Book Retreat Mystery 07 - Murder in the Cookbook Nook

by Ellery Adams

  “If drama doesn’t happen naturally, we create it.”

  Had Chef Pierce been included because he was bound to irritate his rivals and shock the viewing audience? Had he been preassigned the role of villain for the sake of drama?

  Jane pushed a rubber stopper into the mouth of the wine bottle and grumbled, “The only place I want drama is between the pages of a book.”

  And with that, she got comfortable on the sofa and tried to lose herself in one.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, after waking her sons, Jane cheerfully informed them that they’d be attending a very special kind of summer school.

  “School?” rasped Hem.

  “In the summer?” Fitz shook his head in disbelief. “This is child abuse.”

  “Trust me, you’ll love it,” Jane said while parting the curtains. “For the next two weeks, Uncle Aloysius will teach you to play chess, and Aunt Octavia will introduce you to the art of photography. She’s even turned a supply closet into a darkroom. You’ll continue your archery and martial arts lessons, and I might need you to do a little spying too. Someone started yesterday’s fire on purpose. That person could be dangerous, so keep your eyes and ears open.”

  The twins stopped grumbling at once. As the future Guardians of Storyton Hall, they took pride in helping their mother keep their guests, and the contents of the secret library, safe.

  The priceless collection of books, scrolls, maps, documents, and other literary treasures was housed in a fireproof, temperature-controlled vault located in an attic turret. To access the secret library, Jane had to enter Aunt Octavia’s closet, remove an air duct cover, and insert a key into the keyhole concealed behind the vent. By turning the key with one hand while pulling a lever with the other, Jane could activate the mechanism attached to the china cabinet in the living room. The cabinet would swing away from the wall, revealing a dark space.

  After slipping into that space, Jane would ascend the spiral staircase until she came to an impenetrable steel door. That door was a Narnian portal to an array of wonders so rare and priceless that people had committed terrible atrocities in an attempt to find them.

  Jane didn’t want her life, or the lives of her sons, to be marked by violence. For this reason, she’d made the momentous decision to sell or donate the treasures stored in that turret. It would take years to complete this task, but eventually, the secret library would become a thing of the past.

  The thought made Jane incredibly sad. After all, she was a Guardian. She’d inherited the title from Uncle Aloysius, who’d inherited it from his father, and so on. But unlike those men, Jane was also a mother—a mother who’d do anything to keep her boys safe. If that meant anonymously donating a never-before-seen Shakespeare play to the Folger Shakespeare Library or the sequel to Jane Eyre to the Brontë Society, then she’d do it.

  Fitz and Hem might not have a secret library to protect when they were older, but they would still inherit Storyton Hall. And Jane knew, despite the state of their bedroom, that the estate would be in good hands with her sons.

  Pointing at the dirty clothes on their floor, she told the twins to clean up and be downstairs in ten minutes.

  Propping himself on his elbow, Hem asked, “Can we still take care of the kitchen garden?”

  “We have to, Mom,” Fitz cried before Jane could get a word in. “Mrs. Hubbard said that we did such a good job last summer that she wants to hire us again.”

  Jane smiled in approval. “Of course. I love how you guys take care of that garden.”

  Hem swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “We get to harvest all the veggies when they’re ready. Mrs. Hubbard even bought special gloves for us because the cucumbers are prickly.”

  “And we’re getting a raise.” Fitz puffed out his chest with pride.

  Seeing a furrow appear on his mother’s brow, Hem quickly added, “Mrs. Hubbard had extra money because the TV people paid for all the rooms on the third floor, even though only five of them are staying there.”

  “She’s saving money this week because she doesn’t have to make as much food. That’s why she gave us a raise,” explained Fitz.

  Jane nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “The chess and the photography stuff is cool, Mom, but we need free time too,” Fitz said. “Jorge’s going to teach us how to make jam. We want to sell some at the berry festival. If it’s really good, the Pickled Pig might buy some too.”

  Jane was impressed. “A side business, eh? Are you saving up for something special?”

  After exchanging a glance, the boys answered in unison, “We want to buy an Xbox.”

