Chicken Soup & Homicide (6 page)

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Amy chatted with Sophie for another half an hour. While Amy finished the mocha, they both made attempts to steer the conversation to food, but somehow it kept circling back to the murder. An afternoon rush of coffee seekers drew Sophie out to the order counter to help fill the demand, so Amy decided to leave. It wasn't like they could talk in front of customers anyway.

When she climbed into her car, which had chilled to the approximate interior temperature of a refrigerator, she saw the message light flashing on her cell phone. She had accidentally left it on the passenger seat. It wasn't like she used it very often, but of course the one time she forgot to slide it into her purse, she had missed two calls. The first message was from Carla, who wanted to come over for dinner. The second was from Alex. Something about having to reprint all of the graphics that needed to be installed the next day for a huge trade show display, so he had no idea when he'd be home. His business was growing, but so was his stress from juggling customers and the occasional emergency that popped up to sap even more of his time and energy. At least having Carla over would distract her from worrying that Alex would end up sick from working too much. Since Carla was also working too much, Amy could practice a
you need to slow down and rest
speech. Her best friend happily played the part of guinea pig for her new recipes, so why not test marital soapbox sermons too?

As she slowly made her way home in heavy traffic, Amy wondered how Carla was awake enough to drive all the way across town during the beginning of rush hour. The work schedule she had talked about at the expo was brutal as she racked up extra hours before her little trip with Shepler. Even though Carla's navigational skills rivaled those of a rally car driver—daring maneuvers at high speeds didn't ruffle her usual stoic personality one bit—Amy was glad the wind had finally stopped blowing the snow around. Slippery roads and sleepiness weren't a good combination.

As soon as Amy arrived home, she headed upstairs to get the guest room ready. She put fresh towels in the bathroom, turned down the comforter on the bed, and then tackled the most important task, making sure the beverage area was fully stocked. She had brought more K-cups upstairs with her. There was everything from jasmine tea to dark-roast coffee. Amy tossed one more K-cup into the basket next to the coffeemaker, which sat on a cabinet next to the dresser in the room. If Carla did spend the night, she would be able to start the next morning with whatever choice of caffeine she wanted whenever she wanted it. The coffeemaker in the kitchen was always set to start brewing at 5:30 a.m. so Alex could get a cup no matter how early he had to go into the office. But the in-room coffeemaker provided an immediate application of caffeine, if it was needed. Carla was coming over for dinner because she needed to talk about something. Even when they were chatting about pleasant things, the conversations often lasted well past their usual bedtimes and ended in a sleepover.

Amy fluffed the pillows on the bed and flipped on the night-light before leaving the room. It was barely dinnertime and already dark outside. If she was a vampire, winter would be her favorite season. More time out of ye olde coffin when night began so early.

Downstairs, the kitchen was filled with the savory aroma of beef stew, the ultimate winter comfort food in her not-so-humble foodie opinion. Chunks of tender beef, hearty root vegetables in a thick, savory broth. The food equivalent of a cozy, warm sweater.

The thump of a car door lured Pogo, her dog that looked like a dust ball with eyes, into the kitchen. He was sweet and lovable…until he heard or saw something that he didn't think should be in his yard. Then he turned into a spinning, barking top that skittered across the floor at warp speed. Carla's face appeared in the kitchen door window. Amy hurried to let her in.

Carla scurried in, accompanied by a gust of frigid air. The nasty wind wasn't completely settled down yet. She hung her chartreuse ski jacket on the coat rack next to the door and collapsed on the breakfast nook bench. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. "I'm exhausted, but I know I won't be able to sleep until I tell you about what's going on."

Amy held up her finger. "Let me get the tea. Then we can settle down and chat."

She retrieved the pot of peppermint tea that was steeping on the kitchen island. Warm, comforting, and caffeine free. With her other hand, she grabbed a couple mugs. Coffee was unequivocally their favorite beverage, but Carla needed to get some sleep after the dinner and chat session. So did she. Caffeine didn't need to fuel the sleep-stealing worries and problems. She set the teapot on a crocheted hot pad that looked like a daisy sitting on the breakfast nook table. Carla stared at the green leaves floating in the infusing tube of the clear glass pot. "I'm the chief suspect in Chet's murder."

