CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Brennan’s was bustling for a week night but then again, it was always bustling. It was one of those restaurants where you always needed a reservation or you would be praying a table opened up randomly.
The food was fantastic, the wait staff tenured, knowledgeable and spectacular. They shuffled everyone to the private room and waited for Milton to show up. They almost expected that he wouldn’t, given his concerns about it looking like favoritism to the team.
He arrived. But he was twenty minutes late with no apologies at all. Stepping inside the room, he took a seat near the door and nodded to everyone, looking every bit the businessman, not a colleague.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asked.
“Milton, people are dying,” said Sara with a frown. “Aren’t you terrified by this?”
“Of course, I am. But I’m more terrified of this whole thing failing.” They all stared at him, Wilson and Luke with scowls that should have made him crumble.
“You’re going to have to explain, Milton,” said Taylor.
He lay his hands flat on the table, staring at his perfectly manicured nails. It appeared that he didn’t want to talk at all but feeling the pressure of all the people around him, he knew he had to. Taking in deep breaths, he finally spoke.
“You all know that I retired from baking a few years ago.” The women all nodded, the men not making any motion at all. “When they asked me to take over this contest, I was thrilled at first.”
“At first? Why only at first?” asked Celia.
“The funds for the contest had been seriously mismanaged.
Entrance fees had been used for ridiculous purchases that had no impact on the contest, the equipment was all for shit, everything was falling apart.
I built my career on this contest. Every time I won, my stock went up in the baking and cooking world.
It was important to me and to other bakers that I knew.
“The deal was that I would take over the contest but I would also own it. It needed money. Lots of money. I cashed in everything I had and invested it in this one baking championship. The regional competitions would still happen, but they weren’t as expensive to put on and of course had smaller numbers of entrants.
“I took that money and revamped everything, put it all into creating a bigger, better, more professional competition. New ovens, new décor, everything. I recruited bakers from other countries that I knew would bring in the media and anyone familiar with their bakeries or restaurants. The cash prizes were even raised since I took over.”
“Was there anyone who would have loved to see you fail?” asked Tango.
“I’m sure everyone,” he frowned. “When I was competing, I was like Sara and the team. I always won. Almost always. I believe I lost one year to Mama Irene and one year to Sara.”
“You did,” she nodded with a small grin. “But you were a name that everyone knew Milton. They still know your name.”
“That might be but I fear they are about to know my name for a very bad reason. The famous Milton Lebeau and his competition kills bakers. I can see the headlines now.”
“Have you received any threatening e-mails or phone calls? Maybe someone that ransacked your home or car?” asked Rett.
“No, nothing like that,” he said shaking his head. He looked around the private room and heard the cacophony of noise and conversation coming from the main dining room. “I really need to go before someone sees us talking. The last thing I need is for them to claim that I’m showing your favoritism.”
“Milton, do you really believe the water main break is legitimate?” asked Elias.
“I have no reason to not believe that. There’s a huge hole in the street.”
“Milton? Who holds the keys to the judges pantry?” asked Sara. His expression seemed violent, then softened.
“Why me, of course.” He stood and started to walk to the door. Suddenly Taylor stood.
“Milton? Aren’t you even curious about how Adrian is doing?” The team slowly turned their eyes to Taylor, then back toward Milton. She’d picked up on something. Something she didn’t like at all.
Milton turned carefully toward the group, a look of restraint on his face, then a plastered-on look of concern.
“Of course. Have you heard anything?” he said quietly.
“The broth that the kitchen gave him was laced with death cap mushrooms,” said Taylor. “Why would anyone at a baking competition have death cap mushrooms? I personally have never used mushrooms in my baking, so it doesn’t make sense to me. Did you see any recipes that included mushroom?”
Tango gripped his wife’s hand, letting her know that she was asking all the right questions. Milton gave a scoff, shaking his head.
“Taylor, dear. I reviewed hundreds of recipes. I cannot recall all of them. I’ll take a look tonight when I get home.”
“Of course,” smiled Taylor. “I’m sure Adrian would appreciate that.”
He disappeared into the crowded restaurant and they all sat quietly for a few long moments. Tango kissed his wife, nodding to her.
“Well done, Taylor. He’s lying about something,” said Tango.
“There’s something else,” said Sara. “He said he was going home. Home. Not a hotel, not a rental. He lives here in the city. We never thought to search his home.”
“Fuck,” muttered Luke. “You’re right. It’s a private residence so we’ll need to be more careful. We need a reason to go into that home.” RJ nodded at the table.
“Then let’s find a reason.”