by Polly Holmes
Breaking the stand-off, Kayne said in his firm policeman’s voice, his gaze now fully averted to Antony. “I’m listening.”
“Why don’t you bring the speeches forward? That way everyone will be sitting down, focused on the McCorrsons and the real reason we are all gathered here tonight. Then, if you have to speak to everyone you can do it then. You’ll have their attention and if we’re lucky, the murderer might even make a run for it. You know, like in the movies.”
Silence filled the air and Margarete’s pulsed raced while she waited for Kayne to respond. The longer he stayed silent, the more the tension within the room skyrocketed. A resounding bang flooded the kitchen as the door flew open, crashing into the counter behind.
“Oops, sorry about that,” Liam said with a chuckle. “Sometimes my strength amazes even me.”
Margarete thought her heart had exploded in her ribcage from fright. Flanking Liam were Mason and Cassidy with Clair not far behind.
Charlotte’s hand grabbed her heart. “Seriously. You sure know how to make an entrance, sweetie.”
“What’s going on?” Cassidy asked thrusting her hands onto her hips, her gaze shooting from one person to another. “I know when my sister is trying to keep a secret from me, and Clair was doing the worst job ever. So, spill.”
Cassidy was the youngest of the three McCorrson sisters, but just as talented. Instead of following her sisters into the baking profession, she’d preferred to walk in the footsteps of their mother and become an award-winning interior designer. A highly sought after one at that.
“Um, we have a situation,” Kayne said.
“A situation?” Savannah huffed. “Is that what we’re calling murder now?”
“Murder!” Liam blurted out.
“What?” Mason looked from Kayne to Clair and back again. “Who’s been murdered?”
Kayne held his hands up in a calming manner. “Now, everyone, take it easy. Getting hysterical will not help. It’s not like this is the first murder in Ashton Point.”
“The first one in three months,” snapped Charlotte.
“Does someone want to explain what’s going on?” Cassidy asked once more. Her demanding tone sliced Margarete’s heart.
“It’s Pierre. Someone stabbed him in the back… Literally,” Antony said, his works impaled with a thin layer of disbelief.
Margarete couldn’t handle their questioning stares any longer. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. “With my chef’s knife and then left him on the floor in the outer cool room.”
Cassidy’s draw dropped open, but Kayne took the floor. “Now that everyone is up to speed, this is how it’s going to play out. I’m going to need statements from everyone in this room. So I’ll need each of you to ensure you speak to me or Robert before you leave the premises this evening. I am conscious of time and keeping the murderer in the building. Ladies, can you convince your parents to start the speeches early, as in now?” All three shrugged and nodded at different intervals. “Okay, if you keep everyone focused on the happy couple, I’ll stay here and begin taking statements until Robert arrives. I’ve secured the body as much as I can. Robert can take over and advise the coroner. The rest of us can join you later, and after the speeches have concluded, I’ll make an announcement advising every one of the situation.”
Savannah rolled her eyes. “There’s that word again, ‘situation.’”
Please, Savannah, don’t make it any worse.
“As I said, I’ll advise everyone of the situation. Liam and Mason, I want you to watch the exits. Just in case anyone decides to make a quick departure. Clear?”
“Stop anyone looking guilty from running from the room. Got it,” Liam said giving a thumbs up signal in Kayne’s direction.
****
Logan scanned the room once more, tapping his fingernails impatiently on the crisp, white linen tablecloth. Where are you, Margarete Becker? Surely you need to come out and see how the food table is faring.
The drive from Sydney to Ashton Point had been uneventful, just as he thought the evening would be. Hob-knobbing with his stepmother’s society friends was hardly his idea of the perfect Saturday evening. Logan preferred a quiet night in with a great movie and a tub of caramel-buttered popcorn. He was pleasantly surprised to find the friendly people of Ashton Point welcomed him with open arms. One in particular had caught his attention.
