He and Lacey invited Kyle and me to dinner tomorrow night, and I sort of told him you'd come too."

Of course I didn't want to go to Jacob's house. The man had abandoned me to my mother's dubious care when I was just an infant. Unlike Kaylee, who'd been adopted by two loving parents, I'd been left with one mentally unstable guardian who had committed suicide when I was fifteen, essentially orphaning me. I shuddered to think what I would have been without Nana, Pops, and Aunt Cecily to raise me. As if that weren't bad enough, he'd gone and hooked up with my culinary rival, the French tart Lacey L'Amour. Dinner with the two of them was on par with having a root canal sans Novocain.

"Your face is all squinty and scrunched up," Kaylee said. "Are you having a stroke or something?"

I blew out a breath. "I was trying to find a way to gracefully bow out. Grace isn't my strong suit."

"Please will you come? They have a really nice house and an in-ground pool and everything. We could go swimming. We never do anything together but cook."

"Oh, slather on the guilt why don't you?" I grumbled.

She grinned. "Just think about it. With Jones out of town, you won't have anything to do at night."

"I do stuff." I put my hands on my hips and lifted my chin.

Kaylee raised a brow. "Like what?"

"Grown-up stuff." I smirked. "I'll tell you when you're older."

"Oh, ew." She wrinkled her nose. "That's okay, I don't wanna know."

The landline rang, and I snapped a dishtowel at her as I moved to answer. "Get going, brat. I'll see you tomorrow."

Kaylee waved, and I turned my attention to the phone. "Good afternoon, Bowtie Angel. This is Andy."

"Andy," The male voice on the other end of the line greeted me in a hearty baritone. "It's Stu Fogerty."

"Hey, Stu," I said cautiously. Stewart Fogerty had been a mentor of sorts when I'd first graduated from the CIA. He'd been the head chef in the restaurant where I'd first landed a job. Stu was a real hard-ass chef to work under but overall a pretty decent guy. After a few months he'd moved out of the kitchen and onto the Iron Chef circuit. He hadn't contacted me since my televised debacle though, so hearing his voice was unexpected. "What can I do for you?"

"It's what I can do for you. I'm one of the producers for
Diced
, and I was nominated to give you the news. Congratulations, you've been selected to participate in the
Diced Showdown
!"

For a second I forgot how to breathe. "Really?"

"Of course! You trained under the best. And you're notorious, which doesn't hurt your case." He laughed.

"But I just sent my application in yesterday. I thought it would take weeks to even hear anything." I leaned against the counter for support. Man, that positive attitude thing worked quick!

"The network wanted to bump up the timeline since ratings always fall off during the summer months. Problem with that is we need a new venue that can match our dates. Do you think your town would be willing to host the event?"

I blinked. "You want to hold the competition in Beaverton? Why?" It wasn't like we were a huge tourist draw, too far from the coast or the mountains to really be anything more than an out-of-the-way stop.

"I told you—we need a venue. Small, quaint towns film exceptionally well and drive better ratings than a studio set. And if we hold it there, you'll have the home-court advantage. So do you think you can help me make this happen?"

The chamber of commerce would be thrilled with the publicity. I had no doubt about it. And Beaverton did come off as particularly picturesque in the summer. Still, I hesitated, sensing something wasn't on the up and up. Pops had a saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Good for the town, good for my career—it would be idiotic not to jump at the chance.

Call my cynical but about Stu's offer seemed a little too good to be true. "What aren't you telling me?"

He sighed. "I never could get anything past you. I told them that. All right, but I want your word that this is going to stay between the two of us and that PI boyfriend of yours."

I frowned. "Jones? What does he have to do with anything?"

"Everything. The other producers and I want to hire him. Someone on our staff is leaking celebrity chef gossip to an online blogger who has it in for us."

I shrugged. "That's not unusual. There are always rumors surrounding anyone even mildly famous."

"Yeah, but this is real nasty stuff about personal medical information and relationships. The latest says that Chad Tobey hits his wife and his seventeen-year-old son. That's the kind of garbage publicity that could ruin a career."

Chad Tobey was a regular
Diced
judge and grill master from Texas. I'd never met him in person, though, I'd watched the show enough that I felt I had a personal connection. The man totally knew how to treat a side of beef.

"Is he?" I bristled, not willing to become part of covering up domestic abuse.

"No. They're going through a nasty divorce, and the wife is making it all up so that she gets sole custody and takes him to the cleaners financially. We don't know who the leak is, but it's making the entire network look bad. Some of us suspect that the blogger actually works on the show. That's the real reason we're moving the date up. We need to unmask this person. Will Jones take the case?"