  Though Jane knew this day would come, she still felt a prick of anxiety. Would the twins stop reading once they had a game system? Would they spend less time playing outside? All of their friends had video game systems, but Jane had always hoped that her sons wouldn’t develop an interest in them. However, she knew that they were dying to play a particular world-building game with their friends. Having researched the game, Jane found it highly imaginative. If her sons wanted to build cities with virtual LEGO blocks in a Dungeons and Dragons landscape, she wouldn’t stop them.

  “Okay,” she said. “If you want to buy a game system, I’m all for it.”

  The boys stared at her with such openmouthed incredulity that she had to laugh. “See you downstairs in ten!” she called over her shoulder as she left the room. Behind her, Fitz and Hem released a chorus of jubilant whoops.

  Jane was in high spirits when she and the twins entered Storyton Hall. In the staff corridor, they parted ways, the boys heading for the stairwell and Jane to the Daphne du Maurier Morning Room.

  She’d asked the kitchen staff to set up a breakfast buffet here because the room was bright, cozy, and private. It also had an oversized fireplace, paintings of famous literary couples, and shelves stuffed with romance novels.

  Today, sunlight streamed in through the picture window and glinted off the silver coffee urn and chafing dishes. The delicate floral pattern of the Royal Stafford Hedgerow perfectly complemented the flowers growing just outside the window.

  The round table in the center of the room was big enough to accommodate the six chefs, Ty Scott, and Mia Mallett. Jane had been told that Mia’s staff always breakfasted in their rooms.

  Jane looked up to see Butterworth straightening the throw pillows on a pink settee. As usual, he’d entered on cat feet. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he teleported around Storyton Hall like a character from Star Trek.

  With the pillows fluffed and angled to his specifications, he looked a question at Jane. “Should the servers bring the dishes now?”

  Jane consulted her watch. “Yes. And while we’re waiting for everyone to arrive, I want to tell you about Edwin’s experience with Chef Pierce.”

  Butterworth’s left eyebrow twitched. “I’m on tenterhooks.”

  Jane had just enough time to describe Chef Pierce’s behavior at the Daily Bread before a line of servers appeared with breakfast. They arranged the food on the buffet table and returned to the kitchens.

  Jane placed a preprinted card in front of the corresponding dish and then stood back to admire the spread.

  “Florentine frittata, bacon and gruyere frittata, sweet potato pancakes, quinoa fruit salad, Greek yogurt with ginger granola and berries, buttermilk biscuits and wholegrain croissants. And last but not least, huckleberry jam. Lovely.”

  Butterworth filled water glasses and placed two carafes of fresh-squeezed orange juice on the table.

  “Okay,” Jane said. “We’re ready.”

  “And we’re hungry!” boomed Ty Scott from the doorway. Catching sight of Butterworth, the director lowered his voice a notch. “Please tell me there’s coffee.”

  Jane waved him over. “Come on in. I’ll pour you a cup while you help yourself to the buffet.”

  Ty paused to address someone in the hall. “Ladies first.”

  As three women entered the room, Ty announced them as if
they were contestants in a beauty pageant.

  “Here they are. The lady chefs! Chef Saffron, Chef Alondra, and Chef Lindsay.”

  Jane had met the women only briefly during check-in, but it was easy to tell them apart because they looked nothing alike.

  Chef Saffron’s skin was the color of toasted almonds. Her lustrous black hair was pulled up in a bun, accentuating her large chandelier earrings, which were made of multicolored beads. Whenever she moved, the earrings swung back and forth, catching the light and painting tiny rainbows on her cheeks.

  Her earlobes must be made of steel, Jane thought.

  She asked Chef Saffron if she’d like coffee or tea before turning to greet Chef Alondra, a stocky woman with a boy cut and hazel eyes sparkling with good humor. As she reached for a pair of serving tongs, Jane noticed the tiny tattoos on her fingers. Her left hand featured a carving knife, a chef’s hat, a whisk, and a ladle. On her right hand, she had a spatula, a spoon, a rolling pin, and a vegetable peeler.

  Following Jane’s gaze, Chef Alondra said, “After I win this competition, I’m going to add a cookbook to my right thumb.”

