“The official reason? You breached your contract when you gave that interview today.”
“But … I can call Allie and Roger. They won’t run the story. Not if I ask them to kill it.”
For a second, I think I see a hint of sympathy in Tara’s eyes. “I’m afraid that won’t be enough. The damage has already been done. I can’t have the rest of the competitors see you breaking a clause in the contract and let you get away with it. I would have to make exceptions for everyone, and that isn’t going to happen.”
The shock I felt a few seconds ago is replaced with a bone-weary realization that I’ve just spent an entire week of putting up with Tara and her antics for nothing. The idea that a major network will be hosting a cooking show in Whispering Bay and The Bistro by the Beach won’t be in it is … Well, it’s wrong. That’s what it is.
I’m about to protest some more when something Tara says hits me. “You said that’s the official reason. Is there an unofficial one?”
There’s a line of perspiration on her upper lip. It’s not warm in here, but it looks as if she’s been sweating. Tara shrugs wearily. “The network thinks you and your café have become too notorious for the show. Frankly, this whole town is a mess, what with one dead body after another, but after that unfortunate pipe burst in Catfish Cove, we had no choice but to film here.”
“I can’t help it if some mobster decided to put a dead body in our trash dumpster!”
“Agreed. But that still doesn’t stop the press from hovering around your restaurant, does it?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Don’t you see? Lucy, you’re infamous. Which, personally, I think is fabulous,” she says, stretching out the word so long that it almost becomes a slur, “for you and your business. There’s no such thing as bad publicity. But in the case of this show, it puts you at an unfair advantage as far as the other restaurants are concerned. If you win, they might claim that it was because of the notoriety surrounding your café. And if you lose, you might try to argue that it was that same notoriety that prejudiced the judges. It’s a total lose-lose for us as far as we’re concerned.”
“And you just thought of all thi
s now?”
“Actually, it’s been a concern from day one, but we couldn’t eliminate you from the show without due cause, which you conveniently provided me with this afternoon. Sorry, but that’s just how it is. Welcome to show biz!” she cackles. She gets up to refill her whiskey and in the process ends up splashing liquor onto the carpet.
“Maybe you should take it easy on the booze.”
“Maybe you should mind your own business,” she says, slurring her words. Good grief. I’m trying to reason with a drunk.
“And that’s it? There’s nothing I can do about it?”
“I’m afraid not. Sushi Planet will be taking your place.”
Sushi Planet! They’ve been in business all of about six minutes, and now they’re going to get all this fabulous publicity, not to mention a chance to win the twenty-five grand. I feel numb. The whole thing is so unfair.
Tara reaches out to take a muffin from the box. “I do appreciate this, Lucy. For what it’s worth, you make the best muffins I’ve ever tasted.” She bites into a muffin and makes what I like to call the yummy face.
I search Tara’s expression for any signs of duplicity. Whenever I catch anyone in a lie, the little hairs on my neck immediately stand on end. But there’s nothing. Tara is telling the truth. She really does love my muffins.
I feel a teeny bit better. But not much.
“Now that you’re off the show, I guess it doesn’t hurt to tell you this, but if it’s any consolation, I think your place would have won.”
Ouch. Talk about rubbing salt into the wound.
She isn’t lying about this either.
Tara takes another big bite of the muffin. “God, this is good. I’ve been so stressed out I haven’t had time to eat today. No wonder my stomach feels so messed up.”
Something in her tone wakes up my Spidey sense. I glance around all the papers on the table and the couch. Apparently, there’s a lot more to producing a TV show than I was aware of. I’ve always thought of Tara as this creature from the TV land lagoon. Fangs out and ready to bite. Maybe it’s the whiskey making her more vulnerable, but this is a side of her I’ve never seen before. A more human side. I’m so used to her barking orders and running around making threats that I never stopped to think that the reason she acts the way she does is because she’s under a lot of pressure.
Not that it’s an excuse. Or that I forgive her for kicking me off the show. Or that I’m just going to sit back and accept it all, either.
She greedily finishes off the muffin. “Before you go, can I ask you a question? That whole business with El Tigre and the FBI—how did you do it?”
My Spidey sense shakes its finger at me. This is the kind of question that could get me in trouble. If I answered it honestly, that is. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve cracked two cases that trained FBI agents haven’t been able to solve. What do you have that they don’t?”