Book Retreat Mystery 07 - Murder in the Cookbook Nook

by Ellery Adams

  “Me too,” said Anna. “What’ll happen to her?”

  Jane poured the coffee into a silver pot and loaded a sugar bowl and a creamer of milk onto a tray. “Last I heard, her lawyers and the district attorney were working on a deal. Mia will probably plead guilty to the lesser charges. She didn’t actually hurt anyone, but the gun was hers and it wasn’t in her pocket during the finale by accident. If she serves any time, it’ll be nothing compared to Bentley’s sentence.”

  Anna sighed. “She’s so young, and her life is basically over.”

  “Mia will do what she can for her. She’s covering the legal fees for Bentley, Ty, and Mr. Smail. Mia told Sheriff Evans that she feels responsible for Bentley’s actions. If she hadn’t talked about getting even with Fox Watterson, Bentley wouldn’t have worked so tirelessly to give her what she wanted. Mia knew Bentley would go out of her way to please her, but she never imagined she’d take things this far.”

  Anna picked up the stack of dessert plates on the counter. “And the footage from that night? Will people be able to watch it?”

  “Ty’s cameras were seized as evidence. Unless someone on the film crew recorded the events on their phone, the most dramatic part of the finale will never air.”

  “I think we’re ready for the finale of this party,” Phoebe said.

  Anna grinned. “Coffee, cake, and a gift for our lovely bride-to-be is all the drama we need.”

  Jane carried the tray to the dining room. She poured coffee for her friends while Betty sliced and served the cake.

  After the women finished their dessert, Mrs. Pratt cleared a space on the table and Jane presented Eloise with their group gift.

  “Alfred Hitchcock said that ‘happiness is a small house with a big kitchen.’” Jane waved her arm, indicating all the Cover Girls. “We hope that you and Landon will always have a kitchen filled with delicious food, lively conversation, and endless happiness.”

  Her eyes glistening with tears, Eloise glanced around at her friends. “I’m going to buy a big farm table so we can sit together, just like this, and talk about everything and anything. We’ll eat, drink, and be content. Cover Girls forever.”

  She put her hand in the middle of the table. The other women stacked their hands over hers and repeated, “Cover Girls forever.”

  It was moments like these that allowed Jane to recover from the tumultuous experience of having a television show film at Storyton Hall. The new memories that Jane made with the Cover Girls, Aunt Octavia and Uncle Aloysius, the twins, and Edwin contained more than enough love and light to chase away the shadows cast by Posh Palate with Mia Mallett.

  And whenever Jane needed a reminder of all that was right in the world, she’d stop by the kitchens and watch Mrs. Hubbard and her staff work their magic.

  It was in the kitchens that Jane felt the heartbeat of Storyton Hall. As she sat at a prep counter, cradling a cup of tea, she could hear the pulse of the house. Its steady rhythm was like a song, echoing deep in her soul. It was a song of belonging. The warm and unwavering lullaby of home.

  Epilogue

  The Posh Palate scandal didn’t keep guests from flocking to Storyton Hall. People called morning till night, hoping to book a room.

  “I’ll stay in a shed. A barn. A broom closet. Just as long as I’m on the property,” one man pleaded.

  The reservations email address was flooded with similar requests. People offered to pay double or triple the going rate. They promised to write stellar reviews on their blogs and social media pages. A few creative souls even used literary quotes to prove how much they wanted to spend a single night at Storyton Hall.

  Over and over, the front desk clerks explained that there was no availability until September, which tended to provoke a fresh round of cajoling, whining, and attempted bribery.

  To save her staff from having to repeat themselves, Jane recorded a message on the reservation line.

  “Are all these inquiries from journalists?” a clerk asked Jane.

  “That, or fans of Ms. Mallett. Apparently, they’ll do anything to see the Rudyard Kipling Café. Sterling caught a young man climbing the front gates last night, and Lachlan encountered a couple on motorbikes taking photos of the archery field. Another woman offered a thousand dollars for sixty seconds in the cookbook nook, and a young man pretended he was applying for a job as a dishwasher, but Mrs. Hubbard saw through him five minutes into the interview.

