Posts Tagged ‘food’

The Dinner Party Disaster

Posted: January 28, 2026 in Advice, Consulting, Experiences, Thoughts
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11

I should have known the dinner party was doomed when Chris said, ‘Just act normal for three hours. That’s all I’m asking.'”

Normal. Right. Because juggling a consulting business, helping a homicide detective solve murders, and working for a mob boss is totally normal. But I love my husband, and he rarely asks me for anything, so I was determined to pull this off.

The stakes were pretty simple: Chris’s colleagues at the firm had been hearing rumors about my “unusual” PI work. Some had also noticed that Chris now represents Joe E. Manetto as a client, and apparently people gossip about that sort of thing. Who knew? So Chris invited two couples from the firm over for dinner to prove that we’re completely normal, professional people living a completely normal, professional life.

I spent all day preparing. I made Chris’s favorite pot roast, cleaned the house until it sparkled, and even bought a new blouse that screamed “respectable lawyer’s wife.” I had this handled.

The guests arrived right on time: Michael and his wife Erin, plus Kristin (the newest senior partner) and her husband Tom. Everyone was polite, complimentary, perfectly pleasant. And that’s when my other superpower kicked in—the one Chris really wishes I didn’t have.

Because while Michael was saying, “Shelby, your home is lovely,” he was thinking, How does a woman like her end up working as a PI for the mob? Something’s fishy here. And Erin was wondering what I actually did for a mob boss and how much truth there was to my ‘psychic’ abilities. At the same time Kristin was analyzing whether Chris was stretching the legal limits for his ‘special’ clients, and hoped it wouldn’t get the firm in trouble.

Only Tom seemed genuine—mainly because he was mentally planning his fantasy football lineup and not paying attention to anything.

I smiled through the appetizers, served the salad, and was just starting to think I might actually pull this off when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Uncle Joey. Need you. Urgent.

I excused myself to “check on the roast” and called him from the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“Shelby. I’m at the club and I need you to come and find out if Branigan is cheating me.”

“Cheating?” I frantically stirred gravy with one hand while holding the phone with the other. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

“It’s urgent. I’ve been losing to him all night.”

“What? Is this about–” Kristin walked in to refill her wine glass. Before I blurted ‘a poker game,’ I quickly pivoted. “Uh… sure I get it, but I’m with my family right now… can you take a break or something?”

Kristin’s thoughts hit me loud and clear, she takes calls during dinner? Chris must be mortified.

“I’ll call you back.” I knew Uncle Joey wouldn’t like that, but this dinner was important to me.

Luckily, we made it through the main course with only minor incidents—like when I kept glancing at Michael and Erin and accidentally responded to their thoughts about their dog. But being a dog-owner myself, I couldn’t help it.

“So, Shelby, how’s the PI business going?” Michael asked.

“Oh, you know, the usual murder investigations and mob consulting—” I caught myself. “I mean, the usual consultations for various clients. Very normal. Very legal.”

Chris kicked me under the table.

Then my phone buzzed again. Holding it under the table, I read: I’ve got a suspect in interrogation. Does he look familiar to you? It was from Dimples and he included a photo.

Somehow, my phone slipped out of my hand and clattered onto the floor, landing face-up right in front of Michael—with a mugshot of a very rough-looking suspect filling the screen. He picked it up and handed it to me.

“Oh! Thank you.” I grabbed it. “That’s just… my cousin. He’s, uh, having a rough time.”

Michael’s brows rose. “Oh. That’s too bad.” But he was thinking that my cousin looked like a career criminal, and wondered what kind of family I came from.

Chris’s fork paused halfway to his open mouth and his eyes bulged. I gave him a smile and a little shrug, but I couldn’t help hearing that he wondered why I had my phone at the table, and next time, he was locking it in the safe. That seemed extreme, but he might have a point.

As I was about to serve dessert—homemade apple pie that I’d actually nailed—the doorbell rang.

My pulse raced. Nobody was supposed to ring our doorbell. The kids and our dog were at their friend’s houses, and I had specifically told everyone else that tonight was off-limits. “Uh… excuse me.”

