Topped Chef(53)
The cop wrote all that down and glanced back up. “Anything else?”
“The cream sauce tasted a little curdled,” Chef Adam broke in. “And remember that I thought there was a bitter aftertaste to Henri Stentzel’s dish?”
Though that was all true, I hated to say anything else that would implicate one of the chefs in a poisoning when it was more likely the woman had arrived with a medical condition. She had appeared heavyset and red-faced—a walking medical time bomb.
“Chef Stentzel did complain about the citrus tasting old,” I said, and then continued. “Randy Thompson used a ton of butter and cream. Is it possible that the woman had a severe case of lactose intolerance? All of us judges ate the same things she had on her plate, and none of us are sick. Although I do feel a little woozy.”
The cop squinted at me, pen hovering over the small pad, looking as though my theory was so absurd that he could hardly bear to write it down.
“I’m only saying…there were so many variables. How would you possibly sort them out?”
When all the questions had been asked and answered, and the crowd had been cleared away and all traces of the sick woman removed, Peter pounced on the remaining cops.
“Someone is absolutely sabotaging my show,” he said, his voice furious and hoarse from shrieking at the onlookers to clear the way. “This is not acceptable. First my A-team judge is murdered, now this. I’ll be completely ruined. Is there one law enforcement official on this godforsaken island who has the slightest clue what they’re doing?”
16
But as a whole, the thing is gout on a plate.
—Julian Sancton
I staggered back down the dock to our houseboat, homing in on the cheerful white lights that twinkled along the roofline and the magical tones of Miss Gloria’s wind chimes. As I got closer, the fine, pungent odors of barbecued spareribs and sweet-and-sour soup scented the air. I felt immediately ravenous. We’d hardly had a chance to eat anything before the flowered muumuu woman took sick and all taste-testing ground to a halt. On the way home, I’d decided the queasiness was a sympathetic reaction, all in my mind.
I hung my jacket on the peg outside the door and went inside. Miss Gloria, Connie, and Ray were eating Chinese takeout at the kitchen table.
“Oh my, you’re home early. We didn’t wait for you to order,” said Miss Gloria. “We figured you’d be stuffed after tonight’s event. Your mom’s here, too,” she added, and pointed to the computer.
They had Skyped my mother, so she could join in the feast. On the computer screen, I could see that she also had cartons of Chinese takeout arrayed in front of her on her table at home in New Jersey.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, waving at the screen. “Actually, I’m starving.” I dropped my backpack in my room, washed my hands, then stopped in the galley to grab a plate and a pair of chopsticks. As I took a seat and began to scoop food onto my plate, I noticed the man sitting next to Mom, eating an eggroll. I froze, put the green beans down, and gawked.
“Oh, Hayley darling,” Mom said, blushing, “where are my manners? You haven’t met Sam Cooper. My boyfriend.” She grinned and put a hand on his forearm.
My friends stopped eating and fell silent, trying not to stare at me.
“I wanted to introduce you two first before the gang met him, but then Miss Gloria called and suggested I join them for Chinese. And I figured we could chat about wedding stuff, too, since Connie and Ray would be there. But then Sam called for an impromptu dinner—” She took a deep breath and smiled again. “So here we all are.”
Sam the boyfriend smiled, too, leaning toward the computer screen to make eye contact with me. He had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Cute in a middle-aged, professorial kind of way. Not the free spirit, artsy kind of man I imagined my mother would fall for. Not like that at all.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” Sam said. “And you look so much like Janet. Two beautiful ladies. I look forward to getting to know you at the wedding.”
Mom had invited him to Connie’s wedding? Things had moved a lot faster than she’d bothered to tell me. I forced a smile. “Same here.”
“Speaking of the wedding,” Mom said, “Connie’s agreed to let us throw her a shower early in the week of the wedding. It makes more sense to do it then when everyone’s already in town. It’s not that easy to get to your little island paradise.”
“That’s part of the point,” I said, feeling grumpy. Wasn’t the shower supposed to be the maid of honor’s territory? That would be me. I forked a big helping of General Tso’s chicken onto my plate, along with lo mein and spicy fried green beans.