A Cookbook Conspiracy (22 page)

“It can be interesting,” Dalton said amiably, glancing back at me. “But Derek never
should’ve mentioned my job to you. No one outside my family knows my true occupation.
You seem like a lovely girl, but I have no choice but to kill you now.”

I laughed, but his expression remained impassive, unnerving me. “You’re good at that.”

“Am I?”

“I’m sure you’re kidding, but—”

“Am I?”

I suppressed a groan as I shook my head. Brothers were the same everywhere on the
planet. “Fine. On the off chance that you’re serious about killing me, I’ll just mention
that I was about to pour us all some really good wine and start dinner.”

His eyes twinkled. “In that case, the killing can wait.”

*   *   *

T
wo hours later, over cheeseburgers, I asked him more questions. “What exactly are
you looking for in the cookbook?”

He swallowed the sip of wine he’d taken. “I’m always on the lookout for a new code
to break. And from what I can tell, many of the symbols in that book are exactly the
same as those used by a number of secret societies in existence during the American
Revolutionary War.”

“That’s why I called him,” Derek said to me. “I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist
once he saw the point within the circle.”

“The point within the circle?”

Dalton explained, “It’s a small item, but it always raises a red flag.”

“But what is it?”

Dalton illustrated it on a piece of paper. It was literally a circle with a dot in
the middle.

“And that’s the big deal that got you to travel all the way here?” I asked, laughing.
“It’s nothing.”

“It is rudimentary,” Dalton agreed with a smile. “Yet it’s one of the primary symbols
used by members of the Illuminati back in the eighteenth century. They used it in
their correspondence and in any secret documents that were passed around. They identified
each other by that symbol, among others.”

“What’s the Illuminati?”

“A super-secret cult of prominent men who may or may not have been trying to overthrow
the governments of every important nation in the world.”

I blinked. “For real?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re yanking my chain.”

“I can’t seem to help myself,” he said, grinning. “But yes, the members of the Illuminati
were real, even though they’ve long since died. However, there are crackpots all over
the world who refuse to let them fade away. To this day, whenever a juicy conspiracy
theory erupts somewhere on the planet, the Illuminati are dragged out and accused
of everything from devil worship to anarchy.”

“And you think one of the members of this secret society wrote these symbols in Obedience
Green’s cookbook?”

“We’ll see,” Dalton said obliquely.

I frowned. “Well, I hope you find something of interest to make your trip worthwhile.”

“Oh, it’s already worthwhile,” he said. “I was curious to come and see why my brother
left London and relocated halfway around the world. And here you are.”

“Me?”

Dalton grinned. “You must realize I’m expected to return home with a full report on
you.”

I glanced from Derek to Dalton. “You’re going to report everything about me to your
family?”

Dalton grinned. “Every last detail.”

“That should make for a fascinating visit.”

“Immensely.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “I think you only came to see the book.”

“If that were the case, I would’ve had Derek fax me the rest of the pages.” He leaned
back casually. “No, I wanted to come in person to make sure you’re good enough for
my big brother. Turns out you are. Now the question is, is he good enough for you?”

“Of course he is,” I said immediately.

“Of course I am,” Derek said with a smirk.

Dalton tilted his head to study me as if I were some visitor from another planet.
“I like you.”

Smiling, I said, “I like you, too.”

“But I don’t want you hanging over me while I work.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll try to resist.”

“Good.” He scowled. “Nothing worse than a cipher groupie.”

I looked at Derek. “He’s kidding, right?”

“He’s an idiot,” Derek said mildly.

I turned back to Dalton. “What has Derek told you about the murder investigation?”

“Murder?” Dalton frowned.

Derek swirled the liquid in his wineglass. “I’ve told you more than once.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Jet lag’s a bitch.” Dalton took a quick sip of his wine. “You said
the cookbook was stolen at the same time Baxter Cromwell was killed. And that’s why
we’re going to the restaurant tomorrow night. To hunt down the cookbook.”

“That’s right,” I said. “But here’s the deal. My sister is a prime suspect in Baxter’s
murder and I want to clear her name. If there’s anything in the cookbook that might
provide a motive or a clue or something, I’d like to know as soon as possible.”

“You can’t be serious,” Dalton said. “You expect a cookbook written back in the days
of King George to provide the motive for a contemporary murder?” He paused to consider.
“Unless the book is worth a lot of money. That’s often motive enough.”

“It’s extremely valuable,” I assured him. “It’s also historically significant, obviously,
and should be in a museum. But I was thinking more in terms of something important
that actually might be written in the book. Specifically, the code that you’re here
to decipher.”

Dalton thought for a moment, then said, “That’s a ridiculous theory.”

“Then prove it wrong,” I said, laughing.

He frowned at Derek. “Remind me again why I thought I liked her.”