I hurried to the door to find Ramos standing there in full leather jacket and motorcycle boots glory. My heart dropped into my stomach.

“Uncle Joey sent me,” he said calmly. “You blew him off.”

“I’m having a dinner party!”

“I can see that.” He glanced past me at the table full of lawyers in business casual, thinking that I’d picked a lousy night to make a good impression.

In the dining room, Chris was thinking, please don’t let that be who I think it is.

Crap. I tried to decide if it was better to shove Ramos back out the door, or risk introducing him. The choice was taken from me when Kristin poked her head around the doorway. Smiling, I led Ramos into the dining room. “Hey everyone. This is my coworker. He just needed something, and then he’ll be on his way.”

The reaction was immediate. Both Kristin and Erin were thinking, WHO is THAT? Kristin’s internal monologue went into overdrive. Erin was mentally assessing if I was having an affair, and she felt sorry for Chris. Tom suddenly started paying attention. Michael was thinking that Ramos looked like muscle for the mob.

I mentally smacked my head against the wall and tried to usher Ramos back into the hallway. Naturally, my phone rang with the Scooby-Doo ringtone. Everyone froze and stared at me. I quickly answered. “Hey, can I call you back?” Before he could answer, I disconnected and glanced at the group. “Sorry. A client.”

Then my phone started playing The Godfather, and I wanted to throw it down the hall.

“You’d better answer that,” Ramos said, his lips twisting to hold back a smile.

Everyone stared at me, and I stood there like a dummy with my mouth hanging open. That’s when I smelled smoke. “Oh no! The pie!”

I ran to the kitchen, but it was too late. Black smoke poured out of the oven. The smoke alarm started shrieking. Everyone evacuated to the yard while I frantically waved a dish towel at the detector. I made the mistake of opening the oven, only to have more smoke pour into the room.

Coughing, Ramos guided me out to the lawn. Taking a breath, I glanced at the group. Ramos was trying not to laugh, Chris looked like he wanted to disappear, and our guests looked like they’d just confirmed every rumor they’d ever heard about us.

Michael was thinking I was totally connected to organized crime. Erin was thinking that if Ramos was a coworker, no wonder I kept working for a mob boss. Kristin thought that the rumors had to be true and that Chris was mixed up in something that could be illegal, and Tom was thinking that this was the best dinner party he’d been to in years.

Michael suggested they “head out early.” As they left, Kristin thought that poor Chris certainly had his hands full with me for a wife, and she felt a little sorry for him.

As Chris ushered them out, Ramos disconnected the shrieking smoke alarm. “Next time you have a dinner party, just tell them you work for the mob. Less suspicious that way.”

Chris walked in at exactly that moment. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”

Ramos and I exchanged a glance.

“Of course it’s a joke, honey,” I said.

Chris shook his head, he thought the dinner party was a disaster because now everyone believed we were in the mob. Maybe he should start practicing criminal defense?

Ramos picked up my phone from where I’d dropped it on the floor and handed it over. “I’ll tell Manetto what happened. I’m sure he’ll figure out a way for you to make it up to him.” His lips twisting, he disappeared out the door.

I gave Chris a hopeful smile. “Maybe it’s not so bad. I’m sure they liked the food. By tomorrow, they’ll think it was just a series of unfortunate events, and have a good laugh.”

Shaking his head, he gathered me in his arms, thinking that he’d learned his lesson, and he’d never do anything like that again. “Come on. Let’s clean up this mess.”

The next day at the firm, Michael told everyone the dinner party was “memorable.” Chris says that’s lawyer-speak for “bizarre but we’re too polite to say so.”

At least Kristin’s husband sent a thank-you note saying it was the most entertaining evening he’d had in years.

Based on that, maybe it wasn’t so bad? What do you think? Should I count that as a win?

Thanks for reading!!

Until next time!

