Topped Chef(61)
“I was looking for Turtle. I bought an extra sandwich, thinking he might enjoy it.”
Her smile in return flickered and then dimmed to a worried frown. “Haven’t seen him since early this morning,” she said. “He was across the harbor real early.” She waved a hand in the direction of the dock where the Sebago party boats were tied up each night. “Seemed like he was having a fight with another man. Shouting and going on the way he does when he stops takin’ his meds. That’s the last I saw of him. Honest to god, I’m a little worried.”
“What did the man look like? Could you hear what they were fighting about?”
“Whitish beard maybe, blue jeans? It was still this side of dark and I was too far away to catch much of the conversation.”
I sighed and got to my feet. It sounded as though Turtle’s truce with Derek had ended. I hope he hadn’t ended up in serious trouble, like a trip to the county jail for disturbing the peace. “Would you like the sandwich?” I didn’t want to insult her, but on the other hand, I hated to see it go to waste. And chances were, she was hungry, too. “I inhaled one just like it—it was amazing.”
She grinned, a little shy now. “I’ll share it with Cat. And Turtle if I see him.”
19
While cooking shows can inspire, you can only learn to cook at the stove. The grandmother is the ultimate cooking teacher in the world.
—Mona Talbott, Zuppe
On the way back to my scooter, I stopped at the dock where Derek washed the Sebago party boat every morning, but neither he nor the boat was in evidence. If I wasn’t too stiff to jog in the morning, and if Turtle hadn’t made an appearance before then, I’d come back tomorrow and talk to him then.
After showering, dressing, and slapping on some mascara and blush, I drove over to the filming session at the Studios of Key West. Peter was working with the camera crew to set up lights for the interviews in a corner of the big gallery. I joined the judges and chefs clustered by the coffee and snacks that had been set up on a table near the entrance. Randy Thompson and Buddy Higgs were arguing about what had happened at yesterday’s tasting.
“You were the only one who used cream in your dish,” said Buddy. “It wouldn’t have been hard to slip a little something into that container before whipping up your disgusting sauce.”
“What sense would there be in poisoning my own food?” Randy asked. He ran a hand through his buzz cut; it looked like he’d bleached the tips again overnight. “I’m trying to win the contest, not kill it.”
“You’re suggesting someone else messed with our ingredients, right in front of you and in front of that mob of people?” Buddy perched a cheek on the table, his free foot swinging, his neck flushing pink.
“How are you so sure it was my food that caused the problem?” Randy asked. “I wouldn’t put it past you to make your rivals’ customers sick.” The forced smile on his face disappeared and he looked fierce and intense.
Why didn’t Peter put a stop to this? I turned to wave him down and signal for help. But as I tried to get his attention, I noticed that one of the crew, who carried a camera on his shoulder, was filming the back-and-forth not five feet away from where we stood. They were getting this whole argument on film. Which meant Peter had instructed the cameras to roll.
Deena walked by and I tapped her on the shoulder and motioned her aside. “What have you heard about the woman who got sick at the tasting yesterday?”
“She’s in stable condition,” Deena answered. “I haven’t had time to get over to the hospital, but we did hear that.”
How to phrase my concerns without making her mad and shutting her down? I couldn’t think of a way so I smiled as I asked: “Surely the incident last night wasn’t planned all along? Surely you wouldn’t have risked people’s lives to add drama to the show?”
“Oh, Hayley,” she said, and pretended to chuck my chin. “Don’t be naïve. This is reality television, remember? Conflict makes for good ratings. If everything was to go smoothly, there’s not a viewer in the country who would watch the show.” She winked and walked away. “But no, we didn’t plan it.” The words floated over her shoulder.
Did I believe her? I hated the way I’d started finding everyone suspicious, even Deena, who’d stuck with me after Chad did his best to poison her opinion of me. And I really hated the idea that the producers would risk the health of the spectators to spice up the program. Or even the contestants. Would one of them have slipped something into the food? I tried to remember how each of the chefs had reacted when the woman took ill yesterday. Angry? Scared? Worried?