Murder for the Halibut (13 page)

Casey was first to approach the table carrying three small plates, which she set in
front of Jordan and the other judges. Four stewards dressed in freshly starched white
uniforms passed out her plated appetizer to the tasters in the front row of the middle
section of the theater. A quick glance at Casey’s entry told Jordan all she needed
to know. This one would end up in her napkin. She fought to keep the plastic smile
on her face.

Mentally high-fiving herself for pretending to look excited about the small brownish
blob on her plate, Jordan was soon brought back to reality as the smell wafted up.
Quickly, she placed her napkin over her mouth and nose. She didn’t need to hear Casey’s
description of her entry to know she’d never be sharing this concoction over margaritas
with friends. All the same, she nearly gagged when Casey described her Chicken Liver
Pâté, Southwest Style.

No way ‘chicken liver’ and ‘Southwest’ should ever be uttered in the same sentence
, Jordan thought.

No God-fearing Texas cowboy would even consider putting this stuff anywhere near his
mouth. It ranked right up there with cow patties, in Jordan’s book, and it was a certainty
this one would end up in her napkin. She snuck a peek Beau’s way and eyed his napkin
in case she needed a clean one for her nose when the others presented their dishes.
He was so intent on eyeing up Marsha, he didn’t even notice when she discreetly slid
his over and onto her lap in one swift movement.

When she saw George tasting the pâté, she took a deep breath before sectioning off
a tiny portion with her fork. Then she shoved it into her mouth, sliding it over to
the corner just as Rosie had instructed and holding her breath at the same time so
the smell didn’t do her in. After pretending to chew for a moment, she touched the
napkin to her lips as daintily as she could and spit out the liver.

Yuck!
She reached for her water glass and took a big drink to wash any residual liver gunk
out of her mouth.

“Okay, judges,” Emily said, moving swiftly to the table. “Tell us what you thought
about our first entry. You have five cards in front of you with each contestant’s
name. Please rate the dish on a scale of one to five, using creativity, presentation,
and taste as the criteria.”

Jordan reached for the card with Casey’s name and quickly scrawled a 3 on it. She
figured going the middle of the road would neither hurt nor help Casey. The only real
score would come from Christakis, as Victor had so delicately put it.

“George, what did you think about Casey’s dish?” Emily asked, moving first to her
friend.

Christakis held up his card, showing a large 3. “As much as I adore chicken livers,
they should never be used with peppers and honey.”

My thoughts exactly!
Jordan bit her lip to hide her glee. Maybe she didn’t suck as a judge, after all.

“In my opinion, Casey would have been better served using a chicken wing or even a
thigh to go with her required ingredients. That said, it didn’t taste bad, but it
did taste like she simply threw the ingredients together without blending the flavors.”

Jordan cast a glance at Casey and noticed the anger radiating from her eyes and her
pursed lips. She was glad the woman didn’t have a sharp fishing hook in her hand right
now.

“Jordan, what did you think?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. This was make-or-break time for her.

“I actually thought exactly the same thing as George. Although it had a good flavor,
I can’t imagine any of my cowboy friends trying this one, nor can I picture gourmet
cooks out there preparing it. It’s too fancy for one and not fancy enough for the
other.”

She deliberately avoided eye contact with Casey as she held up her card, again giving
thanks that the chef didn’t have a sharp instrument in her hands. Something about
this woman scared her. Maybe because Jordan had seen her in action on the fishing
boat and then overheard her self-incriminating conversations with Marsha.

When it was Beau’s turn to evaluate Casey, he gave her a 4.5 and mumbled something
about liver with a spicy flavor starting a new trend.

Yeah
,
a trend with you buttering up Marsha’s friend
so you can play house with Marsha right under your wife’s nose.

As Emily once again strolled over to center stage, Casey walked back to her station
with a half smile on her face. She probably thought the decent score from Beau would
keep her in the game.

Next, Luis brought his dish to the judges, and Jordan sighed in relief. Warm Mushroom
Salad with poached egg and spicy mango vinaigrette. Although the name brought up images
of food she’d never order anywhere, Jordan was able to swallow the bite she took,
thinking it wasn’t half bad.

