Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

by excusing herself and ducking into the walk-in refrigerator to gather ingredients for Haviland’s supper. Pausing before the crates of fresh fruits and vegetables, it struck her that Willis wouldn’t be at his station tonight. He wouldn’t stand hour after hour, dicing onions, julienning carrots, or carving radishes until they resembled delicate orchids. His orange peel flowers wouldn’t grace the edge of the dessert plates. One of the other sous-chefs would be tossing salads, steaming rice, and mashing potatoes, reluctantly occupying the space that had once been Willis’s small domain.
    “I need a cocktail,” Olivia said to a shelf filled with plump tomatoes and waxy cucumbers. She closed the door against the cold, left the kitchen, and headed for the bar.
    Michel was pacing around the lounge’s sitting area. He’d made himself a gin and tonic and was sipping greedily when Olivia approached.
    “I am a terrible man!” he cried as she reached for the tumbler of twenty-five-year-old Chivas Regal. Michel had poured generously, adding a splash of water to the smooth Scotch whiskey.
    She sank into one of the leather club chairs and looked up at her head chef. “Sit, Michel. You’ll wear a path in the carpet.”
    “You know already, don’t you?” he asked shrilly. “That my last words to poor Willis were horrible!”
    Shaking her head, she placed a cocktail napkin on the table in front of her and set her drink on it. “I heard that you two were arguing, but I don’t know what was said.”
    Michel’s eyes glistened with tears. He brushed them away with the sleeve of his white coat. “Noah wanted to film him again on Sunday—something about the history of Lumbee cuisine—and Willis told me he needed more time off. He didn’t ask, Olivia. He just told me. He had this swagger about him that just made me see red.”
    “Really?” Olivia didn’t bother to conceal her skepticism. “He seemed totally normal to me. Enthusiastic and happy. Right up to the moment he collapsed.”
    Taking a fortifying gulp of his drink, Michel nodded. “I was probably seeing something that wasn’t there. I told Willis that he was only on TV because he was a Lumbee and that Noah never would have noticed him if I hadn’t wanted him to be in my kitchen in the first place. He said he could leave at any time—that he’d wanted to learn from me, but he wouldn’t cook with me if I didn’t treat him with more respect.”
    “Good for Willis,” Olivia said. “And then what happened?”
    “I made some stupid joke about poisoning his tasting spoon and he walked away.” Michel dabbed at his eyes again. “And now he’s dead. I can’t apologize. I can’t tell him that I was jealous of his youth and his talent. If only I had the chance to say what I really believed—that he had all the right ingredients to make it big. I would have helped him too. You know I don’t stay jealous for long. You know I’d have come around!”
    Olivia was aware that Michel wanted her to agree with that statement, but she couldn’t. “You’ve been on edge since that TV producer called. You’ve been moody and juvenile and even petty in the past, but you’ve never been cruel.”
    Michel swallowed hard. “It’s true. My hunger for recognition has driven me insane. Now I know that I couldn’t have kept up with Pierce even if I’d had the chance. I can’t handle the pressure.”
    “That’s
Pierce’s
life, Michel. It’s the path he chose. You don’t need national acclaim. You’re content here. In this town. In this kitchen. What more do you want?”
    “Shelley,” Michel said simply. “But I don’t deserve her. If she’d seen my behavior over the last few days, she wouldn’t be making soufflés in my ovens. If she’d heard how I spoke to Willis . . .”
    Olivia picked up her drink and nursed it in silence. Finally, she lowered the glass and gazed at the ice cubes crowded at the bottom. “We all make mistakes, Michel. Try to learn from this one and move forward.”
    He sniffed and put his hand over hers. “I’m sorry for behaving like a threatened alpha male.”
    “More like a middle school girl.” She smiled at him. “Of course I forgive you, but I hope you know what you’re doing with Shelley. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman to have flings. I like her. So be careful.”
    He grinned. “I knew you would. She’s been a shining light in my memory since culinary school. What I’d give for a second chance to