Page 95 of Sexy as Sin
“I’m not sure how much I’ll be here,” Willow said,notlooking at Brett, “but if I am, we’ll do lessons, Bailey. I came to live with new people when I was twelve, myself, so I know about being helpful.”
“Really?” Bailey asked.
“Yep. With Rafe and Jace, in fact, and their parents, after my own parents died. I wasn’t Cinderella, either, because my aunt couldn’t have been kinder, but itdidfeel better to help. I helped with the garden, and then I learned to cook. Sewing’s beyond me, though, so you’ll be better at that.”
“It’s just practice,” Bailey said. “That’s what Hailey says. You have to keep trying, that’s all. If you make a mistake, you can always rip it out and start again. She says nobody’s perfect the first time.”
Tuesday night, and Brett was in the States for another week, but at least Willow had him on the phone. Better than nothing, but not nearly as good as him being here.
How could you miss somebody so much after a month? She kept jotting notes in her book of recipes, ideas of dinners he’d like and sweets that would make him close his eyes. How would he be getting his leg massaged when it knotted up and hurt him too much, especially once his back got into the act? Who’d tell him when he was pushing too hard? She wondered if he was lonely, taking a shower by himself instead of a bath with her. You didn’t use both ends of the tub, she’d found. You lay back against him, in his arms, and he loved holding you there.
Who was seeing the man underneath the suits and the polish? Who was loving him? If he felt half of what she was, he wasn’t feeling good at all. She wanted to see his smile, and the warmth in his gray eyes that was just for her. She wanted to fall asleep with his arm across her chest, pulling her back against him, warm and solid andsafe,and to know that she was making him feel exactly the same way.
What sheneeded,of course, was to get a bloody grip. She was tired, that was all, and the bloke was coming back in a week.
She needed to stop thinking about that anyway, and focus on what he was saying, which was, “I want you to look at a few of these events with me, when I get there. I have some questions. This might be sloppy bookkeeping, and it might not, especially not after the mushroom thing. One issue is a coincidence. Two issues start looking like they could be a pattern. Remind me—who knew those mushrooms were on your menu?”
“Uh... Amanda, of course. And the supplier, though it wasn’t him. The electronic version of the menu would be in the... whatever you call it. The file? The thing you’re looking at, so her husband, Tom, would know, I guess, if he cared to look. Other than that...” She rested her elbow on the kitchen table and her head on her hand, while Azra poured boiling water into a mug for mint tea, the soother of all ills.
Jet lag was a thing, even if youhadhad a “bedroom” on Etihad Airlines, same as Azra’s mum had done—although no butler this time—and a private jet on either end. After almost thirty hours, and if you’d gone straight to the kitchens to start cooking upon arrival, without even stopping at home? It was definitely a thing. Her body had no idea what time it was, but it knew it was tired. She needed to go surfing in the morning to be in the right head space for the meeting. The thought of waking at five-thirty wasn’t sounding brilliant, but once she got out on the water, she’d be all good.
“Other than that,” Brett prompted.
“Oh. What was I saying?”
“Who knew about the menu,” he said. Patient, as usual.
“The upcoming menus hang on the door of the cooler. The date and the name and location of the client would be printed at the top. Anybody who’d been in would be able to look—which would be Amanda, and Jamie and Crystal, because they normally help with the loading and unloading.”
“Who are Jamie and Crystal?”
“Oh. Two of the waiters. Jamie is Tom’s nephew. Crystal’s... dunno. Sleeping with him, I reckon. I don’t know how serious it is. But Jamie’s been working for Amanda for years.”
“Good-looking,” Brett said. “Black hair, blue eyes. Her husband’s nephew. Hmm. Crystal’s the brunette. Small. The other two waitresses were from overseas.”
“Mate,” she said. “How do you do that?Ibarely remember what they look like. You saw them once.”
“I told you. I’m a salesman with more than twenty years of practice. It’s a skill, like cooking. If you don’t develop it, you strike out fast. Somebody else knew, too, though. The client.”
“Right,” Willow said, mouthing “Thanks” at Azra as she set the mug of tea down in front of her. “The anniversary couple’s daughter-in-law. She had an email and a printout with the menu. And anybody she told, of course.”
Brett hesitated, and she asked, “What?”
“I checked her out,” he said. “That is, I checked the event out. Dave’s brother-in-law belongs to the Bowling Club. He practically lives there, according to Dave. He was there that night. Dave took me to meet him and a couple other guys there, including a cop. I raised my suspicions with him, for what it’s worth, but all I heard was some smack about the daughter-in-law. Fenella. Bossy, right? Jealous?”
“I don’t know about jealous,” Willow said, “but bossy—yeah. She was.” Really? He’d gone to the bowling club on his crutches, as immobile as he’d been then, to try to find out more? “Have I mentioned that I love you? I can’t believe you did that for me. Thank you.”
Across the table, Azra’s head came up, and she stared. All Brett said was, “Yeah, well, I’m not sure it did much good. Would Fenella have had a chance to mess with the bag of mushrooms?”
Willow had thought about this one. “Yeah. She kept opening the fridge and rearranging the drinks, checking things over like she suspected if she didn’t, we’d somehow stuff up and fail to provide service as contracted. Drove me mad. Why would she do that, though? The mushrooms weren’t really poisonous, just nasty. As you saw. Not likely to kill people, if that’s what she was after. Anyway, would you choose to poison a whole party just to get back at somebody? That would be more than cold. That would be evil.”
“You’re right. As far as Dave can tell, she’s not that. Just not the most delightful person. As to why? It would be jealousy. Ruining the event. She was doing all the hard work, and she wasn’t recognized enough. That happens. I’m not saying it’s likely, I’m saying it’s psychologically possible. All she had to do was not eat the pizzas. And shewouldknow that nobody would be likely to die.”
Willow tried to think back. It wasn’t easy. “She could have done it, if she had a Ziplock bag in her purse. I wouldn’t have been looking every minute, and otherwise, it was just the servers. In and out, of the fridgeandthe kitchen, and not taking much notice. Crystal and Jamie, especially, don’t have what you’d call pride of ownership. The German girl, Martina, was better. I can’t ask her, because she’s gone back to Germany. It wasn’t Martina, unless she’s a homicidal maniac, but how would you know who was a homicidal maniac? Anyway—it would be an unpleasantness maniac, with those mushrooms. Which seems even less likely.”
“I’d love to think it was the daughter-in-law,” Brett said. “Nice and easy. But Dave says there’s nothing else happening. Everything’s back to normal, and no change in her behavior. He’s even made the supreme sacrifice and hung out there three or four times to be my detective dog, and he says—no. As he put it, ‘Bloody nightmare to be married to, if you ask me. The fella might slit hisownwrists, but she’s not likely to do it. Nag him to death, more like.’ Besides, if you took that step, surely you’d dosomethingelse. Or brag about it. Hint about it. Something. And then there are these odd things in the books. I think it’s the business, Willow. I’ve got incomings and outgoings attached to the events, and price per person calculated. There are some discrepancies.”
“Discrepancies,” she repeated. Her heart had started to thud.Bang. Bang. Bang.The hairs on her arms were standing up, and she didn’t want to know this, but she had to.
