Two Cooks A-Killing Read online

  “Has-been?” Bart turned ruby red. “Nobody talks about their roles at two in the morning. They roll, if you get what I mean, loverboy.”

  “I’m happily married,” Kyle said. “The only thing that surprises me is that you could knock her up, old man.”

  “Stop right there!” Bart grabbed a goose leg and shook it like a weapon toward Kyle. “Stop, or you’ll be as dead as this goddamn goose.” He threw the leg back onto the meat platter. It bounced off the edge and landed in the relish tray, sending pepperoncini and kalamata olives bounding into the air as the tray skittered across the tablecloth, caroming into the plate with cranberry sauce. The cranberry shot off the plate and landed on Gwen’s lap.

  She screamed, grasped at the sauce and flung it right back at Bart. “You bastard!”

  “Maybe you’re the one,” he yelled at her. “You wanted Kyle all to yourself. You didn’t like Brittany horning in on him.”

  “I’ll show you about horning in!” She picked up the platter of baby back ribs in bourbon gravy.

  “No!” Angie shrieked.

  Gwen swung the bowl back and then forward. The ribs and gravy flew out like someone tossing slop to hogs. It missed Bart and hit Silver. Drenched with sauce, he picked up a rib and threw it right back at Gwen.

  Everyone got into the act. The tension broke as food flew, curses sounded, and accusations rang out. Soup, caviar, and sweet potatoes filled the air, as did the random plate or glass.

  The room darkened as the candles went out one by one, some knocked over, others snuffed out by landing food, until only lights from the tree remained.

  “Relax, Gwen,” Kyle said, trying to hold her back. “Don’t listen to them. If you were jealous of her, it’s not important. All actresses are jealous.”

  “You think I’d be jealous of you?” She hit him with a green onion biscuit.

  “Bart is right,” Serefina shouted. “It was Leona! I never could stand her. On so many shows I wanted to smack her myself. Look, look what she’s done to my daughter’s dinner! I will slap her!”

  “Mamma, stop!” Angie grabbed Serefina’s arm, and Sterling took this as his chance to finally put his arms around her.

  “Everyone!” Angie screamed. “This is getting us nowhere.”

  No one listened.

  “Sit down!” She yelled again.

  They didn’t.

  What next?

  Enter Connie carrying a tray. On it were two huge chocolate soufflés and a pecan pie covered with whipped cream. Her jaw dropped as she watched the celebrity food fight. Gawking at the chaos instead of where she was going, she stepped on a ring of acorn squash. Her foot slid out from under her.

  Connie and the tray started to fall forward. The tray teetered ominously. Angie saw the impending disaster and rushed to save the tray, when she was bumped by one of the food warriors and went into her own downward descent.

  Angie, Connie, and tray collided. Sticky pie flew up and landed on the remains of the Christmas goose. Gooey soufflés fell to the floor with a thud then a whoosh as all the air went out of them making them flat as pancakes.

  Connie sat on the floor, dazed, picking caviar from her hair and wondering how it got there. Angie sat beside her, rubbing her head. That tray had been hard.

  On the table was the Little Drummer Boy music box, now covered with the remnants of her dinner. Her beautiful dinner had been ruined.

  The table was a mess.

  The diners were a mess.

  She was a mess.

  Why had she thought accusing Junior in the middle of her wonderful dinner would be a good idea?

  Rhonda broke for the door. Bart grabbed her. “I swear to you, I didn’t kill Brittany!” he yelled.

  “I didn’t say you killed her. I said you had an affair with her. I know you didn’t kill her!”

  “How do you know that?” Tarleton asked.

  Her head whipped back and forth from Tarleton to Bart.

  The room became still, as if everyone sensed that a new, more important drama was about to unfold.

  Angie and Connie stood.

  Rhonda stared at them like a tiger caught in a cage, her gaze turning harder and more hate-filled by the minute. “I knew something like this would happen if I returned. I didn’t want to. For the past five years I’ve been able to live without having to get dead drunk in order to forget about Eagle Crest and what happened here. Without thinking about Brittany and how she died…about Bart, and how I gave him my heart only to watch him trample on it.” She drew in a deep breath. “I never wanted to be here again, never wanted to see any of you. I hate you all! I hate what you’ve made me. Most of all, Bart Farrell, I hate you!”

