“Good.” I could see the minute movement of Peter’s chest rising and falling now. Silently, I focused on that slight motion, willing it to continue. “That’s good.”
“We can’t leave now, can we?” Savannah said, sounding resigned.
“No, we’ll stay until the police arrive.” Any hope of slipping out of Peter’s hotel suite with the cookbook intact was gone. “The cookbook!”
In all the worry over Peter I’d almost forgotten about what we’d found. I scrambled up off the bathroom floor, ran into the bedroom, and picked up the leather book box from the jumble on the bed.
“We’re in so much trouble,” Savannah muttered.
“We’re not in any trouble,” I insisted, heading back to the bathroom to check on Peter. “Derek knows we’re here. The door was open when we arrived, so all we did was enter the suite to check on our friend.”
“Right.”
“But here’s the thing,” I said, walking back to the bedroom. “I’m not letting the police take the cookbook. It won’t fit in my purse, so can you stick it in your tote bag?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Is that the only thing you can think about?”
“Not the only thing, but it’s important, Savannah.” I held it out to her. “Please. Dalton needs it.”
Oh, that was so cheap, but it worked. Her expression softened and her attitude changed. “All right, give it to me. I’ll hide it in my bag.”
The closet door slid open with a bang. “No! You’re not keeping it. It’s mine!”
We both turned and stared as Kevin pushed her way out of the mirrored closet, brandishing a wicked-looking chef’s knife.
“Kevin?” Savannah said, truly mystified. “What’re you doing here?”
“That book is mine!” she shouted. “First Baxter steals it, then Peter, and now you? Give it to me or I’ll—”
I held the book in front of me like a shield. “Did you do that to Peter?”
“No!” She was wild-eyed and not acting real coherent. “I was trying to help him, but I heard someone coming, so I hid in the closet.”
“You were hiding in there all this time?” Savannah asked, astonished. “Why didn’t you come out when you heard us talking?”
Not the point right now, I thought.
“Put the knife down, Kevin,” I said. “Let’s talk about this.”
She waved the sharp knife at me. “Not until you give me the book.”
“No,” I said, and held on to the cookbook a little more tightly. “This is ridiculous. Put down that stupid knife before the police get here.”
“As soon as you give me the cookbook,” she repeated through clenched teeth.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Savannah shouted. “Enough with that damn book! People are dying, Peter’s nearly dead, and you’re acting like a complete wacko!” Before I could stop her, she grabbed something from Peter’s untidy heap of tools and lunged at Kevin.
I screamed. “Savannah, no!”
Kevin shrieked, dropped the knife, and cowered, shaking wildly. “Don’t hit me!”
Good grief. What kind of a killer was she? I took advantage of the moment and grabbed Kevin around her waist, trapping her arms. Then I pushed her onto the bed and jumped on top of her, straddling her to hold her down.
“Let me go!” Kevin cried as she twisted back and forth, trying to free herself. “I didn’t do anything.”
I bounced hard on her just because she was making me so mad. “You could’ve killed either one of us with that knife.”
“I wasn’t going to kill anyone.” She began to cry. “I just wanted the book.”
“Right,” I said derisively. “Tell that to Peter. He’s barely alive after you attacked him. I just hope he lives to tell about it.”
And all of a sudden, reality hit me hard. Kevin Moore, this woman I had thought was my friend, the one I’d invited to my house for dinner, the one I’d hoped would find love again with darling Peter, was the cold-blooded murderer of at least two chefs. How could I have been so completely wrong about a person? My personal judgment wasn’t worth a damn, I thought sadly. It made my stomach hurt and I had to sit back on my ankles and take in a few breaths.
“What’s wrong?” Savannah said. “Are you okay?”
I gulped again and deliberately steadied my stomach. “Fine. Just…I’m bummed.” I cast a glance at Kevin. “I thought you were my friend.”
“Me, too.” Savannah’s eyes glistened with tears. But then she snapped out of it. She stomped over to the bed and glared at Kevin. “Did you kill Baxter? Did you kill Montgomery? Did you try to kill Peter?”
“I didn’t kill anyone!” She writhed in protest. “I just wanted the book.”
I glanced at Savannah, then did a double take when I noticed what she was clenching in one fist. This is what she had grabbed to defend us both from a mad-dog killer? “What is wrong with you?”
“Me? Why are you yelling at me?”
“Because you could’ve gotten yourself killed. An egg whisk is not a weapon.”
She glanced at the whisk in her hand, then gave me a cool look. “It was the right tool for the job.”