Murder To Go - Stine Megan (книги бесплатно без регистрации txt) 📗

It was a half-hour drive, cut shorter by the fact that Pete drove. They pulled up in front of the hotel and ran through the lobby. The press party, a sign said, was about to begin in the Empire Ballroom.

The Investigators ran past the ballroom entrances and headed right for the kitchen. There they found Big Barney in a yellow jogging suit covered with orange and red feathers. Juliet and Pandro Mishkin were standing by him. And almost every inch of kitchen counter space was covered with steaming trays of Drippin’ Chicken.

“Hey, guy,” Big Barney said as soon as he saw Jupe. He wrapped his arm around Jupe’s shoulder. “Tell me the truth, even though I may never speak to you again and will probably try to ruin your life if I don’t like the answer — is this outfit too conservative?”

“Big Barney, forget about your outfit. You can’t go out there,” Jupe said. “Drippin’ Chicken is deadly. It’s filled with a dangerous carcinogen. You’ve got to cancel this party and withdraw the product — or millions of people will die.”

Big Barney stared at Jupe and the noisy, clattering kitchen fell silent. Then suddenly Big Barney burst into laughter. “Hahahaha! You almost had me. I’m telling you I’ve got to have this guy for my son.”

“Look! Mishkin’s getting away!” Bob shouted.

Everyone did look. And what they saw was Pandro Mishkin trying to sprint out of the kitchen.

Pete and Bob and Jupe immediately grabbed the first thing they could get their hands on. It was a long baker’s tray piled high with Drippin’ Chicken. They heaved it at the fleeing man, hitting him in the back. Drippin’ Chicken splattered everywhere. Then Pete made a diving leap, grabbed Pandro Mishkin at the shoulders, and brought him down in a smear of gravy, like a wide receiver in the mud.

“Complete and utter insubordination!” Mishkin yelled, struggling with Pete. “You could be court-martialed for this.”

“It’s you who will be going to court, Mr. Mishkin,” Jupe said, “for poisoning the Drippin’ Chicken.”

“Torture me if you want but all you’ll get is my name, rank, and serial number. I won’t talk,” Mishkin said proudly.

“You don’t really have to,” Jupe said. “Don Dellasandro told us just about everything we need to know — including how you paid him to poison Big Barney’s chicken.”

“The lying traitor!” cried Mishkin. “He paid me!”

Jupe couldn’t help smiling. “You’re right,” he said. “My mistake.”

“What are you talking about, Mishkin?” Big Barney asked, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Give me your report!”

“General,” Pandro answered, “your Drippin’ Chicken is filled with an additive the FDA outlawed a few years ago. How do you like them apples?”

“You betrayed me?” Big Barney boomed.

“You didn’t pay me a million dollars. And Don Dellasandro did,” Mishkin replied.

“And all you had to do was falsify the ingredients of Drippin’ Chicken,” said Jupe.

“A million bucks buys a lot of loyalty from this soldier,” Mishkin said. “I should have gone mercenary a long time ago.”

Big Barney rushed over to Mishkin and tore the chicken medals off his jacket. “I’d like to wring your neck!” Big Barney shouted.

Jupe stepped between them and asked one more question. “You were the one chasing Juliet Coop the night of her accident, weren’t you?”

“Correct,” Mishkin said.

“Why, Mr. Mishkin?” asked Juliet. She held her father’s arm tightly, as if needing the support.

“The report was on my desk, along with a list of ingredients for Drippin’ Chicken. You were working late — without prior authorization! You saw the papers and started yelling the minute I walked in the door. The darn thing was stamped ‘Top Secret’! You ought to be thrown in the stockade for reading classified materials!”

“So Juliet grabbed the report and you chased her,” Jupe said.

“Yes,” Mishkin said. “But I wasn’t trying to hurt her.” He looked directly at Juliet. “When your car went off the road in the rain, it was an accident. On my honor.”

“Why didn’t you do something to help her?” said Big Barney.

“I did. I stopped. I wanted to help her. But I had to protect my identity. So I called the police and made a complete report about the accident — anonymously, of course.”

“Dad,” Juliet said a little breathlessly, “I’m remembering it now. The crash — it was horrible!” She was almost crying. Big Barney put his arm around his daughter.

“For a while we thought Michael Argenti was behind this whole scheme,” Jupe said to Big Barney. “We followed him to one of your chicken farms and heard him talking about buying you out and changing the feed.”

“That little cockerel doesn’t know the difference between chicken feed and chicken salad. He changes his feed all the time. It must make his birds want to commit suicide,” said Big Barney. “But he doesn’t have enough money to buy me out, even in his dreams.”

“You even thought Dad was a suspect, admit it, Jupe,” said Juliet.

“Well,” Jupe said uncomfortably, “I couldn’t figure out why you were spitting out the Drippin’ Chicken after every take at the recording studio.”

“Everybody does that in food commercials,” Big Barney explained. “If you swallow the food every time, after thirty takes you’re full to the beak. Then you can’t look so happy about having to take another bite during take number thirty-one.”

Juliet turned to her father. “Dad, you’ve got a hundred hungry press people out there,” she said. “What are you going to do now?”

Big Barney fluffed his feathers for a moment, preening in thought. Then with a smile he said, “You just watch me.”

He rushed out into the ballroom and took his usual place — in the spotlight and behind a microphone.

“Good evening, ladies and germs. Hahahaha!” he began. “Now, I suppose you’re wondering why I called you all here tonight. I know that most of you think that Big Barney’s only out for a quick buck and a fast headline. So I guess you know me pretty well.”

The audience joined in with Barney’s laughing this time.

“Folks, I’m not here tonight to plug my delicious and famous fried chicken. And to prove it, in a few minutes we’re all going to be sending out for” — Big Barney choked a little on the next word — “pizza! That’s right. Pizza! And I’m sure you’re almost as surprised as I am about that.” Big Barney wiped his brow with a feathered arm. “But folks, I’m proud to announce something brand new,” he continued. “Tonight I am announcing the first ever Big Barney City Slicker Award, an award I plan to present every year to people who help to make this city a better place to live in. Now, because I’m too modest to give this award to myself, I’d like to announce tonight’s winners. And here they are and I love them like my own kids: Junior Jones, Pete Cranberry, and Bob Andersonville — better known to all of us as The Three Instigators. I’m honoring them in particular tonight for all the things they do behind the scenes — things you may not know about but that we’re all grateful for. So let’s give them a round of applause, folks, and tell them how we feel.”

As the audience applauded, Jupe, Pete, and Bob walked up into the spotlight, although Big Barney was taking up most of it.

Barney shook their hands and gave them lots of freebie coupons while waving and smiling at the TV cameras.

“Hey, guys, can’t thank you enough,” Big Barney said. “And I’m going to be floating on this publicity for months.”

“Anytime,” Jupe said with a sigh.

“Yeah, glad we could maximize you,” said Bob.

“For sure,” said Pete.

“Don’t look so hoof and mouth, guys, said Big Barney “Once your names hit the media with this award, you’ll be on the map. And always remember who put you there. Yours ever so truly. Hahahaha!