“Good to hear,” Derek said under his breath.
I tiptoed over to the kitchen door and peeked through the porthole window. The scene was one of organized chaos, with Peter doing most of the pointing and gesturing.
“Looks like Peter might be top dog tonight,” I said.
Dalton joined me and took a quick look through the window. “Let’s hope he hurries things along.”
I elbowed him as I would any of my own siblings if they were starting to whine. “You need more champagne.”
Derek gave me an approving nod. “Yes, let’s return to the party.”
Back at the bar, Margot greeted me with an air kiss and a shrewd smile. The redhead was dressed in black from the top of her head, where a beaded black tiara held back her wild-tigress hair, to the tips of her black patent leather spiked heels. Her one splash of color—other than her hair—came from a see-through, filmy black shawl studded with purple and yellow sequined butterflies.
“How are you holding up?” I asked, trying to be friendly. I knew Baxter had arranged for the chefs to stay in a fabulous luxury hotel in Union Square. But still, they were away from home and living out of suitcases.
And now I had to wonder if they would be stuck with the bill.
“I’m positively thriving in this weather,” she said. “It’s been pouring rain in Seattle, but it’s gorgeous here. Cold, but sunny and clear every day.”
“I’m glad we could provide you with good weather,” I said solemnly, as if I had personally arranged it. “But you must miss your home.”
“I do,” she said, then shrugged. “But we had all planned to be here for two weeks working with Baxter, so I’m not expected home for a while.”
“You’re from Seattle?”
“Not originally, but I’ve made it my home. I have two restaurants there and I love it. Except for all that rain.”
“I’ll have to get up there sometime,” I said, trying to sound sincere. I liked Seattle, but I wasn’t so sure about Margot.
“You’re always welcome.”
Monty walked up. “Did you tell her about our contest?”
“Not yet,” Margot said coolly.
“Margot and I have decided that since none of us can leave the city anyway, we’re going to have a cooking competition. And you and your hunky man are invited, of course.”
“Do I have to cook?” I asked. “Because that would be a big mistake.”
Monty laughed. “No, no. We’ll do all the cooking.”
“What are you competing for?”
“Oh, you know, most inventive appetizer. Spiciest sauce. Tastiest entrée. Prettiest dessert. We’ll have scorecards and give away blue ribbons as prizes.”
“It’ll be very silly,” Margot said, “but it’ll keep us occupied until the police decide to let us leave.”
“Margot’s cooking first,” Monty said. “Two nights from now. And I’ll assist her. I hope you and your two handsome men can come.”
Selfishly, I loved the sound of the impromptu contest, but I almost hesitated to accept the invitation. How long could I keep consuming all this rich food? On the other hand, how could I refuse? It was amazing food, after all, and someone else was cooking it. I’d worry about diets and poundage when things got back to normal. “We would love to come. Thank you.”
“Wonderful,” Monty cried. “Won’t we have fun?”
A minute later he and Margot wandered off and I smiled at the thought of more yummy dinners.
“Hi, Brooklyn.”
I whipped around. “Oh—hi, Colette. How are you?”
My surprise must have shown on my face because she giggled. “I’m doing a lot better now than I was the other night at Savannah’s, thanks.”
I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. “Were you sick?”
“You couldn’t tell? I was in such a foul mood, I’m surprised anyone’s still speaking to me.”
“I honestly had no idea.” That was a lie. She’d been awful the other night, snapping her fingers at Raoul while he was talking to me. But I’d thought it was her natural state.
“Well, that’s something, I guess.” She touched her neck self-consciously and I remembered her doing the same thing the night Inspector Jaglom interviewed her. It seemed to be a nervous gesture. Was I making her uneasy? I guess the feeling was mutual, because I didn’t trust her at all and it felt weird to make small talk with her.
“I had a horrible migraine that day,” she continued, “and stayed in bed for hours. Raoul would’ve been perfectly happy to stay at the hotel with me, but I rallied later on and insisted on going to Savannah’s with him.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I have a friend who suffers from migraines and they sound just awful.”
“They make me wish I was dead. And if the headache alone weren’t bad enough,” Colette said with a grimace, “the medication I take just drains me of all energy.”