The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) by Larissa Reinhart

he stayed away from the deep fryer.
    I sought a new subject that might move his emotions in a different direction. “Viktor, did you know Abel Spencer? I suppose you heard about his unfortunate death. I wanted to express my condolences.”
    “I don’t know him.”
    My best customer service skills did not seem to work on Viktor. “What about the contestants? They’re an interesting bunch. Did you get to meet Bob Bass or Rick?”
    “Not yet. I am accompanying your party to the bunkhouse in order to cook for the weekend. I will meet soon enough.”
    I opened my mouth to ask about specialized food requests when Viktor grabbed a sizable, gleaming knife. My mouth shut.
    Viktor glanced at the knife, caught his reflection, and smoothed his mustache. He lowered the knife. “Tell your friend, Avtaikin, I’ll be very close.”
    “How do you know Mr. Max?” I quickly prayed Viktor hadn’t lost significant sums in the Bear’s backroom gaming industry.
    “You ask the Bear.” With a flick of his wrist, the knife tip pointed at my belly line of jiggling reindeer. “And tell him I will watch him carefully this weekend. You too. Any of the funny stuff and he will be reported.”
    “Be reported to who?”
    “To whom. Your English is not so good.” The gleaming knife flashed and aimed toward the door. “Now I must be preparing the dinner. Out.”

      
    Back in the dining room, I found a seat between Max and Todd at the long table for the hunt contestants. I nodded at Bob and his entourage sitting across the table. Bob flashed me a smile, then continued his story involving a politician, a flamethrower, and a bag of marshmallows. Lowering my voice, I spoke to my untouched plate. “The chef knows you, Bear.”
    Max raised a heavy eyebrow, scooped the orange mush onto a small piece of toast, and layered it with the dirt and tiny leaves. “Who is this chef?” He popped the bite into his mouth.
    “A Viktor from your home country.”
    He chewed for a long minute. “I do not know any chef Viktor in Georgia.”
    “He sent a message warning you to watch your back this weekend.” I cut him a sharp side glance. “Via knife blade.”
    “He must be the mistaken.”
    Todd poked at the orangish blob with a fork and opted for plain toast.
    “Maybe Viktor’s got Mr. Max mixed up with another Max.”
    “Lord, I hope so.”
    “You should widen the palette,” said Max. “Try the uni.”
    “I prefer to use a palette for paint, not for sustenance.”
    Across the table, Peach giggled.
    I eyed her, wondering if extreme cleavage only caused the appearance of a drop in IQ points. “Where are you from?” I asked.
    “California,” she said.
    “Had a gig at a gun rally,” said Bob, dropping an arm on the back of her chair. “Peach snuck into my dressing room. Isn’t that cute? She’s been with me ever since.”
    “A long time then?”
    Bob searched the ceiling rafters. “A couple months?”
    “Since August.” Peach switched her strained tones to a lighter octave. “Almost four months, Bob.”
    “Sorry, babe,” said Bob. “Long time. Just think, the first time you met me you wanted to kill me and now you’re going to star on Rockin’ The Hunt . Must be love.”
    I dropped a dry toast point. “Peach wanted to kill you?”
    Bob’s laugh bounced around the roof timbers. “Peach snuck into my tent with a lil .38 Special. Told me hunting animals was mean. I said holding guns on people was just as mean. My bodyguard disarmed her and we’ve been together ever since.”
    “That was pretty funny,” said Peach.
    I didn’t understand the humor, but maybe it was a California thing.
    A glass clinked and we turned our attention to the head of the table where Mike stood with Viktor and a line of Big Rack staff.
    “Excuse the interruption,” said Mike. “I wanted y’all to meet the folks who will be serving you this weekend.” He introduced each guide, housecleaner, and cook.
    At Viktor’s introduction, I poked Max, who