Toasting Up Trouble (A Dinner Club Mystery) (4 page)

Friday morning, the day before the big event, dawned sunny with the promise of mild temperatures. The forecast for Saturday was even better, much to J.J.’s relief. She took a final look in the hall mirror and grabbed her briefcase after shrugging into her lightweight jacket. Penance for overindulging the previous evening when she’d attended the monthly meeting of another book club she belonged to, which always meant lots of chocolate desserts, was walking to work. However, on the beautiful spring day that awaited her outdoors, it was more like a treat. And if she gave it some thought, ten blocks wasn’t that much of a hardship, she had to admit.

She had her hand on the door handle when Indie came bounding down the hallway and tried to edge between her and the door.

J.J. bent over and scooped him up with one hand, carrying him into the living room and depositing him on the back
of the periwinkle blue loveseat in front of the window. “You enjoy the scenery from this spot, Indie. I’ll take you out on a leash later today. I promise.”

She hurried back to the door and let herself out, checking to make certain he hadn’t squeezed through unseen. One of the reasons she’d chosen a Bengal cat was the breed’s inquisitiveness and energy. Served her right!

The smell of bacon sifted under the door of the apartment next door. She hadn’t seen her neighbor, Ness Harper, in a few days but knew he was in town from the assorted cooking odors that wafted along the hallway. A retired police officer and a bit of a recluse, he once explained to her that he’d become a fanatic about cooking in recent years. In fact, he’d appeared at her door the odd time with offerings of new dishes he’d tried. He’d had to admit to forgetting to halve the recipes and ending up cooking more than one person could eat, even with a day or so of leftovers. She’d tasted potential that first time and was always happy to oblige.

J.J. ran lightly down the stairs and out the front door, pausing to take a deep breath and just enjoy being out in the morning sun. She ramped up to a good pace once she’d reached the intersection of Bryden, her street, and Gabor Avenue, one of the main roads leading to the lakeside, where she turned left. Half Moon Bay, a suburb of Burlington, Vermont, was labeled a village and hugged the north end of Lake Champlain. It boasted its own four-block boardwalk and narrow sandy beaches and an assortment of stores and services that stretched three blocks.

At the far end of Lakeshore Drive, which skirted the bay, was the turnoff to the gated community of Forest Grove, the location of the Portovino estate. There were five similar large estates of an acre or more hugging the shoreline with equally magnificent houses set back and comprising the moneyed area of the village.

J.J. smiled at the sight of the lake getting ever closer. She never tired of the water and, in fact, had her own favorite spot near the south end of the boardwalk where it blended into a treed area. Several small clearings overlooking the lake were woven into the wilderness pathway that continued where the boardwalk ended. She paused for a final look at the view before turning left on Erin Street, one street past where her office was located. She stopped in at Cups ’n’ Roses and got her usual latte to go. She debated waiting around for a quick chat with Beth, but eyeing the line, decided that work would be the more practical choice.

It had been an easy decision, and a wise one, for J.J. to make the move to Half Moon Bay when things had gone awry in Montpelier. A chance meeting with her old college classmate, Skye Drake, had led to a job offer in Skye’s relatively new business, Make It Happen, and the rest, as they say, was history.

Climbing the stairs to the office, she itemized what had to be done today, the day before the big birthday bash. She couldn’t believe how time had flown by. She’d certainly been kept busy keeping on top of all the details for the birthday, and most of it had gone smoothly. Of course, and she felt her shoulders tense as she thought of it, the hardheaded Antonio Marcotti had continued to present a challenge. In fact, it hadn’t been until last Friday that he’d finally agreed to follow J.J.’s menu. She couldn’t believe it had happened at long last.

She unlocked the office door. Skye had taken the day off. She’d driven to New York City the day before to pick up her dentist boyfriend, Nick Owens, on his return from a visit to his ailing mom in Ottawa. They had planned a leisurely drive back today, and J.J. didn’t expect to hear from her until Monday morning.

She went through her morning routine of answering phone calls and e-mail before getting on with the most pressing
business. For today, that was going over, yet again, the last-minute details for the birthday party. She wanted everything to be memorable for Angelica Portovino. She needed to connect with the small decorating company she’d hired. They should be ready to start at eight the next morning to hang the tasteful wall panels and string up the tiny white lights around the large stone patio.

Next on her list: checking in with the security company that would also be in charge of the valet service. She’d already spoken to the deejay, someone whom Connor had recommended, the day before and he’d assured her all was ready for the outdoor patio. A call to the managers of the string quartet planned for the buffet area and the live rock band for later in the evening confirmed that all was on track. And, of course, she’d need to connect once again with Marcotti. If she was lucky, he’d be busy and she could double check the time frame with his assistant.

By the time she’d cleared her list, the remaining coffee in her cup was cold and someone was knocking on the door. Before she could call out, the door was pushed open.

“J.J., sweetie, I need to talk to you.” Tansy Paine didn’t wait for an answer before scuttling over to drop into the white leather swivel chair across from J.J.’s desk. Her spiky red hair and the fact that she was always in motion at top speed made J.J. think of a deranged elf on the loose. Despite the fact that she must be on the late side of forty.

“Okay. What’s on your mind, Tansy?” She hoped it wasn’t the matter about Tansy wanting to talk Evan into paying to have both their offices painted. Tansy usually got what she wanted, although this time Evan had stood his ground, pointing out it had been only one year since the last time.

“I want you to talk to Evan. About the paint job. He always listens to you. In fact, if he didn’t already have a partner and if his tastes were a little different, I’d bet he’d be making a
play for you. Now, don’t argue with me. Not about Evan and not about the paint.” She paused to glance around the room. “This is such a bland color. Really. You’d think a happening business like this one would want vibrant tones to communicate to clients just how vital you are.”

