by Ellery Adams
Olivia laid a cloth on Mr. Gilmore’s upper arm. “Was it an accident?”
Jane thought back to the moments preceding the explosion. Other than the smell of gas, everything had been going well.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
“What does your gut say?”
Olivia’s blue eyes were as dark and unfathomable as the Arctic Sea, but her tone was sympathetic. And though Jane had learned not to confide in strangers, she felt an inexplicable affinity to this woman.
“This is our second fire in three days. I think someone is trying to sabotage the filming.”
“A propane tank explosion in the middle of a cooking competition goes beyond sabotage. So many people could have been injured. Or killed.”
“One person is injured,” Jane said. Anger pushed the tears out. “And that’s one too many.”
* * *
Doc Lydgate told the EMS crew that he’d stay with his patient until his care was given over to the hospital over the mountain.
“Call me as soon as you can,” Jane shouted right before the ambulance doors were slammed shut.
She and Butterworth stood in the driveway and watched the ambulance disappear around the corner of the manor house. Long after the vehicle was out of sight, the shriek of its siren echoed back to them.
There was nothing Jane could do for Mr. Gilmore now other than pray, so she closed her eyes and did just that. When she was done, she opened her eyes and met Butterworth’s gaze.
“Mr. Gilmore will recover,” he assured Jane. “But he’ll bear the scars of this day for the rest of his life.”
“If Ty Scott hadn’t interfered, Mr. Gilmore might have prevented the explosion. If he’d been able to shut off the gas in time, he might not be on his way to the hospital.” Jane’s voice crackled with anger. “But this is bigger than that imbecile director. We already had an electrical fire in the archery field. Two days later, a propane tank explodes. And sandwiched between these events was a murder. We need to understand why these things happened, and until we do, the show can’t go on.”
Butterworth’s expression turned pensive. “Would anyone benefit from its cancelation?”
That was the million-dollar question, and Jane didn’t have an answer.
“Is someone plotting against the network? Or Mia? Or are the chefs the targets?” she wondered aloud. “The fire in the field didn’t seem connected to Chef Pierce’s murder, but after today, I believe it must be.”
Jane started walking toward the manor house. When Butterworth didn’t fall into step beside her, she turned and raised her brows in question.
“I don’t want to repay Ms. Limoges’s kindness by leaving her cottage in disarray. When I showed up on her doorstep with Mr. Gilmore, I didn’t know what to expect. Before I could explain my presence, she took in the extent of Mr. Gilmore’s injuries and immediately offered her assistance. She was quite remarkable.”
Jane was grateful for Olivia’s help as well, but she also questioned the writer’s movements. “Please thank her for me. And as remarkable as she may be, you need to find out where she was this morning.”
Butterworth’s mouth formed the ghost of a frown. “Understood.”
Glancing at the sky, Jane saw that the smoke had dissipated. “Levi Anjou didn’t cause the explosion. He was sitting too close to the grills to have taken such a risk. He might be Chef Pierce’s killer, but I don’t think he’s the reason the fire department has been called here twice this week.”
“I agree.”
“We need to put our heads together,” Jane continued. “Chief Aroneo and his team. Sheriff Evans and his department. And all of us.” She rubbed her temples. “I thought having a TV show film at Storyton Hall would be a boon for the resort and the village, but something else has been attracted to the lights and cameras. Something sinister. And I don’t have the slightest idea what it wants. That scares me. And infuriates me. I’d like to take out my frustrations by practicing my archery on that damned director.”
“Your arrow would probably bounce off his hair,” Butterworth quipped.
At the terrace, the firefighters had used yellow tape to create a restricted area. The chief was inside the perimeter, examining the charred remains of the grill. He spoke to one of his officers in low tones while the officer took photographs. Both men were fully engrossed in their task, and Jane chose not to interrupt them.
She entered an oddly quiet manor house, but when she ran into Sinclair in the main lobby, he quickly explained the silence.
