Thirteen

Oz’s eyes went wide and she laughed at his look of surprise.

“Hi, Oz,” she said. “Mentoring your replacement?”

He shrugged. “It’s my kitchen.”

“I get that,” she said. “But if he gets caught talking to you, the police might drag him into the investigation.”

Oz sighed. “He’s making raspberry cream tarts for tonight’s signature dessert. The shortbread crust is not his specialty, however. Sorry, Sam.”

“No, it’s okay.” Sam said. “Totally true.”

“I can help,” Mel said.

“No, we can’t ask you—”

“Sure you can,” Mel interrupted. “I don’t have anything to do other than to report to my mother’s for wedding-favor-making duty. We’re bagging up those little Jordan almonds, very traditional, since I refuse to have any sort of favor that isn’t edible and those almonds won’t melt. My mom and Joe’s mom can totally start without me, plus, Angie will be there and I’m sure they’ll be consumed with her upcoming delivery. They won’t even miss me.”

“This would be such a huge help—” Sam said.

“Perfect,” Mel said. She turned back to the tablet. “Bye, Oz.”

She switched it off before he could argue, which it looked like he was about to do.

“Apron,” Mel said. She went to the sink and scrubbed in. Sam brought her a well-worn but clean white apron, and Mel fished her own chef’s beanie out of her purse. She always carried one with her for those exceptionally bad hair days.

They went to the pastry kitchen’s designated supply cupboards and walk-in refrigerator and gathered their ingredients. Mel talked Sam through her shortbread crust for tarts. He was a quick learner with good instincts. She let him take over the cream portion of the tart while she baked the crusts. It reminded her of the first few days of cooking with Oz in her kitchen. This was what she wanted in an assistant. Of course, she couldn’t poach Sam as that would be bad form, but she could definitely find someone similar if Madison didn’t work out.

When the tarts were done, they worked side by side, covering them with raspberries, round side up. When they were finished, Mel helped him store the desserts in the walk-in cooler.

“Thank you so much,” Sam said. “Tonight would have been a disaster if you hadn’t wandered by. Ever since Oz has been gone, well, things have been chaos and no one seems to know who is really in charge. I’ve tried to lead in here, but Ashley has made it very difficult, undercutting my instructions to the staff at every turn.”

He sounded frustrated, and Mel couldn’t blame him. She’d seen Ashley in action. Not a pleasant woman.

“It was my pleasure,” Mel said. And she meant it. She was enjoying a glass of water and glanced over at the other pastry chefs who had arrived to help with the evening’s dinner. She lowered her voice and asked, “I don’t want to get too personal, Sam, but were you here the afternoon that Chef Gallway was killed?”

“Yeah, I was,” he said. “I was assisting with the larder as we’d gotten in a huge shipment and needed to inventory everything before we put it away.”

“I’m sure the police have already asked you, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by bringing it up, but did you see anything or hear anything that day?” Mel asked.

“Oh, yeah, the police have asked,” Sam said. “Unfortunately, I was out on the loading dock with the rest of the kitchen staff. We were hustling to get the shipment unloaded before we started dinner prep and we were running late. I didn’t see or hear anything until Ashley started screaming.”

Mel nodded. She remembered that scene well.

“We all ran in, thinking the kitchen was on fire or something, but no.”

“Instead, Chef Miles was dead,” Mel said.

“Yeah, and Oz was covered in blood . . . it looked bad. Well, you know, you were there.” Sam shook his head as if he still couldn’t make sense of it all. He wasn’t alone.

“Did anything else happen that was noteworthy?” Mel asked. “Even in the days before the murder, did anyone freak out or have a fit or anything like that? Was there any kitchen drama that seemed especially over the top?”

“No, not that I can remember,” Sam said. “I mean, there are always factions vying for power in a kitchen, aren’t there? Both Miles and Ashley wanted to be Simon’s next television star, but he was pushing hard for it to be Oz. I was wishing for it to be Oz, too.”

“Really?” Mel asked. She was surprised that Sam would be okay with losing a boss he clearly enjoyed working for.

