Murder for the Halibut (7 page)

A vivid image from a few months back flashed across her mind. The night of the Cattleman’s
Ball in Fort Worth when her date died in her arms wasn’t something she would soon
forget. Though Stefano wasn’t her date tonight, Jordan didn’t like the way she was
beginning to feel. Was it possible she was turning into a female version of the Grim
Reaper?

Quickly chasing that thought out of her head, she concentrated on what was going on
with Stefano. After two more injections and another hit with the defibrillator, the
doctor reached over and covered the steward’s hand with his own, stopping CPR. A few
seconds later, he stood and stepped toward Emily. Jordan noticed for the first time
that the highly successful businesswoman appeared to be close to losing it. The apprehension
in her eyes was hard to miss.

“He’s dead.” Although the doctor spoke softly, his voice echoed across the stage,
causing a collective gasp from the other contestants.

Finally finding her composure, Emily took a deep breath and nodded. “Was it a heart
attack?”

The doctor shrugged. “That would be my best guess, but we’ll have to wait on an autopsy
to know for sure.”

Emily looked defeated, realizing she had lost control of the situation. “Now what?”

“We’ll keep him in the morgue until we reach San Juan the day after tomorrow. From
there, they’ll fly the body back to Miami for an autopsy.” Shaking his head, the doctor
motioned to his two assistants, who were waiting on stage with a gurney.

The chilling silence that had overtaken the room for the last ten minutes gave way
to a low rumbling that quickly increased to a crescendo. By the time Stefano’s body
was loaded onto the stretcher and wheeled off the stage through the back door of the
theater, the smell of burning fish permeated the massive room. But nobody seemed to
care.

After a hushed discussion at the back of the stage with Michael’s boss, Emily came
forward and was handed a mic to address the crowd once again. “We are deeply saddened
by the death of Stefano Mancini. Because of this unthinkable tragedy, we are cancelling
tonight’s Greased
Lightning Elimination Round. After consulting with the doctor, Wayne Francis and I
will make a final decision on whether or not to cancel the entire competition.”

When the crowd didn’t react, she continued. “We’ll let you know as soon as we can.
Whatever the decision, if any of you feel you can no longer participate in this event,
we will attempt to refund your money, although ultimately, that will be decided by
the people at Carnation Queen. If they agree, you can return to Miami on the first
available flight after we dock in Puerto Rico.”

She was interrupted when Phillip walked up from his station in the back, his face
as white as the table linen.

“Stefano is really dead?”

Emily nodded. “Like the doctor said, only an autopsy can tell us why but it could
have been a heart attack, perhaps brought on by some underlying heart arrhythmia.
It’s possible that the intensity of the competition and the rushing to finish may
have brought on a sudden reaction that stopped his heart.”

“Stefano didn’t have heart problems,” Phillip said, his voice cracking. “I would’ve
known about it. It has to be something else.”

“Stefano probably didn’t know about it himself.” Emily put her arm around the chef,
who was at least two inches shorter than her. “What else could it have been, Phillip?
We’ve all heard about athletes who drop dead on the football field for no apparent
reason, and it isn’t until they do an autopsy that they discover there was an undetected
genetic problem. Or maybe it had something to do with his injury yesterday.”

With tears running freely down his face, Phillip turned to Casey. “You did this to
him. Everyone knows how much
you hated him. Does winning this competition mean so much to you that you’d kill for
it?”

Without changing her expression, Casey said, “Yes, I hated Stefano and don’t care
who knows it. The man was a slimy little weasel, and if everyone here is being honest,
they’ll agree. But I can assure you that as much as I’d like to take the credit, I
had nothing to do with Stefano’s death.”

Before Phillip could respond, Michael approached and put his hand on the distraught
man’s shoulder. “I know you and Stefano were good friends, Phillip. I can only imagine
how much you’ll miss him, but blaming someone isn’t going to help. We’ll have to wait
a few days to find out the actual cause of death. In the meantime, let’s try to remember
all the good things about Stefano.”

“He was allergic to nuts.”

Everyone turned in the direction of the voice. Although Jordan hadn’t been formally
introduced to him, she knew the man was Thomas Collingsworth. He was the contestant
who had stayed in Texas an extra day to make sure his wife and firstborn child were
settled in on their first day home from the hospital.

About five ten, Thomas looked as if he’d just crawled out of bed, slapped on an old
shirt, and wandered onto the stage. Even the newly starched chef’s apron didn’t hide
the wrinkled pants he wore beneath.

Emily was the first to react. “How do you know Stefano was allergic to nuts, Thomas?”

The man stared at her before blowing out a noisy breath. “He had a reaction at my
apartment about eight or nine months ago.”

Suddenly, Phillip raced to Stefano’s workstation and
held up the bottle with exotic spices. It was one of the mandatory ingredients for
the elimination round. After twisting off the top, he dipped his finger in and then
popped it into his mouth.

“Oh my God! Someone call the doctor and tell him Stefano is having an allergic reaction.”
When no one moved, he screamed, “Dammit. Someone call the doctor.”

Marsha rushed over and wrapped her arms around him. “It’s too late. He’s gone, Phillip.”

“No,” Phillip shouted, wrestling out of her embrace. “If Stefano’s allergic to peanuts,
the doctor can fix it with a shot or something.”

“He’s been without oxygen too long,” Marsha said in a soothing voice. “I’m so sorry.”

At the mention of peanuts, the executive chef made eye contact with Emily. “I thought
you said none of the tasters for this competition had any food allergies.” His English
was heavily laced with a Brazilian dialect.

