Pasta, Pinot & Murder Read online

  Saylor sat at a comfortable booth in the corner of the bar, holding the small wine menu.

  “I ordered us the 2004 Cabernet. And I just finished ordering an appetizer, a simple tomato bruschetta.”

  I flopped down on the seat across from her, feeling almost exhausted. “Thank you. One less decision I have to make today. My mind is fried from thinking too much.”

  Saylor cocked her head and looked at me. “You? Thinking too much? You’re a blogger, for goodness sake,” she laughed.

  “Alice’s death has me by the heart for some reason.”

  Now Saylor looked perplexed. “I didn’t think you even liked Alice. Every time you had to meet with her about W&R, you complained.”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t dislike her. I just didn’t like working with her on the benefit. Alice is a lot like Hattie: her way or no way. She never allowed us to be innovative, unless it was her idea. I always wanted to try something new and different with the posters, and she refused. I swear to you, even with a new recipe on the posters every year, they all looked the same. How could they be collectors’ items if every posters looked so similar? Besides, she was Hattie’s best friend and I feel for Hattie. She’s having a hard time with it, even though she’s putting on a brave face.”

  The bartender brought our glasses of wine. Saylor took a long sip. As the bartender walked away Saylor said, “I guess you don’t get the same service in the bar you get in the dining room.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I bought a bottle. He should’ve opened the bottle in front of me and let us taste it.”

  Saylor’s snippy voice made me think she’d had a long day. “Are you sure you ordered a bottle?”

  The bartender hadn’t brought the bottle to our table.

  Saylor grimaced. “Fine, maybe I said two glasses.”

  “I can’t have more than a glass anyway. I have so much to do. When I get home, I still have two more blog posts to write up.” Who was I kidding? I wasn’t going to do any more work for the day.

  Saylor took another sip of her wine. “What have you been doing all day? Don’t you have an assistant now?”

  I told her about what had happened with Jacob and how I had let him go for the day. I explained to her that I’d been snooping around at Alice’s house and hadn’t gotten much of anything done. “I did make and photograph three sandwich recipes, though.”

  “Wow, you outdid yourself,” she laughed.

  I stuck my tongue out at her and changed the subject back to Alice. “Did you know Alice’s granddaughter is working for Hattie?”

  Saylor’s brows raised. “And how would I know that?”

  “Don’t give me that, Saylor. You know pretty much everything that goes on in Pear and the surrounding county.”

  Saylor grinned from ear to ear. “Not everything. I haven’t heard about this. How long has she been working for your mother-in-law?”

  Even Saylor still called Hattie my mother-in-law. Old habits, I supposed.

  I had no idea. And I didn’t see how it was relevant, so I didn’t answer. Instead, I told her about how I had talked to Bruce, and what he told me about the divorce.

  “Divorce? How did I not know about this one, either? That would be the talk of the county.” Saylor unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap.

  “I guess Bruce and Alice thought the same, so they kept it very hush-hush. I don’t know what part of the process they were in, but it was definitely going through, according to Bruce. What I wouldn’t give to see those divorce papers.”

  The appetizer was served, and Saylor was quiet until the bartender walked away again.

  “I can tell you this: you aren’t going to see anything now. If the divorce had gone through, the papers would’ve been public. That would have been an interesting read.” Saylor picked up a bruschetta. Absentmindedly, she added, “I wonder if I would have gotten the listing on the house?”

  I shook my head, and stuffed my mouth full of food to keep from admonishing her for the selfish thought.

  When the discussion turned to the surveillance videos and how I’d seen Hattie arrive and leave the house, Saylor forgot about the food. She sipped her wine and stared at me.

  “You didn’t really think Hattie killed her in the first place, did you?” she asked.

  My mouth was full now, so I shook my head. I really didn’t think Hattie would do such a thing. She had a temper, but not like that.

  When I told her about Jacob and the phone call I got that morning, Saylor stopped drinking, too. She was mid-sip and she just stopped.

  “So what do you think?” I asked.

  She put her glass down. “Do you believe him?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” I wasn’t sure if I believed him or not, to be honest. “I don’t know him at all. And I hadn’t heard anything about there being a theft at the Poached Pear. Something like that would get around even if they tried to keep it quiet. Someone gets fired and people talk.”

  “I hadn’t heard of it, either.” She acted like she didn’t care, but I knew better. This conversation was making her feel like she was out of the loop, I could tell.

  “It’s not like we talked about personal stuff in the one day that we worked together, so I wouldn’t have had any idea if he even had a girlfriend. But he told me that he’d fallen asleep in his car while listening to music that morning. That made me think he was homeless for a moment. And the story just didn’t quite ring true.”

  Saylor moved the wine glass around on the table, staring into space. After a moment she said, “Check his phone.”

  “Check his phone for what?”

  “Check his call log,” she said.

  “And what am I going to find from his call log?” I wasn’t quite sure where she was going with this.

  Saylor never ate much, but she liked to pick at her food. And she was now picking at the appetizer, pulling out the bits of tomato and popping one at a time into her mouth. “If they are dating, there will be lots of calls and texts back and forth. So if this girl is legitimate, you’ll see her number on his phone. Do you have the number?”