  The clerk pointed at her computer. “Things were calming down for a bit, but we’ve had so many reservation requests today that our system might crash. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Jane, who’d just refilled her coffee cup from the urn in the lobby, frowned. “I’d better take a look online.”

  As she sat down at her desk, her phone rang. Seeing Eloise’s name on the screen, Jane picked up.

  “Wow, wow, wow!” she cried. “Are you watching the news?”

  “No. What’s going on?”

  Eloise exhaled. “Someone leaked the finale footage. All of it. I watched it, but it made me feel sick. Seeing that gun pressed against your neck—it was awful. I don’t know how you stayed so calm.”

  “I wasn’t calm. I was stalling for time.” After a pause, Jane added, “Instinct made me jump in front of Fox Watterson. I’d invited him to Storyton Hall, so he was my guest, and I’ve always been concerned about the safety of my guests. But my top priority should be my sons. What would have happened to Fitz and Hem if I’d been killed?”

  Eloise let out a small cry. “Let’s not go there, please. You’re fine, and your sons are proud of their brave mom. I’m proud to be your friend.”

  Jane didn’t reply because her attention had been caught by a headline on the BBC News site. It read, BILLIONAIRE TV HOST WILLING TO KILL TO PUT AN END TO HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATIONS.

  Below the headline was a video. The frame was frozen on Mia’s face, which was contorted in pain. The article took up half the page.

  “Who leaked the video?” she asked.

  “Someone identifying as GoldnBears2012 sold it to TMZ. An anonymous source claims that GoldnBears2012 is Mia’s hair and makeup guru. He graduated from the University of California, Berkeley, in 2012, and Berkeley’s athletic teams are called the Golden Bears. No one else involved with the show went to Berkeley.”

  “Whoa,” Jane breathed.

  “Yeah. Whoa,” Eloise agreed. “And as much as I want to forget about that night, I’m kind of happy that it was leaked. If the bad things that happened here bring about positive change, we can focus on that, and not on how scared we were. If everyone starts talking about the mistreatment of workers and how major food companies exploit these people, I believe things will improve.”

  Jane opened a new browser window and visited the online version of a major newspaper. She repeated this action three times. Every site featured a story about Mia and a link to the video showing the unscripted ending of the finale. Jane was pleased to see that all the articles included reactions from off icials at the International Labour Organization.

  “She did it,” Jane murmured. “She wanted to shine a spotlight on injustice, and the light is shining.”

  “People are coming forward to tell their stories. Fishermen, cocoa farmers, migrant workers, and many more.” Eloise was silent for a moment before she said, “I hope someone tells Mia.”

  Jane had no doubt that Mia already knew. “Remember, she was sent to a country club prison. With all of her money, she can afford things most inmates never could. I doubt she’ll be incarcerated for more than a few months. By this time next year, her tell-all book will be in your shop.”

  When Eloise spoke next, her voice was steely. “No, it won’t. I know you have a soft spot for Mia. You feel sorry for Bentley. But people can’t go around committing murder to ease their pain or anyone else’s. You might be able to forgive Mia, but I watched her point a gun at you, and I can’t forgive her for that.”

  The force of Eloise’s anger gave Jane pause. “You�
��re right. Both women crossed lines they shouldn’t have crossed.”

  “You need to get to a TV, pronto. Chef August is giving an interview when this series of commercials is over. If they ever end.” Eloise told Jane which station to tune to and hung up.

  In the surveillance room, Jane listened as a pair of newscasters talked about the Posh Palate with Mia Mallett contestants.

  “Usually, a reality show has to air before the cast becomes famous, but that’s not the case with these five chefs,” the anchorwoman said. “They’re now household names after a leaked video revealed how the show’s finale nearly turned deadly.”

  “Representatives from Cook’s Pride declined to comment. However, we were able to secure an interview with Chef August. He’s joining us now, from his home. Good morning, Chef.”

  Chef August’s face appeared in a rectangular box onscreen. He smiled and said, “Good morning, Brett. Leslie.”

