A Cookbook Conspiracy by Kate Carlisle Page A

there was the grisly Alex Pavlenko murder a few months ago, which took place
     in the bedroom of my best friend, Robin. Robin had been devastated and vulnerable,
     so I wasn’t about to let her face the cops alone. I was right there when the detectives
     showed up.
    Most recently, Inspectors Lee and Jaglom had worked on the murder case of Joseph Taylor,
     a Richmond District bookstore owner I’d known for years.
    I had discovered poor Joe’s dead body in his shop, surrounded by his beloved rare
     and expensive books. Someone very evil had sliced his neck open with a paper-cutting
     knife.
    Who said the book biz wasn’t cutthroat?
    So I couldn’t blame Inspector Lee too much for her snippy remarks; the fact was, we
     did tend to meet under gruesomecircumstances. But I liked her, and I was sure that underneath her prickly surface,
     she liked me, too. We had similar tastes in Szechuan food and good wine. I coveted
     her trench coat and most of the shoes I’d seen her wear. We should’ve been great friends,
     had even planned to meet for a glass of wine sometime, but murder kept getting in
     the way.
    While Derek and Inspector Jaglom spoke in quiet tones over by the row of booths along
     the wall, Inspector Lee pulled out her notepad and focused on me. “I’ll just get some
     of the preliminaries out of the way so we can move on to the main event.” Flipping
     through the pad, she came to a clean page and began to scribble something on it. “So,
     tell me about the dead body in the kitchen. Male or female?”
    “Male. Baxter Cromwell. He’s the owner of this restaurant.”
    She gasped. “The bad boy chef? He’s dead?”
    “Yes.”
    “Crap,” she muttered. “That’s gonna bring out the bloodsucking paparazzi.”
    I was surprised she’d ever heard of Baxter, let alone expressed distress over his
     demise. But I supposed even cops watched the Cooking Channel.
Bad Boy Chef
was the lame title they’d chosen for Baxter’s cooking show, but it suited him and
     it had made him famous.
    I hadn’t even considered the fact that Baxter was a celebrity and the news of his
     murder would be broadcast around the world. Part of me wanted to begrudge Baxter his
     fame because he’d been such a louse to both me and Savannah, but then I thought of
     him lying dead in the kitchen and my resentment faded. Slightly.
    “Please don’t tell me you liked him,” I said.
    Lee thought about it. “It was a good show and he was entertaining enough. But he thrived
     on creating confusion and distrust among his contestants. I could see how someone
     might learn to hate him enough to kill him. Did you know him?”
    “Yes. And he was as big an ass as you can imagine.”
    Lee stared up at me through narrowed eyes. “So did you kill him?”
    “Of course not,” I said, scowling. “Why would you even ask that?”
    She shrugged. “I’m a homicide cop and a murder has just happened, so I ask. That’s
     why I’m here, right? Because there’s been a murder. What I can’t figure out is, why
     are
you
here? Is this how it’s always going to be, Wainwright? Murder happens and you show
     up?”
    “No!” And there went my blood pressure. “I stayed because my sister found the victim
     lying in—”
    “Get off her back, Jan,” Jaglom said, elbowing his partner’s arm. “Let’s get down
     to business.”
    “That’s what I’m doing, Nate,” she said mildly, and craned her neck to get a better
     look at Savannah for the first time. “Your sister, Wainwright?”
    I frowned at her sudden interest, but it was my own fault for mentioning Savannah.
     “Yes, my sister. And she didn’t kill Baxter, either.”
    Lee raised an eyebrow at my snarling tone, but it was too darn bad if she took offense.
     I wasn’t about to let her browbeat Savannah to tears.
    “Savannah,” I said briskly, since she’d zoned out again and I needed to get her undivided
     attention. “This is Detective Inspector Lee, the homicide detective I was