Let Them Eat Stake: A Vampire Chef Novel (18 page)

“Only in that the groom’s party will be smaller than was planned. Otherwise, we are moving forward.”

I ran that back and played it over again. Then I added a backbeat.
Your house was robbed of an important magical artifact, possibly
the
important magical artifact during a faked ICE raid. The sire of the groom probably took it, and he has since vanished. But you’re moving forward with the wedding, and you are waiting for me to give you a polite, professional response.

This was one of those moments when I really wished I had Miss Manners on speed dial because I had no idea whatsoever how to answer this. “I…see.”

“No, you don’t, but that doesn’t matter.” The edge had come back to Mrs. Alden’s tone. I couldn’t tell whether going ahead with the wedding was her idea or not. Either way, it had pushed her very close to her personal limits. “What I need to know is, are you willing to continue as chef and caterer?”

Down to the very depths of my being, I knew staying here would be a bad idea. Just as I knew there was not enough money on the face of the earth to turn it into a good one. I should walk away. Let whatever the hell was playing out here play without me. Who cared what it was?

Unfortunately, no matter how many times I asked myself that question, one answer came back. Who cared? I did. I had a hunch I had been deliberately brought into this by person or persons unknown, and I wasn’t leaving until I found out who, and why. Because there was no way it was just for my knife skills, good looks, and tapped-out bank account.

“If you want us to continue, Mrs. Alden, we are ready to do that.”

She let out a long breath I’d been totally unaware she’d been holding. “Thank you, Chef Caine,” she said, and I was pretty sure she meant it. “Then we’ll be doing the cake tasting this afternoon as scheduled?”

I agreed and let myself be dismissed. Feeling strangely light-headed, I walked carefully down the back stairs. Either I had just witnessed the most incredible display of motherly sacrifice, or the rich really were different from the rest of us. Because nobody I hung out with on a regular basis would go ahead with a wedding when the family treasures had just been looted by the groom’s relations.

“What happened, Chef?” asked Reese as I pushed my way back into the kitchen. He sat at the marble-topped island with Trudy, the coffee thermos set squarely between them. “You okay?”

“No, I’m not.” I poured myself coffee and drank a big slug.

“They’re not canceling, are they?” said Trudy.

I shook my head and helped myself to the lone slice of quiche they’d left behind. There are those who lose their appetites when faced with stress and mysteries. I am not one of them.

“No, of course not,” Trudy said to her coffee. “That would be
sensible
.”

“Are they always like this?” asked Reese.

“No. Not always. Just when it gets close to home. Then it’s all to hell. Scott will do anything to keep everyone happy. Adrienne will do anything to keep everything organized, and Deanna will do everything to poke the screaming monkeys and
Karina…”
She stopped. “And you don’t need to know any of this.”

Actually I did, but this was not the time to disagree with her. If Trudy thought I was actively snooping on her employers, there was a good chance she’d close up tight.

“I take it the Renaults didn’t…make it back last night?”
I asked, poking at the quiche to test its consistency, and carefully not looking at anything else.

“I’m told Gabriel came in just before sunrise, but the others…” Trudy shook her head. “I assume ICE still has them.”

Or they’re on the run with their haul, whatever it was.
But I kept this to myself.

“So, what all went missing?” asked Reese.

I took another bite of quiche. “The thing I know about was a gun, an antique pistol off the mantel.”

Trudy nodded. “If they lost anything else, they’re keeping quiet about it.”

“So.” Reese planted his elbows on the counter. “The family got ripped off by the groom’s blood relations, and we’re all going to ignore it like Great Aunt Maxie’s been breaking wind again?”

“Something like that, yeah,” I admitted. “Listen, Reese. If you want out of this, no harm, no foul. I’ll handle it.” I had no idea how, but I would.

“What do I look like? I said I’d take the mission; I’m taking the mission.”

“It’s a catering job, not a hill.”

“And your point is?”

Suddenly, Trudy was on her feet. “I’d better get to those…bedrooms. Adrienne’s started checking up on my work.” She clumped out through the door to the back stairs, but not before both of us noticed she had tears on her cheeks.

“You want me to—” Reese jerked his head to the back stairs door as it flapped shut.

“No.” I drew my gaze away from the door, but slowly. “We’ll figure her out later. For now, we just keep going.” I downed the last of my coffee and put the mug in the sink. “I’ve got to hit the Terminal Market and talk with some additional suppliers. I’ll be back in time for the tasting.”

“Okay. I’ll keep it going here.”

“Thanks.
And Reese?” I said as I collected my purse and notebook.

“Yes, Chef?”

I hesitated. This was not a question I wanted to ask, and the words were not lining up neatly in my head. “If something was really wrong at Nightlife, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

Disappointment slumped his professionally square shoulders. “You know I would.”

I did, and I left there with an outsized load of guilt for even asking that question trailing along behind me.

My market business actually went more quickly than I’d expected. When you’ve got a big budget, suddenly the suppliers are sitting you down to their best beverages and pulling out special items that you might just happen to be interested in.

As I was leaving the market and heading for the subway, I called the house so I could make sure all remained quiet on the Alden front. Reese duly reported that Mrs. Alden had returned from church with a handful of select guests who polished off a luncheon of red snapper fillet with wild rice and a salad of summer greens. Deanna had put in a brief appearance, but she left in a cloud of bridesmaids. Mr. Alden had not been seen since breakfast, but he was expected for dinner. Otherwise, the house remained peaceful. Lloyd Maddox was nowhere to be seen, but neither, apparently was Trudy.

After I hung up with Reese, I dodged across the street while thumbing the number for Nightlife. I had no real doubt that Marie had everything in hand for the cake tasting, but the control freak in me was even stronger than my faith in my pastry chef.

