Chicken Soup & Homicide - Culinary Competition Mystery #2

Chapter 20

(Amy)

Amy peeked over the top of the leather-bound menu. Alex stared at the candle in the center of the table. She had no idea what he was thinking. His blank expression gave no clue to his emotions. He glanced up and met her gaze with a scowl. "What?"

"I'm just happy to be here...with you. To be honest, I'd eat at Carson's Coneys as long as you're with me." It was true. She would choke down the soggy-bunned, dirty-water hot dogs and coney sauce that tasted like warmed-up ketchup studded with random bits of mystery meat if it meant she got to spend time with Alex.

He slid his hand over the heavy white tablecloth and squeezed her hand. "This was a great idea. I'm glad we could do this."

It was a miracle he had agreed to the date night. It seemed that his work schedule was an impenetrable blockade of appointments and commitments. She understood that he needed to stay on top of things at his business, but it didn't make the time spent apart any easier. It was sort of like dieting. Just because some foods were healthier than others, it didn't mean she wanted to eat broccoli for every meal. Amy smoothed out the skirt of her dress. The sea-blue and white chevron wrap dress flattered her short and curvy body type, along with providing a deep vee of cleavage. A touchdown in the clothing category.

Across the room, the open kitchen buzzed with activity. The last time she and Alex had been to Cornerstone, the kitchen had seemed more like a military drill display. Chefs worked silently after Chet Britton bellowed his orders. Now the atmosphere appeared jovial and relaxed as chefs chatted with each other and even smiled or laughed while preparing the elaborately plated meals. It was just like the pastry chef she had met at Riverbend Coffee said—everyone was in a better mood now that Britton was gone.

The waitress smiled warmly as she took their orders, braised pork cheeks for Amy and a rib-eye steak for Alex. As they waited for the meals to arrive, they chatted about the unusually cold weather and the next competition Amy had targeted to enter. It was supposed to be date night with her husband, a prelude of steamy things to come. Instead, they were lost in the awkward fogginess of a first date. Going out was progress, but something still wasn't right.

Their meals arrived, and they ate in silence. The pork was tender and rich with a glistening stout glaze. The conversational gap twisted Amy's anxiety into a knot. To head off the panicky feeling that something was seriously wrong with her marriage, she watched the activity in the kitchen. It was easy to pick out the new head chef, Michael. He cruised from station to station checking on dishes as they were being prepared. His messy dirty-blond hair, which was a bit on the long side, gave him a casual, beach-bum look that was drawing the attention of every female patron in the restaurant.

Amy turned her focus back to Alex. He scowled at his plate. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Isn't your steak cooked correctly? You can send it back if something's wrong."

He tossed his fork onto the plate and leaned back. Then he pulled his phone out of his pants pocket. "Something is going on at work. My phone is on vibrate, and it's been going nuts since we got here."

"Then you need to check your messages and see what's happening." Amy placed her napkin on the table beside her plate. It was not the time or place to show how frustrated she was. But she couldn't sit there and watch him text his employees. She smiled wearily and stood up. "I'll just freshen up a bit."

As she walked to the restroom, she tried to concentrate on the restaurant's staff, who were buzzing around like bees. Cornerstone was known for its attentive service as much as its gourmet food. In the quiet restroom, Amy touched up her lipstick and brushed her hair. The night wasn't going as planned, and she didn't know how to get it back on track. If something was happening at Quantum, the train had already derailed. She walked out of the door and noticed another open door at the end of the hallway. A bank of gray metal lockers was lined up along the far wall.