“So what’s up?” I asked Jim. “Why are you here?”

“To see you, of course.” His smile was a little too bright.

“You mean to make sure I’m OK.”

I knew that sometimes he hated having a detective for a girlfriend. He was nice enough not to point this out.

“Is there anything wrong with being concerned about you?” He glanced around the store and, satisfied that all customers were gone for the night, he went over to the front door and locked it. “There’s been a murder here recently. I don’t need to remind you of that. It’s only natural that I worry.”

“And I appreciate it. I really do. Truth be told…” I came back around to the front of the counter and looped my arm through Jim’s. “This is the first time all day that I’ve been alone. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to sit down for more than a minute at a time.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But I can’t have you working yourself to a frazzle. That’s why I’ve hired you some help.”

I wasn’t expecting this, and I stepped back, surprised. “You think I can’t run the shop on my own?”

“I think you could rule the world if you were so inclined. But I don’t like the idea of you working such long hours.”

“And if I have help, I won’t be alone.”

“Aye.” He gave in with a smile. “Raymond starts on Monday.”

“And Raymond is…?”

“A customer. Has been for years. Used to come around back when I worked here. He’s devoted to the place. He’s one of those brainy types, runs a computer company or a Web site or something. But he fancies himself a cook. I offered him a chance at some hours here at the shop, and he jumped at it. Don’t look at me that way,” Jim added, though what way I was looking at him, exactly, I wasn’t sure. “Is that such an awful thing, to be worried about you?”

“Actually, it’s sweet.” It was, and something a lot of guys wouldn’t have thought about. Peter never would have.

I caught myself as soon as the thought formed and ordered it out of my head. I’d spent the better part of the last couple years banishing all thoughts of Peter. I didn’t need to get into any new bad habits.

“It will be nice to have some help,” I told Jim. It was the truth, and better than what I’d been thinking about. “Truly, I never imagined I’d be this busy.”

“And no wonder.” What was left of my display of Vavoom! caught Jim’s eye and he untangled my arm from his so he could step closer to the front counter and read the computer-generated sign I’d taped there. “ Sale?” He considered the concept. “That’s one product Jacques has never put on sale. Said he never had to. That it practically sold itself, no matter what price he put on it.”

“Well… yes…” I had never told Jim the truth about Vavoom! Partly because I didn’t think there was much point. Mostly because I didn’t want him to think less of Monsieur. I edged into the subject now with something less than enthusiasm.

“Vavoom! is pretty good stuff, and I used to use it all the time myself, but you know…” Like a diver going off the high board, I pulled in a breath and took a leap. “It’s seasoned salt,” I said. “Vavoom! It’s seasoned salt with a bit of lemon pepper and dill and garlic thrown in for good measure. I should have told you sooner, but… well, want to see? Come on.”

I grabbed Jim’s arm and tugged him down the aisle, and once we were in Monsieur’s office, I showed him the empty jars and the bulk seasonings and the handwritten recipe.

“That’s why I put it on sale, Jim,” I confessed. “It just didn’t seem right charging that much for the stuff. I’ve seen the invoice for the bulk salt. Monsieur hardly pays more than ten dollars for five pounds of it, then turns around and-”

“The cheat.” Jim shook his head. He didn’t look angry, exactly. He looked exasperated. And more than a little disappointed. “I never suspected.”

“I knew.” At this point, I had no choice but to explain how I’d discovered Monsieur’s scheme back when I was a cooking student at Très Bonne Cuisine. “I never wanted to tell you. I didn’t want you to think less of him.”

Jim glanced at the recipe. “Well, he is changing it somewhat. I suppose that excuses Jacques to some extent. But honestly, I never thought…” He blew out a breath of annoyance. “It’s quite a scam, isn’t it? And he’s got everyone believing it’s a gourmet treat.”

I moved over to the counter and measured the additional ingredients. I added them to the salt, stirred, and started filling jars. Without me asking, Jim stepped up beside me to help.

I’d barely finished one when what he’d said struck a chord.

“It’s a scam!” I repeated Jim’s words. They didn’t provide all the answers, of course, but suddenly those IDs we’d found at Monsieur’s… suddenly, they made a lot more sense.

Seven

I QUIT MY JOB AT PIONEER SAVINGS AND LOAN BECAUSE running back and forth between the bank and Bellywasher’s was too much to handle.

Great plan, yes?

It had worked for exactly… er… let me do a little math here.

It looked like my plan had worked for less than twenty-four hours.

Now, nearly a week after I walked into Très Bonne Cuisine and saw Greg’s body lying on the floor, my life was more hectic than ever. The shop was open six days a week and yeah, once in a while Eve came in to help or Jim stopped by to lend a little moral support. But by and large-at least until that happy day when the help Jim hired actually started-I was pretty much a one-man… uh… one-woman show.

And there were still invoices to pay and file at Belly-washer’s.

And invoices to pay and file at Très Bonne Cuisine.

And shipments to check, and bank deposits to take care of, and tax papers to prepare, and cash registers to balance and stock with proper change.

At both places.

Not to mention the whole taking-care-of-the-customers part, which I didn’t have to deal with at Bellywasher’s, thank goodness, but did have to handle at the shop. The problem with customers, see, is that they ask questions. About cooking. And cookware. The problem with me is that I don’t know any of the answers.

To say that my stress levels were to the moon would be completely understating the problem.

It should come as no surprise, then, to learn that as much as I was itching to look into Monsieur’s disappearance and that tantalizing stack of licenses and how they might (or might not) be related to his Vavoom! scam, I never had much of a chance until Sunday. That was the one day of the week that Très Bonne Cuisine was closed, and after the brunch crowd at Bellywasher’s had finally cleared out and before the dinner crowd could arrive, Eve and I took some time and convened in my apartment.

I was sitting at my computer. She was on a chair next to mine. I gave her a sidelong look and made sure not to sound too critical when I said, “You know, there are no dogs allowed in this apartment complex.”

“Doc isn’t a dog.” Eve had the critter in her lap, and she lifted him so they could rub noses. He looked an awful lot like a dog to me. Even if he was wearing a red cotton sweater that matched Eve’s tank top. “Doc is my itty-bitty friend. And besides…” She scrubbed a finger behind one of the dark, V-shaped ears of the tiny Japanese terrier. “It’s not like he lives here or anything. He’s just visiting. With me. Nobody could complain about that. Nobody would even know he was here. He’s so well behaved and so quiet. Like a little angel in a dog suit!”

“Uh-huh.” Pardon me for not sounding nearly as enthusiastic. I clearly remembered the night she snuck Doc into the back room of Bellywasher’s and he escaped, walked out into the restaurant, and barfed all over the place. “My neighbors will not be happy if he starts carrying on.”

“He’s not going to carry on. He’s too good to carry on.” Eve planted a kiss on top of the dog’s head before she lowered him into an oversized white leather tote bag studded with rhinestones that matched the ones on Doc’s collar. At least I hoped he was wearing his rhinestone collar. During one of our investigations, we’d discovered that the sparkly collar Doc was wearing when Eve got him (the one we’d always assumed was just a showy fake) was the real deal. The thought of that many genuine diamonds in my plain ol’ middle-class apartment was enough to make my blood pressure soar.