  Tarleton grabbed her arm. “Damn it, Rhonda. How could you kill her?”

  “Let go of me!” she screamed, yanking herself free. “I’m leaving. I quit.”

  She turned to leave the room, and froze.

  Paavo was in the lead, Digger following, as the two pulled into the parking area at Eagle Crest. They had reconnoitered at the St. Helena police station. Putting together what both had found, the sergeant on duty was convinced. He had to talk to the chief, who’d already left for home and was probably enjoying a leisurely dinner, to get an arrest warrant signed.

  Paavo and Digger knew who the killer was. Now, all they had to do was make sure everything stayed quiet and peaceful at Eagle Crest until the police arrived.

  They didn’t want to tip anyone off. Paavo hoped everyone would be enjoying the elaborate dinner Angie had worked so hard over, and that accusations of murder would be the last thing on their minds.

  The sound of china breaking as they opened the front door was their first indication that something was seriously wrong.

  A goose’s leg in the foyer was the second.

  Rhonda backed up at the sight of Paavo and Digger in the doorway. Everyone knew Paavo was a cop, and their eyes jumped from him to Rhonda.

  Bart rose and took Rhonda’s arm. “You don’t have to say anything. He has no jurisdiction here. Let’s go upstairs.”

  “No,” she pulled her arm free, her eyes on Paavo’s. “I can’t take it any longer. I’ve lived with it too many years—if it was living.”

  “Rhonda, don’t!” Bart began.

  She raised her hand to silence him.

  She stared at him. “I didn’t kill her. I wanted to kill this show. I arrived early in San Francisco and drove up here to destroy things, set a fire, freak out Gwen with the bloody doll, but no matter what I did, you wouldn’t stop!” She took a deep breath. “No one killed Brittany. I know, because I was there.”

  Tarleton held himself rigid. “Go on,” he whispered.

  “I had a fight with her,” she began, “but it wasn’t about love. I…I felt I had already lost that fight. It was about jealousy—professional jealousy. She wanted me written out of the series, wanted Natalie killed off. She swore she had the power to do it. Judging how close she was to Em, I believed her. Her character would become Cliff’s wife—the second-most powerful person on the show. That was what we fought about. She ran into the room and locked the door, and I threw myself against it. I was shocked when it flew open, and so was she. She stumbled backwards, away from me, and her foot caught on the throw rug. The window was open, and she fell.”

  Rhonda was shaking, her expression wild. “I didn’t want to hurt her. I just wanted to stop her from going to Tarleton with those ideas. I was afraid. Afraid for my job, my career, my future. When she fell, that ended all of them. I couldn’t bear the show after that. I honored my commitment to the last year in a haze of alcohol, then quit.” She gazed down at Bart. “I never touched her.”

  “I believe you,” he whispered, taking her hand.

  “You do?” She stared, her eyes filled with surprise.

  “Of course. I know you. You could never hurt anyone. These past years, alone and without work, I’ve had time to think about you and all we had together—and all I’d stupidly thrown away. I love you, Rhonda. I al
ways have.”

  Tears came to her eyes as she stared at him. “Thank you,” she whispered, then drew in her breath and faced the others. “I was in pain that night—my shoulder was burning—and in the early-morning hours, I went down to the kitchen for ice. Fred saw me. I told him I suffered from bursitis. He didn’t react, and I thought he believed me. I never heard any more from him until last week after the rehearsal. After he spoke, I immediately recognized who he really was.

  “I followed him into the kitchen, and when we were alone, I asked him what he meant. He said we should go down to the wine cellar to talk privately. He wanted money to keep quiet. I told him no, but he grabbed my arms and was pushing and pulling, shaking me, demanding money. He was small, but incredibly strong. I pulled my arms free, and suddenly, he fell over, flat on his back. There was a loud thunk as his head hit. His eyes were shut. I ran. It can’t be happening again, I thought. It can’t.” Her gaze met each person, finally resting on Paavo. “That was the last time I saw him. I never touched him, and I didn’t lift him into a wine barrel.”