George Christakis gave the dish high praise and rated it a 4, as did Jordan, leaving
Luis poised to walk away with high marks.

Until Beau gave it a 2.5, complaining that the lettuce was soggy. Jordan couldn’t
help wonder what was up with that, especially when she saw the look that crossed between
the two men before Luis turned and walked back to his station.

Phillip’s entry was Seared Scallops with Mango Salsa, which Jordan was also able to
get down. She’d never had scallops before and probably would never order them from
a menu, but at least they didn’t end up in her napkin. With George’s 4, her own 4,
and Beau’s 3, Phillip had the winning entry so far. Jordan relaxed in her chair, thinking
this was way easier than she’d expected.

Until Thomas set his entry in front of her.

“Pan-Seared Sweet and Spicy Salmon Bites with a Diced Jalapeño and Mango Salsa,” he
announced, obviously proud of his creation.

Once again, Jordan was pretty sure this one would
never find its way to her stomach since she preferred her fish with a heavy cornbread
batter, but she was willing to give it a try. “Pan seared” meant not totally cooked,
in her book. She convinced herself that if she stared really hard at it, the fish
would jump off the plate. She prepared her palate for the worst as she placed a small
portion in her mouth. All her good intentions to at least give it a chance went out
the window, and she couldn’t even pretend to chew before she dabbed her mouth with
her napkin and spit it out.

Unable to stop the shudder that followed, she hoped no one had seen it or, God forbid,
that Casey’s pâté didn’t fall from the napkin and expose her for the fraud that she
was.

After George’s 4.5 and her 2.5, it was Beau’s turn to evaluate the dish. Before he
flashed his card, he narrowed his eyes and smirked.

“Salmon done right is my favorite fish. This one, however, was done so totally wrong,
it was barely palatable.” He held up the sign with a 2.

Anger flashed across Thomas’s face before he inhaled noisily and turned on his heel
without a word. Apparently he thought killing Beau on the spot would not be his smartest
move. Jordan almost felt the need to warn Beau to be on the lookout for some sort
of retaliation. She’d seen the same look on her brothers’ faces when they’d been dissed,
and each time someone had paid a price when they least expected it.

As Thomas made his way back to his station, Emily stepped up to the mic. “As you can
see, this contest is far from being over. So far, we have Phillip at the top with
an 11, followed by Luis and Casey with 10.5 each, and Thomas close behind with 9.
It’s anybody’s guess who
will walk away a winner and who will walk away period. Remember the contestant with
the lowest score is eliminated. So, let’s see what our final contestant has to offer.”
She pointed to Marsha. “Show us what you’ve created.”

Marsha picked up the three plates and brought them over to the judges’ table, walking
first to Beau. As she set the plate in front of him, she licked her lips seductively.

Give me a break! That ought to get her a penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct
, Jordan thought.

“Hope you like this. I made it special just for you tonight. It’s sweetbread with
a dipping sauce made from pureed jalapeños, honey, and mangoes.” She placed the other
two dishes in front of Jordan and Christakis.

Jordan almost felt sorry for Beau when Marsha turned again and zeroed in on him. She
hoped his wife was far enough away that she couldn’t see the silent conversation between
the two of them or the way Marsha made sure her leg made contact with his before she
turned back to position herself in front of all the judges. Trophy wife or not, no
red-blooded female would be able to tolerate being humiliated in front of the huge
crowd by the obvious mating ritual going on between those two.

Thomas’s wrath would be child’s play compared to the rage of a scorned diva.

Glancing down at the appetizer, Jordan was surprised to see that it resembled a chicken
nugget. So far she’d made it through four of the appetizers without making a complete
fool of herself. She was pleased to see that the last entry might be something she
actually enjoyed.

Reaching for one of the chunks, she dipped it into the sauce. As soon as she popped
the morsel into her mouth, she let out a relieved breath. Although it didn’t taste
exactly like a chicken nugget, it was close enough that she was ready to declare Marsha
and her sweetbread the overall winner.

