Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery by Clare O'Donohue

while Vera comforted a shaken Erik. I nearly broke out in applause. I didn’t even have to stage the tension in this place. Andres and I exchanged a quick nod, and he continued shooting Vera and Erik.
    Ilena just sat and watched with a detached amusement, then turned to me as if our conversation had never been interrupted. “This place really is a dream of mine,” she said, looking around. “I didn’t have much growing up. My father worked in a butcher shop owned by his uncle. We ate well,” she laughed, “but we never had any money.”
    “You must be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
    “What have I accomplished?”
    It was a good question. “Once this place is open, I imagine you’ll be the talk of Chicago. A businesswoman every bit as successful as her husband. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
    She cocked her head toward me. “I was twenty-four when I married Roman. My bank account was overdrawn. I had to borrow the dress I got married in.” She sighed. “I thought I’d found the answer to my prayers. Then, the day before the wedding, Roman had me sign a prenup that if we divorced we’d each keep what we’d earned in the marriage.”She looked square at me, and for the first time I could see a force behind her pale brown eyes. “You know how much I’ve earned in the years Roman and I have been married?”
    “I can guess.”
    “Nothing.” She slapped the table. “Absolutely nothing. He’s made sure of that. But this place will be mine. My success story. My money.”
    “And your ticket out of the marriage?” I couldn’t help but wish she were saying this on camera, but it was interesting either way.
    Ilena sat up very straight. “I can butcher a hog, do you know that, Kate?” I shook my head. “And do you know why?”
    “Because your father was a butcher.”
    “Because my father taught me that you have to do what needs to be done, even if it’s distasteful.”
    “Good lesson.”
    “Damn good lesson.”
    She turned back to her food. As she bit into some chicken, I watched her. The put-on elegance was gone. My guess was that she’d conjured that image early in her marriage, or maybe before. She’d thought it would add a certain sophisticated air to the story I was doing, which was why she’d gone on and on about how exclusive Club Car would be. But she’d obviously seen that it hadn’t worked. Now she was doing the humble roots bit, hoping I’d prefer that side of her. She was right about that. And I appreciated that she was pragmatic enough to make the switch midstream. But it also made me wonder if Vera’s questions about the finances stood in the way of her plans. Ilena was more than capable of putting a stop to them.

Sixteen
    A s lunch was wrapping up, the famed Walt Russo, legendary “it” chef, arrived to conduct a tasting for the investors, and of course, for the cameras. He was lanky, late thirties, with light brown skin and just-got-out-of-bed dark brown hair. He didn’t use the words “exclusive” or “hip,” so five minutes after I’d met him, he was my favorite one of the whole group.
    Like the rest of the restaurant, the kitchen was a mess. The tile floor was installed and about half of the appliances were in, but the rest of the space was covered in drop cloths and filled with boxes.
    “You’re going to cook for the tasting in here?” I asked.
    “I started out at a barbecue place in Evanston. We served mostly students, so the food was cheap and greasy.” He laughed. “I don’t want to even guess how many health codes we violated. But if it taught me anything, it was how to deal with whatever kitchen I was in, including this one.”
    Walt had brought knives, pans, and tableware with him, as well as two large boxes of ingredients, and it took him very little time to start chopping, sautéing, frying, and boiling—often all at the same time. Without even tasting his cooking I could see why Vera had been so awed. Andres went handheld with the