Restaurant Weeks Are Murder by Libby Klein

Author:Libby Klein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-12-14T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

“This is just awful.” Ivy paced back and forth talking to herself. “What am I going to do? First Bess, now Horatio. They were my anchors. They were the only judges who knew what they were talking about.”

Norman’s head shot up from his cell phone screen. “Hey!”

“Now they’re gone, and we haven’t done the judging yet. I have to fill that seat. I can’t do the show with just these three idiots.”

Miss New Jersey had been examining her manicure. “Who are you calling an idiot?”

“I need a new judge. Maybe someone from the audience. The viewers will never notice if I swap out one old lady for another.” Ivy looked into the stands where a hundred and six sets of eyes were held in rapt attention, taking in her nervous breakdown. “What lucky audience member wants to volunteer to fill in for Horatio?”

No one answered.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You get to taste all these wonderful dishes before any of your friends.”

Itty Bitty Smitty called out, “You’ll get to be buried before your friends too.”

“No one is going to die,” Ivy implored.

“Are ya shuwar?” Mrs. Sheinberg asked.

Ivy’s eyes rolled up to the right. “Yeeeesss. I’m mostly sure.”

Well that is very convincing.

Nothing.

Aunt Ginny raised her hand. “I’ll do it. I’ve already lived forever anyway.”

I felt a small flurry of panic jump in my chest. I wanted to call out “You better sit down, old woman!” But Adrian beat me to the complaint.

“No way! She’s working for Team Maxine! Unfair advantage.”

Ivy wouldn’t hear it. She was desperate. “You’ll be great, Mrs . . . Poppy’s aunt. Please come join the others.”

Aunt Ginny took Horatio’s seat. “Call me Ginny. Can I get clean silverware? Preferably without traces of botulism.”

Ivy jumped. “Oh my gosh, of course.” She clicked on her headset. “Roger, oh.” She clicked it off with a sigh and turned to the cameraman. “Frank, could you please go get four sets of silverware from the dish pantry?”

Frank came back a few minutes later with clean silverware and glasses.

Ivy filled the judges’ glasses with fresh wine, and the judging began again.

One by one, the chefs presented their dishes, and Norman took the first bites. When he gave the thumbs-up, everyone else nibbled at the food.

The chefs should have worried less about Aunt Ginny’s partiality, and more about her lack of a filter. “What’d you do to this shrimp? It’s tough as an old rooster. This bisque tastes like a dishrag. You ruined these scallops with that smelly sauce. I don’t care what was in the basket, no one wants to eat something called Buddha’s hand pie.”

The chefs waited in their kitchens, whispering amongst themselves about Bess and Horatio, how Norman was sure his food wasn’t poisoned, and the career-destroying competition they’d gotten roped into. After an hour of critiquing, the filming was finally a wrap for the day.

Aunt Ginny made a beeline for my kitchen. “So, I’ve been thinking. If Bess was the intended murder victim, it was probably because she gave such harsh reviews, right?”

I nodded my head.

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