by Polly Holmes
Emmerson continued. “A video recording. Apparently, they’ve received an anonymous recording of you and Pierre in a heated discussion. There’s no sound, only action, but you know what they say, a picture speaks a thousand words. Whoever it was said that it looked pretty suspicious and definitely motive for murder.”
What the…? “You can’t be serious?”
“Afraid so,” Leah said.
Margarete racked her mind, trying to remember a heated discussion between her and Pierre. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but she respected him as a chef, especially since he worked for Charlotte McCorrson at CC’s Simply Cupcakes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t quote me on this, but I’m sure the woman said that it was at the Christmas fair last year.” A frown marred Emmerson’s expression. “I’ll never forgive myself for that stack I took on the catwalk in the fashion parade in front of all those tourists. Who changes their shoes right before they’re about to go onstage? Me, that’s who.”
Margarete pinched the bridge of her nose, Emmerson’s voice droning on like a broken-down washing machine. Emmerson, do I really care about your shoes?
“Thank you, Emmerson. And you, too, Leah,” Logan said. “This is a lot to take in. If you don’t mind, I think Margarete could use some air.”
“Thank you both,” Margarete said. She wrapped her arms around each woman, letting their support seep into her bones. “I really do appreciate the heads up on the video and if you can remember who the woman was, please let me know.”
Both ladies nodded and trotted off toward the food table.
Anger raged through her system. She began pacing the corridor, praying the anger inside would fuel her memory. “I don’t need air. I need to find the woman that apparently took a video of Pierre and me in a discussion that shows my supposed motive.”
Logan turned and blocked the corridor from any prying eyes, giving Margarete some much needed space. “I’m aware of that. What you need to do is remember that meeting.”
She threw her hands up in the air, frustrated. “It was a crazy busy day. The tourists arrived in droves. We were run off our feet. It was an annual event and last year, Hannah Carver had dedicated it to the memory of her late boss, Mr Hutson, who’d meet an untimely death.”
Logan cringed. “Please don’t tell me he was one of the six murder victims found in Ashton Point?”
“It’s a long story and not important right now. Hannah is a promotional wiz. She did a smashing job of promoting the event. The day had its own set of problems, but on the whole, it was a huge success for the town. The café was flat out all day. I hardly even had time for a break except…” She paused, a moment of recognition hitting her hard.
“What is it? Do you remember the conversation?”
Margarete nodded. Her frustration was quickly taken over by trepidation. “Yes. Yes, I do and I’m afraid it doesn’t look good.”
“How so?”
Margarete’s insides were about to shatter into a gazillion shards. Tears threatened to break her. She was about to lose it right in front of a pub full of guests. Her hazy gaze caught sight of Charlie’s office chair and she bolted inside, away from the prospect of prying eyes.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, dropping her head into her hands. “This is like a nightmare. That conversation is going to make me look as guilty as if my hand put the knife in his back.”
“Hey, that’s enough talking like that,” Logan said softly as he crouched down, easing her hands away from her face. He guided her chin up with his finger and smoothed her tears away with his thumb. “You’re going to spoil your make-up with these tears. Do you want to tell me what has got you so upset?”
His calming tone eased her growing anxieties and she smiled. “That discussion with Pierre was innocent, but who’s going to believe me?”
“Me, that’s who.”
Margarete’s heart opened and she knew she was falling for this man. Hard. He’d been the perfect gentleman since the moment they’d met over a mouthful of pork crackling. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me.” Logan pushed a strand of stray hair behind her ear and his fingers brushed her heated skin. “Now, how about you tell me about this meeting with Pierre?”
She nodded. “I was on my way to deliver a batch of coffee and tea to Mavis Stevenson and her crew at the Christmas cake stall and I ran into Pierre. He wasn’t exactly happy with me. Apparently, he was in discussions with Pam over at MMM.” She paused as Logan’s brow creased in confusion. “Magic Meal Makers. It’s sort of like Meals on Wheels, where they deliver meals to those in need in surrounding suburbs. If I’d known Pierre was involved, I would never have organised a meeting with Pam. And she never said anything. He was ranting and raving about how I was trying to undermine his work and steal his thunder. I convinced him that wasn’t the case and that I was happy for him to pursue the adventure. I backed out, knowing how upset he was about it. And now the police have it and it’s going to look as if I’m more guilty.”
“Mmmm,” Logan said rubbing his chin. “Sounds like the real murderer is doing a bang-up job of setting you up to take the fall.”
Margarete’s heart pulverised the inside of her ribcage. She scrambled off the chair as if a firecracker had been let off beneath it. “That is not going to happen. Not if I have anything to say about it.” She breezed past Logan with one focus on her mind. She had to find Kayne before he found her.
