Let Them Eat Stake: A Vampire Chef Novel Read Online Free

perceived as “too fancy,” even when they’re paying four-star prices for it.
    “No.” Mrs. Alden was clearly struggling to keep her voice calm. “As a matter of fact, when he presented this to us, we were…
surprised
would be putting it mildly. Hesaid he had been informed that this was to be the menu and that he would not stand for being constantly…”
    “Jerked around,” said Deanna darkly. “Except I don’t think that was what he was going to say at first. Anyhow, when we wouldn’t play, he stormed off.”
    “And you have no idea where this came from?” I thought about the mountain of money, the wealth of PR, and the glorious challenge of providing the food for this kind of wedding. I thought about Oscar’s imperial-sized ego and the overhead at his restaurant, Perception, which was so close to that fourth star we all craved. It just didn’t add up.
    “I did ask a few questions,” said Mrs. Alden. “I must confess that not everyone in my family is happy with this wedding. There has been the possibility of…foolishness.”
    “No one’s admitted to anything.” At first I thought it was just my imagination that supplied a whiff of smoke behind Deanna’s words. Then I saw the white vapor leaking out of the bride’s fingertips.
    “Deanna,” murmured Mrs. Alden. Deanna glanced at her smoldering fingertips as if checking out a chip in her nail polish, and shook her hand. The smoke dissipated. So, the bride was in fact a witch—one with control issues. Good to know.
    “What Mother’s trying not to tell you is Karina, my sister, is one of the ‘not happy’ people”—Deanna paused to make the air quotes—“and she’s perfectly capable of screwing—”
    “I’ve spoken with Karina,” Mrs. Alden said, cutting her daughter off. “And she had nothing to do with Chef Simmons’s departure.”
    “Well, she lied to you. As usual.” The shrug and its accompanying slump spoke of years spent refining the sulking skills.
    “That’s enough,” Mrs. Alden informed us all, and it would have taken more nerve than I possessed to contradict her.
    I must have telegraphed my readiness to ask anotherquestion, because Felicity spoke up, her words rich with meaning and import.
    “So, Chef Caine, what are your thoughts on altering the menu?”
    There was only one possible answer to that. With deliberate motions, I tore the printout into strips. Felicity stared at me, horrified, but Deanna applauded. I handed the strips to the bride-to-be. Deanna—sulk averted—let the pieces rain down into a wastepaper basket.
    Now that we had Deanna firmly on our side, Marie leaned forward, ready to hook us Mrs. Alden.
    “How very trying this has all been for you, señora,” my pastry chef murmured to the mother of the bride, urging her to confide, matron-to-matron. “If this is the dinner menu, I can only imagine what an embarrassment the proposal for the cake must have been.”
    I did not imagine the flash of relief behind Mrs. Alden’s eyes.
    “The cake was totally pathetic, that’s what the cake was,” growled Deanna. “It was about eight miles past tacky and…”
    “We do not need to discuss the cake,” said Mrs. Alden. “Not the previous cake.”
    “No, no, of course not, señora.” Marie’s English is actually better than mine, except when she’s being soothing. “We will make it gone. Dismissed entirely. Now,
por favor
, you might look at these.” Marie opened her portfolio, pulled out three sketches, and laid them on the coffee table. “We will, of course, make adjustments depending upon Señorita Alden’s choice of colors and flowers.”
    I was going to have to give Marie a raise. No glitzy, contest-style cakes had been allowed in there. These were stately creations, festooned with flowers and ribbons in delicate pastel shades. The best of all was a white-on-white cake with oval tiers, piping like antique lace, and a single perfect, peach-colored lily lying at the base as if it had been left