I smiled. “And were you able to tell them anything useful?”
He edged closer. “You mean, did I confess to killing the bastard? Hell, no. Would I have liked to? Hell, yes. And does it bother me that he’s dead?” He frowned. “Hell, no.”
I took a quick look around. “I have a feeling your sentiments are shared by a few of the others.” More like all of them, I added silently. I didn’t think any of the chefs missed Baxter.
“Don’t I know it.” Peter steered me over to the bar, where he held up two fingers and the bartender went to work. Less than a minute later, Peter had a fresh cocktail and, for a refreshing change, I ordered a glass of water. I wanted to be relatively sober and aware tonight, in case a killer revealed himself—or herself.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Cheers.” We clinked glasses and he took a sip, then frowned again. “Now, Brooklyn, do they honestly believe one of us killed Baxter? I don’t mean because we didn’t like him, because let’s face it, most of us barely tolerated the man. But, well, who does that? I mean, who goes and kills someone? Certainly no one of my acquaintance.”
I knew what he was saying, but unfortunately, he was wrong. It was highly likely that somebody in this room had picked up that hideous fish knife and killed Baxter.
“And another thing,” Peter continued. “How could any of us get away with it? We were all there in the kitchen minutes before, laughing, chatting, saying good night. And suddenly, he’s dead? Murdered? Within minutes?”
“The timing does seem pretty tight.”
“Yes.” He leaned closer. “Did you see anything? Do you know how he died?”
“Not really,” I lied. “Did the police tell you much?”
He glanced to his left and his right, then whispered, “They asked me what I know about fish. I thought it was an odd question. I’m a chef, so of course I know something about fish. But what do you suppose they meant?”
I shook my head, feigning cluelessness. “Maybe Baxter died from poisoned fish.”
Peter froze and his face turned a pale gray. “Why would you say that?”
“I—It was just a guess. A bad one, obviously. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“No, of course not.” But he couldn’t hide the fact that he was trembling. From fear? Or was it guilt? Maybe he was bluffing about the fish knife. Maybe he knew exactly how Baxter had been killed.
He set his drink on the bar. “Excuse me, will you? I need to, er, check on something.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course. Just…excuse me, please. I’ll be back.”
“Okay.” I watched him rush off toward the rear of the restaurant. The restrooms were back that way, as well as the door to the parking lot. Maybe he needed some fresh air.
I sighed before taking another sip of water. He was acting strange tonight. Almost as strange as Kevin. I wondered why. I hated to think either of them might be guilty of murder because I liked them so much. We had always been friends. And I needed all the friends I could get.
Chapter Eleven
Always boil your pigs’ ears and pat dry before frying in beer batter.
—The Cookbook of Obedience Green
“Ah, Brooklyn,” a seriously sexy Latin voice murmured near my ear. “It has been too long.”
That intoxicating male tone brought an instant smile to my face, and I turned to face Raoul. What woman wouldn’t smile at the sound of his voice? And seeing him up close in the flesh was pretty awesome, too. I gave him a big hug, then held him at arm’s length. He wore a beige linen suit with a black T-shirt and high-top Converse sneakers. Raoul Luna was impossibly cool.
“Raoul. It’s wonderful to see you.” I’d met him only two times in Paris, but we had clicked. Of course, he’d probably clicked with every woman he’d ever met. One evening he came over to Savannah’s apartment for dinner. A few nights later, he invited all of us to his small flat for the most incredible Spanish feast I’d ever experienced. He was generous, funny, and sweet. And did I mention gorgeous?
“And you, mi querida.” His gaze traveled slowly up and down my body—to which I took absolutely no offense. “How beautiful you look this evening. I regret we did not have the chance to talk much the other night.”
“I’m sorry, too.” I gave the room a quick scan in case Derek was nearby, hoping I could introduce the two men. I didn’t see him anywhere, so I turned back to Raoul. “But here we are now. I trust your interview with the police wasn’t too grueling.”
He grimaced. “Even the most innocent can come away feeling guilty after an hour spent with those detectives. But I am hopeful that we’ll all be cleared soon and the police will look elsewhere for their killer.”
“You’re awfully optimistic,” I said.