  I pulled my cell phone out and looked at the call log. “Yeah, sure, she didn’t block the number, but it was a number I didn’t recognize when the call came in. I have it here.” I showed Saylor the screen.

  “Then you need to get into Jacob’s phone and see if there was a lot of communication between him and this girl.”

  Before I put my phone away, I sent Jacob a text, telling him that I would meet him first thing in the morning and to be there by eight.

  “Now, how do you get into his phone?” Saylor chewed too long on a tiny piece of tomato.

  I thought about that. What if it was password-protected? If it was, it would be virtually impossible to unlock the phone.

  I finished the rest of the appetizer and swallowed the last of the wine in my glass while Saylor told me about the different rumors going around Pear about Alice’s death.

  “I’ve heard it was suicide; that Bruce killed her; that she’d had a fallout with her head chef and that he swore he’d kill her before he’d ever let her get away with what she did to him.”

  Alejandro never had gotten back to me. I wondered if he was working now.

  “That must be the thing that happened with Jacob. And he wasn’t her head chef; he was the sous chef.”

  “Yes, that sounds more plausible than the story I heard, but no one knew why. After hearing the confirmation from you, that’s what it had to be. The head chef has been here forever.”

  “Yes, he has.”

  Saylor nodded her head across the room as if she was pointing and I looked. “That’s him. See, he wasn’t fired.”

  I thought about walking over to talk to him, and asking if he’d gotten my message, but it was the dinner shift, and even though he was in the bar, he was probably working. I wouldn’t want to be bothered in the middle of a shift, so I let it go. For the time being.

  I got up and walked to S
aylor’s side of the table. I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll pick up the tab next time.”

  She kissed my cheek, too. “Yeah, sure you will,” she said with a huge grin.

  “I will,” I protested. “We’ll eat at Vendredi’s.”

  With that, we both laughed a little too loud.

  Saylor wiggled her brows and said, “I think I’m going to stay a bit longer, have another glass of wine, and maybe flirt with the chef.”

  I knew her well enough to know she had no interest in restaurant workers. They didn’t have enough time for her. Saylor was high maintenance, but in a good way. I knew she was up to something. I hoped it was snooping for me, but I didn’t ask. I pretended I didn’t want to know.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I was surprised to find Peter home when I arrived at the house. At least I assumed he was home, because his car was in the driveway. He may have been at the main house with Hattie.

  I walked up to the back door and turned the knob, which was unlocked. Because of the amount of traffic on the property we lived on, we always locked our doors, even when we were home. I walked in, shut the door behind me and made sure it was locked before continuing into the house.

  “What are you doing home?” I asked as I walked into the house.

  Peter stood in the kitchen. I didn’t notice the earbuds in his ears until he looked up at me and pulled them out. No wonder he didn’t answer me. They were wireless earbuds that retracted into a plastic collar hanging on his neck.

  “Hey, where’ve you been? I stopped by your studio when I got home and you weren’t there, so I assumed you were home.” He seemed worried.

  “I was at the Poached Pear with Saylor. We had a glass of wine and an appetizer. I guess you didn’t hear me when I asked why you are home.” I dropped my purse on the dining room table and stood with my hand on one of the chairs.

  Peter turned around to face me, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Gustav needed a different night off this week, so we traded.”

  “Really? What night?” There were certain nights that guests expected Peter to be in the kitchen and this concerned me. If they asked for him and he wasn’t there, he’d better have a good reason. Switching shifts with one of his employees wasn’t a good excuse. I shook the thought out of my head. Not my circus anymore.

  “It’s not a big deal. He wanted Monday off.” Peter turned back to the skillet he had on the stove.

  “That smells good. What are you making?” I inhaled deeply to savor the aroma.

  “You’re going to laugh,” Peter said. He took a taste from the spatula. “I’m trying one of your recipes.”

  I smiled. Peter never tried other people’s recipes because he was too busy making his own. “What is it?”

  “It’s your chicken risotto. I’m making it a little different than the recipe from your blog,” he grimaced. I think he was waiting for me to chastise him for not trusting my recipe.

  “You read my blog?” I was astonished. I couldn’t see someone who was as successful as Peter reading my little blog.

  “Of course I read your blog. I love that you have quick home recipes for people to make in their own kitchens. I get so sick of seeing these places online that try to mimic gourmet meals. Very few people can pull off what big kitchens pull off. I don’t think they understand the amount of prep that is involved. And then they gum up the recipe by trying to make a homemade version of it. I looked through your recipes and you don’t do that.” Peter reached for a spoon and took another sample of his risotto.

  “I’m flattered,” I blushed. “The point behind my blog was to make good food fast. Recipes that people could make if they wanted to do meal prep or just everyday eating. If I want that luscious of a meal, I’m going out to dinner. Probably your place.” I laughed on that last sentence.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Peter ditched the spatula he’d sampled from and grabbed a fresh one to stir the risotto.

