Getting Rich (A Chef Landry Mystery) (4 page)

She grimaced. “You can say that again. To say he wasn’t happy is putting it mildly. I had a lot of explaining to do.”

I could understand why he might have been upset. I would have been too, under the circumstances. A lie by omission is still a lie. Not to mention that large divorce settlement he’d paid. He probably felt he’d been conned—which he had been.

“Did you know that the second most frequent cause of divorce is disputes about money?”

“Really?” I said. “What’s the first?”

“Marriage,” she said, without cracking a smile. “That was one hell of an argument. He kept going on and on about honesty and trust. I tried to explain that the only way I could be certain he was not with me for my money was by keeping my inheritance a secret. Luckily, I still had a copy of my old will. I showed him that he’d been my sole beneficiary during our entire marriage, and he calmed down a bit. And I promised him, now that we’re reconciled, I would have my will redrawn, naming him as my sole beneficiary.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“But just between you and me, I don’t get it. Statistically, women outlive men by six to eight years. And he’s ten years older than I am. I’m going to outlive him by at least a dozen years. Why it was so important that I put him in my will I’ll never figure out.” She bit her bottom lip, looking worried. “I had an appointment with my estate lawyer last week to do just that, but after meeting Judy, I postponed it. The thing is, Steven doesn’t really need my money. I don’t understand why it even matters to him. He may not be rich, but he’s successful. He has enough to be comfortable for the rest of his life.”

Toni didn’t consider having enough money for the rest of his life as being rich? Wow. The rich really were different.

“Judy, on the other hand, hasn’t got two nickels to rub together,” she continued. “I don’t think her husband earns very much as an accountant if she’s worried about the cost of raising a child.”

My eyebrows went up. “You didn’t change your will? And Steven is under the impression that you did? Won’t he be even more upset when he finds out?”

She raised her glass and, in one quick swig, polished off the remainder of her drink. “I expect he’ll blow a fuse.”

home with three buns in the oven

I parked on the pad behind my house and hurried around the side to the front, glancing at Mitchell’s window as I pulled out my keys—no sign of him. I swallowed my disappointment and walked in. I was greeted by the hysterical barking of an overjoyed Jackie Chan, my three-pound Yorkie. She came galloping down the hall.

Yap
,
yap
,
yap
,
yap!
Translation? “You’re back! Oh, thank goodness you’re back. I was afraid you’d never come back!” Jackie Chan was frantic with joy. She leaped into my arms and I buried my nose in her neck—a futile effort to avoid her energetic tongue.

“It’s okay, Jackie. It’s okay. I love you too.” I put her back down. “How are your babies, little girl?”

She took off. I hurried to the mudroom behind the kitchen. There, in a large crate, two teensy-weensy doggies were pawing madly at the wire door. Underneath, half a dozen wee-wee pads were in dire need of changing. How could such tiny dogs produce so much poo?

“Phe-ew, you guys stink,” I muttered, picking up a bunch of clean pads from the nearby box.

Four months ago Jackie had run away from home one night. She came back the next morning with a bun in the oven, or rather, three buns in the oven. For two months I was the proud owner of three puppies. Then, a week ago, a friend had adopted one of the little females, and—if I was to believe her—Toni would soon take the little male off my hands. I sure hoped she was sincere, but the dog had been ready to go for a few weeks now and she was still procrastinating.

The timing for the litter to be born couldn’t have been worse. Having a houseful of untrained doggies too young to take outside in this cold was a challenge. Even Jackie was too small to brave the frigid weather for more than a few minutes. To make matters worse, until they were two months old, pups were too young to be adopted, and of course by the time the little ones were ready to leave I was totally in love with them. But, as much as it had been heartbreaking to see the first one go last week, it had also been a relief.

I opened the back door and stepped outside carrying the two pups. Jackie followed and did her usual mad sprint around my postage stamp of a backyard, did a quick pee and then ran back in. The two pups sniffed the ground, unsure what to do. At last, the little male, Trouble, raised his leg and peed on my boots—once again proving he deserved his name.

