Fourteen

Mel couldn’t sleep that night. She supposed it could be wedding anxiety kicking in, not that she was worried about anything, she told herself. But she suspected that it was more that she was concerned for Oz. No other suspects had proven out as yet and Oz’d had an altercation, witnessed by many, with Gallway over Sarah.

And then there was Sarah. Mel couldn’t get the woman’s burnt hand out of her mind. It just didn’t jive with what she knew, that there had been no one in the kitchen right before Oz found Miles, so when had the young woman been burned? And why had she refused to get treatment?

When she talked to Joe about what she’d discovered, he agreed that it was odd. He remembered the main kitchen being empty when they’d walked by, and Mel told him what Sam had told her about the staff being out on the loading dock.

Feeling restless and worried about Oz, Mel decided she would take the wedding favors over to Courtney at the resort and just have a walk through the Sun Dial to see what was what.

She didn’t mention her errand to Joe because she was quite certain he would not approve. Besides, she assured herself, she wasn’t going to be that long. Just a pop-in on a legit errand. No big deal.

Again, she parked in what was beginning to feel like her usual spot. She said hello to the parking attendants, the front desk personnel, and the security guard. With her basket of almonds, it was obvious why she was here and no one questioned her.

Courtney was happy to keep the basket in her office until it was time to set up the room for the reception. She went over a few details with Mel and then her phone rang. Mel waved bye to her from the door, feeling impatient to be on her way. Courtney, in her usual bubbly way, blew Mel a kiss and gave her a little finger wave. There was a sincere cuteness to Courtney that Mel would never be able to replicate. Not in a million years.

She walked towards the kitchens, hoping she’d run into Sam. He’d been a fountain of information and she had more questions. She checked both kitchens but there was no sign of anyone she recognized. The breakfast crew was a completely different set of chefs. Very disappointing.

Mel meandered through the resort. When she passed the lounge, she saw Kasey Perry sitting with Simon Marconi. Hmm. It seemed an odd pairing. Marconi was much older than the young men Kasey admitted to preferring, and why would Marconi get involved with the wife of the man he owed money to? Seemed like a dicey situation, but then again they were out in public, so maybe they were friends. No, neither one of them seemed to be the type to have friends.

Mel tried to read their facial expressions to see if it was a pleasant meeting or not. Given the tightness of Kasey’s face, it appeared not. Hmm.

She tried to stay out of their line of sight while maneuvering closer. Since their heads were pressed together and they were staring at each other quite intently, it wasn’t that hard. She slid into the booth behind them and opened a menu, pretending to peruse the offerings.

It took her a moment to realize she had picked up the individual dessert menu. Huh. She recognized a few of Oz’s specialties as he had tried out many of his signature desserts on the bakery staff when he was in cooking school. Her attention was caught by a pistachio crème brûlée.

Yes, please! While her mother would likely consider it a bad breakfast choice, Mel couldn’t disagree more. It contained eggs and cream. Why, it was practically an omelet.

A waitress came by and Mel quietly ordered the dessert with a cup of coffee. If the waitress thought the request odd, she didn’t show it.

Mel continued to look at the menu, while listening to the snippets of conversation she could hear behind her.

“There’s something not right about her,” Simon said.

Mel wondered who they were talking about.

“Obviously,” Kasey said. “No one in their right mind would willingly be Miles’s assistant.”

Ah, Mel thought, it had to be Ashley. She had to agree with their assessment, there was something wrong with Ashley. A lack of empathy was the first thing that came to mind.

“She’s desperate to be your next Foodie Channel star,” Kasey said. “She’s the only chef who wanted it as badly as Miles.”

“Too bad for her, she’s going to lose out,” Simon said. “She’s as interesting as a boiled potato and she has a nervous tic or something. She’s constantly blinking. There’s no way she’s television material, and also, she’s a terrible chef.”

“Then why did Miles make her his sous chef?” Kasey asked. “Do you think he was sleeping with her?”

“Probably,” Simon said. “He got booted off his original show for being handsy with the female chefs, but I don’t think he learned a thing. He was your typical narcissist: nothing was his fault, and he wanted what he wanted when he wanted it.”

“Well, I can’t really fault him for that,” Kasey said. She gave a throaty laugh that Simon didn’t return. “You know Clay is expecting you to pick someone from the kitchen.”

“Yeah, but the only one who could carry it off has been put on leave,” Simon said.

“Oz?” Kasey asked. She practically purred his name. It made Mel’s hair stand on end in alarm.

“He’s got it all: the looks, talent, and charm,” he said.

“I’d let that one go if I were you,” Kasey said. “He killed Miles. It’s just a matter of time before they prove it.”

Mel sucked in a breath and then hunkered down in her booth in case they heard her.

“What? How do you know that?” Simon asked.

