by Polly Holmes
Finally, at its conclusion, the room lights flicked back on and Mark McCorrson stood beside his wife. “I’m not a man of many words, but I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t say that I have the best darndest daughters in the universe. Edith and I couldn’t be prouder of each of them.” A round of enthusiastic cheers and applause erupted from every table. His soft gaze lowered. “Now, to my beautiful wife. Words cannot express enough how wonderful these last thirty or so years have been. To me you don’t look a day older than the day I fell in love with you.” He held up his glass. “Thank you for the last thirty years and here’s to thirty more. To Edith.”
The crowd chimed in. “To Edith.”
As far as speeches went, Logan was pleased that they hadn’t nauseated him. In fact, his heart hummed a happier beat as he soaked up the love within the room. “Do you think it’s dessert time yet?” He asked Elaine.
“I hope so.” Elaine elegantly wiped the corners of her mouth with her serviette. “I’ve heard so much about these cupcakes, I’m dying to sink my teeth into the sugary sweetness.”
Will you make an appearance Miss Becker? His gaze eagerly scanned the room for the brunette. Instant fear consumed him, and he felt his gut clench. Oh God, what if she’s not a Miss, but a Mrs?
“Ladies and gentlemen, before we end the formalities, may I have your attention?”
Logan frowned, as the sharp male voice unnerved him. “I thought we were done with the speeches.”
“My name is Kayne Pendleton. First, let me congratulate Mr and Mrs McCorrson. A great achievement this evening. This is an evening of celebration and I don’t want to alarm anyone. I take no pleasure in donning my police hat to inform you that at some point during the evening a body was found in the outer cool room and all current leads point to foul play.”
Chapter Three
“Foul play… As in murder?” Edith McCorrson called, shooting out of her seat. “At my party? I think not.”
Kayne stood tall as if ready for the onslaught of questions from shocked partygoers. “I’m afraid so, Mrs McCorrson.” Gasps, mummers and muttering of disbelief scattered around the room.
Logan’s jaw dropped and a mock laugh echoed deep in the back of his throat. “Murder in a beautiful sleepy coastal town like Ashton Point. How is that possible?”
“I don’t know,” Elaine whispered. “Oh, poor Edith.”
Logan squirmed in his seat. The sight of Edith McCorrson doubled over in tears of heartache was gut-wrenching. His attention was nabbed by a deep male voice booming from the back of the room.
“Excuse me, who was murdered and what happens now?”
“This is now an official police investigation and unfortunately that means, until cleared, each of you are a suspect. I’m going to have to ask you to stay put until we can speak to each and every one of you. My colleague, Robert Loughlin, and I will do our best to get your statements as quickly as possible.”
A barrage of words spilled from the mouths of the guests, seemingly all at once.
“You can’t be serious…”
“…this is outrageous…”
“I’m not a murderer…”
“Who is it?”
Logan’s mind raced. He struggled to comprehend how a murder could take place with sixty guests basically in the next room. Who in their right mind would leave a body in a cool room? Logan’s blood turned to ice in his veins.
A chef.
He shook the thought from his mind. Surely no-one who could cook that good can be a murderer. He scanned the commotion in the room, and he found Margarete standing by the entrance to the kitchen, pale, her arms clutching her chest. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.
He knew a plea for help when he saw one. After all, he’d seen so many at the youth centre where he worked. He made the mistake of ignoring one once, with disastrous consequences. A mistake he won’t make again. Determination bled through his bones. If Margarete needed help, he was going to give it.
The same deep male voice spoke. “You didn’t answer my question. Who was murdered?”
“Mr…?” Kayne paused, his eyebrows raised waiting for a response.
“Mr Stone. Mr Ryder Stone,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
“Well, Mr Stone. As you can imagine, this is a sensitive subject. The victim’s family is yet to be notified—”
“You can’t hold us here against our will.”
“No-one is going to be held against their will. We will simply need statements and contact details to be able to follow up if need be. However, I would ask that all out-of-towners stick around Ashton Point for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, or until you have been cleared.”
