Miranda Bliss - Dying for Dinner

ON THURSDAYS, TRÈS BONNE CUISINE IS OPEN UNTIL nine, and by eight thirty, I was beat. I was tired of fielding questions about Greg’s untimely end, sick of reminding people that murder is not a spectator sport, and so truly weary of selling Vavoom! that I thought I’d drop where I stood. Yeah, word had gone out that for the first time since Monsieur had introduced it to the culinary community, the seasoning was on sale. I can only describe the result as an epicurean stampede.

When the crowds finally dispersed, I took the opportunity and headed into the back room. I grabbed a ladder and dug around in the boxes stored on the shelves above the work counter until I found what I was looking for-dozens of empty jars bearing the distinctive Vavoom! label, a five-pound box of bulk seasoned salt, and a note written by Monsieur that was, apparently, all there was of a proprietary Vavoom! recipe.

To five pounds of seasoned salt, it said in Monsieur’s twig-thin, soldier-straight handwriting, add one cup garlic powder, one-half cup dill, three tablespoons lemon pepper.

Knowing that he actually altered the original product made me feel better about selling it. And still glad I’d put it on sale.

A little more digging, and I found all the ingredients I needed to concoct my own batch of Vavoom!, as well as a little scoop and funnel. At just a minute before nine when I was all set to lock up and begin filling jars, the bell over the front door rang.

“I’ll be right with you,” I called out. I hoped my exhaustion didn’t register in my voice. As I had learned in the restaurant business, customers were customers. Even late customers. I wiped my hands against my white apron and started out of the office.

“No need!” came the reply.

I’d recognize that voice-and that sexy accent-anywhere. In spite of my fatigue, I found myself smiling. There’s nothing like a visit from a honey of a hunk to brighten a girl’s evening.

I greeted Jim with a kiss. Right before my throat tightened and panic closed in. “You’re here. You’re not busy at the restaurant tonight. What’s wrong? We didn’t get a bad review somewhere, did we? We couldn’t have. But it’s Thursday night. You should be slammed.”

“And you shouldn’t be so worried about business all the time.” Jim was clutching a small bouquet of flowers in shades of pale mauve, purple, and cream. “The bride,” he said. “The one I quoted the wedding luncheon for. She had flowers shipped in, to see how the colors would look with our decor, and said I could use them on the tables. I thought you might appreciate them.”

“They’re beautiful.” They were, and when I stuck my nose into the middle of the bouquet, I found that they smelled good, too. One of the cubbyholes behind the front counter featured a ten-inch crystal vase and I appropriated it and stuck the flowers in. I’d fill the vase with water when I went to the back room to get to work on the Vavoom!

“So what’s up?” I asked Jim. “Why are you here?”

“To see you, of course.” His smile was a little too bright.

“You mean to make sure I’m OK.”

I knew that sometimes he hated having a detective for a girlfriend. He was nice enough not to point this out.

“Is there anything wrong with being concerned about you?” He glanced around the store and, satisfied that all customers were gone for the night, he went over to the front door and locked it. “There’s been a murder here recently. I don’t need to remind you of that. It’s only natural that I worry.”

“And I appreciate it. I really do. Truth be told…” I came back around to the front of the counter and looped my arm through Jim’s. “This is the first time all day that I’ve been alone. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to sit down for more than a minute at a time.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But I can’t have you working yourself to a frazzle. That’s why I’ve hired you some help.”

I wasn’t expecting this, and I stepped back, surprised. “You think I can’t run the shop on my own?”

“I think you could rule the world if you were so inclined. But I don’t like the idea of you working such long hours.”

“And if I have help, I won’t be alone.”

“Aye.” He gave in with a smile. “Raymond starts on Monday.”

“And Raymond is…?”

“A customer. Has been for years. Used to come around back when I worked here. He’s devoted to the place. He’s one of those brainy types, runs a computer company or a Web site or something. But he fancies himself a cook. I offered him a chance at some hours here at the shop, and he jumped at it. Don’t look at me that way,” Jim added, though what way I was looking at him, exactly, I wasn’t sure. “Is that such an awful thing, to be worried about you?”

“Actually, it’s sweet.” It was, and something a lot of guys wouldn’t have thought about. Peter never would have.

I caught myself as soon as the thought formed and ordered it out of my head. I’d spent the better part of the last couple years banishing all thoughts of Peter. I didn’t need to get into any new bad habits.

“It will be nice to have some help,” I told Jim. It was the truth, and better than what I’d been thinking about. “Truly, I never imagined I’d be this busy.”

“And no wonder.” What was left of my display of Vavoom! caught Jim’s eye and he untangled my arm from his so he could step closer to the front counter and read the computer-generated sign I’d taped there. “ Sale?” He considered the concept. “That’s one product Jacques has never put on sale. Said he never had to. That it practically sold itself, no matter what price he put on it.”

“Well… yes…” I had never told Jim the truth about Vavoom! Partly because I didn’t think there was much point. Mostly because I didn’t want him to think less of Monsieur. I edged into the subject now with something less than enthusiasm.

“Vavoom! is pretty good stuff, and I used to use it all the time myself, but you know…” Like a diver going off the high board, I pulled in a breath and took a leap. “It’s seasoned salt,” I said. “Vavoom! It’s seasoned salt with a bit of lemon pepper and dill and garlic thrown in for good measure. I should have told you sooner, but… well, want to see? Come on.”

I grabbed Jim’s arm and tugged him down the aisle, and once we were in Monsieur’s office, I showed him the empty jars and the bulk seasonings and the handwritten recipe.

“That’s why I put it on sale, Jim,” I confessed. “It just didn’t seem right charging that much for the stuff. I’ve seen the invoice for the bulk salt. Monsieur hardly pays more than ten dollars for five pounds of it, then turns around and-”

“The cheat.” Jim shook his head. He didn’t look angry, exactly. He looked exasperated. And more than a little disappointed. “I never suspected.”

“I knew.” At this point, I had no choice but to explain how I’d discovered Monsieur’s scheme back when I was a cooking student at Très Bonne Cuisine. “I never wanted to tell you. I didn’t want you to think less of him.”

Jim glanced at the recipe. “Well, he is changing it somewhat. I suppose that excuses Jacques to some extent. But honestly, I never thought…” He blew out a breath of annoyance. “It’s quite a scam, isn’t it? And he’s got everyone believing it’s a gourmet treat.”

I moved over to the counter and measured the additional ingredients. I added them to the salt, stirred, and started filling jars. Without me asking, Jim stepped up beside me to help.

I’d barely finished one when what he’d said struck a chord.