Suddenly back in the spotlight, Emily answered with renewed confidence. “That was
one of the questions on the forms I sent to all the contestants as well as the twenty-five
tasters. I made sure we specifically asked about food allergies.” She paused for a
moment. “I can’t remember for sure without consulting the consent forms, but I know
I went over every one of them with my assistant. Stefano had to have checked the no-allergy
box, or we would have spotted it.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Wayne asked Thomas, more than a little annoyed.
“We might have been able to save him if we’d known.”

Displeased at Wayne’s accusatory tone, Thomas nailed him with a glare. “Stefano swore
my wife and me to
secrecy—thought it might cost him a chance to work at certain high-level jobs if word
got out. It happened so long ago, I’d totally forgotten about it. Besides, he never
ate anything he didn’t cook himself or hadn’t watched while it was being prepared.”

He moved closer to Wayne, obviously still angry over the last remark. “I didn’t even
think about his problem with peanuts until just now. I have a good nose for spices,
and I’m pretty sure there were no nuts of any kind in my bottle.”

Emily stepped between the two men, who were dangerously close to swinging fists. “I
gave specific instructions that although no one listed food allergies of any type,
there would be no nuts of any kind in the baskets.” She turned to the head chef. “Antonio?”

The head chef, in turn, glared at his assistant, whose high white baker’s hat resembled
a big white cupcake, making Jordan wish she was off somewhere eating one right now
instead of watching this scene unfold in front of her. It was hard to wrap her head
around the fact that Stefano was actually dead. She’d never been able to come up with
the right thing to say in a situation like this, and today was no different.

The assistant threw both hands in the air, causing his hat to bobble precariously
on his head. “I prepared the spices myself. There are no peanuts in there. It’s simply
a mixture of fresh cinnamon, sugar, and cloves, with a little orange and lemon zest.”

Phillip once again unscrewed the bottle and dipped his finger into the jar. After
popping his finger into his mouth, he shoved the opened container toward the chef.
“Taste this, and then tell me there are no nuts in it.”

The chef did exactly as Phillip had only moments before. After a few seconds, he licked
his lips and looked up, bewildered. “I’m absolutely positive I didn’t put ground nuts
in any of these spice bottles.” He made eye contact with his boss, silently pleading
with the executive chef to believe him. “But there definitely are ground nuts in this
one.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the head chef went to Casey’s station where he picked
up her spice bottle and tasted the contents. Without speaking, he moved from table
to table, repeating the process. When he’d sampled all of them, he came back to Emily.

“I swear I don’t know how the nuts got in the dead man’s bottle.”

“Was it in any of the others?”

He hung his head. “No.”

“For God’s sake, how could you let something like this happen?” Beau bellowed, standing
now with angry eyes leveled on Wayne Francis. “There are over three million people
in the United States who are allergic to nuts, and a lot more who don’t have a clue
a peanut could kill them. Any one of us could be affected by it. Why in the hell would
you even take a chance with it here?”

He started toward Michael’s boss before George Christakis interceded with a hand to
the angry man’s chest. The famous chef was a good two inches taller than Beau and
looked like he worked out regularly, too.

“Calm down, Lincoln,” George warned. “Let’s not start blaming anyone before we even
find out what killed the man. It could have been something as unrelated as a brain
aneurysm or something.”

Beau’s face was now bright red, and his breath came in
loud short bursts as he continued his tirade against Wayne. “You’re still the same
dumb-ass you always were, even in high school, Francis. I worked hard to get where
I am today, and in one short day, you may have screwed up everything if the dead guy’s
family decides to sue.”

At that moment, Wayne Francis looked about ready to kill Beau with his bare hands,
but to his credit, he took a deep breath and said, “Everyone signed a waiver, Lincoln.
There will be no lawsuits over this, I guarantee. At least not one naming you. So
why don’t you calm down and quit thinking only about yourself.”

The two men glared at each other for a few more seconds before Beau looked away. “Good
to know.” He turned slightly and whispered into Marsha’s ear.

As if on cue, Emily reached for the mic and stepped to the center of the stage to
address the crowd once again. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions until we get an official
cause of death from the medical examiner in Miami. For now, all we can do is wait.
An announcement about whether or not we go forward with the competition will come
as early as tomorrow morning over the intercom.”

With shaking hands she handed the mic to the young steward and ambled toward Jordan
and Michael, who were standing in the back with Wayne. When she reached them, she
closed her eyes and blew out a long breath. Although her voice just moments before
had seemed calm and in control, her eyes told a different tale.

By the time the crowd finally began to disperse, a few of the other contestants had
joined them.

“I don’t know about you, but I could really use a drink right now,” Emily finally
said. “I’d love some company at the Starlight Lounge. It’s quiet there, and we can
decide
how to proceed with the contest—if we do decide to proceed.”

Everyone nodded. A drink after what had just happened seemed appropriate. Maybe even
two or three.

Emily checked her watch. “Let’s meet in twenty minutes. That’ll give all of us time
to go back to our rooms and freshen up.”

“Sounds good,” Jordan said. “Whoever gets there first can get a table big enough for
all of—”

“Where are we going?” Beau interrupted.

The look that passed between Jordan and Emily confirmed they were in agreement. Neither
wanted to spend any more time than they absolutely had to with the obnoxious entrepreneur,
but there was no way they could say that without causing a scene.

“The Starlight Lounge on deck ten,” Wayne finally admitted, probably thinking it might
be a good idea to diffuse the guy after his earlier blowup. “We’re meeting there in
twenty minutes.”

Beau turned ninety degrees and looked directly at Marsha. “You going?”

When she nodded, he flashed a grin. “Okay, then, count me in. Tossing back a drink
or two with y’all is the perfect way for us to get acquainted.”