“Sure, bragging rights, you know?”

Mel nodded. That made sense.

“But on that day, everything was weird and wrong. We all just stood around in shock. Then Sarah needed to see a doctor for her hand, but—”

“You mean the burn?” Mel asked.

“Yeah, in all the commotion, she burned her hand on the range—” he began but Mel interrupted.

“Wait—are you saying she was burned the same time that Gallway was murdered?”

“I don’t know if it was the same exact time,” Sam said. He paused to think about it and took a sip of his water. “We all ran in here when we heard Ashley screaming, and Sarah came in shortly after, cradling her hand.”

“Because she’d been burned,” Mel said. She wanted to be sure that this was accurate. She found it odd that Sarah hadn’t mentioned that it happened the same day that Gallway was murdered.

“Yeah, it was crazy. We all know basic first aid, but this was a bad burn,” he said. “She refused to go to the hospital, though. She said she didn’t want to interrupt what was happening with the investigation into Gallway’s death, so we did a quick clean and bandage but honestly, I think there was some deep tissue injury. She’s still on pain meds.”

Mel thought back to the day she and Joe had popped into the kitchen and found Oz over Chef’s body. They had paused by the main kitchen first. No one had been in there. No one. So how had Sarah burned herself at the same time the murder took place if she hadn’t been in the kitchen at all?

Mel got a sick feeling in her stomach. While she didn’t know Sarah very well, Oz’s defense of the saucier when Gallway had reprimanded her had made Mel think sympathetically of the girl. No one worked in a high-stress kitchen without working for a Gallway or two in their time, but how well did Oz know her? Could she have been out to get revenge on Gallway for humiliating her? Could she have been the one to bludgeon him with the wooden mallet? Then how did she get burned? And how did he end up dead in the pastry kitchen?

Having lost Simon and Ashley as suspects, although Ashley’s screen test still needed to be confirmed, it seemed they could add Sarah to the list, since Mel still considered Clay and Kasey as possibilities. Sure, they had alibis, but they weren’t solid. Clay could have come in from the golf course and Kasey could have left the pool. Mel refused to consider Oz. She debated going to the main kitchen to talk to Sarah, but dinner hour was approaching and they would be ramping up with no time to talk. Plus, she wanted to get her alone and not have to deal with Ashley watching. No, it was better to go to her mother’s— Ack!

Mel snatched the beret off her head, took off her apron, and threw it at Sam. “I’m late, so late. This was fun. Gotta go. Nice meeting you, Sam.”

“Bye!” Sam called after her, but Mel was now in a dead run and barely heard him. She hit the doors and dashed to her car. She wasn’t going to speed to her mom’s, of course she wasn’t, but she certainly wasn’t going to lollygag, either.

Mel stopped her Mini Cooper on a squeal of brakes right in front of her mother’s house. She hurried out of the car and dashed up the walkway, finger combing her short blond hair as she went. Angie met her at the door.

“You owe me, you owe me so huge,” Angie said. Then she glanced at Mel and gasped. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Mel blinked. Was this Angie’s way of getting her out of trouble? She’d rather just own her tardiness.

“You’re bleeding!” Angie cried.

“What?” Mel glanced down. Sure enough, there were red splatters all over her pale blue sleeveless blouse.

“Oh, holy mother in heaven, she’s been stabbed!” Maria DeLaura cried, looking like she might faint.

“What?” Joyce pushed to the front. She grabbed Mel by the hand and dragged her into the well-lit dining room.

“What did you do to yourself?” Joyce clucked as she examined Mel’s shirt, looking for a hole where the blood must be coming from.

“Nothing, I swear I’m fine,” Mel said. “Those are raspberry stains. I must have brushed my shirt with my apron when I took it off.”

A huge bowl of Jordan almonds sat in the center with stacks of pearl white organza drawstring bags surrounding it. A basket of already-filled bags sat at the end of the table.

“Mom, we’ve only invited fifty people,” Mel said. “How many of these are you making?”

“Enough so that we’re not embarrassed if more people show up,” Joyce said.

