Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
“You have the right to eat whatever Chef Reggie prepares you,” the newcomer said with a monotone voice, reaching for Jane’s hands. “There are no menus, so anything else you wish to order will be denied to you. You have a right to leave if you disagree. If you don’t want to leave, you’ll sit down and enjoy yourself.”
She almost wrenched back, but in the end, for the sake of the case, she allowed herself to be handcuffed and led forward by the “cop.”
Fiona followed. “What is even going on right now?” she demanded at low volume.
“Chef Reggie was recently freed from prison after killing a guy. Allegedly,” the woman added. “This is his celebration dinner. Enjoy. Or not.”
So Belfry was using his connection to Tony’s case to fuel his career? Talk about motive!
Most Wanted posters decorated the walls and concrete blocks separated the tables. The backs of the chairs reminded her of jail cell bars.
The hostess escorted Jane and Fiona to a small round table in the back, where she removed the cuffs. Too few wait staff manned the place, running to and from the kitchen, each dressed as either a guard or an inmate. One of the inmates plopped two glasses on the table, both filled with a frozen cocktail and smelling of coconut. Next came a plate with what looked to be deep dish pizza slices.
“Enjoy the Colada Confessions and Femme Fatale Flamiche,” the guy said before bailing.
Fiona leaned across the table. “Flay-me-chee?”
“I thought we’d get a more personal experience,” Jane muttered, scooping a slice onto her plate. “We’ve got to speak with Belfry.”
“Go on back to the kitchen,” Fiona suggested. “No one will notice. Actually, I doubt anyone will care. But just in case, I’ll stay here and watch for security. If necessary, I’ll stage a distraction.”
Was there any better friend than Fiona Lawrence? Jane kissed her cheek and popped to a stand. She darted across the restaurant. When a waitress shouldered past the swinging double-doors, carrying plates of…something slimy, Jane waited a beat, then shot inside the kitchen.
Stainless steel refrigerators, counters and prep stations greeted her, along with the smell of burning food. Reggie Belfry stood beside a man Jane didn’t recognize. The stranger wore a dapper chef’s hat as he sprinkled a pinch of spice over a pastry.
Belfry griped the other man’s wrist and forced him to dump the spices over the dessert while shouting, “Am I the only one with a shred of talent, people? Do your job so I don’t have to do it for you.”
Jane smoothed the sides of her dress and approached Belfry. Would he recognize her from the party?
He shoved the newly spiced dish at Hat, barking, “Do it my way, the right way, or get out.” Then he stalked to a six-burner gas range to stir whatever simmered in a large stockpot.
Hat noticed her approach, stepped in front of her to block, and snapped, “Guests aren’t allowed in the kitchen.”
“Oh, I’m not a guest. I’m an associate of the GBH.” Not a lie. She skirted around him before he offered another protest. When she reached her target, she cleared her throat. “Hello, Mr. Belfry. I’d like to talk to you about the Tony Miller case.” Excellent. Direct and to the point.
He flicked a narrowed glance in her direction. What he didn’t do? Run away. “Yeah? So would hundreds of others.”
No, he didn’t recognize her. Honestly, she barely recognized him. He was taller than she’d expected and not nearly as wiry looking in person. His features had a more sculpted appearance.
“Yes, but the others can’t shut down your restaurant if you refuse to answer.” Okay, so, technically Jane couldn’t either. But she still hadn’t lied. Adopting her most confident posture—arms folded and chin up—she said, “Tell me about your relationship with Tony Miller.”
Scowling, he turned to a counter, where a series of bowls and ingredients awaited him. He dumped different things inside them. “I’ll tell you what I told the other agents. He was a lawyer. Do the math. Someone was bound to kill him. The end.”
Jane etched notes into her mental files for Reggie Belfry–Unpleasant person. “What did you know about his ex-wife, Emma?”
A leering smile pulled at his thin lips. “I know she’s a thirty-six C, always down for public PDA, and a cold fish in private. That’s why I dumped her. A man has needs.”
A shudder ran down Jane’s spine. Change “unpleasant person” to “revolting”.
Who was telling the truth, though? Belfry or Emma? He said he’d dumped her; she said they’d never gotten serious and had only gone on a few dates. Jane’s guess? Reggie Belfry was trying to protect a fragile ego. He’d stalked the nurse at the cemetery, after all.
Had he killed Tony, hoping to blame Emma for the crime as payback? Had GBH gotten things right for once?