“The audience is now in the Ian Fleming Lounge. Your great-uncle has been distributing Irish coffees, and your great-aunt has been offering comfort and reassurance. Several kitchen trolleys loaded with pastries, fruit, and sandwiches were just wheeled in. I believe the guests will have recovered from the shock by teatime.”
“I hope so. What about the chefs and the rest of the TV people?”
Taking Jane by the arm, Sinclair said, “I’ll tell you as we walk. With one exception, they’re all decompressing in the spa’s relaxation area. Mr. Anjou is not relaxing. He’s in the William Faulkner Conference Room, which is why we’re heading in that direction.”
“Ah,” said Jane. “We need to go to Narnia.”
When they reached a metal cupboard resembling a broom closet, Sinclair produced a key ring, selected a small brass key, and unlocked the door.
“Go ahead,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure the coast is clear before I join you.”
Jane stepped into the cupboard. Pushing mops and brooms to the side, she fumbled for the hidden latch. She hooked her finger around the latch and pushed hard on the back of the cupboard. With a whisper of hinges, a slim opening was revealed. Jane slipped through the gap into a narrow space.
Storyton Hall was full of secret passageways and hidey-holes. As a boy, Uncle Aloysius had been familiar with each and every one. But after his family home was turned into a resort and he became the Guardian of the secret library, he was too busy to visit every corner of the manor house. Over time, he forgot where many of the hidden panels and secret passageways were located, and though Fitz and Hem had found a few, no one knew exactly how many were left to be rediscovered.
Jane moved forward in the darkness, using the wall as a guide. She didn’t go far before she heard voices. After another twelve feet, a soft light penetrated the dark. The light, which streamed through the air return grill in the William Faulkner, meant that Jane had to be very quiet from now on.
She tiptoed until she reached the second air return grill. She could hear Sheriff Evans’s voice as clearly as if they were in the same room.
“And did you meet Chef Pierce the night you had dinner at his restaurant?”
“I did,” replied the voice belonging to Levi Anjou. “He came out of the kitchen to schmooze. I was told he did this every night. He made customers wait for their food while he socialized.”
Jane sensed movement nearby. Sinclair brushed her arm to let her know that he was there. Though touch was their only means of communication in this space, they rarely employed it. To remain undetected, they had to be as still as stones.
On the other side of the wall, the sheriff asked Levi another question. “Was your review favorable?”
“No, it wasn’t,” Levi replied flatly. “The entrées looked like they’d been plated by cavemen and the meal ate too heavy.”
“Was your review influenced by your interaction with Chef Pierce?”
There was a long pause before Levi said, “Maybe. I review everything about a restaurant. If a chef is loud or obnoxious, it can ruin the experience.”
“Tell me exactly what Chef Pierce said when he came to your table.”
Despite the sheriff ’s authoritative tone, there was a long pause before Levi complied. “This is a waste of time, but here’s what happened. Chef Pierce came over to our table to say hello. My wife, Sheila, was with me. She didn’t look like herself because she was wearing a wig and glasses. We both were. I have lots of disguises to ke
ep people from recognizing me.”
The sheriff made an encouraging noise.
“Sheila loved her meal and sang Chef Pierce’s praises to his face. Then, she went to powder her nose. Do you know what Chef Pierce said to me after she left? He told me that my mom was a sweetie. Sheila was wearing a red wig, a clingy cocktail dress, and heels. She did not look like my mother. When I explained that she was my wife, Chef Pierce said, ‘Ouch. Sorry, man. At least she likes steak.’”
“Was that the end of your interaction?”
“Yes. He went back to the kitchen to cook more mediocre food. We didn’t stay for dessert,” Levi added huffily.
A creaking noise indicated that Sheriff Evans had shifted in his chair. Jane could picture him folding his hands as he surveyed the food critic. “Was the food really mediocre, or was your opinion influenced by Chef Pierce’s comment?”
“Probably both. And even though I wanted to burn him, my review gave him a huge boost. You couldn’t get a table at Epitome after my piece came out.” He snorted. “If I’d known that saying his restaurant was only fit for cavemen would turn it into the most popular steak house in the city, I would have chosen different words.”