  Jane admired her confidence. “What about the left thumb?”

  “I’m saving that for my Michelin Star.” Chef Alondra winked and continued down the buffet line.

  “Good morning.” Jane smiled at the last of the female chefs.

  At thirty-three, Chef Lindsay was the youngest chef in the competition. She was also the thinnest. Chefs Saffron and Alondra weren’t overweight, but there was a softness to their bodies that spoke of a love of good food. Chef Lindsay, on the other hand, was all sharp angles and severe lines. She wore her blond hair in a blunt bob with a fringe of ruler-straight bangs. Her minimalistic makeup was flawless, and her clothes were highly structured. From her starched white blouse to her dove-gray slacks, everything was perfectly tailored.

  “Hi,” she said to Jane. Her teeth were as white as Ty’s, and Jane wondered if all the contestants were told to get their teeth bleached prior to filming.

  The first male chef to join the party was Chef Pierce. Even if Jane hadn’t recognized the man from his cookbook covers, she would have known him by how the female chefs reacted to his arrival. After exchanging frowns, they all became laser-focused on the buffet food.

  Chef Pierce ambled over to a velvet love seat and picked up one of the throw pillows Butterworth had just straightened. “Another book room? I don’t get it. Just watch the movie, people, it’s always better.” He tossed the pillow on a brocade wing chair and approached the buffet. “Do you gals come here to worship Jane Austen? And that prissy man-boy. What’s his name? Darcy?”

  “Chef—” Ty began.

  Ignoring the director, Chef Pierce crept up behind Chef Saffron and moaned, “Oh, Mister Darcy, your huge mansion makes me hot, and your giant income gets me so randy.”

  Butterworth was at Chef Pierce’s side in an instant. He put a hand on the chef’s elbow and steered him away from Chef Saffron. “The line starts over here.” After a lengthy pause, he reluctantly added, “Sir.”

  Chef Pierce was balding and bloated. Having seen his driver’s license, Jane knew that he was in his mid-fifties, but he looked a decade older. The skin on his face was dry, wrinkled, and speckled with age spots. His neck and cheeks were ruddy, and his nose was covered in spider-shaped veins. When Jane asked if he’d like coffee or tea, Chef Pierce’s mouth curved into a wolfish grin.

  “Aren’t you a pretty thing?” He studied Jane from head to waist and back again. “Can you rustle up a mimosa for me? If I’m going to create masterpieces in a few hours, I need my vitamin C.”

  Though the celebrity chef made Jane’s skin crawl, she nodded at Butterworth. The butler swiftly left the room, but not before returning the throw pillow to its proper place.

  “Your mimosa will be brought to your seat,” Jane told Chef Pierce. “I’m Jane Steward, the manager. If you have questions or special requests, I’d be glad to address them.”

  “Was this your family’s house?”

  “It was,” answered Jane.

  Chef Pierce loaded his plate with several frittatas and a tower of pancakes. “That’s a long way to fall. One minute your people are lord and lady of the manor. Next minute, a rotating door of strangers is eating, sleeping, and doing the nasty in your house. Me? I’d sell this pile of bricks and move into a sweet penthouse apartment.”

  Struggling to hide her dislike for this man, Jane said, “Our guests come to Storyton Hall because they want to escape the chaos of the modern world for a bit. They read, relax, and savor the beautiful surroundings. This room, like many of our rooms, is filled with books because our guests are book lovers. I grew up surrounded by these intelligent and sensitive people. They make Storyton Hall feel like a home.”

  Chef Pierce barked out a rueful laugh. “How many times have you practiced that speech, princess?”

  “My name is Ms. Steward.” Jane’s tone was clipped. “Not pretty young thing. Not princess. Ms. Steward. Is that clear?”

  Twisting his head around to face the room at large, Chef Pierce said, “We’ve got a live one here!”

  “Give it a rest, Pierce.”

  A man with walnut-colored skin and a linebacker’s build approached the buffet. After stopping to pull out a chair for Chef Saffron, he strode up to Jane and held out a giant hand. His honey-brown eyes shone with warmth. “I’m Chef August and I can’t remember the last time I had such a good night’s sleep. I feel like a king in a castle.”