His interest was piqued the moment he laid eyes on the pretty, petite chef. After all, any brunette with hair styled like she should be glamming it in the 1940s had to be interesting. Right?
Maybe she didn’t like strangers in her kitchen. He leant in close to his stepmother and whispered, “Thank you for convincing me to stay the night in Ashton Point.”
Elaine pulled back, her eyebrows raised. “Excuse me? After all the grumbling I had to endure last night about how boring the weekend would be?”
“Yeah, I guess I owe you an apology.” Regret simmered deep in his belly. “I suppose I was just upset with Dad for jet-setting off on another work job at such short notice and leaving you in the lurch. Forgive me?” He gave her the cutest puppy-dog eyes he could muster.
A warm, hearty laugh burst from her lips. “Oh, Logan, there’s nothing to forgive. Your dad works so hard and looks after me so well. It’s me who should be grateful to you for changing your plans and driving me up here. I really didn’t want to miss it. Edith McCorrson has been a good friend to me.”
“How long have you two been friends?” Logan asked, ignoring the suddenly upbeat music that seemed to ignite the dance floor with active bodies.
Elaine sighed and a loving smile spread across her rosy cheeks. “Oh, gee, a while now. About seven years before my first husband passed away, Edith redesigned the interior of our house. It was the most amazing creation I’d ever seen. It had to be shown to the world and that’s just what I did. Got it in every interior design magazine I could, thanks to my late husband’s connections, and we’ve been friends ever since.”
Nervous energy coursed through his body and he forged ahead with his enquiries. “Does she know anything about Margarete Becker, the chef?”
“So, my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. I could see the first moment you laid eyes on her that she’d caught your attention. She seems like a lovely lady and she can definitely cook up a storm, but Edith has never really mentioned her.”
Her words deflated Logan, but only for a second. He sat tall with renewed conviction. “Never mind, the evening’s still young,” he muttered to himself.
“And there’s always tomorrow,” Elaine said with a giggle just as the music died a sharp death.
Logan’s head spun toward the stage as the familiar sound of tapping into the microphone filled the room. His gaze met with three beautiful, red-headed women, all looking nervous as hell. “I guess they’re not used to public speaking.”
“Excuse me. If everyone could please take your seats, it’s time to start the formalities of the evening.” One of the women paused. The persistent chit-chat of the guests was like a buzzing in his ears. “We are here this evening to celebrate two amazing people who mean the world, not only to you, but to Clair, Cassidy and myself. Dad didn’t want too much fuss, but how can one honour thirty years of marriage, except with thirty years of memories?”
Charlotte handed the microphone off to Clair and stepped aside. “Most of you would remember our grandmother, Betty Brookson, and the love of her life, Bob, or as they came to be known, B1 and B2. She was the reason we came to Ashton Point almost four years ago. And Mum and Dad didn’t think twice about giving up their lives in Sydney to take care of her after Bob passed away. They are the most kind-hearted, loving, beautiful people I know. We love you. Please help me cheer for the happy couple. If you would please stand and charge your glasses.”
Logan’s chest clenched as he stood. He wasn’t a soppy romantic, but emotions were running rampant as the entire crowd witnessed the tender out-spilling of love the girls had for their pare
nts.
Clair held up her glass. “To Edith and Mark McCorrson, the best parents three women could ask for. Happy thirtieth anniversary.”
Joyful mumbles filled the room as the crowd joined in Clair’s celebration.
Cassidy relieved Clair of the microphone and cleared her throat. “Rather than stand up here and blab on about how amazing they are, we’ve prepared a little video. So, sit back and enjoy.”
For the next few minutes, a rollercoaster of emotions worked its way through Logan’s heart as he watched the video. He’d only met the McCorrsons this evening and he felt like he’d known them his whole life. “Ooo”s and “Aah”s combined with loving laugher and sniffles from the guests filled his ears. He even had a tear form in the corner of his eye.
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.”
Margarete 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.”
