“It’s the best way. It’s the only way.” Norman was talking the talk, but if his breathlessness meant anything, it meant he wasn’t anywhere near ready to walk the walk.

This time, I gave his shoulder a pat. “Jim’s here.” I looked over to where Jim was chopping and dicing and slicing the food Norman -er, Jacques-would be using for his demonstration. “You don’t think he’s going to let anything happen to you, do you?”

Norman tried for a smile. “Jim’s a real friend. After he found out everything he found out about me… after you all did… you all could have walked away.”

“That’s not what friends do.”

Another smile. This one lasted a millisecond longer. “You think Jim’s a good enough friend to do the demo for me?”

Since I suspected Norman wasn’t kidding, I didn’t answer.

Instead, I smoothed a hand over the place near the neckline of his apron where Très Bonne Cuisine was embroidered in minty letters the exact color of the store’s shopping bags. I could practically feel the hum of nervousness that coursed through Norman ’s body.

“You look handsome,” I said.

He made a face. “Folks aren’t going to think I’m so handsome when this story comes out. What’s going to happen, Annie? I mean, even if the cops get this guy? Word’s going to get out that I’m an ex-con, that I learned to cook in prison. My career is going to tank, the shop is going to fold, my reputation-”

“Hey!” I am usually not so rude as to interrupt someone, but it was either that or watch Norman dissolve with a case of the screaming meemies. I looked him in the eye. “You’ve got to stay focused and alert.”

“I know that.”

I would have felt more confident if he sounded like he meant it.

“You’ve got to remember that there are lots of people out there who are looking forward to seeing you, and lots of people on the sidelines who are here specifically to make sure you’re safe.”

This time, he didn’t even try to talk, he just nodded.

“You can do this, N-” I swallowed what I was going to say. “You can do this, Jacques. You have to. For Greg.”

“Yes.” As if in response to his affirmative answer, the technicians tested the lighting, and at that very moment, a spotlight came on and illuminated the cooking demonstration area with its gleaming pots and pans and its pristine cooking surfaces. Norman stood a little taller. His smile inched up. There was suddenly a Pepé Le Pew swagger in his step and a very Gallic tilt to his chin. “It is très bien, yes?” Jacques Lavoie smiled back at me. “We will have a wonderful time showing these lovely people the quiche and the soup and the crêpes suzette. It will be-”

“Jacques!” We’d brought Raymond along to the show, partly because we knew he’d be a great help, but mostly because as soon as he heard that his culinary hero was back and doing a cooking demonstration at the region’s premier food show, there was no way we could convince him to stay in Arlington. Jim was officially in charge of the food. Raymond’s job was to take care of the supplies, and when he raced over to where we stood I saw clear proof that Raymond did not share Jacques’ love of the spotlight and the kind of preshow pandemonium I’d seen even before our classes at Bellywasher’s.

Raymond’s eyes were bright. The collar of his oxford shirt was damp. When he got close enough, I saw that his hands were shaking. “We don’t have a mandoline!” he wailed.

I was tempted to ask if we were playing music, but have no fear. A couple weeks behind the front counter of Très Bonne Cuisine, and I was prepared. “I know I brought it,” I said, thinking back to the night before and our frantic trip to the shop to pack everything Jacques would need. “It was in the box with the salad spinner.”

“The big brown box with the red logo on it?” I would have felt more confident if Raymond didn’t swallow hard when he asked this. Muscular hulk or not, he deflated in front of our eyes. “I threw it out. I thought it was empty. It went into the big Dumpster behind the building.”

The thought of Dumpster diving did not appeal to me. I checked my watch. “There’s no time to go back to the shop to get another one.”

“And not one thing to worry about!” Jacques’ smile was as bright as the stage lights. “We are at a food show, ne sommes-nous pas? Annie, you will go see my good friend Claude Brooking. He has a booth here somewhere. He will gladly let us use a mandoline. And Raymond, mon ami…” Jacques wound an arm through Raymond’s and walked him back onto the stage. “We must check the crêpe pans, n’est pas?”

I left them at it, skirting a couple of technicians who were doing a last-minute sound check and heading out through the wings and to the auditorium. I knew Eve was somewhere in the back of the house with Tyler and I had an eye out for her.

Which was why I didn’t see Peter until he stepped right in front of me.

“Whoa!” I pulled up short and caught my breath. “What are you-?”

“I saw the ad in the newspaper. You know…” Peter looked around to make sure no one was paying any attention to us. “About your friend Jacques… I figured this had something to do with our case so I knew you’d need my help.”

“That’s really nice.” It was, in a twisted sort of way, so I didn’t feel guilty saying it. “But Peter…” A group of elderly ladies headed past us and toward the senior seating that had been reserved in the front of the auditorium, and I pulled Peter aside. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your help…” I was at a crossroads here, and I sucked in a long breath. But honestly, I didn’t have to think about what to say.

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Peter.”

I guess the message didn’t sink in. He stared at me.

“Peter?” I was tempted to grab his arm, but I thought it best to avoid personal contact. “You heard me, right? I appreciate your wanting to help with our case. I do. But Peter, you’re hanging around because you’re lonely, and, Peter…” I really didn’t have time for this sort of melodrama so I just blurted it out. “I’m over you, Peter. Totally, completely, one hundred percent over you. So if you want to establish some sort of wonderful, lasting relationship, you should know that you’re going to need to do it with someone else. I’m in love with Jim.”

“The cook?” It was the first thing that penetrated his shock, and Peter blinked at me in wonder. “You and a cook?”

“Me and a fantastic, supportive guy. He’s got a great sense of humor. He’s got terrific plans for the future of his business. He’s caring and he’s dependable.”

“And I’m not.”

I had been forced to be brutally honest, but that didn’t mean I was heartless. I gave Peter a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I think you could be,” I said. “And I think you will be. Once you find the right woman. I hope you do, Peter. I truly do. I wish you every happiness in the world.”

And because the clock was ticking and I was on the hunt for a mandoline, I didn’t wait and I didn’t say another word. I raced up the aisle toward where I saw Eve standing with Tyler.

And when I did?

When I did, I had a smile on my face.

But then, that’s what always happens when I know in my heart that I just did the right thing.