  Rhonda swayed. Bart caught her and helped her into her chair. She gripped his hand like a life-line.

  Angie’s gaze went to the Little Drummer Boy and her certainty of Junior’s guilt fizzled. She didn’t know what to think.

  “Aren’t you going to arrest her?” Gwen screamed. “You don’t believe her do you? She’s an actress! It’s all lies!”

  Paavo and Digger caught each other’s eyes. And in his hesitancy, it was obvious that Rhonda was not the one he suspected. “Brittany survived the fall with a few broken bones. It isn’t what killed her.”

  Suddenly, the Christmas tree lights went out, plunging them into complete darkness.

  Chairs, food, the Christmas tree crashed. Bodies flew about, shoved hard against walls and to the floor. Panicked, everyone pushed and fought.

  Paavo heard Angie’s cry among the others, first clear, then muffled. He tried to reach her when Gwen fell against him.

  Climbing over furniture, Silver reached the light switch. Slowly, everyone picked themselves up and looked at the chaos around them. One by one, they studied each other.

  Two people were missing.

  Chapter 35

  In the darkness, shortly after the tree lights went out, Angie felt a strong arm circle her waist, capturing her arms in a viselike grip. A hand covered her mouth. She fought and struggled and tried to cry out, but her captor was too strong for her.

  She was lifted off the ground, the wedgies falling from her feet. As easily as if she were a doll, she was carried out of the family room and up the stairs.

  Even as Paavo hurried out the opened front door into the dark night, something told him that wasn’t the way the killer would go. It was too obvious. While others ran forward, searching the front driveway, Paavo turned back inside.

  In the foyer, he stopped in his tracks.

  Minnie stood before him dressed up as a chef and holding a Santa Claus mask and hat. He didn’t need to be told that had been Angie’s idea.

  “I was in the kitchen,” Minnie said. “What happened?”

  He had no time for explanations. He rushed out to the courtyard.

  He tossed her into Brittany’s bedroom. She hit the wall and landed on the floor, dazed. He slammed the door shut, then slid the bureau in front of it.

  “Why are we here?” Angie asked. “Why don’t you run? You’ll be caught.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Try to drive to the border? Sure, that’ll work.” He gave a snort. “I’ve got a better way to escape. You’ll help me.”

  “Why did you do it?” she asked. “Why kill Brittany and Demitasse?”

  “The cop had it right about Demitasse. He blackmailed me for years. When I tried to make him stop, he went nuts. Contacted Tarleton about Brittany, and Tarleton hired him.

  “I told Fred he’d won, that I’d give him his blood money, but first, we had to get Tarleton off our backs. The only way to stop him was to throw the blame on Rhonda. We came up with a plan to do that. Fred thought he was just supposed to scare Rhonda into a breakdown. To me, it was a way to get rid of them both.”

  “That doesn’t explain Brittany,” Angie said. “Why kill her?”

  “Because she went and got herself pregnant! She expected me to leave my wife and marry her. When I said no, she threatened to go to the press. Do you know what that would have done to me? To my career? Every bit of popularity I had was built on my nice guy image. What would the public say if they heard Adrian Roxbury was no good? I’d be finished.

  “I was in the courtyard and saw her fall. That was my chance. A twist of the neck, and it was over.”

  Tarleton came in the front door, frantic and then frightened as he gawked at Connie, now standing beside the trembling Minnie. “Where’s the cop? And Angie?”

  “I don’t know, but Paavo went that way.” She pointed at the courtyard.

  Digger ran in right behind Tarleton, but screeched to a halt in front of the two women.

  “They’re taking too long.” Kyle O’Rourke grabbed Angie by the arm and lifted her to her feet with one hand. With the other he slid open the window.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed, trying to get away from the madman. Her engagement ring flashed as she tried to break away from him and desperation filled her. “Let me go, please!”

  “This will get their attention.”

  He pushed her out the window.

  Angie’s scream rose from high above.