“Always better to have leftovers,” Maria agreed. “Then you know no one went hungry.”

“Especially for those who always arrive late,” Joyce said with a pointed look at Mel.

Mel looked at Angie. “I do owe you big-time.”

“Free babysitting whenever I want,” Angie said. “I’m just sayin’.”

“Done.”

“Now, about that shirt,” Joyce said. She left the room, coming back with an old T-shirt of Mel’s father’s. “Put this on.”

“Mom, I can take—”

“The stain will set before you go home and ruin your blouse,” Joyce said. “Go ahead and change.”

Mel rolled her eyes at Angie. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back wearing her father’s old ASU shirt. She smelled the shoulder, hoping to get a whiff of cigar smoke and bourbon, two smells she always associated with her dad. The only scent she could register was laundry detergent. She sighed.

“Rubbing alcohol will take that out,” Maria said.

“Do you think so?” Joyce asked. She sounded skeptical. “I was going to try vinegar.”

Without asking, the two women took the shirt from Mel and headed into the kitchen. Angie watched them go, looking thoughtful.

“Is that going to be us in thirty years?”

“Maybe,” Mel said. She grinned at her friend. “There’s certainly no one I’d rather debate laundering techniques with than you.”

Angie returned the smile. “Ditto.” She grimaced and sat down, rubbing her knuckles over her chest. “I’m having wicked heartburn.”

“Can I get you something?”

“Nah, I think I just ate too many almonds,” she said. “Why are these things so good?”

“I don’t know,” Mel said. She scooped up a few and popped them into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully. “We should make a cupcake that reflects our love of the Jordan almond.”

“Totally,” Angie agreed. “So, why were you really late?”

“I stopped by the resort to give Courtney the seating chart,” Mel said. “And then I went to the kitchen to see how they were doing in Oz’s absence.”

“I bet they miss him,” Angie said.

“Terribly. I ended up helping Oz’s assistant, Sam Whitaker, make raspberry tarts for tonight’s featured dessert.”

“Ah, now it comes full circle,” Angie said.

“Yes, but Sam also told me some interesting tidbits about the line cook, Sarah.”

“The one we watched get dressed down by Gallway?”

“Yes,” Mel said. “Apparently, at the time of Gallway’s murder, she burned her hand quite badly on the stove.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Angie said. “Will she be all right?”

“I think so,” Mel said. “But the interesting part of this is that Joe and I were in the kitchen where she was supposedly burned right before we stumbled upon Gallway and Oz and there was no one in the kitchen. It was empty.”

“She lied?” Angie asked.

Mel shrugged. “Looks like it.”

“But why?”

“Maybe she needed an alibi and gave herself one,” Mel said.

“Ah!” Angie gasped. “You mean she murdered Gallway and then burned herself? That’s pretty twisted. And she seemed so nice.”

Mel nodded. It was rather horrifying to think that Sarah had murdered Gallway and then burned herself to cover her crime. How could they prove it? Mel thought about the wooden meat tenderizer. She wondered if there was any evidence that it had been near a flame or a burner. If it was scorched, they could tie it to Sarah. The thought made Mel feel awful for even thinking it, but then again Oz was in the hot seat for murder and Mel would do anything necessary to prove his innocence.

Joyce and Maria came back in a few moments. They looked very pleased with themselves.

“Got the stain out,” Joyce said.

“Rubbing alcohol,” Maria added.

Joyce looked comically aggrieved but they sat down and started bagging almonds. Mel lost count but she suspected they made over one hundred bags of almonds, all tied with the custom white ribbons Joyce had ordered that read Melanie and Joseph in dark blue on one end and the date on the other.

Mel studied the bag in her hands and marveled that if twelve-year-old her had known that one day she would actually be Mrs. Joe DeLaura, she would likely have had a heart attack and keeled over dead right then and there. Good thing she hadn’t known.

She glanced up to see her mother, Mrs. DeLaura, and Angie all watching her. She smiled as she glanced from one face to the next. “What?”

