Free Liver Let Die by Liz Lipperman

woman dining alone, she thought. She decided to concentrate on the people around her while slowly munching the slice of bread. Why did women hate eating alone at a restaurant when men obviously didn’t have a problem with it? There were at least four tables with single men, none of whom looked the least bit uncomfortable. Her eyes connected again with Ducky’s, and again she quickly looked away.
    “Here it is,” Kenneth said, setting the steaming dish in front of her. “I have to admit the chef fixed a small plate for me in the kitchen. I only had time to grab a quick bite, but enough to know it’s delicious.”
    “I hope so, Kenneth. Thanks.”
    Picking up her fork, Jordan moved the food around on her plate. It looked yummy enough, and she was starving. She put a piece of the meat in her mouth, chewing cautiously. It definitely tasted like chicken, but she’d never tasted rattlesnake. It didn’t help that weird delicacies were often described with the cliché “tastes just like chicken.”
    She never really got that. If it tasted like chicken, why not just eat chicken and let the frogs keep their legs?
    She poked at the lightly coated vegetables before trying them. Still crisp, they complemented the bite-sized pieces of chicken that nearly melted in her mouth, and before long, two-thirds of the entrée was gone.
    “What do you think?” Kenneth asked, setting another glass of wine on the table. “Compliments of Mr. Mason,” he explained when Jordan gave him a questioning look.
    She thought everything was compliments of Mr. Mason, but she was too embarrassed to ask. It could get ugly if Kenneth handed her a huge bill. Why hadn’t she verified that before she inhaled the pasta dish?
    “Thanks. Give the chef my compliments. This meal was definitely four stars.”
    “Did you leave room for dessert?”
    At the thought of the Chocolate Decadence Cake, Jordan’s mouth began to water. Embarrassing or not, she had to know if she’d have to give up eating until next week to pay for all this abundance. “Were you told I’m writing a review on this meal, Kenneth?” When he nodded, she continued, “And were you also told this meal is gratis?”
    He laughed out loud. “No worries. You’re a VIP, remember? Mr. Mason said I’m not even allowed to accept a tip from you.”
    She’d have liked to think she had enough integrity not to be swayed by the owner’s obvious attempt to guarantee a good review, but she wouldn’t bet her life on it. She could get used to fancy food that tasted like this and the special treatment that went with it in a hurry.
    “In that case, I’ll have a piece of the Chocolate Decadence Cake, please. And Kenneth . . .” She lowered her voice, deciding to skip the rest of the small talk and jump right in. “Did you know J. T. was coming to see me after work the night he was killed?”
    After a quick glance over both shoulders, the waiter leaned closer and lowered his voice. “J. T. and I weren’t good friends. I wasn’t aware you had a relationship with him.”
    “I didn’t really,” Jordan said. “But he was killed in my apartment building. I’m trying to figure out what he wanted to talk to me about so late.”
    Kenneth shuffled his feet, stealing another glance toward the kitchen. “I don’t know, but he was upset before he left. He’d received several phone calls and even went out in the back alley once to talk when the boss shot him one of his looks.”
    “Who was he talking to?”
    He shook his head. “No clue, but he talks a lot to a girl named Brittney Prescott. I thought he might be dating her, but around closing time on the night he was killed, some big dude came in screaming at him to stay away from her. I asked J. T. what it was about, and he said it was personal.”
    “And you have no idea what this big guy’s name is?”
    “No, but he was wearing a Grayson County College letterman jacket.”
    Grayson County College, a small private school, was located about ten