“No, Trouble, not on my feet,” I muttered, shaking my foot. The little female, Sugar, trotted off toward a flower bed and squatted. “See,” I said to Trouble. “That’s where you do it.”

He ignored me and galloped up the stairs. I gave Sugar her two minutes, picked her up and followed inside.

After making sure their water bowls were full, I checked the phone for messages—nothing. I hadn’t heard from Mitchell in a couple of days now, which was somewhat unusual. It brought out all my insecurities. I knew Mitchell was a good guy. We’d been dating for a few months—long enough to call it a relationship, but not long enough to feel completely safe.

*

Overnight the weather had grown colder. By morning the mercury had dipped to below zero and the sidewalks were covered with a thin dusting of snow. I glanced out the window and decided to drive to work, even though I could have used the exercise.

“Morning, boss,” said Jennifer as I waked into the kitchen. In the short time Charles’s girlfriend had been working for us, I had grown accustomed to her cheery disposition and friendly manner. The atmosphere at work had always been pleasant, and now she added to it.

“Hi, Jennifer. Hi, guys.” I walked over to the counter and snuck a peek at what Jennifer was preparing. She had a row of cookie sheets covered with diced butternut squash.

“I tossed them in olive oil and salt and pepper,” she said. “They’re ready to go into the oven.”

“Good job.” I walked on. A few feet away Charles was assembling our signature Skinny pizzas, one of our regular menu items.

“Before I forget,” he said. “Toni called. She said she was spending the day with someone and would only come in for the dinner shift—but that if you blew a fuse, I should call her back and let her know.” He studied me. “Are you going to blow a fuse?”

I was tempted to, but since I knew who the “someone” was—Judy—how could I? “No. It’s okay. She doesn’t play hooky all that often. This time I’ll let her off easy.”

But when dinner came around, there was still no sign of her. It wasn’t until the evening was almost over that she suddenly popped in by the back entrance. She gave me an apologetic smile and slipped off her coat. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Late! You’re not late. You were absent all day.”

“I wouldn’t have come in at all except I need a minute with you.”

I pulled off my chef’s hat and smoothed a strand. “Uh-oh. I know that tone. What is it?”

She grinned. “Don’t worry. It’s good news.” She pulled out a bottle of chardonnay from the wine cooler, snatched two glasses from the shelf above the plating table, and gestured for me to follow.

I plopped down into my usual seat at the back corner table of the dining room and waited.

“Don’t look so worried,” she said, handing me a glass. “Trust me. You are going to love me.” Whenever Toni said something like that, I just knew she was about to clobber me with bad news. She took a sip of her wine. “You’ve heard of
Lauren Live
, right?”

I puckered my brow. “Of course.”
Lauren Live
was the number-one talk show in the country. “Who hasn’t?”

Toni leaned forward excitedly. “Well, I have a friend who works at Global TV. She phoned last night. It seems that one of the guests scheduled to for tomorrow morning has cancelled, and you and I got the spot.” Her voice rose to a feverish pitch. “We’re going to be on TV.”

“What?” I had a sudden vision of myself looking chubby and tongue-tied in front of an audience of millions. “You call that good news?”

Toni’s smile crumpled. “Of course it is. This is an incredible opportunity. Think of the publicity. Viewers from all over the country will hear about Skinny’s on Queen. We’ll get so many bookings we’ll have to turn customers away.”

I cleared my throat. “You’re right. It is a great opportunity.
You
do the interview. You’ll be much better than I could ever be. You have tons of television experience.”

Unlike me, before becoming a chef and restaurateur, Toni had been a
real
model. She’d appeared in dozens of television commercials, had been interviewed on camera, and had even once played a small role in a movie.

She shook her head, jaw set determinedly. “I am telling you right now, Nicky Landry. You are not squirming your way out of this. We both have to be there. Don’t forget, your face is on all our advertisements.” Her eyes shone with excitement again. “You can talk about the twenty-five pounds you lost since we developed our Skinny menu.”

