Killer Gourmet by G.A. McKevett Page B

think might have done it?” Savannah asked. “If you had to guess, who would you say it was?”
    Maria dropped the towel, reached for the edge of the counter, and grasped it tightly, as though to keep herself from falling. “I don’t want to say,” she replied. “I don’t want to accuse anyone of something so terrible.”
    Savannah felt a surge of excitement welling up inside her. She had to remind herself not to press too hard, too fast.
    As gently as possible, she said, “It’s okay, Maria. Don’t worry. This is just between you and me. I’m just going to ask you a simple question, and if you can answer it, it might help me a lot. Okay?”
    Maria gave her a tentative nod.
    â€œAll right. Here goes. . . .” Savannah drew a deep breath. “Of all the people that Chef Norwood treated badly, whom would you say he treated the worst?”
    Maria looked slightly relieved and offered a quick reply. “Oh, that’s easy,” she said. “He was awful to everybody around him. But the person he hated most was Francia Fortun.”
    â€œFrancia? Why would he hate his sous-chef?”
    â€œBecause she was much more than his sous-chef. She was the chef. The food he served and called his own was made by her. Every bite of it.”
    â€œReally? But how? How could that be?”
    Maria gave a dry, bitter chuckle. “Why do you think he went crazy any time someone other than his staff came into his kitchen? It was because he was afraid they would find out his secret. And his secret was: He couldn’t cook. He screamed and shouted and strutted around, acting the part of the celebrity chef. He hated Francia because she was everything he claimed to be.”
    â€œAnd he couldn’t fire her, because if he did—”
    â€œâ€”the world would find out that he was a fraud.”
    Savannah recalled everything that Ryan and John had said about Francia and how they had nearly hired her as their head chef. She considered how Francia must have felt when that golden opportunity was snatched away by her unscrupulous, abusive boss.
    But there was the matter of the alibi.
    â€œI see what you’re saying,” Savannah told her. “But your husband claims that Francia and Manuel were with him in the alley around to the side of the building, having a cigarette, when the chef was killed.”
    Maria glanced over toward the park, where Carlos and Dirk were finishing their walk and heading back toward the stand.
    Savannah saw the young woman’s love for her husband in her eyes as she watched him. But there was a sadness there, too.
    â€œMy husband is a good man,” she said. “Sometimes he’s too good.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Savannah asked.
    â€œHe’s too loyal. He’s a better friend to others than they are to him. And sometimes he gets hurt.” Her eyes searched Savannah’s, pleading, looking for reassurances. “Will you try to help him?” she asked. “I’ve tried to help you all I could. I answered your question. Please don’t let my husband get hurt.”
    â€œI’ll try, Maria,” Savannah told her. “I’ll do my best.”
    But even as she spoke the words, Savannah wondered if it was a promise she would be able to keep.

Chapter 7
    S avannah supposed that there were more depressing places on God’s green earth than the county morgue.
    But she couldn’t think of one.
    In all the years she had been coming to this awful place—probably at least one hundred visits or more—she couldn’t remember one time when her mission had been “festive” in nature.
    The only times she had ever felt even a smidgen of something akin to joy inside that grim, somber, gray building were when she was walking out of it.
    Dr. Liu didn’t seem to mind living with the specter of death on a daily basis. But Savannah couldn’t help feeling uneasy about being