Topped Chef A Key West Food Critic Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

seafood in a red sauce, served on a tiny nest of linguine. I poked through the sauce with my fork, identifying a ring of squid, a small shrimp, and a mussel. I tasted.
    “Wonderful,” I said, closing my eyes to savor the spicy fra diavolo sauce. “This is the best so far. Hot enough to tingle the tongue without scorching.”
    The men weighed in, Chef Adam for and Rizzoli against—though I had the feeling he would have dismissed anything I liked. Toby waffled, enamored of the red sauce but unimpressed with the jumble of sea creatures.
    “That’s all there is,” Shapiro announced to the camera. “And now the moment of truth, in which our esteemed judges narrow the field….”
    After five minutes of debate, we settled on three dishes—the homey Key West–style shrimp and grits dish, the lobster with caviar salsa and jalapeño foam, and the sophisticated yet substantial Italian seafood fra diavolo.
    “Fabrulous, fabrulous,” said Shapiro. “Now we shall briefly meet our chef contestants.” He signaled to Deena, who ushered a gaggle of six chefs from the alley to the courtyard.
    “Thank you all for your participation in Topped Chef !” said Peter. “We so enjoyed experiencing your contributions.” One young blond man grinned but the other candidates looked solemn and nervous, maybe wondering as I was what was wrong with old-fashioned food tasting .
    “As certain as we are that all of your dishes were outstanding, our judges have spoken! Will the following individuals please join us here on the set: chef Randy Thompson!” The smiley blond man leaped into the air, clapping, and bounded up the steps.
    “Chef Henrietta Stentzel, formerly of Hola on Miami Beach, and now chef-owner of Bad Boy Burritos!”
    I blinked in disbelief. Then my heart sank with a hollow clunk as a fortysomething woman with a long braid climbed the stairs, looking everywhere but at me. Food was not the only thing we had in common—though I adored her small storefront burrito shop. Unfortunately, I’d suspected her in the murder of my ex’s girlfriend last fall—and from what I could tell, she had not forgiven me.
    “And last but not least, meet chef Buddy Higgs!” Peter crowed.
    A very tan man with a weathered face and a scraggly ponytail joined the other two as the rest of us clapped. Were Buddy and Randy currently not employed, or had Peter forgotten to mention that?
    “That’s a wrap. Chefs are dismissed. Be here tomorrow morning at nine sharp.” Peter turned back to face the judges. “Not bad for a first day.” Sam and Chef Adam got to their feet as Deena came forward to hand Peter a clipboard. “Listen up, people—I have a few tips for tomorrow’s taping. First—and this is very, very important, be here promptly at nine.” He glanced down at his papers. “No offense intended, but I have a few notes to pass along from our photography director. They are intended to help you show your very best sides.”
    First he turned to face Chef Adam and gave a little bow.“We all know you’re a real chef—not to be confused with Chef Boyardee.”
    Toby and I snickered, but the chef didn’t crack a smile. He adjusted his toque, looking as if he’d like to dive across the table and strangle someone.
    “Anyway, my camera people suggest that you lose the white coat. The camera does not love white and it washes out your color and makes you look sallow. And Toby”—he stroked his neck—“a scarf tomorrow maybe? Something salmon-colored perhaps? Our middle-aged quirks tend to show up more distinctly under the lights….”
    He smiled regretfully and looked at his clipboard again. “Mr. Rizzoli, watch the loud patterned shirts—they can be distracting to viewers, even make them dizzy. And if they’re dizzy, they are likely to flip to another channel. And Miss Snow”—he grinned and patted his belly—“you have an adorable shape; shall we say plump like a guinea hen? Perhaps choose something less formfitting for the next