Fed Up - By Jessica Conant-Park & Susan Conant Page 0,69
it.”
“Strudels. What’s in those?” I craned my head to get a look into my chef’s containers.
“Grilled vegetables rolled in puff pastry. Fantastic.” Josh clapped his hands. “All right! Outta my kitchen!” he ordered in a joking voice. “I’ve got a million vinaigrettes to mix up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, wait. Here. Can you charge my cell phone for me?” Josh handed me his cell and charger. “Thanks, babe.”
I went into the bedroom, plugged in Josh’s phone, and worked on Ade and Owen’s ceremony. Who’d have guessed that writing a wedding service would be so difficult? At the end of two hours, when my script for the wedding was in pretty good shape, I decided to go snoop in my kitchen to see what Josh was up to.
“Yum. What’s in that?” I sniffed a tray of vegetables that were marinating in an aromatic mixture.
“Not telling.” Josh grinned. Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, damn. I forgot to pick up the beef tenderloin and the duck breasts I ordered. That was dumb. I’m going to run and get them. Back in a few.” Josh kissed me and ran out the door before I could even say good-bye.
I was proofing the ceremony when Josh’s cell rang. In case the call had something to do with food for the wedding, I answered. “Hello?”
“Ah, yes, is Josh there?” The woman spoke with a heavy French accent.
“No, he should be back soon. Can I take a message for him?”
“Er, yes. Tell him Yvette called. He has my number.”
“Sure. I’ll tell him.” I clapped the phone shut.
Who the hell was Yvette? On the night we’d been at the emergency room, Josh had had a call from a woman. The other day when he’d been here, he’d again had a call from a woman. He’d certainly never mentioned Yvette to me. I hated the knots that were forming in my stomach. When Josh returned, I didn’t give him the message. He was keeping some kind of secret from me, but I wasn’t up for having it revealed right now.
Besides, I had my own secrets.
“Look at this beauty!” Josh gleefully held out the large beef tenderloin. “And the duck breasts are beautiful. I’m going to do those in a red wine and orange sauce. I’m on fire today!”
I had to agree. Josh was in the cooking zone I’d come to know so well: all of his creative juices were flowing, and he was reveling in an endorphin rush.
His phone rang again. I ran to my bedroom, grabbed it, checked caller ID, and returned to the kitchen. “It’s Robin,” I said. “You want to take it?”
“Sure.” Josh wiped his hands on a dishcloth and took the call. “Hey, Robin. What’s up?’
I shamelessly eavesdropped on the conversation. Without even hearing what Robin had to say, I could tell that she was slathering on the praise and making grand promises. “Really? Thanks so much . . . Good, good. I’m glad . . . Excellent news . . . You think? Wow!” Josh hung up and turned to me. “Guess what? Robin called to tell me that we’re going to film the next episode on Tuesday. That’s a relief.”
Reluctantly, I said, “Josh, I found out something kind of strange.”
“What?” Josh began finely chopping a pile of herbs.
“It turns out that Robin and Marlee are friends. Good friends. It seems pretty likely that this supposed competition is rigged so that Marlee will win.” As much as I hated to dash Josh’s hopes of winning his own TV show, I had to tell him.
Josh stopped his knife work and stared at me in confusion. “What?”
“Josh, I know. I understand. It’s rotten. It’s unfair. It’s messed up. And not that anything would make it all right, but let me tell you that Marlee’s kitchen is filthy, and her food sucks. And on top of all that, I think she’s the one who killed Francie.”
“Marlee? Mousy Marlee is a killer? You’re crazy.”
“Josh, Francie was the Mystery Diner.” I let that sink in for a minute. “You should see what she wrote about Alloy.”
I filled Josh in. In particular, I told him about the defaced review posted in Alloy’s kitchen.
Josh was skeptical. “First of all, Chloe, even if Robin and Marlee are friends, it doesn’t mean that she’s necessarily going to win. It’s up to the viewers who vote. And second, I don’t think that anyone who was part of the show killed Francie. For a lousy review? Chefs are used to crummy reviews. It happens to all of us,