Free Chicken Soup & Homicide by Janel Gradowski Page A

somebody finally decided to get the ultimate revenge."
    Mrs. Mahoney was busy organizing the sugar-filled Parade of Desserts, but she wasn't sugarcoating her feelings. My, my, Mrs. Mahoney, such hostile words. Sweet and innocent could be the balm to keep her talking, maybe even find out why she was so unenamored with the chef. "I have to say I wasn't looking forward to competing against Chef Britton. I've heard he is quite ruthless."
    Bridget snorted. "Ruthless…among many other unpleasant traits. The nicest thing about him was that he was a generous benefactor to many charities. My showdown was ruined, but the silver lining is his death saved us all from seeing him showboating onstage in front of his slobbering fans."
    Amy held her breath and willed her eyes not to bug out like a squirrel facing down a hawk. The rant was building steam, possibly even to a murder confession. She swallowed the breath as Mrs. Mahoney's cackles echoed through the huge office.
    "Oh, Amy, sweetheart. You look like you've seen a ghost or have come face-to-face with a killer. I'm sorry. I forget not everybody appreciates my candidness. Offending people is one of my hobbies." She smiled. A genuine, warm smile. "I didn't care for Chet's business practices, but neither did any other person that dealt with him. I assure you I didn't have him killed. He was annoying but not worth that much effort or bother."
     
    * * *
     
    Amy tapped the brake pedal and flipped on her turn signal. As her mailbox came into view through the windshield, she realized she didn't remember a thing about her drive across town. All the way home she had been on autopilot as she pondered whether Bridget really did have a macabre sense of humor, or if there were more than a few grains of truth in the jabs at the undearly departed Chef Britton. Amy glanced at her rearview mirror just in case she had zoned out and run through a stop sign. No sign of any of Detective Shepler's cohorts, so she smacked the garage door remote on the visor and carefully pulled past Carla's red Nissan Juke, which was parked in front of the other door on Alex's side of the garage. Her best friend was pacing back and forth on the front porch of the house.
    "What are you doing, besides trying to get an epic case of frostbite?" Amy asked as she unlocked the side door leading into the kitchen. The warm air inside the house still smelled faintly of apples from the oatmeal-apple breakfast cake she had baked earlier. She waved her hand to get Carla to move faster. Perhaps she had been there a long time and was almost frozen. "Come on. I'll make some coffee."
    "That sounds good," Carla said as she stomped her boots off on the welcome mat. She and Amy moved to face each other, on opposite sides of the rug, to remove their hats, coats, scarves, gloves, and clunky waterproof, arctic-cold rated boots. "I've been here for about twenty minutes."
    Amy hung her black cabled wool scarf on the coat rack and hurried to the coffeemaker. Lots of hot caffeine was in order. "Did you try calling me before you came over? Maybe my phone wasn't working in the Mahoney Building. Knowing Bridget, she probably has the place so fortified the president could safely run the country from there during a zombie apocalypse."
    Carla shook her head as she plunked down on a stool on the other side of the kitchen island behind Amy. "I didn't call, just hoped you would be here. What were you doing in the Mahoney Building?"
    Amy finished prepping the coffeemaker and switched it on. She turned to find a small but tall paper bag printed with the Columbo's Market logo sitting on the counter in front of Carla. "I was chatting with Bridget Mahoney about a charity function and Britton. No love lost between those two, but she flat out said she didn't have him killed."
    "She randomly told you that she wasn't responsible for Chet's murder?"
    "Pretty much. She talked about how his death meant we were all saved from watching him strut around onstage. You know I