Miranda Bliss - Dying for Dinner

Which was why I didn’t see Peter until he stepped right in front of me.

“Whoa!” I pulled up short and caught my breath. “What are you-?”

“I saw the ad in the newspaper. You know…” Peter looked around to make sure no one was paying any attention to us. “About your friend Jacques… I figured this had something to do with our case so I knew you’d need my help.”

“That’s really nice.” It was, in a twisted sort of way, so I didn’t feel guilty saying it. “But Peter…” A group of elderly ladies headed past us and toward the senior seating that had been reserved in the front of the auditorium, and I pulled Peter aside. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your help…” I was at a crossroads here, and I sucked in a long breath. But honestly, I didn’t have to think about what to say.

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Peter.”

I guess the message didn’t sink in. He stared at me.

“Peter?” I was tempted to grab his arm, but I thought it best to avoid personal contact. “You heard me, right? I appreciate your wanting to help with our case. I do. But Peter, you’re hanging around because you’re lonely, and, Peter…” I really didn’t have time for this sort of melodrama so I just blurted it out. “I’m over you, Peter. Totally, completely, one hundred percent over you. So if you want to establish some sort of wonderful, lasting relationship, you should know that you’re going to need to do it with someone else. I’m in love with Jim.”

“The cook?” It was the first thing that penetrated his shock, and Peter blinked at me in wonder. “You and a cook?”

“Me and a fantastic, supportive guy. He’s got a great sense of humor. He’s got terrific plans for the future of his business. He’s caring and he’s dependable.”

“And I’m not.”

I had been forced to be brutally honest, but that didn’t mean I was heartless. I gave Peter a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I think you could be,” I said. “And I think you will be. Once you find the right woman. I hope you do, Peter. I truly do. I wish you every happiness in the world.”

And because the clock was ticking and I was on the hunt for a mandoline, I didn’t wait and I didn’t say another word. I raced up the aisle toward where I saw Eve standing with Tyler.

And when I did?

When I did, I had a smile on my face.

But then, that’s what always happens when I know in my heart that I just did the right thing.

NORMAN… ER, JACQUES… DID SAY CLAUDE BROOKING was a friend, so I assumed they might have some things in common.

Like charming little gourmet shops.

Or cute French accents (even if they weren’t real).

What Eve and I discovered-after we wasted precious minutes searching for Claude in the maze of booths selling everything from cookware to cookie mixes to knife sharpeners-was a mishmash of tables piled with every cheap kitchen gadget imaginable. (Yes, I know, this makes me sound like a cooking snob, and honestly, it’s not like me, but a couple weeks at Très Bonne Cuisine is bound to do that to a person).

Claude’s merchandise was displayed around a huge RV that had been pulled right onto the site. Just in case that wasn’t conspicuous enough, the RV had a yellow banner draped across the side of it that proclaimed Brooking Cooking in huge red letters.

And Claude Brooking?

I didn’t even have to ask. Claude Brooking had to be the guy in the blue, yellow, and orange Hawaiian shirt who was doing his best to schmooze a couple of ladies into buying colorful little plastic cups that clipped over the side of a pot.

“You’ve never seen anything like these,” he said, and forget the French accent. Claude and Norman must have known each other back in New Jersey. “Look at this, sweetie. You put your egg in here, see. Then you hang this contraption onto your pot and boil your egg. Then…” He slipped the plastic holder off the pot with a motion that said voilà, even if Claude didn’t. “You can serve the egg right from this thing. Is that wonderful, or what? And the price? For anybody else, these are four for twenty dollars. But today only as a show special…” Claude gave the women a wink. “Today only and only for you two, you get all four of them and a set of matching measuring spoons for a mere twenty dollars. It’s once in a lifetime. I’m a crazy man even to offer you this kind of deal. What do you say, ladies? Can I wrap up a set for each of you?”

They were all too eager, and I checked my watch-again-and waited as patiently as I could while Claude rang up the sale.

When he was done, I stepped forward.

“For you, little lady…” Claude wiggled his eyebrows at me, then slid his gaze to Eve, who was standing at my side. “Today only and only for you two, I’m willing to deal. What will it be?” He gestured toward the hodgepodge that was his on-the-road showroom. “Anything at all. Including me, if you’ll take me home.”

I would have laughed, just to be polite. If I had time. “Jacques Lavoie,” I said instead. “He’s a friend of yours, right? He’s doing a cooking demonstration and-”

“He’s back?” Claude’s hair was way too dark for a man of his middle years. So were his eyebrows. They shot up his forehead. “I called him a couple times and left messages. He never called back.”

“He’s been busy. So are we.” I scanned the tables, searching for a mandoline. When I didn’t see one, I had no choice but to throw myself on Claude’s mercy. “His demonstration is about to start and-”

“Really? That’s so cool!” Claude reached under the table, produced a sign that said Out to Lunch, Be Right Back, and balanced it on a pile of tea infusers. “You going back to the amphitheater?” he asked. “I’ll walk with you.”

“That’s fine. Really.” The only way to stop him was to put a hand on his arm. “But Jacques needs a mandoline.”

“Going to play music, is he?” A few weeks before, I might have laughed at the joke. Now I knew how lame it was and Eve didn’t get it at all, seeing as how she didn’t know about the musical instrument or the kitchen gadget. Claude was the only one who chuckled before he asked, “Jacques, he needs it now?”

I checked my watch again and gauged the time remaining against how far we had to walk back to the amphitheater. “He needs it right now.”

Claude nodded his understanding and started looking. He looked on the table where the tea infusers were stacked, and on another table dotted with precarious piles of strawberry hullers, cherry pitters, and cheese graters. Failing there, he moved on to a third table, this one filled with staggering heaps of folding chopsticks (I know, I’d never heard of them, either), can openers, and oven mitts that could supposedly withstand temperatures of up to five hundred degrees.

“I know I’ve got a mandoline here somewhere,” Claude said along with something else, but by this time he was down on his hands and knees, searching through the boxes stowed under the tables and it was hard to hear him. “If you can just be patient…”

“I’m trying,” I said from between my gritted teeth, and because she understood, Eve gave me a pat on the back.

When Claude popped back up from the nether reaches of his stock supply, I breathed a sigh of relief-until I noticed he was empty-handed.

“Might be in the RV,” he said, poking a thumb over his shoulder. “Give me a minute, will you? I’ll just go inside for a quick look-see.”

He did, and when he did, I dropped my head into my hands.

“I wanted everything to go smoothly,” I grumbled. “You know, just to make this easier for Norman.”