Taste Test (22 page)

As I walk back to my room, I make an abrupt turn and head in the opposite direction. Maybe if I hear it from him—maybe if I can get him to talk to her …

When I get to Christian’s room, I notice that the pictures of half-naked women and his taunting nameplate have been removed. When he answers, I raise one eyebrow and gesture to the door.

“You got rid of your ladies?”

“Huh?” He looks blankly at the pockmarked wood. “Oh, those. They were vandalized, if you recall.”

“Oh. Right.”

He leans against the doorjamb. “What do you want, Nora?”

“Jeez, everyone is so welcoming today.”

I push past him. I figure that if he has something to hide, he’ll hurry to move it. But he doesn’t follow me—just watches me walk the perimeter of his room.

“Are you looking for something?”

I turn to look at him.

“Are you the one sabotaging
Taste Test
?”

It’s his turn to raise his eyebrows at me. He leans back against the closet door. “Who said someone’s sabotaging
Taste Test
?”

“Please—it’s pretty obvious. The faucet, the equipment, now the outlets. Angela’s accident, then Joy’s. You can’t tell me you just think all that stuff was a series of random accidents.”

“And you think
I’m
behind all of that stuff?”

I shrug. “Can you prove that you aren’t?”

“No. No, I probably can’t prove it, not unless you’re here to give me a polygraph.”

“Are you sure?” I try to sound like I don’t care. He doesn’t need to know I’m on his side. He doesn’t need to know that I
want
him to be innocent.

“I told you before—I had no idea that sink was going to explode. If I had, don’t you think I would have requested a station switch rather than risk flying faucet shrapnel?”

It’s a good point. I wish I’d thought to say that to Gigi earlier.

“Besides,” Christian continues, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but, if it
is
sabotage, I think they’re probably investigating the right person.”

“What do you mean?”

He sits down on his bed. “She was right there. They were arguing and then … well, and then you know what happened.”

I shake my head. “Gigi didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know!”

Christian snorts. “Wow, what a well-supported argument. You
must
be right!”

“Gigi doesn’t have any reason to hurt Joy, or anyone else for that matter.”

“Are you kidding?” He stares at me like I’m crazy. “She’s
losing,
Nora. She’s
this close
to being voted off the show. The easiest way to remedy that is to get rid of someone before the judges can get rid of you.”

I narrow my eyes. “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“No, but I’m willing to state the obvious. I know she’s your friend, but that doesn’t mean she’s innocent.”

“It also doesn’t mean that she would be willing to risk
someone’s
life
for a stupid TV show—only someone really selfish, really
manipulative
would be able to do that.”

Christian gets up and walks to the window. After a few seconds, he looks back at me and shrugs.

“I don’t know what to tell you. It just seems shady—
she
seems shady. And if you can’t see that, you’re delusional. Or in denial.”

Furious, I head for the door, then stop and look back at him. He’s standing with both arms crossed like some sort of dictator.

“You know, I stuck up for you—and now you just want to throw other people under the bus. Guess I should have trusted my instincts—you really are as arrogant as you look. And here I was thinking
I
was the one who misjudged
you
. What a joke!”

I slam the door behind me and stomp back toward my room, feeling frustration rise like heat out of the neck of my sweater.

I want to be mad at Christian, but I’m really only angry at myself. Rather than support my friend, I chose to take his side—only to be reminded why first impressions are usually right. I knew Christian was a selfish jerk the moment I met him. Too bad it took me this long to remember why.

To:
 Billy Watkins
[email protected]

From:
 Nora Henderson
[email protected]

Subject:
 I’m so done with this place

I don’t even know what to say.

You remember that time I tried out for the school play? It was stupid—I can’t even remember why I did it. I’m sure it was to prove you wrong about something. Then, when I actually got a role, you convinced me not to quit. You said that it would look good on my college applications, that it made my interests seem more diverse or something like that.

Anyway, I stuck with it. I figured out that some of the drama kids were actually pretty cool. When we finally performed, you and Dad and Joanie came every night, hooting and hollering when I took a bow at the end.

I wish you were here to cheer me on. No one knows me like you do.

Can I come home yet?

Nora

We find out that Joy’s been admitted to New Haven Medical Center for observation, but there’s still no word about where Prescott went. My brain speeds through various scenarios—maybe he rigged the outlet before he left. Maybe it was his plan to “get rid” of Joy all along. It’s almost impossible to concentrate in class while I’m imagining various Mafia-like scenarios.

Gigi’s still not talking to me and now I’m avoiding Christian, so it makes for an uncomfortable day in classes, not looking in one direction or another. On top of that, we have tests at the end of the week in three of our five classes. I don’t know how I can possibly prep, compete, and study while still keeping up with homework
and
trying to get some sleep.

Oh, and trying to figure out the truth behind the show’s “accidents.” Can’t forget about that little detail.

The one good thing, if I’m looking on the very, very tiny slice of a bright side, is that I don’t have much distracting me from my studies. Without Joy around or Gigi coming to visit, I’m able to focus on school and nothing else. Of course, that means that I hardly leave my room unless I’m going to class or forcing myself to eat something.

It’s almost midnight and I’m in the dorm lounge, ready to snarf down a late-night grilled cheese, when I hear footsteps. Gigi stops in her tracks when she sees me sitting there. At first, I think she might just turn around and head back up the stairs. Instead, she shakes her hair back away from her face and strides over to the refrigerator. I watch her unwrap a slice of leftover pizza and take an enormous bite.

