Murder Love on the Menu Read online

  Love...with a side of murder.

  Celebrity chef Jordan Kelly wants to marry the love of his life, Tilly Danes. Unfortunately, the proposal isn’t going quite as planned. For starters, the Culinary Channel just hired his ex-lover as their new chef—and now she’s been murdered.

  Tilly might have a tiny problem with commitment, but she knows for a fact that Jordan is hiding something. Something big. And if he doesn’t spill it soon, their future happiness is definitely on the chopping block...

  Someone at the Culinary Channel has an appetite forkilling, and no one is safe. All this danger might just bring Jordan and Tilly’s relationship closer...if they can manage to survive.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover the Eat. Love. Murder. series… Recipe for Murder Love

  Discover more Entangled Select Suspense titles… Nothing But Trouble

  Cuba Undercover

  Undercover with the Enemy

  Locked, Loaded, & Lying

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Dyann Love Barr. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Select Suspense is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Tori Spence

  Cover design by Fiona Jayde

  Cover art from iStock

  ISBN 978-1-63375-413-3

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition August 2015

  I’d like to dedicate this book to my husband Dennis. You’re always encouraging me to do my best.

  Chapter One

  Loving someone and living with them were two entirely different animals.

  Jordan Kelly silently counted to ten while he watched the woman he loved, and right at this moment, the woman he wanted to strangle.

  Tilly Danes rummaged through her huge purse with a frown puckering her delicate brow. He knew exactly what she was going to say.

  “I know they’re in here somewhere.” She’d pulled out half the contents of Manhattan, scattering it on the table beside her elegant place setting. Lipstick, tissues, movie ticket stubs, and, dear God, what he hoped wasn’t a tampon vied for space. Tilly shoved the mess aside to make room for her phone, along with a bottle of hand sanitizer.

  “Aha!” She held up a clamshell-style eyeglasses case and pried it open. “Well, hell’s bells.” It snapped shut with all the ferocity of a pissed-off alligator.

  “Matilda Jane Danes, how many times have you lost your glasses in the last six months?” He sighed and tapped his fingers on the linen-covered tabletop.

  She looked up, affront on her sweet face. “I never lose my glasses—they’re momentarily misplaced.” She dived in again until she was up to her elbows in the giant purple purse that could double for a duffel bag. “They must have slipped out.”

  “From the eyeglasses case of doom?” He slipped his other hand down into his slacks pocket to worry a small velvet box. “I don’t think so.”

  The evening he’d planned so far had fizzled like flat champagne. First, they’d had to stay late at the Culinary Channel’s prep kitchens to meet Juliette DuPres, the newest addition to Greg Hirschberg’s stable of celebrity chefs. Next, the early evening thunderstorm made it difficult to get to the elegant restaurant owned by his friend Tim Tolliver. Le Fou was all the rage. He’d practically had to arm wrestle Tim to find them a table. They’d made their eight o’clock reservation with only a minute to spare.

  Not that Tilly cared. Finding her damned eyeglasses captured her attention. She was oblivious to the candlelight, and him.

  None of this fit into the romantic scenario he’d imaged for his proposal.

  She continued her search while he rubbed the box that held the ring he’d hoped to slip on her finger if he could ever get her to notice him. Marriage would be a big sell. She’d said she’d gotten over the man who’d left her pregnant and alone, but he knew she measured him by the Jake ruler. From time to time he’d caught her watching him—waiting for him to validate her fears.

  A sliver of guilt stabbed at him. There were things he should’ve told her the moment he realized his former lover Juliette DuPres now worked for Hirschberg. Am I any better than Jake? Am I worthy of her? No, first the ring and then explanations.

  “Tilly.” He leaned over the small table to capture her hand as she added her keys to the growing pile. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll read the menu to you.”

  “No, that’s so…” She pulled away and pushed her fingers through her short red curls. “Humiliatin’. Losin’—no, misplacin’—my glasses is bad enough, but I refuse to have anyone read to me like I’m an old woman. I’m not even thirty yet.”

  “You’ll be an official geezerella in two weeks.” He clenched his jaw until it hurt to keep from shouting at her to get her to look up from her task.

  Her mouth formed an O of surprise.

  Yes, the remark was mean, but at least it got her attention. “It’s either let me tell you what’s on the menu, or go hungry.”

  She stuffed her things back into the bottomless bag. “I’m”—jab—“not”—jab—“a”—jab—“geezerella.”

  He half suspected that she’d visualized him staring up at her from the bottom of her purse.

  She picked up the menu with a defiant shake of her flippy curls, squinted at it for a few seconds before conceding defeat. “Okay, okay. You may give me suggestions, but no readin’.”

  She dropped her purse on the floor beside her chair in resignation, then looked up with triumph in her robin’s egg blue eyes. “Wait, wait, I think I know where I left them. I’ll bet they are on the counter in the prep kitchen. They were in my hand.” She squeezed her eyes to slits as she struggled in thought. “I must have laid them down while we were talkin’ to Ms. DuPres.”