“Your dream is coming true,” Mrs. DeLaura said. Then she watered up and sobbed. Joyce took one look at her face and began to cry as well.

“Oh, no, here they go. Save it for the church, Moms,” Mel said. She smiled and patted their hands. Then she looked at Angie to share her amusement. To her dismay, Angie was crying as well. She handed her a paper napkin from the holder on the table. “Oh, no, not you, too.”

“I can’t help it,” Angie said. “You’ve loved Joe for sooooo long. It’s like something out of a movie for you to finally become his wife and live happily ever after.”

This observation set the moms off again, naturally, and as they all wailed into their paper napkins, Mel helped herself to another handful of almonds. She savored their bittersweet flavor. She studied a big fat pink one in the palm of her hand and thought about how it was a perfect metaphor for life. So much nuttiness surrounded by a sugary candy shell. She smiled.

“I can’t believe you’re not crying,” Angie said. She looked at Mel with annoyance. “It’s like the end of the romantic comedy when everything works out all right. You’re supposed to be choked up.”

“Well, the credits haven’t rolled yet,” Mel said. “We still have to get down the aisle, don’t we? And I don’t want to jinx anything by counting my wedding vows before they’re spoken.”

That dried the moms right up.

“Melanie, you’re not trying to tell me something, are you?” Joyce asked. She blew her nose with an impressive honk. “I mean, you and Joe haven’t had a spat or anything, have you?”

“Which would be perfectly normal just before the wedding,” Maria added. She bobbed her head reassuringly and Joyce did, too. “Dom and I had a terrible fight right before our wedding.”

“You did?” Angie looked surprised.

“Oh, yes,” Maria said. “I almost called off the wedding.”

Angie’s jaw dropped.

“Charlie and I had an argument, too,” Joyce said.

“What?” Mel cried. She had never heard of this before.

“It’s true,” Joyce said. “Your father wasn’t helping with any of the wedding plans. It was all on me, and I was convinced that his lack of interest in planning meant he wasn’t really interested in marrying me. It was silly but when I threw his ring at him and told him it was off if he didn’t step up and start helping, then he got the message.”

Maria laughed. “For me, it was Dom’s wish to have his ex-girlfriend at our wedding. Can you even believe it? His ex at our wedding?”

The flash in Maria’s eyes was one Mel had seen in Angie’s many times and it suddenly became very clear to Mel whom Angie had inherited her temper from.

“How have I never heard about this?” Angie asked. “And what did you do? You didn’t let him invite her, did you?”

“No, certainly not,” Maria said. Then she laughed. “I actually did call off the wedding and then I went to his mother and told her why. She took my side and told Dom he was being an idiot. He finally admitted that he wanted his ex at our wedding to rub it in her face that he was marrying the most beautiful girl in the world.” She sighed. “Naturally, I forgave him, but she still wasn’t invited.”

They all laughed and then they each looked at Mel inquiringly.

“No,” Mel said. “Nothing like that has happened.”

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Maria asked. She gave Mel a look of gentle reproach.

“No!” Mel shook her head. “But Joe and I have tried to get down the aisle a couple of times now, and something has always stopped us, so I’ll just save my happy tears for after the service.”

“You’re right,” Angie said. She dabbed her face with a tissue. “I don’t even know why I was crying. Oh, wait, yes, I do.” She patted her belly. “Sorry, the little one has just made me so sentimental.”

“Understandable,” Mel said. “Are you hungry? Maybe something besides almonds would level you out.”

“I do feel a bit peckish,” Angie said.

Both Joyce and Maria hopped up from their seats, declaring, “We’ll fix you something.”

They disappeared into the kitchen and Mel grinned at Angie.

“That was devious,” Angie said.

“I prefer to think of it as giving them something useful to occupy themselves with,” Mel said. “Besides, I’m starving.”

“Me, too,” Angie laughed. They exchanged a grin and then Angie sobered and asked, “Straight talk, though, are you at all nervous about the wedding?”

“Not at all,” Mel said. “I mean, we’re keeping it simple precisely so that the potential for disaster is averted, so what could possibly go wrong?”