Toasting Up Trouble (A Dinner Club Mystery) by Linda Wiken

At that age, she herself had also been interested in fashions and style, which is probably why she’d drifted into the world of advertising on graduating from Champlain College in Burlington. It had beckoned like the call of the ocean and a wide strip of white sand. In fact, her first campaign had been for a travel agency. And she had lucked out with a free trip to those sands, a trip of a lifetime. But she’d also been aware of the extreme poverty just outside the gates of the resort. She shouldn’t dismiss Brittany so quickly. Maybe she had a charity or concern that she was into but just never talked about.
    J.J. finally shut down her computer and grabbed her briefcase. “Gotta go. I’ve got a hot date myself tonight.”
    “Connor? Hot?” Skye joked.
    “Yes and yes. Have a good weekend, both of you.”
    “Good luck with your dinner club on Sunday.”
    “Thank you. Not worried. See, no nerves.” She held out both hands in front of her, then quickly grabbed her purse when she noticed the slight shaking. “Ciao.”
    She’d already checked the mirror three times before Connor knocked on her apartment door. She took a final glance at herself before opening it. She’d realized how it was odd that she be so conscious of how she looked when going out with Connor.
    There were no sparks there. Nothing to suggest future passion. But she did have fun with him, and Connor always looked ready to step into the limelight. There was a certain buzz about that. As the morning man on local radio station WHMB, he’d been chosen as the face of the place for all their advertising. His dark good looks, enhanced by a perpetual five o’clock shadow, always turned heads wherever he went. And J.J. had decided, without even realizing it, that she should at least try not to embarrass him when they went out. The look of pleasure on his face when he eyed her reinforced her decision to wear a silky red swing blouse with skinny black pants.
    “I’m ready,” she said after a quick kiss on the cheek.
    Connor had booked them a table at Ettore Trattoria, a fairly new Italian restaurant in downtown Burlington. J.J. was impressed. She also realized it might be quite some time before her recent penchant for Italian food was forgotten.
    “I’d heard you had to book months in advance to get a spot here,” she whispered after the maître d’ had held her chair for her. She looked around. It seemed to be full even at this early hour.
    Connor grinned what she’d come to label his real smile. “I don’t play the media card very often, but I really wanted to eat here and I thought you’d find it cool.” He ran his right hand across his chin and reached for the menu.
    She nodded. “I do.”
    “So tell me,” he said after they’d placed their orders, “are you all set for Sunday’s feast, or do you think it would jinx it to talk about any questions you might have?”
    J.J. smiled. “I have it all in hand, thanks to some friendly advice from a certain Italian who’s in the food business.”
    Connor looked suddenly serious. “Do you mean Antonio Marcotti? I’d heard you were interviewed by the police.”
    “No, not Marcotti. But you’re right, I’m on their suspect list. I meant Rocco Gates.”
    “Also on that list.”
    “How do you know that? Oh, of course, the media knows all.” She knew she sounded sarcastic, so she smiled to take the edge off.
    He shrugged. “We try. So tell me, is this bothering you a lot?”
    “It is, of course. I was the last person to talk to him, or so it seems, except for the murderer that is. And I don’t like being thought of as a suspect. But I’m also worried that two friends are on that list, too.”
    Connor nodded. “I know about Evan.”
    “Hm. See what I mean?”
    He stared at her until she looked at him. “I’m not the bad guy here. I have a job and I do it and, I might add, being a radio host is a far cry from being a newsperson. And I do understand how it can turn your life upside down