“Cheeseburgers, mate,” he said.

“Ah.” Dalton smiled. “Cheeseburgers.”

On Friday night, we fought our way through the throng of photographers to the entrance
of Baxter’s restaurant. Derek pushed the door open and the three of us rushed inside.
The door closed behind us, shutting out the noise and clamor.

“Hooray! You survived the onslaught,” Kevin said. She appeared to be the official
greeter and hugged me as though she hadn’t seen me in months.

“Barely,” I muttered, rubbing my upper arm where some stupid photographer had slammed
his camera into it. “Those guys are horrible.”

“We’ve called the police to complain, so I’m hopeful that they’ll back off.”

“Good.” I slipped my jacket off. “It’s great to see you.”

Derek took her hand in his. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“You’re an integral part of our little gang now,” she said with
a smile, and stretched to plant a kiss on his cheek. She looked gorgeous in a black
lace top with her hair pulled into a soft, sexy updo.

Her gaze sharpened as it slid toward Dalton. She gave him a quick up-and-down look
(and who could blame her?) and asked, “Another member of our gang?”

“Ah,” Derek said. “Kevin, my brother Dalton.”

“Wow. Okay. Nice to meet you.” She gave me a wink as if to say,
Great gene pool in the Stone family!

I nodded in silent agreement.

With a wave of her hand, Kevin said, “I’m waiting for a few more arrivals, so go and
join the others at the bar.”

“Excellent plan,” Derek said.

As we walked away, Dalton whispered, “She has a boy’s name.”

“She does,” I said, “but she’s a girl.”

“Indeed she is,” he murmured, gazing back at Kevin.

“Her name is Kevin Moore,” I said, pulling him back to the conversation. “She was
named after the Dublin street where her parents fell in love.”

“Isn’t that charming?”

We crossed the elegant room and I was happy to see that the amazing wall-length waterfall
was running again. Once we got to the bar, Derek took care of introducing Dalton to
the small group while I went off to look for Savannah. I found her in the hallway
outside the kitchen. She was wearing her white chef’s coat.

“There you are,” I said. “Are you cooking tonight?”

“Not exactly,” Savannah said. “We all decided to cook one dish in Baxter’s honor,
so I made a simple salad. Other than that, it’s mainly a carnivorous menu.”

“Yippee!” I raised my fist in the air.

“You flesh-eating heathen.”

“That’s me,” I said, grinning. “And proud of it. So, can you sit with us after the
salad is served? I want you to meet Derek’s brother.”

We both smiled, recalling my phone call to her yesterday. When I’d told her that Dalton
was in town and asked if he could come to dinner tonight, she’d replied, “Derek has
a brother? Wow, God is great.” When I mentioned that he had three more back home,
she was close to hyperventilating.

“I’m looking forward to meeting him, too,” Savannah said. “As soon as I finish plating
the salads, I’ll get rid of these chef duds and come join you.”

“Good. By the way, did you ever find my earrings?”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said, as she turned to go back to the kitchen. “I asked everyone
to check around, but we couldn’t find them.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for looking.” But I was bummed. My parents had given me those
diamond-studded hoops for my twenty-first birthday. I had numerous pairs of earrings,
but those were my only sparkly ones. I’d worn them to every dressy occasion for the
past twelve years or so, which sounded a little pathetic, I guess. It was way past
time I bought another pair or two to replace them. But still, that original pair was
important to me. A milestone in my life and a sentimental touchstone as well.

“There you are,” Derek said. “Champagne?” He handed me the glass without waiting for
an answer. As if I would ever turn down a glass of good champagne!

“Thank you,” I said, smiling up at him. Savannah wouldn’t be out for a few minutes,
so I settled in to enjoy my drink.

“I don’t see why we have to wait around all night before starting the search,” Dalton
grumbled.

“Shut up and drink your champagne,” Derek said genially. “We’ll have the run of the
kitchen and back rooms once they’ve served dinner.”

“Fine. But pretending to be here solely for a dinner party seems ridiculous, doesn’t
it?” Dalton took a reluctant sip of the very expensive champagne.

I couldn’t quite believe my ears. “You do realize these are
some of the top chefs in the world, right? This might be the best dinner of your life.”

He winked at me. “I’m looking forward to it. I just like to give my brother a hard
time.”

“I can appreciate that,” I said, relieved to hear him say it. I’d hate to think this
wonderful food would be consumed by someone who didn’t appreciate it. Besides, there
was plenty of time for cloak-and-dagger activities. Food came first in my book.

“Do we know who’s cooking tonight?” Derek asked.

“Everyone’s contributing something to the meal, but there’s probably one person in
charge. Savannah said she’s doing a salad, but other than that, it’s a carnivore’s
paradise.”

“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.”