XOXO,

Shelby

Recipe for Disaster

Posted: January 26, 2023 in Advice, Consulting, Experiences, Thoughts
Tags: , , , , ,
21

Yesterday, I got a phone call from Dimples asking for my ‘special’ help. This particular case had stumped him and the other detectives for several days, and they’d decided it was time to call in the big guns… me. As the resident ‘psychic’ for the police, I get called in when nothing else seems to work, even though not all of the detectives are convinced that what I do is real.

Only Dimples knows the truth that I can read minds, which is just how I like it. Can you imagine how twitchy everyone would get if they knew I could hear their thoughts? It would be a disaster of epic proportions, so it’s much better to say I have premonitions. Still, it does make things a little awkward when I have to explain myself. I mean… premonitions aren’t quite the same thing, so I always have to tell them I have a feeling about someone or something that’s about to happen, and it can get a little confusing.

I walked into the department and Dimples sent me his biggest smile, mostly because he knew how mesmerizing I found his dimples. It was kind of like a reward for coming in to help him, so I couldn’t complain. If you saw his dimples, you’d totally understand… I mean… they’re huge and they’re always moving, like they have a personality all their own.

“Glad you could make it,” Dimples said. “Have a seat, and I’ll explain what’s going on.” I took my seat beside his desk and he began to tell me about the case. “There’s a person of interest we’ve been watching for the murders of a couple of women, but we don’t have enough evidence to get a search warrant.”

“Wait… like a serial killer?” I’d actually known a serial killer. In fact, I’d almost become one of his victims. I shook my head. “You know how I feel about those types of murderers… are you sure you need me?”

“Yes. If anyone can stop him, it’s you.” Since I wasn’t convinced, he kept talking. “Shelby… you know how they work. If we don’t stop him, he’ll keep killing people. You’ll be saving lives.”

I closed my eyes and let out a breath. “Ugh… I know, I know. I just hate being involved with them. Their minds are…” I glanced around to make sure no one could hear me and lowered my voice. “… like the cesspools of humanity. I always feel like I have to take a long shower afterwards, and I’m still not clean.”

“I understand it’s not pleasant, but we’ve run out of options.” He was thinking that taking an extra shower or two was worth saving someone’s life.

“Ouch… that hurt.”

He had the decency to lower his gaze. “Sorry… I forgot you’d hear that.”

“It’s fine. So what’s the plan?”

“I thought we’d visit him at his house and maybe you could pick up something. We’ll say it’s a follow-up, since we’ve talked with him before. I’ll tell him that we suspect one of his neighbors is acting suspiciously, and ask him if he’s seen anything unusual. It actually works pretty well since the guy told us about the neighbor in the first place.”

“Okay. Just make sure he invites us inside his house. If I can ask questions about his house, it will get him thinking about where he hid the bodies, or what he did with them.”

“I can do that. Let’s go.”

It didn’t take long before we were knocking on the suspect’s door. The curtain twitched before the door opened and a thirty-something man with a dark beard and longish hair stood in front of us. He wore glasses and jeans with a graphic t-shirt that drew my eye, mostly because of the slasher movie depicting dead people and lots of blood. That seemed a little obvious. Was that why the cops thought he was their killer?

“Hey Colton. I’m Detective Harris, and this is my colleague, Shelby Nichols. I was here the other day, and we have a couple of follow-up questions about your neighbor. Could we come in?”

His gaze darted to the side, like he was checking out the cleanliness of the living room, before he pulled the door open. “I guess. What did you need to know?”

Dimples asked him a couple of leading questions about his neighbor, while I glanced around the room. It was clean enough, but something was definitely off. Colton kept fidgeting, tapping his hands against his leg and rubbing his arms. It smelled like he was cooking some kind of meat dish, with lots of onions and garlic.

He finished answering the question, giving me an opportunity to speak. “You must be a good cook. What are you making that smells so good?”

Instead of relaxing, he got even more agitated. “Oh… it’s nothing exciting, just a beef stew recipe of my mom’s. I like to make it when I’m feeling lonely.”

“Oh… that makes sense. I take it you live here alone?”

“Yeah. My mom passed a few years ago.” He was thinking after I killed her.

I blinked. “Oh… I’m so sorry. You must miss her.”

