by K E O'Connor
“Tony foolishly invested in one of Kendal’s companies. Kendal spent all the money on equipment and marketing and was completely off target. He lost the lot, and Tony didn’t get a penny of his investment back. I always thought it would be Tony who would wring Kendal’s neck, not Izzie. It’s a shame if she did it. I liked her.”
“Holly! I expect to see you in the kitchen in twenty minutes.” Chef Heston strode past, his car keys dangling from his fingers. “We’ve got a busy day today.”
I checked the time and gasped. I’d been out here longer than I’d realized and hadn’t had breakfast or showered yet. “Thanks, Simon. I appreciate the hula hoop lesson.”
He grinned. “Any time. But remember, this is our little secret. I’m all man, not some hula hoop loving geek who secretly enjoys being dressed up by my sisters.”
I laughed as I hurried away with Meatball, the hula hoop clamped under my arm. This was useful new information. Simon must have been annoyed about Kendal stealing Izzie from him, but he had a decent alibi. However, Tony hated Kendal because he’d lost him money.
Campbell must have investigated this and discounted it, but I still wanted to make sure the police had the right person.
I had to find a way to speak to Tony and figure out just how angry he’d been with Kendal. If he was angry enough to kill, I might have a new suspect on my hands.
Chapter 16
I took a five-minute shower before dressing and dashing to the kitchen with my hair still damp. I had two minutes to get to work before I was late.
“Stop right there by orders of the Princess.” Alice giggled as she stepped out from behind a bush. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Meatball bounded over to Alice, and she scooped him up and rained pink lipstick kisses all over his head.
“Work! I got distracted this morning. Chef Heston will only yell if I’m late.”
“I’ll come with you.” Alice set Meatball down, grabbed my elbow, and tucked a hand through it. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with you. Have you heard the latest on the murder investigation?”
“Campbell thinks that Izzie Northcott did it.”
She giggled again. “Then you don’t know the absolute latest.”
I slowed and looked at her. “They’ve let Izzie go?”
“The exact opposite. She’s been charged with Kendal’s murder.”
“Wow! That was quick work. So they’ve got no doubts about her being guilty?”
“Of course not. Campbell’s in charge and he’s so good at what he does.” Alice sighed. “Don’t you think he’s terribly handsome?”
I stopped walking before I reached the entrance to the kitchen and turned to her. “You have the hots for Campbell?”
She slapped me on the arm. “I never said that.”
“You don’t have to. Your blushing is giving you away.” Was she being serious? This had to be a crush. The princess and the bodyguard? It sounded like something straight out of a Hallmark movie.
“I’m not blushing. It’s just hot out here.” She fanned her face with her hand. “Don’t you think he’s ever so dashing? And he looks so good in those suits he wears. Imagine what he’d look like in a tuxedo?”
“Alice! What will your mom think if you fall for the bodyguard?”
“Mommy’s not even around to notice.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “You mustn’t say a word. It’s our secret. In fact, I’m ordering you to be silent, or I’ll have your head chopped off.”
Yikes! I sometimes wondered just how serious Alice was with her threats of putting people in the tower and having their heads lopped off.
She smacked me on the arm again. “Only joking! I’d need a jolly good reason for having your head chopped off. Although I’m sure I can come up with one if I think hard enough.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I muttered.
She laughed out loud. “I’m just relieved this horrible business is all over. So is Rupert. The poor chap has never been able to handle stress. I was just thinking, he needs some of your magic muffins to make him happy again.”
“There’s nothing magic about my muffins.” I turned, and we continued our walk to the kitchen.
“Rupert thinks there is. He’s always going on about how great you are, and how amazing your food is.”
I felt a little smug and happy about that. It was always nice when someone praised your work.
“I’ll make something special today if I get the chance. I’ve been working on an old recipe I discovered. I haven’t cracked it yet, but I’ve got a new ingredient to add.”
“Oh! He loves your experiments,” Alice said. “Remember when you made those medieval fig tarts? They had strange spices in them.”
“Saffron, cinnamon, mace, peppers, and cloves. I wasn’t sure they were that big a hit. Most people are used to super sweet desserts. Anything that doesn’t have a ton of sugar in it is usually rejected.”
“Rupert loved them. You could probably serve him a bowl of plain cornflakes and milk and he’d tell you that you were a genius. My brother’s very ... fond of you.”
“I like him too.” I looked away. Maybe I liked Lord Rupert a little too much, but I’d drawn a line when it came to our relationship. We were simply friends. There was nothing more to it.
Chef Heston yanked open the kitchen door as I approached, and his eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth as if to yell but spotted Alice and snapped it shut. “Time to get to work, Miss Holmes.”
“Good luck,” Alice whispered as she kissed my cheek and hurried away.
I let out a sigh as I headed into the kitchen and grabbed my apron. This mystery really had been solved. Everyone thought Izzie had killed Kendal. Maybe I should too. I was worrying about nothing.
***
“This had better be right,” I muttered under my breath as I looked critically at the solid lump of Roman honey bread cooling on the tray.
I’d tried a dozen different versions of this recipe and they either turned out too stodgy, flat, or as hard as a rock.