  “Sure. I just had a small appetizer when I was with Saylor, so I could find room for risotto. Anything I can help you with?”

  Peter pointed to the kitchen counter. “Can you toss that salad for me? It’s just baby spring greens and some pomegranate dressing from my mom’s place. I didn’t want anything fancy, because I’m not that hungry. And if this risotto turns out, we’ll have leftovers for a couple of days.”

  I walked into the kitchen, washed my hands at the sink, then grabbed a paper towel to wipe them dry. Peter already had two large salad forks on the counter, so I dribbled several tablespoons of dressing onto the salad, then use the forks to toss it. “Remember who you live with here. There may not be leftovers for days.”

  “Especially if Tommy comes home early,” Peter said.

  My whole body stiffened. “What do you mean if Tommy comes home early?”

  “Nothing. Sometimes she comes home on Friday night instead of Saturday morning. What’s the matter with you?”

  I picked up the bowl of salad and moved it to the dining room table. “I just wish she’d stay at school this weekend. I don’t want her knowing anything about what happened to Alice.”

  Peter had grabbed a large serving spoon and was dishing out servings of the chicken risotto in small white bowls. “Parmesan?”

  “Please.”

  “Tommy’s not five years old anymore, Willa. She’s wise to the ways of the world. We already talked about this. Someday, she’s going to realize that death happens to the people she knows, too. Sometimes death by murder.”

  “I know,” I whined. “You know I’m not a helicopter parent. I was never one to hover. Heck, your mom hovered more than I did. But I just want to save her from this ugliness that no one should have in their life.”

  Peter shoved large spoons into the bowls and brought them to the table. It was almost a repeat of the night before. Rarely did we sit down and have dinner together, and two nights in a row felt really nice.

  “I wish we all could’ve been saved from this ugliness. I just can’t imagine someone in our town that we know, who is so prominent, could be murdered.” He took a deep breath at the end of his long sentence.

  I scooped up a spoonful of the chicken risotto, and blew on it to cool it just a bit. I tentatively put the spoonful in my mouth, not knowing exactly how it would taste. It wasn’t even a second before my taste buds burst. I wanted to swirl the creamy flavors around in my mouth and not even chew. The delicious tang of lemon combined with the mushrooms, onions, and chicken in the risotto felt like comfort food. I looked up to see Peter staring at me.

  With my mouth still full of food, I said, “What?” I never talked with my mouth full unless it was just me and Peter. We’d been together too long to worry about such niceties.

  “Well?” His eyes were wide with eagerness.

  I gave him the courtesy of finishing my food and swallowing before answering. “Oh my gosh, I am a great recipe developer. I do have to say though, adding the lemon zest and lemon juice gave it more zing than when I originally made the recipe. You, my dear, are a genius.”

  Peter beamed with a grin. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

  I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but his words caught me off guard. We had been a pretty good team until he ruined it. There are just some things that I could not forgive, and infidelity was one of them. I knew that Peter had had a weak moment, and that the affair meant nothing, but it happened and would always be between us. Heck, I don’t even know if I could call it an affair. It was a drunken one night stand. I think things might have turned out differently if I had found out from him first. The thing that hurt my heart so much was that I found out from someone else. That someone else was the girl he’d slept with. I tried not to think about it anymore, but sometimes it bubbled up, especially when Peter made observations about what a great team we were. What we had, we could never get back.

  Peter must have seen the melancholy on my face, because he quickly changed the subject. “My mom said you stop
ped by for lunch today. She said you were asking questions about Alice’s house.”

  I put my spoon down beside my bowl and wiped my face with a napkin. “I don’t know why, but Alice’s murder is really bothering me. I dreamed about it last night. I just can’t seem to let it go.”

  Peter continued to eat. “You know we have a very capable sheriff’s department, right?”

  “Ha ha, I know. I just feel like maybe we know the family a little better than they do. Maybe we can find something that points in a different direction than where they’re looking.”

  “Willa, don’t you have enough to worry about? Let the police do their job.”

  Suddenly, the risotto wasn’t so tasty. I picked up my bowl and took it into the kitchen to dump the rest into a meal prep tray. “I told you, I can’t get it out of my head. And I can’t work if I can’t concentrate. You know how it is. If your head is somewhere else, you don’t cook as well. How am I supposed to develop recipes, photograph and style them, and then write about them, when all I can think about is a dead person and who might have killed her?”

  Peter shoved another huge bite of the risotto into his mouth, then picked up his plate and walked into the kitchen. He stood next to me at the sink as I rinsed my bowl. He set his bowl down and touched me lightly on the shoulder. “I love you to the ends of the earth. If you feel the need to follow up and try to help the police, then you do that. But promise me one thing, that you’ll be careful.”

  Once again, he melted my heart. I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I promise, I’ll be careful.”

  He put his bowl in the sink without washing it, then followed me into the living room. “Now that we have that out of the way, I want to hear everything you’ve learned.”

  Peter popped the cork on a deliciously sweet bottle of Moscato, and I told him everything I’d learned in my snooping, and about my new assistant.