He nodded. “Yeah… every now and then, but the stew helps me feel like she’s still here.” He was thinking it helped him lay the past to rest and get rid of the evidence at the same time.

My stomach clenched. Did that mean what I thought it meant? I swallowed and tried not to freak out.

Dimples glanced my way, noticing my white face, and wondering what was going on. Since I’d quit talking, he continued the conversation. “My wife makes a great stew, but it doesn’t smell as good as yours. Could I get your recipe?”

Colton’s eyes widened. No one had ever asked him that before. “Sure. In fact… I was just about to eat. Would you like to have some?”

I coughed to cover my gagging reflex. I couldn’t seem to stop and Dimples began to pound on my back. “Could I get… some… water?”

“Sure.” Colton left and I turned to Dimples.

“We can’t eat that… it’s people.”

Dimples’s eyes widened. “Like soylent green?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind… I get it. I’ll figure something out.”

Colton came back with a glass and I took it. After a couple of swallows, I managed to talk. “Thanks. I’m feeling a little sick, so I’ll have to pass on the food, but thanks anyway.”

He looked a little disappointed, but nodded.

“I’d like some,” Dimples said, surprising me.

“Great. I’ll get you a bowl.” Colton hurried back to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’ve got an idea.” Before Dimples could explain, Colton came back with a bowl of steaming stew and an eager twinkle in his eyes. He was thinking this was one for the history books. If anyone ever found out. Still… getting a cop to eat one of his victims was like the icing on the cake. “Here you go. I hope you like it.”

“Thanks.” Dimples stirred the stew and sniffed it. “It sure smells good… but it’s a little hot. I’d better give it a minute to cool down.”

I was ready to knock it out of hands. He glanced my way. “Shelby? Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “I think I’m going to be sick.” I wasn’t even lying this time.

“I’d better get you home.” He took my elbow and helped me stand. Then glanced at Colton. “Hey… do you mind if I take this with me?”

Colton’s mouth dropped open, but Dimples continued. “Thanks man. I’ll bring the bowl back.” He rushed me out of the house before Colton could protest. We practically ran all the way to the car. Somehow, I managed to get inside, and roll the window down for some fresh air. That would have worked just fine, but Dimples handed the bowl of stew to me so he could drive.

“Oh hell no.” A fresh wave of nausea rushed over me. “What are you doing?”

“That’s the evidence I need to nail him. Whatever you do, don’t puke.” He was thinking that the lab should be able to analyze the meat, and it would give him the evidence he needed to get a search warrant, or, even better, make an arrest.

I closed my eyes and held the bowl as far away from me as I could. Next, I leaned my face out the window so the cold air could blow over me. That seemed to do the trick, and my stomach settled a bit. Still, I didn’t dare open my eyes until we’d parked at the precinct and Dimples had taken the bowl from my hands.

“You coming?” he asked.

“Go ahead. I’ll be there in a bit.” It took a good ten minutes before I felt well enough to get out of the car. Dimples had taken the stew to the morgue, so I sat down and waited for him. By the time he got back, I had mostly recovered.

“Thanks Shelby. I know that was unpleasant, but I think we’ve got him.” He turned to the other detectives and told them what we’d discovered. I was fine until someone asked him if he’d tasted it.

“Gah! I’m going home.”

Dimples held back a chuckle and thanked me again. He said he’d let me know the results, and, in the meantime, they would be watching the house to make sure the guy didn’t leave town. He was hoping for an arrest tonight, or early tomorrow at the latest.

That was yesterday. This morning he called to tell me that he’d made the arrest and Colton was now behind bars. They’d found more evidence in the house, but I told him I didn’t want to know all the details. He was okay with that, but couldn’t help adding that he’d managed to take of photo of the stew recipe.

“Ugh!!” I hung up on him and tried not to puke.

So… I guess it all worked out, but seriously, I’ll never be able to eat stew again… probably for the rest of my life. Dimples told me catching the killer was worth it, and I guess he’s right. But please… if you ever invite me over for dinner… don’t make stew!