  “That’s exactly what we’re going for,” she said. “Would His Majesty care for coffee?”

  “Yes, please. Mmmm, look at this spread.” He surveyed the buffet with unabashed delight. “I could get used to other folks cooking for me.”

  Mia walked over to the buffet and put a hand on Chef August’s massive arm. “You ready to cook your heart out today, Chef?”

  Chef August swung around and grinned at Mia. “Hey! It’s good to see you.”

  “You too. Go on and fuel up. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Jane greeted Mia, who looked stunning in a yellow crepe-de-chine wrap dress. The two women exchanged pleasantries until Jane saw the last chef enter the room. Butterworth was right on his heels.

  After serving the mimosa to Chef Pierce, Butterworth returned to his place behind the settee while Jane focused on the newcomer.

  Chef Michel, a handsome man with piercing blue eyes and an aquiline nose, apologized for being late.

  “Thank you for having us,” he said to Jane. “Such a beautiful place. My wife would love it.”

  “You can always come back for a romantic getaway.”

  Michel passed a hand over his close-cropped hair and sighed. “She and I are overdue for one of those. Between our jobs, our two sons, and our parents, we haven’t had a vacation in years. Cooking is an escape for both of us.”

  “Is she a chef too?”

  Michel’s face glowed with pride. “My Shelley is a chocolatier. A magic maker. She turns dreams into chocolate. People travel from all over to visit her shop.”

  “Maybe Shelley should have been on the show instead of you!” Chef Pierce called out. “Come on, Froggy. Let’s get this party started.”

  Michel’s cheeks turned red, but he didn’t respond. He quietly selected his breakfast foods and joined Ty, Mia, and the other chefs at the table.

  Mia gave him a few minutes to eat before tapping her spoon against her water glass. “I want to start off by thanking everyone for participating in this season’s show. It’s going to be our best yet, and I know our judges are super excited to taste your food. We’ll see Levi and Coco later today when we film your first challenge.”

  Saffron raised a finger. “Are we still using the tent?”

  “Yep. Ty’s people covered the stained side with furniture. We’re good to go.”

  “We’re going to die out there,” Chef Pierce declared.

  Jane shot a nervous glance at Butterworth, but Mia laughed.


  “The chances of another fire are like a billion to one. Accidents happen. On set. In kitchens. But we adjust and move on. Right, Ty?”

  Ty nodded and bit into a croissant.

  Jane stared at the director. Why hasn’t he told Mia the truth about the fire?

  “I’m not talking about the fire,” Chef Pierce spluttered. “I’m talking about heat. It’s June in Redneckville. It’s already hot as hell, and you want us in chef’s coats inside a tent? We’re going to die. I have serious medical conditions.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an orange pill bottle. “See?”

  “Don’t worry. The tent is air-conditioned,” Mia looked at the other chefs. “Our viewers want to see the six of you sweat. But not too much.”

  “You want to see me sweat?” With a leering grin, Chef Pierce held out his brass room key. “I’m in room four-ten, hostess with the mostest.”

  Mia narrowed her eyes and said, “You signed a contract that includes a code of conduct, Chef. If you can’t follow it, you should leave now.”

  Chef Pierce polished off his mimosa and pointed his glass at Mia. “You can’t get rid of me, and you know it.” He raised his glass high in the air and tried to get Butterworth’s attention. “Can I get a refill, my good chap?”

  “Cook’s Pride is a generous sponsor,” said Mia. “They’re putting up a hundred grand in prize money and creating a cookware line named after the winner. They’re also providing the daily challenge prizes. They want our show to appeal to the Hallmark Channel audience, so the rules of conduct are really important.” She stared Chef Pierce down. “No more mimosas for breakfast.”

  “I don’t care how many millions you have; you can’t tell me what to drink.” Chef Pierce balled his napkin and threw it on the table. “Are we done here?”

  With perfect composure, Mia said, “We are. But when we’re in that tent, I will tell you what to do. It’s my show, remember?”