Ryder Stone threw his hands up in the air, his angry tone bellowed throughout the room. “You can’t be serious. I’m not staying around this town a moment longer than I have to. Especially with a murderer on the loose. You can’t make me stay.”
“That is true, sir.” Kayne pursed his lips as if trying to contain the impending explosion that simmered within the room. “However, I could arrest you as a hostile witness or maybe a suspect refusing to cooperate in a police investigation. Does anyone else feel the same way as Mr Stone?”
“People, please,” Mark McCorrson said joining Kayne on the stage. “This isn’t exactly how we planned this night to end, and we know none of you want to hinder a police investigation. So, in the spirit of cooperation, Edith and I will cover all your expenses for as long as you are required to stay in town. If you hadn’t planned on staying, we have some wonderful places in town to stay and failing that you’ll be able to find something over at Watson’s Creek, a short drive away. And we ask that you join us at The Corner 2 Pub tomorrow afternoon, for refreshments and delicious cupcakes supplied by our beautiful daughters, Charlotte and Clair. Will that cause any problems with you, Charlie?”
Logan’s pulse raced as his gaze landed on the entrance of the kitchen. Empty, void of anyone. Where did you go, Margarete?
“Not at all, Mark. It would be my pleasure to host a get-together,” Charlie said from the other side of the room.
“Great, it’s settled. Now, let’s all cooperate with the police and help them do their job so we can all get out of here a little sooner.”
****
Margarete had retaken her spot on the chair in the kitchen, unable to listen to Kayne’s voice a moment longer. The succulent scent of the food had disappeared. That smell had been replaced by uncertainty. She fiddled with the seam on the end of her apron, tugging at a stray piece of thread. Her chest tightened as an eerie sensation fell upon her favourite place in the whole world. The kitchen had always been her sanctuary, where she’d felt most at home. Now the crippling scent of death hung stagnant in the air.
“For what it's worth. I don’t believe you had anything to do with Pierre’s death,” Savannah said from where she stood on the other side of the kitchen.
“Thanks, Savannah,” Margarete said under the weight of a heavy heart.
“Same here,” Antony said, joining Savannah. “If it weren’t for you, I’d still be a no-hoper, bumming off my parents. You were the one who taught me how to love food, how to cook from the heart, and my heart tells me you could never have done such a hateful action toward another human being, let alone a chef.”
Margarete smiled. Their words brought an edge of comfort to her heart. “Thank you. I’m so proud of you, Antony. You’ve come so far since joining me at Tea 4 two Café six months ago.” The door swung open and Margarete jumped, startled. A continuous stream of red hair paraded toward her.
“How are you holding up, Margarete?” Charlotte asked, her eyes full of sympathy. “I know this must be hard but believe me, you will get through this. Trust me. We know exactly what you’re going through. Don’t we, ladies?”
Clair huffed. “You got that right.”
“Been there, done that,” Cassidy said with a swish of her arm. “We made it through and so will you.”
Margaret
e squeezed Charlotte’s hand and at that moment she sensed everything would be okay. A threatening voice sounded from the door and all eyes turned to see Olivia Boothman, fury blazing, and her gaze pointed directly at Margarete.
“Is it true?”
“Excuse me?” Margarete asked. “Is what true?”
Olivia moved in calculated steps toward her and Margarete’s heart seized falling through the floor like a lead weight. “Did you murder Pierre?” Olivia asked.
“What?” Margarete gasped. Each step Olivia took was like a vice slowly squeezing the life out of her chest. “No, of course not. I could never. Wait… How did you know it was Pierre?”
“Everyone is talking about it. You should know it doesn’t take much for news to spread around this town.” Olivia paled. “Is it Pierre? Is my beloved dead?”
Stunned silence hung heavy within the kitchen. Margarete’s jaw dropped and she stared in Olivia’s direction.
Beloved? Pierre and Mrs Boothman were an item? Have I fallen into an alternate universe? When did that happen?
