“I can’t work if you’re in my kitchen!” Sarah Doyles, recently homeless and now resident chef of Canyon Estates, whirled to face Ruthie, my grandmother and owner of said mansion, who’d given it the family name.
“It’s my kitchen.” Ruthie put her hands on her slim hips and glared. “You’re nothing more than the hired help, and you’re getting a bit too big for your apron.”
I, Kelly Canyon, unwilling guest of the upcoming party tonight, sat at the table with a cup of coffee and prepared to watch the most entertaining thing I’d seen in a month. I smiled over the rim of my cup. These two had become best friends ever since Sarah saved my life. Sarah had been there when I had to pretend to be homeless to hide from an unscrupulous cop. But even the best of friends fight like tigers once in a while, and stress was running high today.
“You’re the one with the big head.” Sarah wiggled her fingers. “Give me the guest list and leave me alone.”
Ruthie thrust over three pages of handwritten names in Sarah’s direction. “I want fancy foods. We’ve a guest list of one hundred and fifty.” She grinned, looking rather proud of herself. “Since Kelly’s and my television show, The Hart of Crime, is nominated for an Emmy, everyone wants to be part of our clique.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “I’ll dump the first platter of fancy food over your head if you don’t hire me some help.”
A laugh escaped me, turning both their glares on me. I pretended to cough.
“Bad acting, girl.” Ruthie shook her head and stormed from the kitchen.
“How have you lived with her for so many years?” Sarah scanned the list of names in her hand.
“She isn’t so bad—”
Sarah’s face darkened. “She invited Robert? That cad—the man who ruined my life? I wouldn’t serve him a platter of anything but slop fit for a pig.” She tossed the list on the counter.
Ruthie wouldn’t dare. I retrieved the papers. Yep. She’d invited the unscrupulous businessman, Robert Doyles, Sarah’s ex-husband. Oh, grandma, what were you thinking?
After setting the papers on the counter, I went to look for some explanation. Ruthie sat on a sofa, knitting needles, her new fad, clicking at a remarkable pace. I doubted whether anything useable would result from her efforts, though. All I saw emerging was a tangled mess.
“What?” She didn’t look up.
“Why did you invite Robert Doyles? You know how Sarah feels about him.”
Her hands stilled. “Because he provided some of the backing for our show. It’s only right. She’ll be in the kitchen and won’t have to lay eyes on him.”
“You still should have warned her.”
The doorbell rang. As I headed to answer it, Ruthie said, “That would be the hired help I already got for that ungrateful woman in the kitchen.”
I rolled my eyes and let in two kitchen helpers, who were informed by Ruthie that the wait staff would arrive one hour prior to the party’s starting time, as would the bartender. “Are you having an open bar?” My eyes widened.
“Of course. This is Hollywood.” She glanced up at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Our guests won’t expect us to spare any expense. Don’t worry. I’m footing the bill.”
“I’ll pay my share and be the official photographer, or did you hire one?”
“Of course, I hired one. You can’t take photos in an evening gown. This is a formal party.” Again, I got the look.
“You’re always taking away my fun.” Originally, my dream job was investigative journalist, and I’d worked for a tabloid until getting fired when I became a murder suspect. Then I found myself roped into acting, something I seemed to be good at, and took pictures of celebrity’s pets as a side job. Now that I’d resigned myself to acting, I took photos as a hobby while trying to find my father’s murderer. A full plate, but I’d never been happier. Especially since the first murder I’d gotten involved in had hooked Brock aka Handsome Hanson, Hollywood’s Golden Boy, as my boyfriend.
“You can act like a star for one night, Kelly.” She set down her needles. “Look at it this way. No one is likely to kill one of us at our own party.”
I hoped she hadn’t just jinxed us.