A Cookbook Conspiracy (23 page)

“Wonderful,” Monty cried. “Won’t we have fun?”

A minute later he and Margot wandered off and I smiled at the thought of more yummy
dinners.

“Hi, Brooklyn.”

I whipped around. “Oh—hi, Colette. How are you?”

My surprise must have shown on my face because she giggled. “I’m doing a lot better
now than I was the other night at Savannah’s, thanks.”

I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. “Were you sick?”

“You couldn’t tell? I was in such a foul mood, I’m surprised anyone’s still speaking
to me.”

“I honestly had no idea.” That was a lie. She’d been awful the other night, snapping
her fingers at Raoul while he was talking to me. But I’d thought it was her natural
state.

“Well, that’s something, I guess.” She touched her neck self-consciously and I remembered
her doing the same thing the night Inspector Jaglom interviewed her. It seemed to
be a nervous gesture. Was I making her uneasy? I guess the feeling was mutual, because
I didn’t trust her at all and it felt weird to make small talk with her.

“I had a horrible migraine that day,” she continued, “and stayed in bed for hours.
Raoul would’ve been perfectly happy to stay at the hotel with me, but I rallied later
on and insisted on going to Savannah’s with him.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. I have a friend who suffers from migraines and they sound just
awful.”

“They make me wish I was dead. And if the headache alone
weren’t bad enough,” Colette said with a grimace, “the medication I take just drains
me of all energy.”

“How miserable for you.”

She laughed. “I don’t mean to be such a downer. I’m feeling great now, so I just wanted
to say hello, and see how you’re doing and assure you I’m not usually such a bitch.
I haven’t talked to you at all since we’ve been in San Francisco, but we actually
met briefly in Paris. Do you remember?”

“Yes, of course I remember.” Now I wondered if she’d come to Savannah’s Paris flat
that day looking for Baxter. Had she and Baxter been cheating on Savannah and Raoul?

And if Colette had been cheating on Raoul, she had to be the dumbest woman in the
Northern Hemisphere.

“Are you still working with books?” she asked cheerily.

“Yes,” I said, glad that she couldn’t read my mind. “That’s how I make my living.
I restore old books, give them a new lease on life, so to speak. I love it.”

“That’s so fascinating.” Colette looked as though she actually meant it. Most people’s
eyes began to glaze over when I told them what I did. “Savannah said you made that
gift she gave Baxter. That book box thing? I saw it up close later in the evening
and I was so impressed. It was beautiful and intricate.” She shook her head. “You’re
so talented. I’m not sure how I would ever begin to make something like that.”

“You saw the book box?” I said, pouncing on her words. “Where? Who had it? Do you
remember the last place you saw it?”

“Um.” She took a step backward and I couldn’t blame her. I was like a rabid dog when
it came to that book box.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “It’s just that I spent so much time on it and now the
police can’t find it. Do you know where it might be?”

“Not at all. Baxter set it down on one of the counters while we were talking, then
I took off. That’s about all I remember. But
as I was saying, it’s really beautiful. I suppose I wouldn’t blame someone for taking
it.”

“Thanks.” She probably didn’t realize that whoever took it was most likely Baxter’s
killer.

“Did you have to take a lot of classes to learn how to do that?”

“It’s definitely an acquired skill,” I said. “Like your cooking ability. I wouldn’t
know how to begin to make a chicken potpie, so I guess we’re even.”

She laughed and then continued to compliment me until I couldn’t quite remember why
I had disliked her so much before. Oh, yeah, that’s right—Colette was the one who
had gone out of her way to make my sister appear suspicious to the police. So what
was her excuse for doing that? Another migraine? I doubted it.

I listened to her fawn over my talents and continued to smile and chuckle with her.
I realized I was enjoying our conversation, probably because it was all about me,
but I still refused to trust a single word she said. As my father would say, it was
fine to forgive, but don’t ever forget.

We talked until Raoul approached and draped his arm around Colette’s shoulder. “And
what are two such beautiful women talking about that they look so chummy?”

Colette gave his stomach a friendly pat. “Oh, honey, I don’t think that’s a word.”

“But you know what I mean,” he said, and grinned at me. “How are you, Brooklyn?”

“It’s great to see you, Raoul,” I said, thinking that
chummy
sounded like a perfectly good word to me. “Are you both cooking tonight?”

