And what better way to be where the action was than to have dinner with a murderer? Not that I expected Baxter’s killer to reveal himself—or herself—tonight. And not that I wanted to share a meal with a killer, particularly. But if I had been looking for a thrill ride, I’d found it. I was going to watch every move these people made.
As Derek helped me off with my jacket, I spotted Kevin across the room. One of my self-assigned tasks this evening was to find out why she’d had such a bizarre reaction when Savannah gave Baxter the old cookbook. There was a story there. I just hoped the story didn’t end with Kevin being carted off to prison.
“What is going on in that devious mind of yours?” Derek murmured in my ear.
I shivered as his warm breath met my skin. Was I that transparent? Of course I was. I couldn’t tell a lie to save my life. I turned and whispered, “Stop trying to distract me from my devious thoughts.”
“Darling, I’d like nothing better than to distract you.” He kissed my neck. “But I must behave myself. I am, after all, the chaperone this evening.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to behave, does it?”
“No, but I’d like you to be careful.”
I gazed up at him. “Nothing bad will happen as long as you’re here with me.”
He tugged me closer. “I have no intention of leaving your side.”
After a quick kiss, we joined the others in the bar. Derek handed me a flute of champagne and for the next half hour, we moved from group to group, making small talk. It irritated me to see that the chefs would wait until Derek and I walked away before beginning to whisper among themselves. I could only catch snippets of their conversations and was tempted to yell at them all to speak up.
“We can’t be their only suspects,” someone murmured.
“Have they arrested anyone?” another asked.
“It’s not fair. We all loved Baxter.”
Who said that? I wondered, and whipped around to see if I could pick out the delusional chef who’d uttered the words. Four of the chefs stood talking together in a tight circle and I didn’t have a clue which one had said what.
It didn’t matter, because as soon as I turned away, Colette said slyly, “Some of us loved him more than others.”
Good thing I could pick her voice out among all of them. Still, I found the snippets depressing, so I looked around for someone else to talk to. Kevin walked out of the kitchen just then and I pounced on her.
“Kevin, how are you?”
She set her empty glass on the bar and gave me a halfhearted hug. “I’m fine, I suppose. It’s just all so depressing, really.”
“You mean the murder? Or the investigation?”
“Both, really,” she said, then lowered her voice. “And knowing one of your friends is a cold-blooded killer. That can put you off your tea, right?”
“Yes, it can.” I leaned closer. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“I saw your face when Baxter opened Savannah’s gift. You looked so distressed, I was worried about you.”
She stiffened until she was almost shaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Kevin, is there something about the cookbook that upset you?”
“Let it go, Brooklyn,” she said wearily.
“I will, but I just need to know one thing. Are you mad at Savannah?”
“Savannah?” She looked puzzled. “Why would I be mad at her?”
“Well, Baxter did give her the book.” I shrugged, uncertain how to explain myself. “I was thinking maybe he promised it to you, but then gave it to Savannah instead.”
“Oh, please.” She laughed without humor. “He promised me? Look, Brooklyn, Baxter Cromwell was a stone-cold bastard. Everything he ever had, he lied, cheated, and stole to get. Promise me? No, he never promised me a damn thing. But you can bet your ass I promised to see him in hell before he ever took anything from me again.”
With that, she turned on her heel and dashed back into the kitchen.
“Okay,” I said under my breath. “Maybe we’ll talk later.” I grabbed a glass of champagne and took a swift gulp. What had I expected? One of the casualties of murder was that you could no longer trust anyone in your circle of friends.
“Where did she run off to?”
I spun around. “Oh, Peter.” I gave him a quick hug and then we both glanced at the swinging kitchen door. “She’s helping Savannah in the kitchen.”
“Savannah’s in the kitchen? I’m disappointed. I was rather expecting her to pass the work off to an assistant and join us out here.”
“I’m sure she’ll dine with us.”
“I hope so.” Peter leaned against the bar and sipped his cocktail. He was dressed casually yet elegantly in a thin black cashmere sweater and black trousers. “So, did you get a good grilling the other night like the rest of us?”
“You mean with the police? Yes. How about you?”
“Oh, yes. We all did. I was the last to be interviewed. Practically fell asleep at the table.”
“Were you too sleepy to provide a good alibi for yourself?” I teased.
“Never,” he said stoutly. “I’m a good scout. Always prepared, especially with an alibi.”