Amy bobbled the ceramic mugs. They banged onto the table. Ceramic shards shot across the wood tabletop and clinked onto the floor at her feet. "What? How could you be? You weren't even there for the showdown."

"That's the problem. I went straight home after I left the expo to do laundry and have a nap. There are no witnesses that I know of who can prove I was in my condo instead of creeping around the theater killing Chet." She shook her head. "A lot of people saw me arguing with him. The detective in charge of the case is going the easy route and figuring I took the spat to a lethal level."

"This isn't a video game. Lethal level should never be reached in real life." Poor Carla looked like she was ready to cry, a seldom seen emotional reaction in the world of her steel-nerved friend. Apparently the new detective was gnawing on the unpleasant encounter with Chet, like on a bone. "I'm sure you and Shepler can quickly come up with a way to prove you're innocent."

She frowned and resumed staring at the teapot while Amy picked up the bits of broken coffee mug from around it. As Amy emptied the handful of debris into the intact mug, Carla said, "Bruce told you Detective Pitts just transferred into the department. I guess he's hell-bent on taking the fast track to the top even if he has to play dirty to get there. Bruce voluntarily removed himself from the case when you told him about my connection to Chet. When he tried to give Pitts some advice, suggested a few people to interview since he is new to the area, Pitts turned him into the chief for interfering with the investigation."

"Pitts sounds about as appealing as Britton, complete with the bad attitude and inflated ego." Amy quickly grabbed new mugs and the garbage can from under the sink. She poured a cup of tea for Carla and then used a damp dish rag to push the broken mess into the can. "The murder is bad enough. I can't believe we have to deal with him too."

Carla wrapped her hands around the mug and sighed. "I just came from an hour-long interview with him at the police station. You didn't tell him Chet and I were lovers?"

"No. He didn't even ask me about the sniper snark attack Britton launched on us. All Pitts wanted to know about was what happened backstage before I opened unlucky freezer door number two. Oh, and he also wondered how bad I wanted to win…like I would kill to donate money to the library and earn $500 for myself." Amy sat back down and poured herself a mug of the steaming, fragrant tea. She took a sip and choked on it when something she hadn't thought about before decided to tap dance across her conscience. "Are you mad that I told Shepler about you and Chet?"

"No. This would've been an even bigger mess if he had continued investigating last night and then found out about my stupidity this morning." She flitted her hand like she was shooing away a fruit fly. "He and I have both had some pretty messed-up affairs over the years. It sucks that a meaningless fling from my past is complicating the only serious relationship I have ever cared about."

A self-degrading funk was not where Carla needed to be. "You aren't stupid. Everybody has dated the wrong person at some time. You help save lives in the ER every day. How can Pitts think you killed someone?"

"He doesn't know me. He doesn't know I can barely kill a spider. If he's trying to prove himself to his new boss, he may be willing to do whatever it takes to solve this case."

"Bonus points for ruining the life of a coworker in the process?"

Carla yawned. "Something like that."

It was definitely time to fortify her best friend with some stew. Comfort food may not cure problems, but it certainly could help soothe jangled nerves. She stood up and patted Carla's shoulder as she passed by on the way to the stove. "Maybe some beef stew will make you feel better."

She ladled the gravy-slicked vegetables and beef into deep, gray ceramic bowls. She placed them on a wooden serving tray and carefully ferried the meal to the table. Carla plucked a spoon out of the utensil basket and sampled the stew. "This is really good. A contest winner?"

"Not yet. I'm still tweaking it for a nationwide comfort-food recipe contest. Can you guess the secret ingredient?"

Carla wrinkled her nose. "I'm not good at picking ingredients out of recipes. I don't know…red wine."

"It has red wine, but that isn't the
secret
ingredient. I'll give you a hint. It's in the Asian food aisle at the grocery store."

"Soy sauce?"

"Close! Oyster sauce."

"Really? Well, it's a great addition. Lots of savory oh-mama, or whatever that word is."

Amy giggled. Carla was at least talking about food, instead of being a murder suspect, even though she didn't have the terminology correct. "The word is umami. Oooh-mommy. It's Japanese for pleasant savory taste."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. What was there to say? They were both aware of the big bad wolf of a murder investigation hiding in the pantry, breathing heavily. Unfortunately, ignoring the situation wouldn't make it go away.

