I nodded. “I heard her say the word cookbook to Jaglom, but I couldn’t hear what she said about it. And she also used the word blackmail. Did Jaglom mention that?”
“No. But perhaps Jaglom is keeping something back from me.”
“Darn him,” I said. “What else did Margot say?”
“She told Jaglom that Baxter was a rat bastard and she’s glad he’s dead. But she didn’t kill him.”
“Of course she’d say that,” I murmured. “But it’s interesting to know what she really thought of him.”
“No one liked the man,” Derek surmised. “Each of the chefs who came to our table had negative feelings for him. They all hated him.”
“Except Savannah.”
“True,” he said. “And yet your sister had the best reason to hate him.”
“But she didn’t kill him,” I said quickly. “Colette claimed that Margot slept with Baxter. Maybe he dumped her. But then he invited her to cook at his new restaurant, so she must have gotten over it. Unless…never mind. I’m going in circles.”
“And I’ve got a client arriving in a few minutes.”
We hung up a moment later and I called Savannah back to officially accept her dinner offer. I loved her cooking, of course, but I was even more excited by the prospect of having dinner with all those suspects…er, chefs.
I wondered if one of them would already be in jail by Monday’s dinner. I hoped so. I was already antsy to get to the bottom of Baxter’s murder investigation. Derek thought Inspector Jaglom might be holding back information, and if that was true, it wasn’t fair. They’d put Derek in charge of the suspects, so he should’ve gotten every last detail the police had. I was tempted to call Inspector Lee myself, but I knew that would not turn out well.
Of course, I could always turn on any TV station and hear wild-eyed speculation about each of the chefs involved. The crime news networks featured round-the-clock coverage of Baxter’s murder, with segments called “Bad Boy Bump-Off.” “Cuisine de Carnage,” and “Kitchen Crimes.” Hungry newshounds were turning over every rock in the city, looking for dirt on anyone remotely involved in the case. Finally, Derek and I stopped watching television altogether, which was probably a good thing on any number of levels.
To distract myself, I headed for the bedroom to start packing for our weekend in Dharma. As I scoped out my wardrobe for the big Monday night dinner, I found myself hoping that one of the chefs would share some tips on how to avoid lumps in my syllabubs.
I had to wonder what it said about my life that I was more interested in obtaining dessert tips than in the fact that I would be dining with a murderer.
*
Saturday morning, Derek and I got an early start for Dharma, trying to avoid the usual weekend wine country traffic. As we breezed across the Golden Gate Bridge in Derek’s ridiculously elegant black Bentley, we held hands and chatted about the latest plans for our apartment expansion.
It was early spring and the morning sun shining through the moonroof warmed my shoulders. The choppy surface of the bay glittered like a thousand diamonds. Everything seemed clean and new and crisp today. Or maybe it was just me and my happy mood.
Listening to Derek’s ideas and plans for our future was like being in a dream. Sounded sappy, but really? He was perfect for me. Everything I’d always wanted in a man, but never really expected to have. No wonder it was so hard to keep the smile off my face. Every minute or so, he would squeeze or kiss my hand as he spoke about things he hoped we would do together. Design our new living space. Visit his parents in England. Sneak away for a long weekend in Chicago or New York. Sweet.
Oh, I still had moments when I doubted that Derek could really love me. I chalked it up to a quirk of human nature that made most people insecure when it came to trust and love and all those matters of the heart. But in my case, I had no idea why. I’d been raised by two wonderful people who had shown their immense love for each other and their children every day of my life. Why wouldn’t I automatically expect to experience the same joy and fulfillment in my own life?
I sighed. It was another mystery for the ages. But for now I refused to dwell on doubts and instead vowed to enjoy every minute of our time together. Just in case, I offered up a little prayer to any gods who were listening, to please make us always happy to be with each other.
“Brooklyn, love, did you hear me?”
I was jolted out of my reverie. “What? Sorry, I was thinking about…never mind. What did you say?”
“Have you decided if you’ll speak with Robson while we’re in Dharma?”
“Oh, you mean about the…Yeah, that.” I’d told Derek about my mother’s reaction to Baxter’s murder and how she was more worried about me than about Savannah. Derek agreed with Mom’s reasoning. He also agreed that having another conversation with Guru Bob might be helpful.
“I’m not sure it’ll do any good, practically speaking,” I said. “I mean, it’s not like he can put an end to murder.”
“True.”