“Where are you going?” Logan asked.
Margarete spun, every nerve ending ready to ignite. “To find Kayne to explain—” She stopped mid-sentence, her words frozen in the back of her throat. Margarete’s gaze locked on the noticeboard behind Logan’s head.
No, it can’t be.
“Margarete?”
Elation boomed in her chest as her gaze scanned the copious documents pinned to the noticeboard in Charlie’s office.
Yes, I was right. Little curly ‘Es.
Chapter Seven
“What has gotten into you?” Logan asked.
She pointed a shaky hand past his head, and he turned. “Curly ‘E’s”
Logan’s face blanked. “You’ve lost me.”
Fire ignited in Margarete’s belly and the magnitude of her discovery shook her to the core. “It was Charlie. He writes with curly ‘E’s, just like the threatening note that Pierre received. Maybe he didn’t get the answer he wanted so he took it one step further and silenced Pierre for good.”
Logan’s face paled. “Seriously? You think it was Charlie?”
She nodded, her words struggling to escape. “C-come on, we have to find him.”
“Whoa, slow down,” Logan said, halting her sudden departure with his hand on her shoulder.
Margarete’s skin warmed under his touch. She didn’t know if it was from her discovery that Charlie is a murderer or the pressure of Logan’s hand. “What? We have to talk to Charlie and what better place to do it than in his pub full of guests. He won’t be able to try anything, especially with Kayne in the building. It’s perfect timing.”
“You do have a point, I suppose. But I’m coming with you.” Logan’s brow set with determination.
Margarete smirked. ‘As if I could stop you.”
It took some searching, but they finally found Charlie out back in the wine cellar replenishing the supply of good quality wine for his special guests. Nausea swelled in Margarete’s stomach and she felt any second her lunch was about to make an untimely appearance. Determination kicked her into action and she marched toward the cellar. Knowing Logan was with her made the impending confrontation less daunting.
Margarete stopped at the entrance of the cellar, her gaze landing on Charlie up a ladder in the Shiraz Cabernet section. The overwhelming scent of oak mixed with red wine had her taste buds doing a happy dance inside her mouth. She cleared her throat, grabbing Charlie’s attention.
“Sorry to disturb you, Charlie but I was wondering if we could
have a word?” she asked in a friendly-but-I’m-not-going-to-take-no-for-an-answer tone.
He smiled as he made his way down the ladder, two bottles in hand. “Margarete, how nice to see you again. I hope things are looking up for you after that nasty Pierre business last night.”
She took a calculated step toward him blocking his exit. Time for the truth.
“I’m not one to beat around the bush, Charlie, especially when my life is on the line so I’m going to come right out and ask it.” The nausea in her stomach was now in full tidal-wave mode. “Did you murder Pierre?”
Charlie froze and his gaze drilled through her like dynamite. A deadly silence engulfed the room. Her body stood stock-still, rife with tension. Charlie took a step toward her. Logan stepped up and the comforting warmth of his body behind her spurred her courage. An eruption of laughter filled the room and Margarete frowned at Charlie comical reaction.
“That is the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard,” Charlie said wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Me? Murder Pierre? Why on earth would I do that?”
“Why, indeed?” asked Logan.
Margarete shoved the note out toward Charlie. “Curley ‘E’s. The same curly ‘E’s that were in a threatening note sent to Pierre. Care to explain?”
Charlie took the paper from her hand and scanned its contents. “Not really. But I didn’t kill Pierre.”
“Your note indicates otherwise,” she said. The adrenaline rush coursing through her body boosted her confidence. “I’m lucky that I have such a good memory. I am pretty sure it said, ‘We had a deal, Pierre. You don’t go back on your word unless you are willing to suffer the consequences. You’ll pay for this, believe me. This isn’t over, not by a long shot.’ Sound familiar?”
Logan chimed in. “Murder is a pretty final consequence.”
“I did not murder anyone.” Charlie sighed in defeat. “Okay, okay, I wrote the letter, but I’d never follow through. I was just trying to scare him.”
What the…? Scare him? “Why on earth would you want to scare him?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest in triumph.
“I know people in this town thought he was this wonderful chef and, don’t get me wrong, he was, but there was another side to him that he didn’t show all that often. We had an agreement. I am expanding the dining area, making it into a real upmarket restaurant and Pierre was going to be my head chef. Plans were already drawn, money spent, and then he turns around and pulls out, leaving me in the lurch with no chef. He was a real piece of work”
Why did I not know this? “When was this exactly?”