“I see,” said the sheriff with a hint of amusement. “When did you next encounter Chef Pierce?”
Levi released another exasperated sigh. “Who knows? Napa Valley. Colorado. The usual food festival circuit. I listened to him describe his dish. That’s it. We never talked.”
“Until?”
“Until this show. I can’t understand why Mia asked that Neanderthal to be a contestant.”
The comment piqued the sheriff’s interest. “Did Ms. Mallett know how you felt about Chef Pierce?”
“She read the piece I wrote on Epitome. Everyone in the biz reads my reviews,” he added matter-of-factly. “Mia called to talk about the contestants. She wanted my assurance that I’d judge the chefs on their food. Nothing else. If I couldn’t, I’d be replaced.”
This surprised Jane. Levi had been a judge on Posh Palate with Mia Mallett from the beginning. Why would she cast him aside for a chef? Especially a controversial chef.
“Did that make you angry?”
“You’re damn right it did. Chefs are a dime a dozen. After Mia, Coco and I are the faces of the show. We’re the reason people tune in.”
Levi obviously had an inflated view of his importance. The judges brought an element of sophistication to the reality show, but they didn’t merit much camera time. The contestants provided the drama, emotion, and artistry.
“I assume you promised to be an unbiased judge or we wouldn’t be sitting here.”
Suddenly, Levi sounded defeated. “I don’t want to be sitting here, but I’m relieved that everything’s finally in the open. I’m tired of keeping secrets.”
Sheriff Evans knew this was a pivotal moment and wisely remained silent.
As for Jane, she was sure that both men could hear the thumping of her heart right through the wall.
“Secrets are heavy,” the sheriff said when Levi didn’t continue. “You can stop carrying them now.”
The sigh that escaped Levi was almost inaudible, but the sound signaled a release.
“I thought my review would ruin Chef Pierce’s career. Because he insulted my wife, which was also an insult to me, I sent him a copy the day it published. Weeks later, he wrote to thank me for the free publicity. He also said that Sheila had been back several times with her friends and that he enjoyed her company. That email made my blood boil.”
A woman asked Levi if he’d like a glass of water and he gladly accepted.
Deputy Emory’s in the room.
Following a pause and the clink of glass meeting wood, Levi resumed his narrative. “That review is five years old, and so much has changed since then. For one, I started doing this show. For a few months every year, I’m away from home, taping or promoting the show. I also travel to festivals and other foodie events. In this time, Sheila and I grew apart.”
The sheriff said that he was sorry to hear it.
“Three years ago, I fell in love with Coco. We’ve had a secret relationship, but we don’t want to hide how we feel anymore. We want to be together. No matter what the cost.”
Levi’s words poured out, flowing like a rain-swollen river.
“We thought we were alone in that train car from DC, but we weren’t. Chef Pierce saw us messing around, and while Coco was talking to the hotel driver, he told me that he had a video of us on his phone. He showed me a few seconds as proof. When I asked what it would take to delete the video, I expected him to ask for a place in the finale. But he asked for money.”
“How much?”
“Fifty grand. In cash. And I had forty-eight hours to hand it over.”
Someone in the room whistled.
“It was insane. I told him to jump off a bridge, but he started emailing me, saying that I’d lose my reputation and be kicked off the show if he leaked the video.”
“Did you reply to these emails?”
Levi barked out a laugh. “I sure did. I called him a pig’s bladder and said that everyone would be happier once he was gone.”
“Because he’d be dead?”
“What? No!” Levi cried. “Because Coco and I planned to vote him out at the end of the second challenge. But we never got the chance.”
Though Levi’s explanation didn’t sound rehearsed, it was too convenient for Jane’s liking.
“Weren’t you worried that Chef Pierce would release the video as payback?”
“Not a bit.” There was an unmistakable note of triumph in Levi’s voice. “If you have nothing to hide, you can’t be blackmailed. That’s why Coco and I decided to stop hiding. The night before we heard about Chef Pierce’s death, we came clean to our spouses.”