“I just do,” Kasey said. “Now, I don’t mean to tell you your business, but I think you’re overlooking some real potential in the kitchen.”

“Who?” Simon asked. He sounded dubious.

“Sam Whitaker,” Kasey said.

“Who?”

“Sam Whitaker,” Kasey said. She sounded offended that Simon didn’t know whom she was talking about. “He’s got the looks and the talent.”

“He’s Oz’s assistant, right?” Simon asked. “Skinny guy, doesn’t look old enough to drive?”

“He’s twenty-two,” Kasey said.

“A baby,” Simon said. “You want me to make a show around a baby chef?”

“He’s not,” Kasey snapped.

“He’s no Oz,” Simon countered.

“Who is a murderer.”

“Yeah, damn it. Oz seemed like such a nice guy,” he said.

“They always do.” There was a pause and then in a hesitant voice, Kasey said, “So, what about Sam?”

“You mean ‘Tiger’?” Simon asked.

Kasey gasped. “How did you—”

“Know about your little fling with the baby chef?” he interrupted. “I make it my business to know these things.”

“It’s just a nickname. It doesn’t mean anything,” Kasey insisted. “I’m just trying to help you. You know Clay isn’t going to let you go until you pick someone. Do you have any other options?” She sounded miffed.

“No,” Simon sighed. “Fine, I’ll screen-test him.”

He didn’t sound thrilled about it. Mel tried to picture Sam as a television star. She was with Simon on this one. He was a nice guy, but he lacked that indefinable quality that elevated a person to stardom, even if only on the Foodie Channel. She wondered if Kasey was actually having a fling with the young man, then she pushed aside the thought because . . . yuck.

The waitress returned and Mel couldn’t hear what was being said while the server put her coffee and dessert on the table. As soon as she left, Mel plugged back into the conversation but it was no good. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Simon and Kasey were leaving. Damn it.

Mel consoled herself by tucking into the decadent dessert. She lingered over her coffee, thinking about what she’d overheard. Simon and Kasey seemed to be in agreement that Oz was responsible for Miles’s murder. Why? They didn’t know him well enough to believe that. Mel stabbed the pale green crème brûlée with her fork. She wished she’d turned around and given them a piece of her mind. Oz was innocent. She knew it all the way down to her core. With their unfounded suspicions, were they helping to build a case against him to the police? Mel felt her anxiety spike.

Pushing her plate away, she decided to give her uncle Stan a call and tell him about her concerns.

“Hey, kid,” Uncle Stan answered on the second ring. “Everything all right?”

That was so Uncle Stan. A lifelong police officer, he operated on the premise that people only called him if there was a crisis. Never mind that she had called him a million times when there wasn’t a crisis.

“Everything is fine,” she said.

“Fine, meaning?”

“You’re so suspicious,” she said.

“Yes.”

Mel sighed. This was not going to go as easily as she would have liked.

“I ran into Sarah Lincoln yesterday,” she said.

“Ran into her?” he asked. Already his tone was dubious at best.

“I was at the resort, dropping off Mom’s seating chart,” Mel said. She tried not to sound defensive.

“Right, right,” Uncle Stan said. He made it sound like he knew what she was talking about when Mel knew he didn’t have a clue. Seating charts were not Uncle Stan’s bag.

“Anyway, when I bumped into her, I noticed that her hand was injured,” Mel said.

“Line cook, right?” Uncle Stan asked.

“The saucier, yes, she has a bad burn,” Mel said.

Mel heard some paper shuffling. “Right, we interviewed her with the others. She said the burn happened that morning.”

“Well, you might want to pin that detail down, because when I talked to her, she told me she did it a few days ago, but when I mentioned her to Oz’s assistant pastry chef, Sam Whitaker, he told me that she burned herself at the same time that Miles Gallway was murdered.”

“Same time?” Uncle Stan grunted. Mel wasn’t sure if that was an indicator that he was interested or a noise he made while he was doing something else to make it sound like he was paying attention.

“So, I was thinking about her burn and the meat tenderizer—you know, the wooden mallet found under Miles Gallway at the time of his death, which was possibly the murder weapon judging by the dent in his head, and I was wondering if the mallet had any burn marks on it?”

“Why would you make that connection?”

“Because if Sarah was the one who clobbered him in the head then maybe she still had the mallet in her hand when she burned herself, and maybe she burned herself trying to hide the fact that she just clobbered a guy,” Mel said.

“That’s a lot of maybes,” Uncle Stan said.

“I know. I get that it’s a long shot but it would tie the murder weapon to the murder and the murderer,” she said.

“Mel.” Uncle Stan said her name in that way he did when he was not happy. There was a moment of silence when she could hear him clicking away on his computer. Then silence. Was he so mad he couldn’t even speak?