  “Good, mystery solved.” He sighed. Now maybe, just maybe, the rest of the evening would go off without a hitch.

  “We can eat and go to the studio to pick them up after dinner.” She smiled at him, setting his heart to racing like a schoolboy. Her lopsided grin and dimples always took him off guard. It was all he could do to keep from kissing her in front of all the customers and staff of Le Fou.

  First, he had to give her the ring.

  “I had other things planned when we’re done here.”

  “Like what?” She unrolled her napkin, primly placing it on her lap.

&
nbsp; It would be easier to blurt out his intentions. Instead, he smiled and waggled his eyebrows. “How does chasing you around the apartment naked, with evil intent sound?”

  Tilly giggled. She might be nearing thirty, but the flush on her alabaster skin, enhanced by the freckles decorating her nose, made her look like a schoolgirl. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t read without her glasses.

  She shook her head. “This is a fifty-fifty deal, remember? I get to chase you half the time.”

  “Okay, I’ll go clockwise. You can run after me counterclockwise.” The green velvet box warmed his fingers. He’d changed his mind. Maybe he’d ask her tonight after they were in bed. Sexual exhaustion might make her more amendable to the idea of marriage.

  “What are you doin’?” She craned her neck to look around the small table.

  Her question caught him off guard. “Huh?”

  “Your arm’s movin’ back and forth. Either you’re playin’ pocket pool under the tablecloth, or worryin’ somethin’ in your pocket.” She glanced around the room with a frown puckering her brow. She leaned forward and whispered, “I wouldn’t want everyone here to think you’re a pervert.”

  Busted! It’s now or never.

  He drew in a deep breath, pulled the box from his pants pocket, and laid it on the table.

  One look made her face turn as white as the linen tablecloth.

  “I had planned to give this to you a little later in the evening. Maybe after you’d had several glasses of wine.”

  “I hope that’s not what I think it is.” Her voice trembled. “Please, don’t do this.”

  It was time to go for broke. He opened the box to reveal a two-carat topaz surrounded by diamonds. “I designed it myself—well, with the help of the jeweler—but the stone reminded me of your eyes.” Jordan’s hand shook as he held it out to Tilly.

  …

  Tilly’s mouth grew dry. She couldn’t speak. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to cry. The man was perfect, the ring was perfect, but she couldn’t make the leap of faith it took to accept. Not yet. She rubbed the small tattoo on the side of her neck—Jake4Ever. Jake Fillmont had been the first, but not the last, disaster in her life. He’d left her pregnant at fourteen. The only good thing to come out of that was her daughter, Sarah. After Jake, John Jeffries, a minor league baseball player, had had some great moves, gorgeous eyes, and a gambling habit. He’d stolen money and her mother’s diamond ring. As for the rest, well, her judgment in men sucked—big-time.

  “It’s beautiful.” She managed to get two words past the arid desert she called a tongue.

  Hope blazed in Jordan’s dark eyes. “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”

  It took every ounce of courage she possessed to stay in her seat instead of running out of the restaurant. She held her napkin in a death grip. “No.”

  He leaned back in his chair and carefully closed the green velvet box. Hurt flared in his eyes, to be replaced by resignation. “No?” Amused sadness quirked one corner of his mouth.

  She expected him to shout, but his soft question lashed at her harder than any show of his famous temper. “No…yes…I mean maybe, someday, but not now.”

  “So you prefer to live in sin with me until you finally make up your mind?” He slid the box back into his pocket with a tsk. “What would dear, sweet Ruby say about you turning your nose up at me making an honest woman of you?”

  “Who’s livin’ in sin? I still have my own apartment.” She snorted and picked up the menu again. The words still looked like ants crawling across the elegant parchment. “Besides, Ruby doesn’t have a sweet bone in her body.”

  She had to admit he had a point. Ruby had taught her everything she knew and had no qualms about telling her how the cow ate the cabbage. There would be no end of grief if her foster mother found out she’d refused to accept Jordan’s ring. It didn’t matter. Tilly didn’t plan to make a mistake this time. She had to be sure.

  He reached across the small table and pushed the menu down with one finger. “No hiding.” His handsome face was set into an unreadable mask. “You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

  “Are you mad at me?” Life tasted a little bittersweet at the moment. Her heart squeezed. Had she pushed him away? Part of her wanted to grab up the ring and do a happy dance around the restaurant. Yet fear kept her butt glued tight to her chair. Doubt gnawed at her. Had she made the wrong choice?

  “Yes, but I love you too much to force the issue.” He took the menu from her and began to list off the different items. She could tell he had his temper reined in tight by the way the tops of his ears glowed bright red.

  “You’re readin’ it to me.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m giving you options,” he said in low, measured tones.

