“No, I’ll get this. You go to bed.” I shoved back my chair and rose to my feet. “You’re my guest,” I added, in a softer tone. “And even if you weren’t, I’d want you to get some rest.”
Tara stood to face me. “I’ll try. Thanks for listening,” she added, with a tremulous smile. “And not treating me like I’m a brat.”
“If anyone has a right to act out, you do,” I said. “And honestly, you haven’t done anything too terrible. But”—I shook my finger at her—“don’t get into the booze again, okay?”
“Okay.” Tara’s smile, faint but earnest, reassured me that she’d abandoned her claims about my connection to her father’s murder.
Which she probably never believed, I thought, as the girl left the kitchen.No doubt that was all an attempt to shield her mother from any suspicion.
Because now there was even more reason to suspect that Jennifer Delamont, humiliated for the last time, had stabbed her dismissive, philandering husband.
Chapter Twenty
I cleaned up Tara’s mess, then wielded a handful of paper towels and bottle of cleaner to attack some other areas of the kitchen. Not because they really needed cleaning—Alicia kept the space practically spotless—but because I was too full of nervous energy to go back to bed.
Shoving a rolling metal cart to one side so I could reach the edge of one counter, I noticed a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. I picked it up and realized it was some sort of letter. That was odd. Alicia wouldn’t have just tossed something like that, and I always handled any mail or paperwork in my office.
I carried the letter to a counter that had a light fixture built into the cabinet overhead. Flicking on the light, I smoothed out the paper so I could read the contents.
The information printed in the upper right corner was my first clue. It was the name and address of a prestigious restaurant in Beaufort. I glanced at the date. It seemed the letter had been written in early May.
The salutation,Dear Mr. Carr, surprised me, until I remembered that Damian had worked a gig at Chapters around thattime. He’d obviously received the letter and read it here while cooking for us, then tossed it away for some reason.
That reason wasn’t hard to imagine once I’d read through the entire letter. It was a polite, but firm, rejection of Damian’s application to work at the restaurant as a sous-chef. Despite commending his cooking skills and experience, the owner had felt compelled to turn down Damian because, as he put it, a friend and restaurant patron had warned him about Damian’s “volatile temper.”
I leaned over the counter, staring at the rumpled page. Damian had been trying to land a full-time position as a chef for some time, so I knew this had to have been a blow. No wonder he’d balled up the letter and tossed it aside. He’d probably meant to pick it up later, but had simply forgotten it in the rush of preparing a special dinner for one of Chapters’ events.
“You’re up late. Or is it early?”
I turned to face the speaker. “Both, I guess. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I woke myself. I had a nightmare about being lost in the dunes, which I guess was because I was thirsty. The tepid water from the bathroom wasn’t cutting it, so I thought I’d grab a cold bottle from the fridge.” Alicia padded into the kitchen in a fluffy lavender robe and matching slippers. “What’s that you’re studying so intently? Worrying over the bills in the middle of the night now?”
“No, I found this behind that cart, which I guess hasn’t been moved in quite some time.” I waved the page through the air. “It’s a letter to Damian from a restaurant in town.”
“Oh?” Alicia narrowed her eyes. “I’m guessing, from the condition and where you found it, that it wasn’t an offer of employment.”
“The opposite, I’m afraid.”
Alicia crossed her arms over her chest. “Another rejection? No wonder he tossed it aside.”
“Yes, but this didn’t have anything to do with his cooking skills. The owner says he’s been warned off hiring Damian because he’s heard too many negative things about his bad temper.” I fixed Alicia with a stern stare. “You wouldn’t happen to have had a hand in that, would you? I’m aware that you have some long-standing connections with a few of the restaurants in town.”
“Me? Why would I do that?” Alicia cast a sharp look at me as she brushed past on her way to the refrigerator. She grabbed a bottle of water and leaned back against the closed door of the fridge.
“Because you dislike Damian. Admit it. You’re not a fan.”
Alicia gulped some water before responding. “That’s neither here nor there. I think he’s an arrogant little twerp, but I’m not going to go out of my way to trash the guy’s career.” She took another long swallow of water. “Besides, I don’t have that much influence over anybody. Much less some owner of a fancy restaurant.”
“Well, someone apparently did.”
“Yeah, more likely that Lincoln Delamont fellow. May he rest in peace,” Alicia added, without any real sympathy.
“Why would he have done that? Damian told me he didn’t even know the guy.”
Alicia cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Honestly, do you think Damian always tells the truth? Of course, it was before your time, but I remember him talking about Delamont creating a stink at some restaurant a few years back. Apparently, Damian was filling in for the chef, who’d broken his arm Jet Skiing. Theway Damian told it, he got to the restaurant and discovered the chef hadn’t ordered in some ingredients for the specialty of the house, so Damian had to make do.”
“Why would that cause a problem?”