“What have you got there?” Chef Heston stomped over and glared at the honey bread.
“Before you yell at me, all my tasks are done for the day and everything’s tidied up. I made this on my own time using ingredients I paid for.”
He snorted and peered at my creation. “So, what is it?”
“I’m re-creating some ancient recipes I found in an old book. This is Roman honey bread.”
He lowered his head and sniffed. “You’ve got a lot of spices in there. It could be overpowering to the palate.”
“I followed the recipe. Although I adjusted the amount of liquid and added extra honey. My last few attempts haven’t come out right.”
“Get me a knife.” He held his hand out.
I did as instructed, and he eased the knife into the bread before sliding it out.
“Comes out clean. Evenly cooked all the way through. Are you thinking this could be a new addition to our cake range?”
“It’s possible. Maybe we could showcase it when we have a historical weekend. This would be perfect when we have the visiting lecturers talk about the Roman archeological remains found in the grounds.”
He grunted. “That’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
I took that as a compliment. Chef Heston didn’t know how to give those.
“Chef, I wanted to check something with you.”
“Go on.” He kept his gaze on my honey bread.
“The night Kendal Jakes died, did you find a mess in the kitchen when you arrived in the morning?”
His head lifted. “Was that you?”
“No! I always clear up at the end of the day.”
His mouth twisted to the side. “Hmmm. Someone raided the cheese, bread, and cut up a chocolate cake. They left the wreckage behind. Who was it?”
“Lord Rupert’s friends, I think.”
He scowled. “Typical.”
That confirmed Simon and Christian had been here and n
ot killing Kendal in the woods.
To my surprise, Chef Heston patted me on the shoulder. “Interesting work, Holly. Keep it up.”
I stared at him as he strode away. What had gotten into him? He was usually so critical of everything I did.
I was getting used to his surly ways. He behaved that way because he had such high standards for his kitchen and expected his staff to give their very best every day.
As much as I got riled by his shouting, he did it for the right reasons.
I lifted the honey bread and inspected it. My gaze went to the window just as Rupert strode past.
Setting the bread quickly on a plate, I grabbed a knife. I had no time to sample it, but this was the perfect opportunity to present it to Rupert and see if I could put a smile back on his face.
I raced out the back door and hurried after him. “Rupert! Have you got a moment?”
He turned and nodded. “Always for you, Holly.” His gaze landed on the plate. “Oooh! Is that for me?”
I bit my bottom lip. “I thought you might enjoy it. It’s something I’ve been working on. And, well, I figured you needed cheering up after everything that’s happened with Kendal.”
“Oh, yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m still so surprised by it all. I keep expecting to wake up and discover it was all a bad dream. He really is dead.”
“And you’re not sad about that?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Well, I’m not happy. But, and I feel terrible for saying this, I don’t miss him. I thought it would feel harder, losing a friend. It’s not the first time I’ve lost a buddy. I still think about him even after all these years.”
“Who did you lose?”
“Oh, it was a terrible accident one summer holiday. I was out with a group of friends and we were swimming in a lake. We shouldn’t have been there, but you know what it’s like, teenage boys think they’re immortal. Anyway, Seb went into the water and never came out. That was over a decade ago, and I often wonder what he’d have been like if he’d lived. Please don’t think me a terrible person, but I almost feel relieved that Kendal’s gone. He could be a chaos maker.”
I briefly touched his arm. “Alice did mention that he gave you a hard time when you were growing up. Maybe that’s why you don’t feel so sad.”
He waved a hand in the air, his gaze not meeting mine. “He did like to joke. Maybe it’ll come to me in time. Grief hits people in different ways, doesn’t it?”
“You’re right, it does. And these are unusual circumstances. Maybe you’re still in shock.”
Rupert tilted his head from side to side. “It could be that.” He clapped his hands together. “Anyway, enough sad talk. How about we try this delicious looking cake? Tell me all about it.”
I nodded as we walked to a bench and sat. “It’s an ancient recipe.”
“Brilliant! Combining your love of history and food.”
I smiled. Rupert always paid attention when I talked. He knew that I’d studied history and had an interest in looking up all things Tudor related. “That’s right, and this isn’t a cake, but a bread. It’s a recipe that originated in Roman times. Bread laced with honey.”
“How interesting. A bit like a tea bread?”
“Not that sweet. I’ve yet to perfect the recipe, so you need to be honest with what you think. And you get to try the first slice.”
“I can’t wait. Let us eat cake.” He chuckled. “Well, let us eat Holly’s delicious honey bread.”
I cut us both off a piece and handed him the first one. “Tell me exactly what you think. Is it too sweet? Not sweet enough? There are half a dozen spices in there, so it’s not going to taste like your average slice of bread.”
“I’m sure it will be perfection.” Rupert took a big bite and chewed. He blinked rapidly. “Well, this is very ... different.”
“Different good?”
He coughed as he swallowed the bread. “Um, it’s very salty. Is it supposed to be?”
I took a small bite. The second I chewed I almost gagged. “Bleurgh! This is terrible. The recipe only called for a pinch of salt and a half measure of honey. Don’t tell me I got them round the wrong way? I’ve never done that before.”