He smiled down at Colette. “Yes, we have each devised something special for our contribution
to tonight’s dinner.”

“Raoul is making the most sinful dessert,” Colette said, beaming with pleasure. “My
dish is not quite as dynamic, but I
think everyone will like it. It’s an appetizer of spicy wild boar sausage served on
a bed of soft polenta.”

Two things I really loved talking about. Books and food.

“Oh, my God,” I said. “My taste buds are trembling with excitement. That sounds wonderful.”

“Colette grinds and stuffs the sausage herself and it will melt in your mouth, Brooklyn.”
Raoul brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them dramatically.
“Fantástico.”

Colette blushed pink and smiled up at her husband. “He’s slightly prejudiced.”

“Maybe just a little,” I said, smiling from one to the other. “But it really does
sound unusual. I can’t wait.”

“I hope you like it.”

“I know I will.” I took a quick sip of champagne, then leaned in closer. “Can you
give me a little hint about the dessert?”

“I can give you a one-word clue,” Raoul said in a confidential tone. “
Chocolate
.”

I fanned myself and whispered, “Thank you.”

Colette and Raoul laughed. Just then Margot waved at them from the kitchen hallway.
They excused themselves and walked over to speak with her.

“I’m beginning to think your sister doesn’t exist,” Dalton said right behind me.

I turned. “She does, I promise. She must’ve gotten delayed by some kitchen emergency,
but she’ll be out here soon.”

“Good. I’ve met every chef in the known universe tonight except for the great and
powerful Savannah.”

Derek joined us and took my hand in a gesture I found sweet and comforting. “Now,
what sort of rubbish has my brother been spouting?”

“He’s behaving himself so far.” I glanced up at Dalton, expecting a funny retort from
him, but his eyes seemed to have glazed over and his mouth was hanging open.

“We, um, we were just talking about Savannah,” I explained, and frowned at Dalton
for tuning us out.

Derek took notice of Dalton’s expression, too, but continued our conversation. “I
take it she’s still in the kitchen?”

“Yes,” I said, then gave up. “Dalton, what’s wrong?”

His full attention was drawn to something over my shoulder, so Derek and I both turned.
“Oh, Savannah. Thank goodness. Have you finally been untethered from the stove?”

“Yes, for now.” She had removed her chef’s jacket and was adjusting the sleeves of
her scoop-neck black sweater. “I plated the salads and we’ll be eating as soon as…”

“As soon as what?”

She didn’t answer me.

“Savannah?” I frowned at her. “Hello?” She was frozen in place and didn’t seem to
hear me.

“Earth to Savannah,” I said, and was about to snap my fingers at her. “What’s wrong
with you…oh.”

She was staring up at Dalton.

He was staring back.

Both of them seemed to have been struck deaf and dumb. This couldn’t be a good thing.

Dalton recovered first. “My God, woman. You’re completely bald.”

Savannah struggled to take a breath. “Y-yes, I am. Some people have a problem with
that.”

“Are you kidding?” He almost growled. “It’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen
in my entire life. I…I have to touch it. May I?”

She reached up and glided her hand across her shiny pate, then nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Savannah was beautiful, petite and wacky. A few months ago she had shaved her head
on a whim, and from the very beginning I thought the look suited her. She usually
wore a perky red beret,
but tonight her head was gloriously bare. Not that it mattered; she was adorable,
hair or not. Dalton seemed to agree. He looked ready to swallow her whole.

I stared at Derek in alarm and then noticed that his hand had turned into a fist.
Was he going to punch his brother out? I appreciated the thought, but I grabbed his
arm just in case. We didn’t need to make this scene any more bizarre than it already
was.

Dalton ignored us both and stepped closer to Savannah. After a moment of hesitation,
he reached up and touched her shiny bald head. “Smooth. Soft.”

“Mm, yes,” she said.

“And you smell like heaven.”

“That’s tarragon,” she murmured, batting her eyelashes at him. “It’s an aphrodisiac.”

Oh, come on. Savannah had never batted her eyelashes in her life. And since when was
tarragon an aphrodisiac? Although, come to think of it, I did tend to go a little
crazy over a well-made béarnaise sauce.