“Nightlife?” Zoe picked up on the third ring.

Zoe!
“Zoe?”
My stride faltered, causing a student type with a backpack to have to dodge, and swear.

“Hello,
Chef,” said Zoe.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded as I sidestepped out of the pedestrian river. “What’re you doing in so early?” Panic bubbled in the pit of my stomach. It was just going on one. There was no reason for Zoe to be in the kitchen until four, three at the earliest, unless something had gone wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong. Did you want to talk to Marie?”

“Yes, but…”

“She’s right here.”

“Z…”

“Good morning, Chef Caine.” Marie’s you’d-better-not-be-wasting-my-time voice said. “What can I do for you?”

“Erg-ah.” I replied. Fortunately, I rallied. “I just wanted to make sure all the samples will be ready for the tasting.”

“Paolo is filling them now. We will be at the Aldens’ at four p.m. Was there anything else?”

“No. Yes.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Marie, is everything all right there?”

Marie’s pause wasn’t just pregnant; it was nine months gone. “Everything is exactly as it should be.”

The sidewalk shifted underfoot. I had not heard Marie just give an evasive answer. It was not possible. Marie faced you head-on, kind of like a glacier when the ice age is coming.

“Shall I give you back to Chef Vamadev?” asked Marie.

“Yeah. Please.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Zoe, you on track for opening tonight?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

There are times when all you can do is tell the truth. “Because you’re in way the hell early and you won’t tell me why.”

“I’m in way the hell early because I want to be sure everything’s on track for opening,” Zoe shot back. “If you think you need to come in and check up on us, you can do that. It’s your kitchen.”

I winced. I had that coming, and we both knew it. Either
I trusted Zoe, or I didn’t. The big problem was, especially after Marie’s nonanswer and Reese’s and Hank’s high-speed evasions this morning, I wasn’t sure which it was. But I couldn’t possibly believe Zoe was pulling some kind of fast one on me, could I?

No. I couldn’t. Absolutely not. If only because if I started down that road, I’d drive myself out of what was left of my tiny little mind. And my tiny little mind had more than enough to keep it busy.

“I’m sure it’ll be great. But I’ll call back later for the update, all right?”

She said it was. Whether or not she meant that was between her and her conscience. We hung up, and I stuffed the phone into my purse and pulled out my notebook, stepping a little farther out of pedestrian traffic as I did. I flipped the pages open to tick off the list of suppliers I’d met with, underline the time for the cake tasting, and add a few questions about the morning-of buffet that needed answers.

I closed my book and stared at it. An outrageous thought began to slowly gel in my brain. It had the advantage of not being actively dangerous—probably. But if I got caught, there’d be a hue and cry, and I would not come out looking good. And word of what I had done would most certainly spread around, possibly to people who could make things actively dangerous for me.

I stuffed my notebook away, pulled my phone out again, and dialed Brendan.

“Charlotte. Is everything okay?” One of the things I loved about Brendan was his directness.

“I wish I knew.” I told him about the nonreaction to last night’s robbery. “Do you know if Henri and Jacques are actually in ICE custody?” I asked.

“Henri is, but he should be out tonight. Rafe Wallace is having a field day with this. Jacques, on the other hand, seems to have gotten away.”

That one is faster than he looks.
Apparently Anatole wasn’t the only one to find this out. “And the gun?”

“Nothing. If the Renaults took it, either Henri ditched it or Jacques still has it.”

Because clumsy as it seemed, this could all still be a way to frame the Renaults, and break up the wedding.

I sucked on the inside of my cheek. “That might explain why the wedding’s going forward.”

“I’m not following.”

“Adrienne was awfully mad with Lloyd about the raid last night. She thought he staged it. If she thinks Lloyd stole the gun, she’d have no reason to call off the wedding, because she’d know it wasn’t the Renaults who were making the trouble.”

Brendan was silent for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of that. You could be right.”

“It’d make for a nice change,” I muttered. “It’d also mean that none of this has anything to do with Oscar’s death, which would make things a lot simpler.”

“Wouldn’t it? Okay. I’ve got to make some more calls, and then I’ll take another run at my grandfather. We’ll figure this out, Charlotte.”

“Yeah,” I answered, shoving my cropped hair back, “I know.”

Brendan, of course, heard my hesitation. “Was there something else you were calling about?”

“Kind of.” Brendan waited. “I’m going to swing by Perception.”

“I thought you’d already done that.”

“Yeah, but this time I’m going to try to steal Oscar’s chef’s notebook.”

Sneaking into a restaurant currently holding several hundred employees plus several hundred guests may seem counterintuitive, if not utterly whacked. But, as I explained to Brendan, this was actually the perfect time. If I tried to get in on Monday when Perception would be closed, I might be seen, and remembered. Plus, by Monday, Perception might be an official crime scene. I had no doubt Detective O’Grady was currently breathing down the neck of some helpless lab tech, trying to hustle along the results on Oscar’s tests. I was much more confident in my ability to tiptoe past a collection of my colleagues when they all had better things to worry about than I was in my ability to pull the same stunt with any of Linus O’Grady’s hand-picked people.

Brendan, not surprisingly, also wanted to know why in the world I thought this bit of grand theft notebook was necessary. His skepticism on the point vanished when I reminded him that a chef’s notebook was part appointment book, part diary, and part PDA. If Oscar had been meeting with anybody new, or receiving any new income, or plotting any big changes, the odds were good he’d have made notes about it in his book, and maybe, just maybe with
what we knew about the Aldens, we could work out who had made him all dead and everything. I will not say Brendan was happy with my idea, but he did concede the point that this would be useful for us to get our hands on, as long as I was careful. I promised, three or four times.