Read Online A Cookbook Conspiracy by Kate Carlisle - Free Book Online Page A

believe you can say something so ridiculous and manage
     to sound so sexy.”
    His eyebrows lifted. “I know there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”
    “There is, I promise.” As we walked, I checked my wristwatch.“Uh-oh. We’ve been gone almost an hour and a half. I hope Savannah got a ride home.”
    “We’ll just stop by the restaurant to make sure.”
    We reached Eighteenth Street and waited for the light to turn green. I tossed my hair
     back, grateful for the cool night air after sweating on the dance floor for the last
     hour. When the light changed, we crossed the street and headed west toward Dolores
     Park, where we’d left the car. Baxter’s restaurant was on the way.
    Once past Guerrero, the street grew darker. We stopped talking and Derek urged me
     to walk a little faster. A few minutes later, we reached the corner where Baxter’s
     restaurant stood.
    “Closed,” I said.
    Derek nodded. “Definitely closed.”
    I cupped my eyes to get a better look through the glass-fronted door. “There’s a light
     on in the back. She might still be in the kitchen.”
    Without much thought, I reached for the doorknob. To my surprise, it opened, so I
     walked in.
    Derek grabbed the back of my jacket. “Where are you going?”
    “Just checking to see if Savannah’s here.”
    “Brooklyn, stop,” he said sharply. “You don’t know who’s in there.”
    “It’s probably some of the chefs,” I whispered. “And if not, you’ll protect me, right?
     It’ll only take a second to check.”
    He scowled but followed me inside.
    The door eased shut behind him and the first thing that hit me was the complete silence.
     There were no bustling waiters, no trickling waterfall, no cheerful chatter or clinking
     of glasses or tapping of silverware against plates. Not that I expected to hear any
     of that in a closed restaurant, but the sounds of the waterfall would have been nice.
    With the next step, I felt a chill. The darkness of the room gave me pause. It was
     silly to be afraid with Derek right here, I thought. Giving my eyes a few seconds
     to adjust, I ventured forward, firsttiptoeing past the front podium, then stepping down into the dining room.
    I barely avoided plowing into a table, thanks to a passing car’s headlights bouncing
     off the coffered ceiling and casting odd shadows on the walls. Liquor bottles lining
     the bar caught the light, too, creating multicolored crystal shards that shimmered
     across the high-gloss oak floor.
    I made it to the far end of the room and turned down the short hall that led toward
     the kitchen. A pale glow of light shining through the porthole on the swinging double
     doors guided me the rest of the way.
    As I pushed the door open, a horrific scream erupted.
    Derek tried to yank me backward, but my forward momentum caused me to stumble into
     the room instead. That’s when I saw my sister Savannah kneeling on the tiled floor,
     a huge triangular bloodstained knife clutched in her raised hand.
    She whipped around and the sudden movement caused her scarlet beret to slip off her
     head. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were stained with tears. She was still screaming,
     so I took one more step toward her. That’s when I saw someone lying on the floor beside
     her.
    It was Baxter Cromwell. His eyes bulged open and his white chef’s coat was torn and
     spattered with blood. He lay unmoving on the cold, hard tile, as dead as he could
     be.
    I’m no chicken, but the sight of all that blood splashed on his coat, along with the
     bloodstained knife, was enough to make my knees wobble. My vision blurred and things
     began to spin. I couldn’t breathe.
    “No, you don’t,” Derek scolded as he grabbed me.
    “Y-yes, I do,” I mumbled, and sagged into his arms.
    *   *   *
    T en minutes later, after Derek had smacked my cheeks a little too eagerly and muttered,
     “Snap out of it” a few dozen times, I was back on my feet and pacing the length of
     the barwhile we