She ate the other two chunks, pleased with herself for having survived the evening.
With her lips still burning from the jalapeño dip, she wiped her mouth with the clean
napkin, then pushed the plate to the side. Choosing the scorecard with Marsha’s name,
she scribbled a big 4.5, taking off half a point for the sauce. If it had been served
with a nice avocado ranch or a creamy honey mustard dip on the side, she would have
given it a perfect score.

“It looks like we’re ready to hear the judges’ decision,” Emily said, moving to stand
beside Marsha. “This is the all-important vote where we find out who is eliminated
tonight and who wins and gets an advantage in tomorrow night’s competition. Judges?”

Somehow Marsha had managed to open the top button of her purple sweater. Even though
most of her chest was covered by the apron, a tiny bit of her ample cleavage peeked
through. A visual designed to get the judges’ attention, which it definitely had.
Poor Beau was nearly foaming at the mouth.

What was it about men and boobs?

“George, what did you think of Marsha’s sweetbread?” Emily asked.

Christakis eyed her for a moment, glancing once toward Beau, making Jordan wonder
if he knew something was going on between him and Marsha. Then he held up the card
with a large 3 scribbled on it. For a minute, Jordan thought the audible gasp had
come from her, but then she realized it had actually been Marsha, who was now staring
at Christakis in disbelief.

“Although I love sweetbread and I appreciate the rich white sauce you made, I found
the glands to be overcooked and gristly. It would have worked so much better if you
had spent a little more time sautéing them rather than frying them in the oil.”

Glands?
Jordan squeezed her eyes closed, grabbed the napkin, and spit into it, but the morsels
were long gone. Catching her breath, she looked up to see that everyone was staring,
and she felt heat crawl up her cheeks.

“You cooked glands?” Her eyes begged Marsha to deny it.

“Yes. It’s one of my favorite appetizers.”

Jordan took several deep breaths in a row, hoping to push back the lump in her throat
threatening to ruin her debut as a cooking judge. “What kind of glands?” she whispered,
so low that only those close to her could hear.

Christakis twisted in his chair to face her, laughter in his eyes. “The thymus gland.
What did you think sweetbread was?”

There was no way she’d admit she thought she had eaten chunks of fried chicken. “I
figured it was glands, but I wasn’t sure what kind,” she lied.

Mentally, she slapped her head for the lame response. She knew it was glands but didn’t
know what kind?

Crap!

This time Christakis couldn’t hide his glee and bit his lips in a futile attempt to
keep from showing it.

And what in God’s name was a thymus gland, anyway?

“The gland is located in the neck vertebrae area of a young calf,” Christakis said,
as if he had just read her mind.

“Don’t keep us waiting, Jordan,” Emily interrupted. “How did you rate Marsha’s sweetbread?”

Jordan searched the audience, trying to figure out some way to telepathically change
her card. Victor was laughing so hard, he was doubled over. Even Lola, who was the
most empathetic of the group, was smiling. There was nothing to do but show her score.
The audience went wild when she held up the card.

“I gave her a 4.5. Congratulations, Marsha. I really liked your dish.” She reached
for her water glass and chugged it, hoping to drown the little thymus glands floating
in her stomach. She was positive they were down there plotting revenge on her for
having eaten them. But this time even the water didn’t take the taste out of her mouth,
and she swallowed several times to keep from gagging.

Feeling a tap on her pants leg under the table, she reached down and made contact
with Christakis’s hand. Discreetly, he passed something to her. When she realized
it was a mint, she glanced up at him to see him wink.

“I threw up all over myself the first time I ate sweetbread,” he whispered, before
turning back to Emily as if nothing had happened.

“So, Beau, right now Phillip is in the lead with eleven points. With George’s and
Jordan’s score, Marsha has 7.5. If you give her higher than 3.5, she’ll win tonight’s
competition. Show us your card.”

Beau did a complete scan of Marsha’s body before finally settling on her face. Jordan
could feel the sexual tension from where she sat and wondered if the intense stage
lights had anything to do with the heat between the two of them.

Beau cleared his throat. “I found her sweetbread to be cooked just the way I like
it, and I thought the mango dip added a distinct Caribbean flavor along with the wonderful
Southwest touch to cut the sweetness. For that reason, I gave her a 5.” He held up
the card, and the crowd erupted in applause.