“True.” He shrugged philosophically. “My lovely wife often accuses me of being too naive for my own good.”
Did he know his “lovely” wife, Colette, had spilled her guts to the cops the other night? Did he know she had incriminated him as well as Savannah and almost everyone else here this evening? I wasn’t about to bring up the subject, just tried to keep the conversation light. “I don’t suppose she means it as a compliment.”
He threw back his head and laughed. The sound sent at least one pleasurable little shiver down my spine.
“No, she most certainly does not,” he said. “But I can’t help being an optimist, as you say. I believe in the basic goodness of people, most especially my friends.”
“So,” I said, always willing to plunge back into dangerous territory, “do you have a theory of who might’ve killed Baxter?”
His lips pursed as he gave it serious thought. “I am convinced it was a random attempt at robbery. The thief entered through the kitchen door and tried to rob Baxter. When he put up a fight, the villain lashed out.”
“That makes sense.” I could hardly fault his theory, since I had come up with the same one myself the other night. But I didn’t agree with him when it came to trusting the motives of so-called friends. I had been fooled one too many times in the past. I no longer completely trusted my instincts after being betrayed by people I’d allowed into my inner circle.
Besides, he might’ve been an optimist, but I knew Raoul was no more fond of Baxter than any of the rest of us had been.
“Let’s hope you’re right,” I said finally. I honestly did hope it was a random act of violence. Better that than the other possibility.
“But of course I’m right,” he said, and winked at me.
“Yes, of course you are,” I said with an indulgent smile, then changed the subject. “I understand you’re a pastry chef these days. How exciting for you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Exciting, you say? Some of my fellow chefs aren’t quite as impressed, but I enjoy the work. And to be fair, Colette is a specialist in haute cuisine, while I tend to dabble in everything. So now I play with the desserts and everyone is happy.”
He was hardly a dabbler, but I appreciated that he was underplaying his skills for his wife’s benefit. Both Savannah and Peter had told me that Raoul had achieved the highest level possible for a Cordon Bleu attendee, completing the entire curriculum of the three main disciplines offered: cuisine, pastry, and wine. Colette, meanwhile, had obtained only the cuisine certificate. Not that any Cordon Bleu certificate was anything to sneeze at.
But, knowing Colette, I realized that wouldn’t ring any happy chimes with her. So who could blame Raoul for trying to keep the peace? And he truly did seem happy with his decision to take a backseat in the kitchen, so to speak.
“I happen to think desserts are a critical part of every meal,” I assured him. “So I’m completely thrilled that you’re specializing in them now.”
He casually swirled his glass of dark red wine. “Then I must find the time to bake you something sweet while I’m here.”
“Sounds fabulous. Especially if chocolate is involved.”
His eyes twinkled. “For you, my sweet friend, always there will be chocolate involved.”
We smiled at each other until his attention was diverted by something behind me. With a sigh, he said, “Ah, Colette is signaling me. I’d better see what she needs. Perhaps we’ll have a chance to talk some more later this evening.”
“I hope so.”
He bowed briefly, then gifted me with one of his patented sexy smiles before walking away. I turned and noticed Colette standing at the far end of the bar. She gave me a wiggly finger wave, to mollify me, I supposed. But it didn’t work, especially since her smile was pinched and clearly disingenuous. I was miffed that she hadn’t even bothered to come say hello before imperiously summoning her husband from afar.
And I was still irritated with her for trying to implicate Savannah the other night while talking to the police. So now I imagined her capable of all sorts of shoddy behavior. I wouldn’t put it past her to have limited the amount of time Raoul was allowed to speak to each of the other women in the room. She probably had a stopwatch in her bag.
I sipped my drink and tried to brush aside my resentment. Raoul was such a sweetie, I hated not liking his wife. I decided I would make an effort to talk to her at some point and see if we could be friendly. If it didn’t work, at least I could say I gave it a try. I didn’t enjoy feeling so bitter toward anyone.