“Am I in trouble?” she asked. Uncle Stan said nothing, making her anxiety spike. “Because I’m going to be a bride in a matter of days and I have an awful lot going on, which should not include being in trouble with you.”

“Do not play the bride card with me, young lady,” Uncle Stan said. “And just so you know, I got a call from Ashley Bishop yesterday that you were poking around the resort kitchen. Is that when you ‘ran into’ Sarah?”

“Actually, yes,” Mel said.

Uncle Stan was quiet, taking that in. Obviously, he hadn’t been expecting her to admit it, which made Mel think she might have the advantage here.

“But it was an accident. I was on my way to check on the pastry kitchen for Oz when I ran into her.”

“Go on.”

“When I noticed her hand, she told me she’d burned herself a few days ago. She didn’t mention that it was at the same time that Gallway was killed, which is what Sam told me. But that doesn’t add up, because Joe and I walked by the main kitchen right before we found Gallway in the pastry kitchen and there was no activity in the main kitchen. Sam told me that they were all on the loading dock unpacking a delivery truck full of food and that Sarah showed up after Miles was found. She’d clearly burned herself but refused to leave and seek medical treatment until things quieted down.”

“Why would she do that?” Uncle Stan asked.

“Maybe she wanted to make sure she wasn’t a suspect,” Mel said. “Or she didn’t want to draw attention to herself or her injury.”

“Or maybe she stayed to look out for someone who had helped her out before,” he said.

“Like Oz?” Mel was outraged by what he was suggesting.

“Ask yourself this: What possible motive would Sarah Lincoln have to murder Miles Gallway?” he asked. “Was she up for a promotion and he denied it? Did he owe her money? Was she in love with him and he didn’t reciprocate?”

“I don’t know,” Mel said. “It could be any of those things or none of them. I do know that I watched him call her out and humiliate her in front of the entire kitchen staff.”

“Interesting,” he said. “And a possible motive, especially given that it looks like this was a crime committed in the heat of the moment.”

“It doesn’t feel right,” Mel said. She turned over what she knew about Sarah. “I mean, if she wanted out, why not just quit? Why kill him? And if she burned herself to give herself an alibi, yikes, that’s nuts, right? I mean, a chef’s hands are their livelihood. Sure, we get burns and cuts and all, but you’d never burn yourself on purpose. It could destroy your career.”

“You would if your life was at stake,” Uncle Stan said. “Maybe her injury was an accident, though; she might have attacked while he was cooking and got burned in the process.”

“But if he was cooking, there would have been evidence of it,” Mel said. “That kitchen was clean.”

“So, we need to know where she was when she burned herself,” Uncle Stan said.

Mel glanced up from her seat at the swinging doors that led to the kitchens. The main kitchen had been empty when she and Joe walked by. There was no way Sarah burned herself there. Oz was in the pastry kitchen and found Gallway’s body, so it couldn’t have been there. Then it hit her. The day that Oz had shown them his kitchen and they tried cupcake samples, he’d mentioned that there was a third kitchen. The banquet kitchen!

“I think I know where it happened,” Mel said. “Oz told us there’s a third kitchen, the banquet kitchen. It could be she burned herself in there.”

“Could be,” Uncle Stan said. “At least it gives me another line of questioning for her and the rest of the staff. I’m going to send some crime scene techs over.”

“You’re welcome,” Mel said.

Uncle Stan heaved a sigh. The waitress stopped by the table and asked if Mel wanted anything else. She declined and handed her server enough for her “breakfast” along with a healthy tip.

“Where are you?” Uncle Stan asked.

“Out for breakfast,” Mel said.

“Is Joe with you?”

“No, he’s trying to clear his desk so we can have an uninterrupted honeymoon,” she said.

“What a crazy optimist,” Uncle Stan said with a laugh.

Mel relaxed, relieved not to have to say exactly where she was.

“So, exactly where are you having breakfast?” Uncle Stan persisted.

Darn it. Mel grimaced. There was no evading the question. “I’m actually in the restaurant of the Sun Dial.”

“What? Why?” he asked.

“I had to drop off the wedding favors,” Mel said. “And they have Oz’s pistachio crème brûlée, which is to die for, no pun intended.”

“Mel, you need to get out of there,” he said.

“Why? I mean, our reception is in a few days. It can’t be that weird that I’m here,” she said.

“Except there is a murderer loose, who is trying to pin it on your pastry chef,” he said. “Don’t you think they’re going to be less than happy to see you hanging around there, possibly chatting up someone who might give you information that would clear your friend?”

“Er . . .” Mel stalled. She hadn’t really considered that.

A prickle on the back of her neck caused Mel to turn around. Sitting in the booth Simon and Kasey had vacated was Sarah Lincoln, and she was staring at Mel with an intensity that made Mel’s heart pound and her hands sweat.