I leaned against the wall. "He's away for the weekend, so I couldn't promise you anything until I talk to him. Why don't you hire another PI to find out who the blogger is?"

"We want to keep this in-house as much as possible. And we don't expect either of you to work for free."

He named a staggering amount, and I slid down the wall until my butt hit the floor. With that kind of money, Jones and I could pay for our wedding and build our own house whether I won the competition or not. As nice as Jones's current abode was, I never forgot that it was still Lizzy's place.

"So what do you say, Andy? Can we count on you?"

Part of me wanted to say yes, absolutely. Another part—probably the smarter part—had been burned before and was wary. "Let me think about it."

"There's one other thing," Stu said, and the hairs rose on the back of my neck. "Several members of our staff used to work for Flavor TV and some of them worked on
Al Dente
. I've heard that several of them think your pilot was deliberately sabotaged. You come work for us, and you might just find out who threw you under the bus and be able to clear your name once and for all."

Scaloppini and Orzo

You'll need:

1 pound boneless chicken breast

3 tablespoons flour

½ cup white wine

½ fresh lemon, juiced

3 tablespoon olive oil

2 tablespoons butter

1 teaspoon each fresh basil, parsley, salt, and black pepper

1 ½ cups water

1 cup uncooked orzo pasta

Directions:

Mix flour, salt, and pepper. Coat chicken with flour mixture.

Heat oil in large, nonstick skillet on medium heat. Cook half of the chicken pieces 3 minutes per side or until golden brown. Remove from skillet. Repeat with remaining chicken.

Add water, wine, herbs, and lemon juice to the skillet. Bring to a boil, stirring to release browned bits at bottom of skillet. Stir in orzo. Place chicken over orzo. Reduce heat to medium-low.

Cover with lid, and cook 10 minutes or until liquid is absorbed and orzo is tender.

**Andy's note: Chicken and rice, Italian style. Fresh herbs give this dish plenty of seasoning without leaning on nightshades.

"How could I say no?" I asked Donna as we sat in her backyard later that night. Her twin girls darted around with butterfly nets trying to catch fireflies, but I was too hyped up to enjoy the domestic scene. "Not only could I publicly redeem myself, if I took it on, it'd pay for the wedding, and we could build our dream home. It's too much temptation."

Donna handed me a wine cooler and then twisted the cap off her own. "I hear you. But you didn't even talk to Jones about this first, just signed him up to work under their terms. He might not be okay with that."

She was right, but I'd worked up a good amount of indignation and wasn't ready to admit that I'd screwed up. "He knows how much restoring my reputation means to me. I'm sure he'll be onboard. Besides, I'm mad at him. The big jerk hasn't called me once since he left. I feel like I'm in high school again, sitting by the phone like a loser.
Lizzy
was the one who texted me to let me know they arrived safely, for crying out loud."

"He's probably just waiting until he actually has a chance to talk to you in private. Don't go all insecure. You know the man would sacrifice a limb for you." Donna sipped her wine cooler and then called out, "Pippa, there are plenty of lightning bugs. Don't steal your sister's."

A mosquito landed on my arm, and I smacked it before the little bugger had a chance to bite. "I know. I'm just used to being the center of his world. I really wish I'd gone with him."

Donna shook her head. "You've got it bad."

I grinned. "Yeah. But can you blame me?"

She held her wine cooler to her forehead. "Not even a little bit. That accent alone is enough to make a woman spontaneously combust."

"Mommy?" Pippa rushed over, a butterfly net over her head.

I laughed as Donna helped her daughter free her pigtails from the mesh. "I should get going. I still need to break the news to Pops and Aunt Cecily."

"Did you decide what kind of dietary theme you're going to do?" Donna asked as she freed her struggling imp.

I shook my head. "I keep thinking it should be something personal. I still have a little while to decide, so I'm sure I'll come up with something."

"Come on guys. I'm getting eaten alive here!" Donna gestured to her offspring. "I can't wait for Steven to finish the screened-in porch. Every time I come out here this time of year, I feel like live bait. Do you know what the other competitors will be doing?"

 "Not specifically. If I were to guess, all sorts of things. Farm to table, snout to tail, gluten free, sugar free, low carb, low sodium, paleo, you name it and someone's got it in their wheelhouse. I was trying the vegan thing, but my efforts come out more like grout than gourmet. I'm just not feeling it, you know?"

The competition would involve several qualifying rounds with the winner of each round securing a spot in the final. Stu had told me I would be part of the celebrity chef round, which was the last qualifying round before the final competition. Each competitor would be given a budget for each meal, and the ones that made the best tasting dishes that suited their dietary requirements would advance from breakfast to lunch to dinner and then start all over again in the final round. The winner would receive a cash prize as well as the championship title.