Dying for Dinner

  Miranda Bliss

  * * *

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  PRAISE FOR THE COOKING CLASS MYSTERIES

  Dead Men Don't Get the Munchies

  "Another highly entertaining culinary mystery . . . Miranda Bliss does an exceptional job creating a light, whimsical read." --Roundtable Reviews

  "I would recommend this book to anyone who likes fun, adventure, and a bit of the unexplained."--MyShelf.com

  "Bliss entices readers with captivating characters and a fun, scintillating mystery. A host of mouthwatering recipes is the perfect addition to the zany adventures of protagonist Annie." --Romantic Times

  "Lighthearted fun." --Cozy Library

  Murder on the Menu

  "A nice blend of culinary mystery and romance. Murder on the Menu winds up nicely with a surprising twist and a number of scrumptious recipes." --Roundtable Reviews

  "A fun, entertaining mystery . . . Recommended reading--but be sure to eat first!" --The Romance Readers Connection

  Cooking Up Murder

  "Charming . . . A blissful who-done-it that is filled with some very funny scenes and characters who care about each other." --Midwest Book Review

  "The writing is spellbinding. The blend of mystery, humor, and romance keeps the reader hooked to the pages. The characters are entertaining, and it is not surprising that I find myself eager to read more about this duo. The addition of recipes in the back of the book only adds to its charm. Culinary-mystery fans will need to add this book to their reading piles." --Roundtable Reviews

  "A fun, quick read. A new twist on the favorite culinary mysteries." --The Mystery Reader

  "Light and breezy, touched with humor and a bit of romance. The protagonists are spunky and adventurous, and readers will be cheering for this delectable duo to crack the case." --Romantic Times

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Miranda Bliss

  COOKING UP MURDER

  MURDER ON THE MENU

  DEAD MEN DON'T GET THE MUNCHIES

  DYING FOR DINNER

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  DYING FOR DINNER

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / December 2008

  Copyright (c) 2008 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form

  without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in

  violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-440-64414-6

  BERKLEY (r) PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks of Penguin

  Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  It's payback time!

  And I would like to thank my wonderful fellow brainstormers:

  Diane

  Emilie

  Jasmine

  Karen

  for helping me think my way through this book.

  One

  "TODAY IS THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF MY LIFE."

  Brave words, yes? I actually might have believed them if as I was speaking, my voice didn't waver and my knees didn't knock together like castanets in a flamenco frenzy.

  In an effort to calm myself, I took a deep breath and a long look around. Now that I'd finished checking in our latest batch of cooking students and they'd headed into the kitchen for week number one of Cool Gadgets = Hot Dinners, I was alone in Bellywasher's. It was a Monday night, the restaurant was closed, and, always on the lookout for ways to control skyrocketing costs, I'd turned out every light but the one over the bar. The quiet didn't bother me. Neither did the dark, or the play of shadows against the walls with their painted border of thistles. My gaze glanced over pictures of Scotland, Grandpa Banner-man's walking stick (hung in a place of honor), a kilt, and an autographed photo of Mel Gibson, his face painted blue. The familiarity of the place and the funky, eclectic objects that filled it warmed me through and through. For the first time since I'd walked into the pub, I managed a smile.

  Day or night, dark or light, I could never be uncomfortable in Bellywasher's.

  I know, I know . . . this seems especially crazy. Logic dictates that the food service business and I cannot peacefully coexist.

  I don't cook, see. I don't even like to cook. In point of fact, I am not only the world's worst cook, I am dangerous near a stove. Or an oven. Or a chopping table. Or any other piece of equipment, any appliance or gadget, or any heat source that has anything to do with preparing a meal.

  Still, facts are facts and here's one that's indisputable: Bellywasher's holds a special place in my heart.

  For one thing, it's owned by Jim MacDonald, and Jim is not only a born pub keeper, a wonderful and creative chef, a great guy, and a honey of a hunk, he's my honey, too. Over the last few months, we've gotten closer than ever, and believe me, I know I am one lucky girl. Jim likes me. He more than likes me. Jim believes in my abilities, my level head, and my sound judgment enough to allow me to manage the day-to-day business of his restaurant. He values my opinions; he trusts my decisions. Jim laughs at my jokes, and even though I'd heard it from so many guys over the years that I'd come to realize it was code for Let's just be friends, why don't we? Jim has never once in the year I've known him called me cute.