Savannah had her hand on Dalton’s chest now and he was still touching her head. I’m
sorry, but this was strange. I had never seen my sister act like this before. And
as for Dalton…what had happened to Mr. Cool Calm Secret Agent Man? Derek’s brother
was staring at my sister as if she’d just dropped down from heaven.

This was weird. I whirled around and glared at Derek. “Make them stop!”

“Stop what?” He looked as mystified as I felt. He knew exactly what I was talking
about, though, because his next question was, “How?”

I looked around. “Somebody get a hose.”

He laughed, and the sound of Derek’s laughter sort of settled me down. “That won’t
do.”

“Dinner is served,” a waiter cried.

“Oh, hell,” I muttered. “Don’t let them sit together.”

“It’s too late,” Derek said.

I watched helplessly as Dalton led Savannah over to the long, elaborately set table
and took his place beside her. They continued to stare rapturously at each other as
Dalton discovered new and exciting places on Savannah’s bald head to touch or pat
or rub or stroke. Good grief.

It was like watching my great-uncle Roddy the one and only time he ever took us to
the racetrack. Everything was fine until Roddy suddenly spotted a little person in
the crowd. He ran over and rubbed the small man’s head for good luck until the little
guy finally kicked him in the shins. “This ain’t the Wonderful Land of Oz,” he said
with a snarl. And that was the end of Uncle Roddy’s good-luck streak.

But even Uncle Roddy hadn’t had the stupefied look on his face that Dalton did.

“You’re enjoying this,” I accused Derek.

“I’m enjoying you,” he said, and leaned in and kissed me.

“Well, okay, that was enjoyable,” I mumbled. “But if you weren’t freaked-out, why
did you have your fists ready when they first started their staring and drooling contest?”

A little wryly, Derek smiled. “Instinct. Frankly, I’ve never seen Dalton behave this
way—”

“Savannah’s never done anything like this before either. For heaven’s sake, she’s
still letting him pet her head!”

Derek laughed and squeezed my hand. “Let’s sit down.”

“I’m concerned,” I whispered as we walked to our places at the table. I chose to sit
directly across from my sister and Dalton to keep an eye on them. But now that I was
stuck watching them coo and giggle at each other, I realized that it wasn’t my best
idea ever. How had this happened?

My sister was practically purring with every stroke of Dalton’s fingertips along her
shaved head.

“It’s just a passing fancy, darling,” Derek said quietly, and I wasn’t sure if he
was trying to convince me or himself. “Dalton will only be here a few days.”

“But Savannah is vulnerable.”

“Everyone is vulnerable, love,” he countered.

“Everyone isn’t my sister.”

“I do understand,” Derek whispered, leaning in close to my ear. “I’m fairly protective
of your family myself. But this is my brother, not some stranger off the street. Let’s
just take a wait-and-see attitude, shall we?”

Not like we had much choice, so I nodded and squeezed his hand back.

I tried to mope, but it wasn’t a comfortable state for me. So I drank a little wine
and tried to get my sister’s attention, to no avail. Savannah was still too enraptured
by Dalton to notice a little thing like her own flesh and blood. Then I suddenly wondered
if I had had the same blurry look the first time I saw Derek. Well, wouldn’t that
be humiliating to discover?

I nibbled on a few grilled artichoke leaves and tried to zing Dalton with threatening
glares, but he didn’t notice.

When Savannah lifted some delectable bits of Colette’s sausage and polenta onto her
fork and held it up to Dalton’s lips for him to taste, I reached the limit of my endurance
and had to look away. My sister was on her own for now.

We would talk later.

I forced myself to smile and listen and react to other conversations. Gradually I
joined the party. As dish after dish was served and the meal progressed and the wine
flowed, I shook off most of my tension and managed to enjoy myself—as long as I ignored
the flirting and cooing across from me. The food was spectacular, after all. Impossibly,
each dish was more phenomenal than its predecessor. And as each one was presented,
the chef who was responsible for it received our grateful applause as he or she explained
the
concept, the ingredients, and the reason why he or she was dedicating it to Baxter.

Derek and I carried on a lively exchange with those seated closest to us, mainly Kevin,
Margot, Montgomery, and Peter. Dalton and Savannah occasionally added a word to the
conversation, but those moments were few and far between. It was as if they’d been
bewitched. I considered asking my mother to work up a magic spell to bring them both
back to earth.