A Cookbook Conspiracy

“We can leave anytime you’re ready,” he murmured.

 

I thought about it. Did I really need to hear what Margot told Jaglom? Yeah, I really, really did. She was the most suspicious one of them all, as far as I was concerned. But if we stayed…ugh. It had to be three o’clock in the morning, but I didn’t have enough energy to check.

 

I looked up at Derek, stifling a yawn. “I would love to stay longer, but I’m beat.”

 

“My sleepy little private investigator.” He gave me an affectionate squeeze. “Let’s get you home.”

 

He was mocking me, but I was too tired to protest. “I’m just glad you heard what Colette said. You can help me convince Savannah that she’s a lousy friend.”

 

“I’m not sure Savannah will believe you. She seems to find something positive in everyone.”

 

“And that’s a losing proposition.”

 

He whispered, “So cynical, my love.”

 

“I hate to be,” I whispered back. “But you heard Colette try to implicate her, didn’t you?”

 

“I did.” His eyes narrowed. “And I didn’t like it.”

 

“Me neither.” I told him how I’d dragged Savannah into the ladies’ room earlier to warn her against telling anyone what had happened tonight.

 

“That was smart of you,” he said. “She’s too naive for her own good.”

 

“What do you expect? She’s a vegetarian.”

 

He chuckled, then sobered as Inspector Jaglom finished his interview with Colette.

 

I glanced up at Derek. “Will you promise to talk to him tomorrow and find out what everyone said? Especially Margot.”

 

“You know I will,” he said with a half grin.

 

We turned to watch Jaglom push his chair back and stand as Colette walked away. Once he thought no one was looking, Jaglom stretched and yawned hugely. I couldn’t help it—I began to yawn as well. Halfway through his yawn, Jaglom glanced over and saw Derek and me responding in kind.

 

Jaglom cut off his yawn and chuckled. I felt punch-drunk, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.

 

Derek nudged me. “Time to go.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

 

Gudgeons and stewed eels are improved by the addition of anchovy sauce, horseradish and butter.

 

—The Cookbook of Obedience Green

 

 

 

Derek and I rose late the next morning. I was just starting breakfast when Savannah tiptoed into the living room, carrying her shoes in her hands.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” I called from the kitchen.

 

Derek leaned against the breakfast bar with his arms folded across his chest. “You weren’t honestly thinking you could sneak out of the house, were you?”

 

“You’re staying for breakfast,” I added. “We need to have a little powwow.”

 

Her shoulders sagged. “Brooklyn, I don’t want to talk about it, all right? I’d rather just put it out of my mind for a while and I can’t do that in San Francisco.”

 

I glanced at Derek, who nodded. “It’s on the news this morning. I turned it off.”

 

I grimaced. We always had one of the morning news programs playing in the background. “We don’t have to listen to the news.”

 

“For how long?” she wondered.

 

“Never mind. You still have to eat breakfast, right?” I poured her a cup of coffee. Once she’d had something to eat, she would be more interested in talking. She needed to talk about it. I’d been waiting all night for her to talk about it.

 

“I’m not hungry.” But she took a big gulp of the coffee I offered. She wrapped both hands around her mug as if she couldn’t get warm enough.

 

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said a moment later, setting the empty mug on the bar, “but I’m not staying for breakfast. It’s just a ploy to get me to talk about Baxter and in case you didn’t hear me, I don’t want to. Besides, I’ve got a restaurant to run.”

 

I saw the vulnerability she was fighting so hard to hide, and it worried me. It took a lot to shake Savannah. Derek simply ignored her words, reached for her arm, and led her over to the dining table, where he pulled out a chair for her.

 

Resigned, she sat down. “There. Happy?”

 

“Yes, love,” he said.

 

Savannah looked up and seemed to notice Derek for the first time. She smiled, and who could blame her? Derek’s broad shoulders, strong jaw, and beautiful dark eyes gave a girl plenty to smile about.

 

“Sorry I’m a grump,” she said. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

 

“How could you?” I said from the kitchen. “You were traumatized by what you’d seen at the restaurant.”

 

Her shoulders tightened and I instantly regretted my words.

 

Derek sat down across from her. “None of us slept much, but it would be worse for you. I’m sorry.”

 

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