“In that case,” Montgomery said, standing and hoisting his wineglass, “I have only one thing to say. Eat, drink, and be merry, y’all, for tomorrow we die!”
With that, he gulped down the entire contents of his glass. Peter and Raoul joined him, standing and emptying their glasses as waiters circled the table, replenishing drinks and removing empty plates.
After that, despite my qualms, the evening turned out to be delightful. The chefs regaled us with their kitchen horror stories. Savannah had everyone in complete stitches as she recounted tales from her six months living on a pig farm in rural France. No wonder she became a vegetarian.
Montgomery kept us laughing as he described all the ridiculous cooking shows he had auditioned for. The worst one involved sampling different sorts of cuisine while riding on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. The show had been given the unfortunate title of Pigging Out on the Hog. What a shock that it didn’t take off.
Even Colette was giggling finally, although it took her a while—and several glasses of wine—to warm up. The champagne and fine wines were flowing, and at one point I felt so comfortable that I slipped out of my shoes and pulled my earrings off to give my aching earlobes a rest. I didn’t wear earrings often enough for my ears to get used to them.
Peter and Kevin shared stories of growing up with Baxter in their small Devonshire village of Gipping-on-Plym. There was plenty of laughter as they described themselves as a once-inseparable threesome, part of a rough-and-tumble gang of kids who practically lived outdoors, playing games, running across the fields, and splashing in the slow-moving river that meandered through town. It sounded like an idyllic childhood, much like my own growing up in Dharma.
The three of them must have been awfully good friends to end up at Le Cordon Bleu together. Peter had mentioned something a while ago about Kevin and him deciding to go and Baxter tagging along. I couldn’t remember his exact words, but I made another mental note to ask him or Kevin about it. If Kevin would talk to me at all.
Savannah served dinner family-style, with large bowls and platters placed in the middle of the table and each of us helping ourselves. There was an unbelievably tasty Belgian endive salad, chopped with shallots and fennel and dressed with a light vinaigrette, and another salad made with Napa cabbage and shaved ginger covered in some kind of amazing honey-infused Asian dressing. There were four or five side dishes and three main courses that included gorgeous stuffed mushrooms and a warm goat cheese and herb cannelloni that literally melted in my mouth.
Everything was vegetarian, but you’d never have known it by the way all of us meat eaters stuffed ourselves. When the table was cleared, the servers brought dessert, Savannah’s famous chocolate soufflé with heavy whipped cream and chocolate fudge on the side.
I might have been hallucinating, but I was pretty sure I had found heaven.
Later, on the ride home, I realized I’d left my earrings on the table at the restaurant. I gave Savannah a quick call and she promised to ask her people to keep an eye out for them. Even if the earrings weren’t hugely expensive, I wanted them back. They were a special gift from my parents and had sentimental value to me.
The best part about the night was that everyone seemed to have a great time. Oh, and no one died. I was happy for Savannah’s success and glad I’d finally had a chance to chat easily with Kevin and Peter. It was also gratifying to see everyone get along so well with Derek.
I was secretly thrilled when the chefs invited me and Derek to attend the private service in Baxter’s memory later in the week. I assumed there would be other, more public services for him later. He was, after all, a world-renowned chef and celebrity. But meanwhile, the chefs had been in a jolly mood as they discussed the arrangements for their event.
Call me morbid, but I was psyched that they had decided to throw the party—I mean, memorial service—at BAX, Baxter’s restaurant in the city. They hadn’t set the date yet, but would let us know as soon as the police cleared it as a crime scene. I knew it was gruesome, but I relished the notion of returning to the scene of the crime. Perhaps the killer would do something to reveal himself or herself to us that night. It could happen.
There was another reason I was excited to attend the memorial service at Baxter’s. It would give me another chance to search the kitchen for Obedience Green’s cookbook.
Chapter Twelve
For a grand entertainment, garnish your stewed carp with a sprig of myrtle.
—The Cookbook of Obedience Green
The next day, Derek called me from his office. The police had informed him that Baxter’s restaurant was no longer a crime scene. I telephoned Savannah to let her know and she hung up to call Peter and tell him the news.
I felt as if we were playing the telephone game.
A while later, Savannah called back. “Peter says the memorial party will be Friday night.”