Sheriff Evans started to speak but Levi cut him off. “Everyone has secrets. But a man like Pierce? Look at his life. I bet he had tons of secrets. When he couldn’t run from them anymore, they dragged him down. Straight to hell.”
Chapter 11
Sheriff Evans asked a few follow-up questions about Chef Pierce until Levi made it clear that he no longer wished to cooperate.“I’m done!” he shouted. “You can talk to my lawyer from now on. He’ll be working on my divorce, so he can deal with you and Sheila at the same time.”
Jane was just as eager for the sheriff to terminate the interview. Her left foot had gone to sleep, and there was a tickle at the back of her throat, likely provoked by dust. She was ready to leave.
To her relief, the sheriff said, “Thank you, Mr. Anjou. You’re free to go. Please don’t communicate with Ms. Kennedy until after I’ve spoken with her.”
Levi didn’t respond, and the pins and needles sensation in Jane’s foot intensified. She wriggled her toes and wished Levi would storm out of the room.
But he didn’t move.
“My God.” Levi’s voice was hollow with shock. “You thought I had something to do with Pierce’s death. I was so caught up in my own drama that it didn’t hit me until now. But if Pierce didn’t have a heart attack, how did he die?”
“I can’t discuss an open investigation, Mr. Anjou. And now that the media has arrived in Storyton, I caution you to keep any details relating to Chef Pierce’s death to yourself.”
Jane heard the wheels of Levi’s chair roll across the carpet. “The email I sent him—taken out of context, it makes me look pretty bad. So why am I free to go?”
“Because I saw the video you and Ms. Kennedy posted. You started a livestream at eleven the night before Chef Pierce’s death. You didn’t stop recording until six the next morning, which gives the two of you a very public alibi.”
“Saved by technology,” said Levi.
Sheriff Evans grunted. “I also read the comments written by your wife and Mr. Kennedy in response to that video. You may not be guilty of a crime, Mr. Anjou, but your moral compass is definitely broken. To reveal your infidelity as you did is cowardly and dishonorable. You shou
ld be ashamed of yourself. Deputy Emory, please show this man out.”
Jane heard the door open and close again.
“Should I get Ms. Kennedy?” asked Deputy Emory.
“Yes. In the meantime, I’ll ask Ms. Steward to round up all the guests. I’ll address them as a group.”
As soon as the sound of Deputy Emory’s footsteps faded, Jane stretched out her hand and tapped twice on Sinclair’s arm. This was their “exit” signal.
Sinclair vanished without making a noise. Jane tried to replicate his stealth, but her left foot was still numb, and when she tried to walk, it buckled, throwing her off-balance. She thrust out a hand to keep from falling, and her palm hit the wall’s dusty surface with a muted thud.
Jane froze.
The silence in the conference room was absolute. She could sense Sheriff Evans listening and didn’t dare move another centimeter.
Then, to her horror, a shape appeared on the other side of the air vent.
Was Sheriff Evans on his hands and knees, peering into her hiding place?
Jane held her breath.
The dark shape let out a low growl.
“Hello, kitty. When did you sneak in here?” the sheriff cooed as Jane tiptoed away.
Muffet Cat growled louder.
“What’s up, little guy? Do you see a mouse back there?” The sheriff chuckled. “You look like you’ve eaten your share of mice. I bet you weigh twenty pounds. Look at that tummy. Do you like tummy rubs?”
Jane was just closing the panel at the back of the cupboard when she heard the sheriff howl in pain.
“Sheriff Evans might need stitches,” she told Sinclair as they hurried down the hallway.
He opened the door to the staff corridor and held it for Jane. “Did a foul-tempered feline with sharp claws and tuna breath find his way into the conference room?”
“Yep.”
Sinclair sighed. “If the sheriff’s encounter with Muffet Cat was the worst thing to happen at Storyton Hall today, we’d be in good shape.”
Jane hoped to reach her office without delay but was hailed by one of the front desk clerks before she made it inside. Sue, a longtime employee of Storyton Hall known for her inexhaustible optimism, was the picture of worry.