  Even though I have never been and will never be a flashy dresser, Jim always compliments my choice of clothing. He never forgets to tell me my hair looks nice, even when it is at its curly, unruly worst. He tells me I'm pretty, and he lets me know that he thinks I'm smart, and believe me, for a woman who's gone through what I went through with Peter, my ex, this is a whole, new, wonderful world.

  Jim is so terrific, he doesn't even complain (at least not too much) when I investigate a murder or two.

  Oh, yeah, he's a sweetie, all right, and since Belly-washer's means the world to him, it means just as much to me, too. Our customers are important to both of us. So are our employees, and our place in the community of businesses along King Street in Old Town Alexandria, Virginia. I know I am part of something wonderful, and I am grateful for every bit of it, even things like the photograph just over my left shoulder, the one that is supposed to show the Loch Ness Monster. Call me cynical, but unlike the customers who marvel at the gray and grainy picture and swear they can see Nessie as plain as day, I'm not so sure. To me, the photo is just a jumble of blurred images. It looks like whoever was holding the camera had aimed it toward the loch just as he or she sneezed. Or maybe the person was just so jazzed about being in the Highlands and maybe actually catching sight of the beast, he or she was having a fit of nerves.

  Just like I was at that
very moment.

  So much for keeping my mind occupied and steadying my jitters. The moment I let down my guard, my doubts closed in on me. My stomach tied into familiar knots. The rat-a-tat of my heart thumping against my ribs started up in full force, and I gulped down my misgivings.

  "Today is the first day of the rest of your life, Annie," I told myself again, just so I didn't forget. "Make the most of it. Enjoy. Learn all you can. And stop being such a wuss. You did what you had to do. More importantly, you did what you wanted to do. Nobody made you. You did--"

  "There's the lady of leisure!" Eve DeCateur was no stranger to Bellywasher's, either. Eve is our hostess. She's also my best friend. I'd locked the front door (what security-conscious business manager wouldn't?), but Eve had her own key, and she breezed into the restaurant and called out her greeting right before she set her Kate Spade bag on the bar and put one arm around me for a quick hug.

  "You are not looking as happy as you should be today." Eve's hugs were like everything else about Eve--fast and furious. Almost before she had loosened her hold on me, she was leaning forward for a better look. "Annie, you're not having regrets, are you?"

  I could lie to myself. I could even lie to Jim when it was for his own good. I could never lie to the woman who'd been my best buddy since forever.

  I tried anyway.

  "Regrets?" I'd learned a lot from Eve in all those years. Like I'd seen her do a million times in a million different situations, I tossed my head and laughed. "Why would I be feeling any regrets? Today is the first day--"

  "Of the rest of your life. Yeah, I know." She didn't sound convinced. Which pretty much meant I wasn't fooling her. She stepped back, her weight against one foot and the bright yellow stiletto that encased it, her hands on her hips and the short, short black skirt that looked just right with her buttery yellow blouse. Her head tipped, she narrowed her brilliant blue eyes and looked into my ordinary brown ones, her Southern accent suddenly as thick as the humid summer air outside.

  "Why, Annie Capshaw, I do believe you're trying to pull the wool over my eyes."

  My shoulders drooped. "I was. I did. I thought--"

  "That if you fooled me, you might also fool yourself."

  I hate it when Eve is insightful. Not that a best friend doesn't appreciate honesty from another best friend, but Eve and insightful . . . those two words don't exactly belong in the same sentence. Eve is kindhearted, sure. She's funny and unselfish. She's as good as anyone I've ever met, and twice as supportive. If I could pick anyone--anyone at all--to help me out with my investigations, believe me, it would be Eve. That's how much of a team player she is. What she's not, usually, is insightful, and when she is, I know she's always right on the money.

  I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, and my sneakers squeaked against the hardwood floor.

  "It's that obvious, huh?" I asked.

  "Pooh!" When she tossed her head, it was far more dramatic than when I'd done it. Of course, she made that little hand gesture to go along with it, the one that was dismissive and spectacular all at the same time and just happened to show off her perfect manicure and her slender, elegant fingers. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on with you, honey. Even before I took one little look at you, I knew you'd be a basket case today. Of course you are. Who wouldn't be?"