After Carla yawned for the third time, Amy said, "Why don't you finish eating and then head to the guest room? I don't want you to drive back across town right now." Tired, beaten down, scared, and distracted was not a good combination of conditions to have while driving on icy roads in the dark. "You shouldn't have to work until tomorrow again, right?"

"I have to go in tomorrow afternoon. I'd be fine driving home, but if it makes you feel better, I'll stay here." She pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. "I just need to call Bruce and let him know I'm here. Last night he held onto me like he was afraid Pitts was going to bust through the door and haul me off to jail."

The next morning, Amy needed to get groceries. Sure, she had a pantry full of shelf-stable ingredients and the knowledge to make many meals without having to leave the house, but grocery shopping was her favorite form of relaxing retail therapy. Carla had woken up in a better mood. After filling up on praline baked French toast and coffee, her friend headed back to her loft. Alex wasn't in bed when Amy woke up, so she had no idea when he left for work after coming home at 10:00 p.m. Life was tossing lemons at her. It shouldn't have been much of a surprise when she realized she was craving lemon pie.

She steered the mini shopping cart through the obstacle course of produce islands, searching for Meyer lemons. Since the fruit was a cross between the standard lemon and a Mandarin orange, the pie would be even sweeter. She could use an extra dose of sweetness in her life, to combat everything that was trying to make her bitter and sour. Columbo's Market always kept an impressive array of produce in stock, from navel oranges to purple Peruvian potatoes. The place was heaven for foodies, and she loved to just wander the aisles looking for unique ingredients to add to a recipe. All she had come in for were the lemons and a couple bundles of herbs to make savory shortbread cookies, her latest contest-bound recipe experiment. But her cart was full. Bags of black rice, shiitake mushroom ravioli, and a jar of radish kimchi were crammed into the basket long before she even made it to the produce section.

She skirted around a carousel of gourmet potato varieties and found Trisha Dunbar arranging bouquets of herbs in an upright cooler. The display of greenery, with different shapes of leaves and colors of green, looked like a mini tropical rain forest. Amy moved closer and waved at Trisha. "How are you?"

Trisha wiped her hands on the blue jean half apron dotted with dark blotches of water. "I'm still shocked. I can't believe Chet is dead…murdered. What a horrible outcome to the event. I was hoping to get more positive exposure for my business and win the grand prize for the community garden we were competing for. Instead, I'm in the newspaper for being the partner of a murder victim, and the garden didn't get any money." She shook her head. "What a mess."

"Yes, it certainly was an unexpected outcome for the showdown." Amy selected bundles of thyme and parsley from the water buckets. Maybe Trisha could help shed some light on the reason why Chet was killed. It was worth a shot. As she wrapped the stems in paper towels, she asked, "How did you team up with Chef Britton?"

"I supply the fresh herbs for Cornerstone restaurant. We often chatted when I made deliveries. When he asked me to be his partner for the Chicken Soup Showdown, I jumped at the chance to be associated with him beyond being an anonymous produce supplier." She plucked a bundle of spiky rosemary from a plastic tray on the flatbed trolley sitting behind her. "He was really nice, and I had a lot of fun working with him to develop our recipes for the showdown."

He was really nice? Judging from everything Amy had heard so far about Britton, he must've been hiding his true personality from Trisha, at least until the showdown was over. If they had lost, the egomaniac probably would've blamed the sweet herb gardener. Or maybe Trisha was just very tolerant of obnoxious people. Amy wrangled her herb bundles into plastic bags so they wouldn't drip on the rest of her groceries. "It's so scary to think that a killer was running around among us at the expo. Did you happen to see anybody that seemed out of place or was acting strangely backstage?"

"Nope. I was too busy prepping everything by myself to notice anything after we got onstage. Before that I was in my booth in the expo most of the time. I only had a high school co-op that helps me around the greenhouse in the winter stop by a few times to give me breaks." She squeezed the rosemary bouquet into a bucket filled with a mix of herbs. "Since Chet had a whole team of chefs in his booth all day, he was supposed to check to make sure all of our supplies had arrived. I only saw him in the morning before they started letting people through the doors. We had our morning coffee together out by the loading dock."