“Apparently, you can keep a secret in this town. I worked with the man and even I didn’t know they were seeing each other,” Charlotte muttered under her breath in Margarete’s direction. “Did you know they were an item?”
Margarete mouth the word, “No.”
“I want to see him,” Olivia said as she headed toward the cool room, determination in her step.
The kitchen erupted into movement, each person eager to shield Olivia from suffering the inevitable emotional damage. Savannah hastily stepped in front of her, blocking the way. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Trust me, the initial shock may be too much for you. I know it was for me.”
Olivia stopped. Her shoulders began to shake, and Margarete knew deep in her gut the devastation about to trample her heart like a cement truck. Tears brimmed Olivia’s eyes and within moments, the dam had broken and she’d fallen into a heap in Cassidy’s arms.
“Oh, Pierre,” she sobbed through grief-stricken gasps. “I can’t believe you’re gone. I’ve only just found you. You were the love of my life.”
Tears clouded Margarete’s vision and her pulse raced. It was a private moment they were all intruding on. The overwhelming sensation of regret washed over her. Would she ever fall in love with someone so whole-heartedly that her life would be devastated if she lost them?
Cassidy held Olivia tightly and rubbed her back in soothing circles. “I’m so sorry for your loss. If there is anything me or my sisters can do, please let us know.”
Olivia pushed herself away from Cassidy’s grasp and turned her evil gaze on Margarete. “You can promise me Pierre’s murderer will be brought to justice. Can you do that?”
“No, they can’t. But I can,” Kayne said as he entered the kitchen, followed eagerly by Daniel from The Chronicle.
“So, Kayne, does that mean you have a lead on the murderer?” Daniel said a little too eagerly.
A grumpy Kayne spun on his heel, almost barrelling Daniel over. “I’ll tell you again what I told you out there. Solving the murder of Pierre Bellamy is my number one priority. I know it’s your job to report on the happenings around Ashton Point and as soon as we have information we can legally share, you’ll know about it. Now, if you will kindly return to the group and ensure Robert has taken your statement before you leave?”
Daniel grunted and headed for the exit in a huff.
“If it’s information you’re after, I can help you there,” Olivia said wiping her tear-stained cheeks with the back of her palm. Her arm slashed the air like a sword, her finger pointing directly at Margarete. “I’d start with her. Both Pierre and Margarete were vying for the same piece of real estate to start a restaurant. I guess she didn’t want to lose. She sent a hostile letter to Pierre this last week. With some threatening words, I might add.”
“I did no such thing,” Margarete snapped.
Kayne pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll get to the letter in a second. First, I want to know how you know it was Pierre.”
All eyes turned on Olivia. Margarete’s anxieties were at their breaking point. “Yes, Olivia. Tell us. How did you know?”
A warm ruby-red blush worked its way up Savannah neckline. She slowly raised her hand. “I guess that may be my fault,” she said in a sheepish tone. “I didn’t mean to. When we went back out to join everyone, it kind of hit me all at once and I didn’t want to burst into tears in front of all the guests. I made it to the ladies’ just in time. It sounded empty but I didn’t check the stalls and Mary-Jane came out and saw that I was upset. It just all came blurting out. I’m so sorry, Margarete. I didn’t think she’d tell anyone. Honest.”
Brows coming together, Kayne looked at Clair. “Mary-Jane?”
“From the chemist.”
Kayne nodded and continued. “Margarete, can you tell me your movements of this evening?”
“Well,” Margarete racked her mind, replaying the evening over and over. “We were flat out, as you can imagine. After Pierre left, it was full steam ahead. Savannah and I were in and out of the kitchen. I wouldn’t have been gone for more than ten minutes at a time.”
“Actually,” Antony’s voice cut Margarete’s word short. “You were out for about thirty minutes at one time. I remember because I was unsure how you wanted the crab-cream cheese wontons plated.”
Heat consumed her body, working a blaze up from her chest to her face. Everyone was waiting, waiting for her answer, but what could she say? Oh yeah, besides taking a moment for myself to go to the staff bathroom, I was pretending to be busy checking tables for empty plates so I could spy on McDreamy—I mean Logan Hunter—hoping he would notice me.