  Brett dove right in. “So, Chef, are your friends and family reeling after the release of the finale video?”

  Chef August shrugged. “I told my wife about it the night it happened. She’s my rock, and I needed to hear her voice. I was pretty shaken after what went down. All the people who matter to me knew before the video came out. They didn’t like seeing it, but they’re okay.”

  “Did anything change for you professionally after the filming ended?” Leslie asked.

  “Not really. I’m still making amazing food at my restaurant, and I’m working on recipes for a new cookbook. All the chefs from this season are creating this cookbook together. We’re really excited about it.”

  Chef August seemed genuinely happy, and Jane hoped all the chefs were in a similar state. They’d faced death and danger, and now deserved a lifetime of success and peace.

  Brett raised his brows. “So you’re in touch with the other chefs? Can you tell us how they’re doing?”

  “Everyone’s fine. Chefs are a tough lot. Gotta be. If we couldn’t handle pressure, he wouldn’t have gotten this far.” He chuckled. “My man, Chef Michel, is doing what I’m doing. Cooking at his bistro and loving on his wife and kids. We’ll be friends until we’re old men, and if nothing else came out of the show, that would be more than good enough for me.”

  “Is Chef Lindsay involved with the cookbook too?” asked Leslie.

  “Of course.”

  Brett frowned. “Even after she said that she’d take the golden ladle if you didn’t?”

  Chef August waved this off. “She didn’t mean anything by it. She just said that because she was stressed out. It had been an intense couple of days, and she just wanted it all to be over. We all felt that way.”

  “What happened to the hundred-thousand-dollar prize money?” Leslie’s eyes gleamed.

  “Cook’s Pride split it five ways. We all got checks, and we all sent every cent to the organization where Chef Michel’s sister, Kisi, works. We were never going to touch that money, and we felt good knowing it could help other people.”

  A photo of Kisi appeared on the screen along with the name and URL of the organization she worked for in Paris. Jane’s heart swelled. The more media attention the organization received, the more people would support it through donations and letters to politicians.

  Brett thanked Chef August and promised to share more revelations on the Posh Palate scandal after the commercial break. Jane switched to another channel. Three women were seated behind a table. They all held copies of Mia’s cookbook and described Mia’s behavior at the finale as “deplorable” and “shocking.” Another channel was airing a recorded interview of a Thai fisherman who’d escaped from a situation exactly like Sud’s.

  “We barely had enough food to survive,” he said. “We worked ten, twelve hours a day. If we were sick, we had to work. If we were hungry, we had to work. No one could leave. I got away by swimming to a small island in the middle of the night. I was barely alive when a local fisherman found me, but I got away. So many others don’t.”

  When the newscaster asked if he had a message for Mia Mallett, the man’s eyes filled with tears and he pressed his hands together. He said something in Thai, and though Jane couldn’t understand the words, the man’s expression of gratitude was unmistakable.

  Channel after channel, people were talking about Mia, Bentley, the chefs, workers’ rights, Fox Watterson, Cook’s Pride, Storyton Hall, and herself.

  There was a knock on the door and Sterling entered the room. “The phones are lighting up like Christmas trees. Everyone wants to interview our fearless leader.”

  “I’ll have to talk to one of them, or this will never stop.”

  She decided to call the station that had interviewed Chef August, and within the hour, she was on the phone with Leslie and Brett. Jane had rejected a Skype interview. One viral video of her was enough.

  She answered questions about the show, the cast and crew, and Storyton Hall. She refused to discuss the particulars of the crimes and suggested that all members of the media contact the Storyton Sheriff’s Department for that information. Jane also took the opportunity to announce that the resort was booked through mid-September and that anyone interested in photos of the terrace, archery fields, or Rudyard Kipling Café would find them on Storyton Hall’s website.

  “What about the room where Chef Pierce was killed?” asked Brett.

  “I won’t disrespect Chef Pierce’s memory by posting photos of the cookbook nook. That area is accessible to our staff only. It’s completely off-limits to the public. No exceptions.”