J.J. inwardly cringed at the pun although she knew Tansy hadn’t done it on purpose. J.J. couldn’t think of a thing to say. She tried changing the subject.

“I heard you won that big fraud case earlier this week.”

“Yes, I did.” Tansy seemed obviously pleased. “Now, back to the paint. I’ve written him a letter outlining all the reasons we need this done and done now. I’ll drop it off on my way out to lunch and let him have the weekend to think about it. If he talks to you, I want you to back me on this, you hear?”

“I do hear you,” J.J. answered.
But I won’t back you.
She respected Evan’s right to make his own decisions about his building.

“Good. I’ve given myself the rest of the day off, celebrating the win. The court case win, I mean, although I’m sure it’s just a matter of time with Evan.” Tansy paused at the door. “Good luck yourself. I guess the Portovino party is up next. I know that’s your first big social event. I hear it’s the talk of the social circuit.”

“Thanks, Tansy,” J.J. said as the door closed. Just what she wanted to hear. More pressure.

J.J. used her lunch break to walk the three blocks to Rocco G’s on Claymore Street. She needed to put aside the Portovino project for a short period of time and clear her head, knowing that after lunch she’d be fueled to go over everything yet again.

The next Culinary Capers meal was also looming, and she hadn’t really given it much thought. She’d checked to make
sure she had the list of ingredients for the pizzaiola with her. She’d toyed with the idea of doing a test run of the dish, particularly since she’d decided to substitute turkey for beef, but decided that would take part of the excitement out of it. So for now, she was contenting herself with making sure she had everything in hand and, possibly, getting some cooking tips from Rocco Gates himself.

Since Michael had first suggested the place, J.J. had gone about finding out all she could about it. The website served up some interesting information: the business was celebrating its tenth year in the area, was owned by Rocco Gates, contained a store stocking ingredients from Italy as well as more local items, and offered cooking workshops. It was too late to take one of those, but J.J. filed the information away for future reference.

Rocco G’s also provided a small bistro that served lunches and, on weekends, an early brunch. She’d never eaten there and, wanting to be loyal to Beth, had only stopped in once or twice for an espresso. But it was time for more.

She pushed open the bright blue wooden door and delighted to the sound of the tinkle of a single bell. An older man looked up from the newspaper he had spread on the counter in front of him.

“Welcome,
signorina
. What may I help you with?” He straightened to his full height, which brought him eye level with J.J.’s five foot six. His curly black hair was salted with strands of gray, and his blue eyes twinkled.

“I’m hoping you’re Rocco Gates.” J.J. stuck out her hand. “I’m J.J. Tanner.”

Rocco shook her hand and held it for a few extra moments. “A pleasure, Ms. Tanner. I am Rocco and at your service. What can I do for you?”

J.J. already liked the guy. “I belong to a dinner club called the Culinary Capers and the only problem is, I’m really a
terrible cook. My next turn to host, and cook the main entrée, is coming up in a week and I’ve decided to do an Italian evening.”

“Excellent choice.”

J.J. smiled.
Good start
. “So, the way it works is we choose a cookbook and then everyone has to make something from it for the dinner. I’ve decided on
nigellissima
by Nigella Lawson and I’ve chosen to make beef pizzaiola. Here’s the recipe.” She handed him what she’d printed out. “I’d like your advice on the ingredients and also maybe a substitute for the anchovy fillets.”

He looked it over. “Hm. I’ve seen this cookbook. Italian-inspired, I think it said. This is fairly straightforward. You’ve decided on turkey cutlets rather than the beef or veal escalopes suggested in the recipe, I see.”

J.J. nodded.

“And, forgive my asking, but you’re allowed to make changes to the recipe?”

“We can and often do, although this is my first time trying anything so daring. Last month’s dinner was beef, so I thought at the last minute to change it up. Do you think it will work? The turkey, I mean.”

He nodded. “It should be fine. Quite a different texture and a more subtle flavor, of course, but it should be a pleasing taste. All right. I will show you a garlic-infused olive oil I think will work well with the rest of the ingredients. I also have the capers and black olives, cured in oil. They are both imported and of the highest quality.”

She followed him to the store shelves. She gazed in awe at the huge selection of olive oils in their own casks. She hadn’t realized that there was such a variety in basic oils and those with the addition of herbs and other flavors. He offered her tastes of two of them.

“Wow, the garlic really comes through in the second
one,” J.J. agreed. “Which do you think would work the best?”

“I’d say the first one. If we substitute miso for the anchovy—I see you have it crossed out—the rest of the flavors will still be blended.”

In no time at all there was a small pile of items on the counter. Rocco had been thorough in explaining his reasons for choosing each, and J.J. felt like she’d just had a private lesson.

“This is great. I so appreciate it, Rocco,” she said, smiling as she pulled out her credit card. She glanced as the door flew open and a young harried-looking woman rushed in. Strands of hair had escaped the ponytail holding them and her jacket was half-off. She stopped abruptly when she noticed J.J. and Rocco.

“I’m really sorry I’m late, Rocco. I had car trouble again,” she said, her voice quavering.

Rocco swept a hand through the air. “It’s a no big problem, Zoe. Come, meet a new friend.” He turned to J.J. “This is Zoe, my very capable and as you can see, conscientious noon-hour helper.”

“Nice to meet you,” J.J. said.

Zoe smiled and nodded then rushed into the kitchen.

Rocco smiled as he shook his head. “The young. Always in such a hurry, especially the mama of twin boys. Now, will you permit me to offer you an espresso before you leave?”

“I’d like that.” She also wanted a grilled chicken and avocado wrap she’d spied but thought that would be awkward, since he’d offered her an espresso. She had a veggie protein bar stashed in her desk drawer, which she’d eat when she got back to the office.