Margarete stood her ground, folding her arms across her chest. She was innocent and no amount of accusation was going to change that. “I was busy working, Antony. The guests would have seen me, and I’m sure the security cameras would have caught me doing my job.”
“Can anyone vouch for you?” Kayne asked.
“I was flitting around, Kayne. I chatted to people all the time, but I didn’t sit down and strike up a conversation with any of them.”—Although there was one person I would have liked to chat to—“I am here to work, not socialise.”
“Apart from this evening, have there been any other incidents involving you and Pierre?” He asked.
Margarete paused and bit the inside of her bottom lip. “Well, depends what you call incidents. Sure, we’ve had words before, but who hasn’t with the competition? I didn’t hate the guy. Far from it. But I wouldn’t say we had the best relationship. After all, we’re rival chefs in a small town. We’re both trying to make a living. We had our moments, but none that I would consider strong enough ‘incidents’ that would warrant me shoving my chef’s knife in his back.”
Savannah stepped forward. “There was that one time he came into the café a few weeks back, remember? He was in the foulest of moods, ranting and raving about how he was going to beat you at your own game or something like that.”
Olivia glared daggers in her direction. “See, I told you.”
Margarete’s jaw dropped. “Yes, but that was just friendly competition. It doesn’t mean I killed him. I’m not about to knock off every rival chef that moves into Ashton Point. Personally, I think my cooking speaks for itself.”
Her world was crashing down around her ears and she was helpless to stop it. Three hours ago, she’d had her future neatly wrapped up in the palm of her hand. Now, a horrible black cloud hung over her existence. The displeased expression on Kayne’s face sent a shard of fear bolting through her.
Kayne sighed and a gust of breath escaped his lips. “Margarete, I think it would be best if we continued this discussion down at the station.”
Gasps and mumbled words of shock filled the tense room. Bile lodged itself in the back of Margarete’s throat as her stomach knotted in alarm. Her pulse’s speed increased under accusatory eyes of the onlookers.
“I know it was my knif
e, but I did not kill him,” she blurted, the sharpness of her voice like nails down a chalkboard. “Olivia, you have to believe me.”
An eerie stillness ascended upon the kitchen. All eyes focused solely on Olivia. Waiting. “No, I don’t.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Olivia. Margarete didn’t kill Pierre any more than I did,” Charlotte said in an impatient huff. “Don’t worry, everything is going to be okay. I promise. We’ll be right here to help if you need it.”
Charlotte’s reassuring smile was the first glimpse of hope Margarete had felt since this nightmare began. “Thank you.”
“Ready,” Kayne asked.
Margarete’s haunted gaze returned to Kayne. “You really can’t be serious?
“Deadly.” Kayne cringed as his spoken word hung heavy in the air. “Sorry, I meant very serious. There appears to be a lot more to discuss. I’m sure there will be a simple explanation, but I’d like to get it all on tape for the record.”
Margarete swallowed the gigantic knot in the back of her throat and nodded. Her gaze caught the sly grin spread across Olivia’s expression and her resolve came back tenfold. She rolled her shoulders back and stood tall as she walked out of the kitchen, followed Kayne, determined to prove her innocence one way or another.
Stay strong. Oma always said, the truth will always win out in the end. They can’t convict me of murder if I tell the truth.
Chapter Four
Anger raced through Margarete’s body inch by inch. “I am only going to say this one more time, Kayne. I. Did. Not. Kill. Pierre. Bellamy.” She’d already explained the disagreement earlier this evening at least three times. Kayne’s incessant questioning, combined with the stale stench in the interrogation room, was starting to wear thin. Her head throbbed. She was beginning to sound like a broken record.
Kayne tapped his pencil on the edge of his notebook. “Margarete, for what it’s worth, I don’t believe you had anything to do with Pierre’s death. But I’ve got a job to do and the sooner we get this cleared up, the sooner you can go home.”