  At this point, Leslie gave Jane an opportunity to tell viewers about Storyton Hall.

  “Our resort caters to readers,” Jane said warmly. “Our reading rooms and libraries are brimming with books of every genre. We also have a world-class spa, incredible food, and a long list of outdoor activities from fishing to falconry. People come to Storyton Hall to relax. They come for peace, beauty, luxury, and places to curl up and read. That’s what we offer.”

  Leslie smiled wistfully. “Sign me up. I love to read, but I can’t seem to settle down long enough to finish a chapter. I don’t know how to relax anymore.”

  “Sounds like you need a Storyton Hall getaway,” said Jane.

  And with that, the interview was over. Jane received many more interview requests that day, but she politely refused them all.

  “I have no desire to become a celebrity,” she told a pushy producer after the woman called for what felt like the twentieth time. “I want to put the whole experience behind me. Please don’t call again. I won’t change my mind.”

  By the time she walked across the Great Lawn and pushed open her garden gate that evening, she was bone-tired. But she immediately brightened when she saw Edwin sitting on her front steps.

  He stood, kissed her hello, and said, “Kick off your shoes.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m taking you to an exclusive restaurant, and there are no shoes allowed.”

  Jane grinned. “I like the sound of this place.”

  Leaving her shoes on the stoop, she took Edwin’s outstretched hand. When he led her around the corner of the house to the patio, Jane let out a gasp of surprise.

  Her patio table, draped in a colorful botanical cloth, was set with melamine plates and several lanterns. Strands of string lights ran from the house to wooden poles buried in the mulch at the edge of the patio. An outdoor rug covered the weathered bricks and Edwin had loaded a bar cart with a selection of glasses, drink mixes, liquor bottles, and an ice bucket. Another new addition was an outdoor sideboard, which held a row of covered dishes.

  “When did you do this?” Jane asked.

  Edwin escorted her to the table. “Today. The boys helped. They’ll be out in a bit, but I thought you could use a drink and a few minutes of quiet first.”

  “No. First, I need to tell you how much I love you.”

  Jane put her arms around Edwin and kissed him. She then rested her head on his shoulder, breathing him in. He removed the clip securing her ha
ir and she sighed in contentment as his fingers moved through her loose locks. Under the twinkling string lights, with fireflies winking at her from the bushes, Jane’s worries floated away.

  Later, after a round of mojitos, the boys joined them for a casual charcuterie supper. As they ate, Fitz and Hem asked if Jane and Edwin felt like playing a game.

  “Your mom had a long day, so it’s up to her,” Edwin said.

  Jane smiled at her sons. “I’ll play anything but Monopoly. It took us a week to finish our last game.”

  The four of them carried the dinner things inside and cleaned up the kitchen. Jane wanted to change into shorts and a T-shirt while Fitz and Hem picked a board game, so she grabbed her shoes from the front stoop before going upstairs.

  Yesterday’s mail, which Jane hadn’t time to examine, sat on the hall table. The letter on the top of the pile caught her eye. Because she so rarely received handwritten letters, she leaned over to examine the return address. The letter was from Olivia Limoges.

  In her room, Jane changed quickly. She was eager to read Olivia’s note before the twins set up a board game. The first few lines made her smile, but by the end, she was frowning in confusion.

  “We’re ready, Mom!” Hem shouted.

  Edwin was in the kitchen, filling a pitcher with ice water, when Jane entered the room.

  “I got a letter from Olivia Limoges,” she said, waving it in the air.

  Edwin dropped lemon and lime slices into the pitcher. “How is she?”

  “Great. She finished her book. She says she wouldn’t have written it at all if she hadn’t come to Storyton, and she wanted to thank me for getting her through an acute case of writer’s block. She enclosed a gift certificate for a bed-and-breakfast in Oyster Bay. She said there’s a seaside cottage on the property that would be perfect for the two of us. And Chef Michel wants to cook us a special dinner too.”

  Edwin was delighted. “Should I start packing?”

  Jane laughed. “This would be a good time to run away, but we should wait until after Eloise’s wedding.”