Rupert went to take another bite, but I knocked the bread from his hand.
“What did you do that for?” he asked.
“You can’t seriously want to eat that? All that salt won’t be good for you. I’m such an idiot getting the most basic ingredients mixed up.”
“Nonsense. Holly, you made it and I want to eat it.”
“Please don’t do it for my benefit. I’ll have to try again.” I rested my head in my hands for a second. I’d been distracted when I was baking. Even though I’d tried to dismiss Kendal’s murder from my mind, it still lingered. “Imagine if I’d done this to something we served the customers? Chef Heston would have me scrubbing the kitchen floor for a month as punishment.”
Rupert patted my hand. “It’s really not that bad. Cut me another slice.”
“No! This is going straight in the trash. What a waste.”
“Don’t give up. You’ll get there in the end. You’ll soon have perfected Roman honey bread, and we’ll sell it to visitors in their droves. You never know, you might start a new food trend and all the food bloggers will interview you.”
“They won’t want to interview me if they get a taste of this monstrosity.”
“Better luck next time.” He scrubbed his chin before looking around. “There was something I wanted to ask you.”
“Not to make any more terrible honey breads?”
He chuckled, then cleared his throat. “It’s only a small thing. Do you enjoy music? It’s just that there’s a recital at—”
“Rupert! Get over here.” Christian emerged from the garden and waved at him. “Stop chatting up your girlfriend. We’ve got the quad bikes out.”
Rupert’s cheeks flushed bright red, and he shook his head. “Ignore him. He’s so uncouth.”
I picked up a piece of the gross honey bread and inspected it as nerves fluttered in my stomach. “He’s only teasing you.”
“He should know better.” Rupert pushed to his feet. “I need to get along. Enjoy your day.” He strode away, encouraged by the catcalls of his friend.
My pulse sped up. It had sounded as if Rupert was about to ask me out, but that could never happen.
I looked at my failed Roman honey bread and sighed. I had to put this murder out of my mind once and for all. It was all sorted. I couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes in the kitchen.
It was time to move on from my obsession with this murder and my maybe tiny crush on Rupert.
Chapter 17
The previous day had been a blur of baking, avoiding being yelled at by Chef Heston, and puzzling out the missing ingredient in my Roman honey bread.
I removed my apron and headed outside into the warm early afternoon sunshine. “Come on, Meatball. It’s time for a walk.”
He emerged from his luxurious kennel and stretched before bouncing over to me. I petted his head, and we headed around the side of the castle.
I let him off his leash, and he trotted along ahead of me as I stopped to admire the new memorial garden. I paused by a sign that had been installed.
A public memorial event will be held here on Thursday, June 26 at 2pm. Everyone is welcome if they wish to spend a few moments remembering a lost loved one. Details of plaques available for purchase will also be on hand. There will be somebody to speak to you about how you can make the best use of the memorial garden.
That was such a lovely thing to do. It was a perfect way to remember somebody, especially if you didn’t have an opportunity to visit their grave.
I was surprised to see several plaques with names and dates already in place in the memorial garden.
As I explored them, I noticed the name Sebastien Grenville. He’d only been seventeen years old when he’d died. That was no age. If he’d been alive, he’d be the same age as Rupe
rt and his friends.
Sebastien? When I’d spoken to Rupert yesterday, he’d mentioned the death of his friend, Seb. Could this be the same person? Perhaps Rupert had placed the plaque here. If he had, it was just another example of how thoughtful he was.
I had to stop thinking like that. I wasn’t falling for the lord of the manor.
After walking Meatball for half an hour, I tucked him back in his kennel. I had ten minutes until I needed to be back at work, and that gave me just enough time to run to the private family library.
The Duchess had said I could access it, and I wanted to take a look at Rupert’s old school yearbooks. Maybe there was a record of his friend Sebastien.
I inhaled deeply as I entered the warm, sun-dappled library. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the walls, and they were crammed full of alluring books. I often enjoyed wiling away a few hours with a historical adventure or a mouth wateringly good cook book.
The expensive and rare books were kept hidden behind glass and away from everyday access, but I quickly found rows of school yearbooks going back decades.
I pulled out a yearbook during the time period Rupert would have been at school and flicked through the pages until I came to the pictures.
I ran a finger down the page. There it was. Sebastien Grenville. That must have been who Rupert was talking about. The friend who drowned in the lake.
The picture was slightly faded, but showed a serious young man, with curly dark hair and an intense expression in his dark eyes, as if he was trying to stare through the camera lens and into the soul of the photographer.
I placed the yearbook down and took out my phone. I typed in Sebastien’s full name and paired it with lake accident. Several archived newspapers came online.
He’d died in a swimming accident when out with his friends. They’d accessed a lake that had been out of bounds because the water was very deep and cold.
“What are you up to?”
I jumped and spun around. Tony Bambridge stood in the doorway of the library.
“Oh! You just caught me being nosy.” I pushed my phone back in my pocket.
He strolled in and looked around the library. “Places like this always remind me of my old school days. All the hours of enforced learning and exams. I’ve never found a use for quadrangles and equations.”