  Paavo’s blood froze. He was in the courtyard heading for the gate.

  He looked up.

  O’Rourke stood at Angie’s window. She was more than halfway out. Her legs were inside, but her arms flailed. It looked like he was holding her by gripping the top she wore at the neckline and waist. If he let go, she’d tumble to the ground.

  Her face was white with fear. As he watched, she was able to reach back with one hand and grip the window frame. She tried to pull herself back, but O’Rourke’s strength was too great.

  “Madonna mia.”

  Others had run outside. Among them, Paavo heard Serefina’s whispered prayer. He didn’t turn her way; he didn’t take his eyes off Angie.

  Someone flipped switches and one by one inside and outside lights came on, including the Christmas lights strung over the house and courtyard. The courtyard sparkled, creating a fairyland setting despite the life-and-death struggle going on high above it.

  “Give it up, O’Rourke,” Paavo said. He moved closer to the house, closer to Angie, three stories above him. Fear and nearly uncontrollable anger clutched his heart. “We can bargain, but not if you hurt her.”

  Against the red and yellow twinkling lights, Kyle O’Rourke’s usually handsome face appeared shadowed and contorted. He looked evil.

  “You think I’m a fool?” O’Rourke shouted. “It’s all over for me. And it’s all her fault. Nosy bitch ruined everything.” He pushed Angie farther out the window, so far she lost her grip of the frame. She screamed, as did everyone below.

  “Stop!” Paavo shouted. “What do you want? A lawyer? We’ll get you what you need. You’ve got lots of outs right now. You know it. Think about some of the movies you’ve been in. It’s not cut and dry. It never is. We can talk as long as you don’t take this any further.”

  O’Rourke laughed as he watched Bart and Tarleton come out of the house with a blanket. “You jerks think you’ll catch her?” he ranted. “Didn’t you understand what the cop said? I was in the Special Forces. I know how to kill with my bare hands. Do you really think I’d toss her without making sure she’s dead first?”

  Silver began to climb up the almond tree to the left of Angie’s window. As he crawled out onto a long limb, it began to dip and lower. He went out farther, until he was lowered to a spot beneath Angie.

  He sat on the bounding branch, holding himself in place with his legs.

  “Let’s negotiate, O’Rourke,” Paavo said. “You want to get out alive, I want Angie.
We can deal.”

  “I know what I want. A private plane, fully fueled, and a pilot—the one I flew here in. Gwen knows him. To get me from here, to the plane, I want a helicopter.”

  “Sure,” Paavo said. “Anything you want. To arrange it, though, we’ll need the help of the local police—”

  “No cops!” O’Rourke yelled.

  “Okay. We’ll deal directly with the airport,” Paavo said.

  Sterling appeared at the door, with him the police. Brittany’s autopsy photos, Kyle O’Rourke’s Special Forces training, and Digger’s paperwork that placed O’Rourke at nearly every job Fred Demitasse held over the past eleven years had apparently been enough to convince the police chief to issue a warrant for the actor’s arrest…a few minutes too late.

  Paavo gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He didn’t want O’Rourke to see the police for fear of how he might react.

  At the same time, Digger peered over the courtyard wall, then motioned to someone at the far side of the house.

  “We’ll get you a private plane,” Paavo continued, his voice calming. “Gwen will help and we’ll have one ready for you. How big a plane do you want?”

  “A Gulfstream.”

  Just then, Digger’s plan became clear. The crew’s truck with a crane and cherry picker basket on the end came into sight. The crane was extended higher than the roof of the house.

  “How big?” Paavo shouted, needing to keep Kyle’s attention on the possibility of escape.

  When the crane’s tip was directly over Angie’s window, the cherry picker began to lower. Connie was in it, while Minnie sat on the rim, her legs dangling in the air. Straps bound her chest and hips.

  “Big enough to get me to Mexico—deep into Mexico,” he said. “I’m keeping her with me until I know you aren’t lying.”

  “I wouldn’t lie about this,” Paavo said, stalling. “We’re going to need time. Pull her inside so we’ll know you’re serious about negotiating.”

  Angie was able to grab the window frame once again.