  "You. You wouldn't be."

  Another toss of the head, and Eve's blonde hair gleamed in the glow of the overhead light. "I am not nearly as dependable and responsible as you. Never have been, never will be. My goodness, Annie, do I have to remind you? I've had more jobs in my lifetime than I can count on both hands. And you--"

  "I've been a teller at Pioneer Savings and Loan since I got out of high school. Until . . ." I couldn't help it, I gulped. "Until today."

  "That's the spirit!" There was no spirit at all in my words, but Eve didn't let that stop her. She clapped me on the back. "That's old news, honey. This is where your future begins." She made a broad gesture toward the darkened restaurant. "Think of how much easier your life is going to be now that you've quit your job at the bank. No more working all day there, then rushing over here for the evening so you can take care of everything that needs to be taken care of."

  "That's right." It was one of the things I'd been reminding myself about since the day I gave notice at Pioneer and, hearing it spoken out loud, some of the weight lifted from my shoulders.

  "No more working yourself to a frazzle. Now you can focus on the restaurant and your head won't be filled with all that boring banking business."

  "Right again." I nodded. Sure, it was the same ol' rah-rah speech Eve had been giving me since the day I announced I was thinking about quitting my job at the bank so I could devote myself full time to Bellywasher's, but I never tired of hearing it. And more importantly, I needed to hear it. Especially at times like this when my resolve was wavering and I was questioning what I'd done. It was, of course, exactly why Eve was saying it.

  "The bank was boring," she said. She was reading my mind. "The bank was dull."

  Truer words were never spoken.

  "Now you can concentrate on other things. Like murder investigations."

  I'd been so busy finally feeling good about my decision and everything it meant, I never saw that coming. Eve's words hit me somewhere between my stomach and my heart and automatically, I balled my hands into fists and pressed them there. Like that would actually help.

  "Oh, no," I said, but even before the rest of my objection could form on my lips, Eve stopped me.

  "Don't kid yourself, honey. You're good at being a detective."

  I was.

  Some of the tension inside me uncurled.

  "You're smart and you're clever and, so far, you haven't got yourself killed."

  This was supposed to make me feel better?

  That knot of stress wound tight again.

  "Come on, Annie. Admit it. You like the excitement of investigating."

  I did. This was one thing I could never lie about, so I didn't even try.

  "It's just that I don't want anyone else to die." This was the honest-to-gosh truth, and though I realized with a start that I'd been thinking about it for months, I'd never actually put it into words. "If I have to investigate, it means someone near and dear to us is in trouble. Like you were last winter when you were a suspect."

  "Pish-tush." Eve is the only woman I know who can actually say this and not sound ridiculous. She pouted. "I'm not going to get accused of murdering anyone ever again. You don't have to worry about that."

  "Good." I drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. "I do like investigating," I said. "I like stretching my mind and my skills. I like solving the puzzle. But even that . . ." Another long breath. This one couldn't still the butterflies that fluttered through my stomach. "I don't want to get that close to murder. Not ever again."

  "Agreed." Eve grinned. "I'll tell you what, then. You just forget I ever mentioned murders and investigations. Think about all the other things you'll be able to concentrate on now that you've quit your job at the bank. Not just Bellywasher's." Her eyes lit. "Think about Jim."

  A smile blossomed across my expression. Eve always knew how to get to the heart of the matter.

  "You're right." The pep talk bolstered my spirits and, feeling better, I turned to go into the kitchen. "I've been through all the doubts and all the worries. A hundred times."

  "Oh, honey, more like a million." Laughing, she fell into step beside me. "But don't worry, nobody holds that against you. You're not the type who looks before she leaps. We all understand that. We knew once push came to shove, and you actually gave notice and quit, you'd be a little--"

  "Obsessive?" I was afraid if I didn't supply the word, she might pick one that was more to the point--and more bruising.

  "I was going to say crazy out of your mind." She laughed. "But yeah, I guess obsessive about covers it. If you weren't, if you didn't worry about walking away from that nice, steady paycheck and that benefits package and that big ol' pension plan--"