“You and I both know I didn’t lose that weight because of our menu—at least not all of it.” The first fifteen or so pounds I’d lost was following what I liked to call my heartbreak diet, after the breakup and subsequent murder of my then-boyfriend.
Don’t ask
. As if that hadn’t been difficult enough, the stress had become even worse when the police pegged me as the prime suspect. Me. Imagine! It was the first time in my life I’d actually lost my appetite. No wonder the pounds had melted away. What Toni didn’t know was that I had since gained back much of that weight—nine pounds to be exact.

I swallowed hard. “I’ve never been on television. I wouldn’t know what to say.” Just the thought of all those people watching was already sending me into hyperventilation.

“Come on, Nicky. You have to be there.” She picked up her glass. “Besides, you can’t back out. I already said yes for both of us.”

“That’s why you waited until now to tell me, isn’t it?”

She smiled, gulped down the rest of her wine and rose from the table. “You’ll thank me later.” She fished into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here’s the address. Be there tomorrow morning at seven sharp.” She disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later I heard the back door open and close.

I stared morosely into my wine. Toni was right. It was an incredible opportunity, one we couldn’t pass up. But what in the world could I wear that would make me look thinner on TV? Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted when the front door opened and a disheveled woman wandered in.

I jumped to my feet and hurried over. “I’m sorry. We’re closed for the evening.”

The woman stood her ground. There was something unnerving about the way she stared at me.

I smiled uncertainly. “You’ll have to come back another day.”

“Nice place you got here,” she said, and then to my surprise, her face contorted into a mask of fury. She pointed a finger at me, yelling, “It’s just too bad you’ll have to give it back!”

“What are you talking—”

She cut me off. “Don’t imagine for one minute that you’re getting away with it. I am going to get even with you if it’s the last thing I do.”

She was going on so loudly that Charles and Jennifer appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking from her to me, worried. I shook my head slightly, but Charles either didn’t see or disregarded my silent message.

He strode over purposefully, taking a protective stance next to me. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

The woman jutted out her chin. “This bitch stole my restaurant from me.”

“Your restaurant?” He searched my face. “What is she talking about?”

I shook my head, as confused as he was. “I don’t know any more than you do.” I spotted the demented gleam in her eyes. As she went on, I became convinced the woman was mentally ill. “Perhaps I could give you a reservation for some other evening,” I said pleasantly, looking for a way to calm her. “Would you—”

She took another step forward, jabbing her finger at my arm. “Don’t pretend with me. You know damn well what I’m talking about. This restaurant is mine. You think you’re going to get away with stealing it from me? I’m going to get it back even if I have to kill you for it.”

Whoa
. As pacifying as I wanted to be, getting death threats was not something I took idly. Apparently neither did Charles. Before I had a chance to open my mouth, his eyes had narrowed and he stepped forward. “I suggest you leave right now, or I’ll call the police.”

“Oh, I’m leaving, all right. But this isn’t the end of it. You and bitch over here are going to pay.” She smiled, but it looked more like a snarl. “If I can’t have it, then you sure as hell won’t.”

Somehow, I snapped out of my shock and concentrated on her appearance. If I had to give her description to the police I had better memorize as much of it as I could. I noted the tangled dark hair, the light blue eyes lit with an eerie brightness. Her clothes looked old and filthy. Her coat was like an oversized tent, making it impossible to gauge her size. Her hands were delicate, without an ounce of excess flesh and with long, chipped red nails. Her legs were encased in high boots, the leather worn and stained with road salt. The heels were dated but high, at least three inches. That made the woman about the same height as me—around five foot four—but thinner.

Charles took another step toward her. I suspected he was trying to look intimidating, but he looked more frightened than frightening. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m warning you. I’ll call the police.” And to punctuate his words he pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

“Fine.” She marched out, leaving Charles and me staring mutely at the door as it swung shut.

I recovered my voice. “What the hell was that?”

Charles let out a long breath. “Now there goes what I call a raving lunatic.” He attempted a smile. “As scary as she was, I doubt she’s dangerous, just nuts. With all the hospital budget cuts, the mentally ill have nowhere to go, so they wander the streets. Nothing to worry about.”

It was easy to be brave now that she was gone.

He gave my shoulder a pat. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? By tomorrow morning you’ll have forgotten all about this.”

I nodded slowly. “But the real question is, will she have forgotten about us?”