Too Many Cooks by Joanne Pence Page B

favors.
    What was it about Karl, she wondered, that causedthis reaction in so many people? Arrogance, always acting as if he were doing you a favor just by acknowledging your existence, gloating over his success and other people’s failures—yes, that might do it.
    Angie stood with Paavo at the edge of the crowd, where they could see everyone who entered the room. In the past, Angie had always been in the middle of crowds, taking in everything around her. Since going out with Paavo, though, she’d learned that cops liked to stand on the fringe, where they can observe and be ready to defend or escape as necessary. It reminded her of old cowboy movies where the gunslingers always sat with their backs to the wall so no ornery polecat could sneak up and get the drop on ’em.
    â€œThere’s Chick Marcuccio,” she said.
    â€œWho’s he?”
    â€œHe’s a close friend of my father. His daughter, Terry, and I were best friends until she got married last year. I can’t stand her husband. Chick’s also got a son, Joey.”
    â€œAnother close friend?”
    â€œHardly. Joey’s the sort who thinks a pie in the face is the height of humor. His dad owns Italian Seasons.”
    Paavo did a double take to see if Angie was kidding. Italian Seasons was the biggest and most expensive of the many Italian restaurants in the city. Her offhand comment was like being in a room full of jewelers and saying, “By the way, that one’s the owner of Tiffany’s.”
    Just then, Chick Marcuccio looked in Angie’s direction. She waved.
    â€œAngelina! Come sta? Good to see you!” Hecrossed the room toward her, his arms open wide the whole way. When he reached her, they clasped shoulders and he kissed her on both cheeks.
    â€œChick, I’d like you to meet my friend, Paavo Smith. Paavo, this is a dear family friend, Chick Marcuccio.”
    Chick was short and heavyset, with slicked-back steel-gray hair. As he reached out to shake Paavo’s hand, a huge diamond in his pinky ring caught the light. “Any friend of Angie is a friend of mine,” Chick said earnestly. “And this is my very dear friend, Janet Knight. I’ve wanted you two to meet for a long time.”
    The woman by his side was tall and slender and flirting with middle age. She wore a sophisticated gray suit, and her blond hair was pulled back in an elegant chignon.
    Angie and Paavo shook hands with her. “Janet Knight,” Angie repeated, taking in every detail of the woman before her. “I’ve seen your picture many times. Paavo, this is the food editor at Haute Cuisine magazine.”
    Paavo’s attempt to express excitement at this news was about as successful as Angie should have expected from a man whose idea of gourmet cooking was adding onion powder to Stove Top Stuffing Mix.
    â€œI’ve always wanted to do an article for you,” Angie said.
    Janet smiled. “Really? You should submit one.”
    â€œI have,” Angie said, her heart sinking as she realized her submittals never even made it past the first readers and onto the editor’s desk. “Several times.”
    â€œAh. I see.” A hint of red showed on Janet’s porcelain cheeks. “I used to enjoy your food column. I’m sorry it ended.”
    â€œWell, those things happen, I guess,” Angie replied, her dismay that Janet had never seen her submittals subsiding a bit with the compliment.
    Chick jumped in. “Sure they do, Angie. Don’t mean nothing. Right, Paolo?”
    Paavo winced at this latest mangling of his name, but he saw that Chick was aware of Angie’s discomfort and was trying to help. “Right. Sometimes it’s for the best.”
    â€œGood advice,” Chick said.
    Angie looked at Paavo as if he’d taken leave of his senses.
    â€œI’m so glad I finally met you,” Janet said, addressing Angie. “Chick’s told me about you and