“You must be hungry if you’re willing to eat it cold.”

She shrugs and takes another bite. “I like it like this. No cheese burning the roof of my mouth.”

I smile before looking back at my plate. She walks over to the table and picks up a napkin.

“Do you want to sit down?” I ask her quietly, not looking up.

It takes her a few seconds to pull out the chair across from me and flop down.

“Gigi,” I begin. She holds up a hand.

“Let’s just squash it,” she says.

I frown. “No, you were right.”

“No. I wasn’t. I wanted someone else to blame. Christian was an easy target.”

“But it could have been him,” I argue.

She shakes her head.

“No, it couldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” She sighs, picking at her pizza crust. “You were right all along.”

“Right about what?”

“About Prescott.” She looks up, her eyes serious. “It was him the whole time, Nora. Prescott’s the one who’s been sabotaging the show.”

WITNESS STATEMENT TRANSCRIPT

Connecticut State Sheriff’s Office

LEAD DETECTIVE DOBBS:  State your name and position for the record.

KATHRYN SVINCEK:  Kathryn Svincek, President of the North American Culinary Academy

DOBBS:  In your own words, please recall the details of the events you witnessed.

SVINCEK:  I was informed by Bernie Lightwood, one of our set technicians, that last month Holden Prescott arrived on set late at night, accompanied by one of the female contestants. Holden told Bernie he was giving the girl private coaching and that he wasn’t to tell the other judges. He gave him $500 and asked him to leave the set.

DOBBS:  And when did Mr. Lightwood bring this to your attention?

SVINCEK:  After the accident involving Angela Moore.

DOBBS:  And this accident caused physical injury to a contestant?

SVINCEK:  Yes.

DOBBS:  Anything else?

SVINCEK:  Two weeks ago, I was supervising the testing of the station outlets to make sure they were in proper working order, which we do before every challenge. The station at the farthest end of the set had an outlet that wasn’t working, and I reported it to one of the electrical specialists. Holden walked over to me privately and said that he would take care of the outlet himself. When I protested, Holden said he was “experienced” with electrical work and that it was his “hobby.” Holden and I were the last two people on set that night. When I left, he was still working on the outlet.

DOBBS:  And this was the same outlet that caused the injury to Joy Kennedy-Swanson last week?

SVINCEK:  Yes, it was.

DOBBS:  Thank you, Ms. Svincek. I’ll be in touch. Let me know if you remember anything else.

SVINCEK:  Of course. Thank you, Detective.

Chapter Fourteen

I’ll Take Douche Bags for $200, Alex.

“So, what do you think happens now?”

Gigi shrugs. “I don’t know. Nothing would surprise me at this point.”

“I still can’t believe it.” It’s been two days since Gigi told me about Prescott’s arrest, but I still find the whole thing baffling.

“Nora, what don’t you believe? I mean, hell,
you
were the one who suspected him all along. I just feel bad that I never told you to talk to someone about it.”

I shake my head.

“What was I going to say? ‘Hey, I think a celebrity judge is sabotaging the show, please don’t eliminate me now?’ No one would have listened.”

“Well, apparently Svincek wants the book thrown at him. She’s pushing for jail time. I think she’s good friends with the DA or something.”

“That is one thing that doesn’t surprise me,” I say, opening
the door to our classroom. “She seems like the kind of person who’ll do everything she can to make Prescott pay for what he’s done.”

“I wonder what they’re going to do about Joy, though. I mean, if she’s the one who rigged the sink, maybe she’ll get charged, too.”

I pull out one of the stools at our lab table.

“Maybe. I don’t know, though. It’ll be hard to blame someone who ended up a victim herself.”

Around the classroom, you can hear snatches of conversations just like ours—murmurings about Prescott’s plotting and whispers of Joy’s involvement. Someone says Svincek met with a detective last night. Others swear that Prescott’s fled the state, maybe even the country.

I’m sorting through a utensil drawer for a candy thermometer when I see Christian standing next to me. His hair is catching some of the afternoon light and, for a second, I’m involuntarily dazzled. I blink hard and look down, sifting through a handful of silverware.

“Are you still not speaking to me?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Why not?” he presses. I give him a withering look.

“Seriously?”

He rolls his eyes. “You can’t be mad at me for telling you what I think.”

“I can when it’s total crap. And when you tell me I’m in denial.”

“I didn’t say you
were
in denial—I said you
could
be. Besides, I had good reason to be suspicious.”

“Christian.” I turn to face him. “Is it that hard for you to admit you were wrong?”

“I wasn’t wrong.”

“Jeez, can’t you let it go?” I glance over at Gigi, who is busy melting our sugar into caramel. “Everyone knows she’s innocent. Svincek gave her a whole apology letter and everything.”

“Just because they found one person guilty doesn’t mean there aren’t more people involved.”

He walks away before I can respond. Then I notice Gigi standing a few feet from me.

“What was that all about?” she asks. I pat her shoulder.

“Nothing. Just reconfirming that he’s a tool. Don’t worry about him.”

I guide her back to our lab table and proceed to ignore Christian for the rest of class. When Professor Black excuses us, I’m out the door and down the hall before Christian can say anything else to piss me off.