  “I don’t want options. I want supper. Pick out somethin’ you know I’d like.” She reached over to tap the top of the menu. “There wouldn’t happen to be some chicken fried steak on there?”

  “Tim would curl into a fetal position if I asked for chicken fried steak.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing I can’t read the menu. I’ll take whatever you’re havin’, as long as it isn’t one of those foamy tuna things you like.” Tilly fiddled with the bread knife as she considered her sanity. The arrival of their waiter interrupted her misgivings.

  “Good evening and congratulations. Mr. Tolliver said whatever you want is on the house tonight.”

  Jordan winced. “That won’t be necessary. I know Tim is busy, but tell him I appreciate his efforts to make tonight special.”

  She couldn’t look up at the waiter. A boatload of guilt settled in her chest—her stomach revolted at the idea of food.

  Jordan ordered in French. It fell from his tongue like gossip among Ruby’s Ladies of the Purple Hat Brigade. Tilly had picked up enough French to figure out some of the basic vocabulary at the Culinary Channel, but he made it look so easy.

  The sommelier followed in the waiter’s wake, and Jordan did the honors there as well. She’d be happy with a glass of beer, but she figured if Tim curled his lip at chicken fried steak, then the guy would need 911 if she ordered a Diet Coke. She was meat and potatoes, while Jordan was escargot and fromage.

  The sommelier returned, opened the wine, and poured a small amount in Jordan’s glass for his approval. Jordan sampled the wine and nodded. Their glasses were filled and the sommelier left to tend to his other customers.

  “Are you tryin’ to impress me?” Her question was designed to lighten the mood. Anything to get her mind off the ring in Jordan’s pocket.

  “Yes.” He gave her a small grin. “Did it work?”

  “We’ll see. I’m afraid of what’s goin’ to show up on my plate. There better not be snails or frog legs on it.”

  “No, only some lamb chops, oven-roasted potatoes and parsnips with rosemary, and grilled asparagus.” He leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine. “Come on, you big baby. Try the wine. Believe me, you’ll like it.”

  “Why don’t they just write it in English?” She tasted the wine and had to admit it was good—very good, in fact. “French or English, it’ll still find its way to my hips and thighs.”

  “It doesn’t matter since you lost your glasses.” He took another sip of wine and closed his eyes in appreciation. “The number on the scales will be a blur.”

  “Misplaced. Temporarily misplaced.” She reached over and poked his hand that rested on the table. “I’ll have you know I’ve lost five pounds.”

  “Don’t worry. I like you five pounds lighter or heavier.” He gave her a little scowl. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

  “Tell that to Chelsea Kim.” It was impossible to hold back an unladylike snort. “She’s on my butt, about my butt, all the time.”

  “She’s the director of your show, not your warden.” He reached for her hand. “Don’t let her give you any more lip. I love you, your audience loves you, and I’m not about to have her talk down to the woman I plan to m—spend the
rest of my life with.”

  “That came pretty close to the m word.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  Any more conversation regarding marriage was cut short by the arrival of the main course. The rest of the meal passed with no mention of the engagement ring or her refusal. Every so often, a pained expression crossed Jordan’s handsome face. She made an effort to keep the mood light, but the damned ring was in his pocket. It hadn’t magically disappeared.

  “That was outstandin’.” She put her spoon down with regret that she’d finished the crème brûlée all too soon.

  “And you were worried.” He stood, glancing toward the restaurant’s front window. “It looks like it’s quit raining. Do you want me to hail a cab, or do you want to walk?”

  She hitched her bag over her shoulder. “It’s nice out tonight, and it’s only ten blocks. I need to work off Tim’s delicious meal.”

  “You don’t have to sound so surprised.” He opened the door of the restaurant to step into the city at night. It was heady mixture of exhaust fumes, the aroma of food, and the fresh scent of rain. The slight chill in the April air was invigorating.

  They walked along in silence for a few blocks before he pulled her against his side and kissed the top of her head. “I hope you’re right about your glasses.”

  She glanced up to see his forced smile and felt the trace of tenseness in his long, lean frame. “Still mad, huh?”

  “A bit.” His sigh turned into a chuckle. “I’m not giving up, and don’t expect to get out of being chased around the apartment tonight.”

  She wrapped her arm around his waist to settle in closer. “Tell you what—I get first dibs on chasin’ you.”

  “Counterclockwise.”

  “You’re on.” She loved the city at night. As much as she missed her home in Tennessee, she appreciated the life she had here in New York. Six months here, six months there. A stab of regret twisted her heart. “I’m goin’ to miss this, and you, when I head back home.”

  “Why don’t you stay here with me?”

  “There’s no tellin’ what sort of nonsense Ruby’s got up to.” Ruby might have retired from running her diner, but she still knew how to cook up trouble. Just because she was seventy-four didn’t keep her out of one scrape after another. She’d been more than a mother to her when Tilly needed help the most. Giving Ruby a home had been a small price to pay.