Charlie paused as if racking his brain for the correct date. “Around Australia Day. I remember because the pub was packed that week and it was another nightmare I just didn’t need. He said something about how he was coming into some money and he didn’t need me anymore.”
“What money?” Logan and Margarete asked in perfect unison.
“Beats me.” Charlie shrugged. “Now if there is nothing else, I really should get this wine back to the happy couple.”
Margarete’s detective sleuthing was far from over. “But this proves you had a motive for wanting him out of the picture. In a way, I suppose it’s kind of fitting. You stabbed him in the back, just as he did to you, right?”
“Pfft, don’t be ridiculous,” Charlie said brushing her comment aside as if he were swatting a fly. “I’d like to see you prove it. Besides, according to the police, the time of death is seven-forty and I had an air-tight alibi at the time. Along with most other people at the party.”
“Seven-Forty?” Margarete felt the blood in her veins turn to ice. But I don’t.
“What alibi?” Logan pried. “And how do you know the murder occurred at seven-forty?”
“That would be my business, now, wouldn’t it? This is a small town, after all,” Charlie snapped. “You don’t look like the police to me, so I think I’ll save my reveal for when it requested. Excuse me, I have been away from my guests for long enough.”
The air thickened and the smell of sweet red wine now left a sour taste in her mouth. She watched Charlie’s back as he pushed past and headed back out to his guests.
“This is good news,” Logan said moving to stand in front of her. “He has a motive and I bet his alibi is as flimsy as they come. Surely, the police will see through it. Whatever it is.”
He paused, but Margarete stood still, two words replaying in her head. Seven-forty…. Seven-forty… Seven-forty.
She gazed into his worrying eyes. “I don’t have an alibi. Since the meeting room next door was empty, I went through there to the staff toilet. I figured it was closer and wouldn’t be in use. But the cameras wouldn’t have been running in that area, since the McCorrson’s party was the only event scheduled that evening. I can’t prove that, though. No-one was in there and I don’t remember anyone seeing me go in or out. I clearly remember it was seven-forty because I checked my watch and I had fifteen minutes before the second brisket would be ready to take out of the oven.”
“So?”
“So.” Margarete paced the cellar, her agitation growing by the second. “It means I will be the number one suspect again.”
“No, it just means it may take a little longer for the truth to surface. I suggest we inform the police of our discussion with Charlie and then try and take a look at that footage Emmerson and Leah were talking about. What do you say?”
Margarete smiled and sucked in a lungful of air. “Sounds like a plan. Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to the impact his words were having on her emotions.
“For believing me and for being here with me.”
Logan smiled and Margarete’s stomach somersaulted sending her heart fluttering. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
Margarete continued to scan the crowd for Kayne, to no avail. Her need to quickly sort this nightmare was exacerbated by the increasing judgemental stares she was receiving from party goers. Either she had something on her face or word of the damning video recording has spread like the plague.
“Alex will know,” she muttered under her breath. She headed for the table hosting Alex, where she and Mish were in deep conversation. She pulled out a chair and slotted herself down. Logan took a position behind her chair. “Hi, Mish. Hi, Alex… So sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you could tell me where Kayne is?”
“I’m sorry to tell you, but he left,” Alex said. “Something about some new evidence that didn’t add up or rechecking a part of the evidence. I’m grabbing a lift back to Clair’s place with her and he’ll pick me up from there when he’s done.”
New evidence. Great. Now what?
Alex squeezed Margarete’s hand. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe for one second that you had anything to do with Pierre’s death. Believe me, I know how it feels to find a dead body, and the shock you must have been going through.”
“Don’t tell me,” Logan said in Alex’s direction. “You were involved in one of the mysterious Ashton Point murders?”
“Unfortunately, yes. It was the worst few days of my life. The truth will come out, Margarete. Kayne is doing his best and he is the best at what he does.”
Yes, but will the truth come out before it’s too late?
Alex’s words did little to comfort Margarete’s ever-increasing anxieties. “Thank you. But I have to get this new information to Kayne as soon as possible.”
Mish’s brow creased. “What new information?”
Margarete shook her head. “I don’t think it would be wise to add to the town gossip train.”
Mish continued as she licked the sweet lemon-vanilla cupcake icing from her fingers. “Don’t look at it as gossiping, but rather as sharing knowledge that could help clear your name. For all you, know we could corroborate your evidence.”
“It couldn’t hurt,” Logan said.
“Okay, but just know that this is not hearsay. We got it straight from the horse’s mout
h.”
Both girls nodded eagerly, and Margarete replayed their conversation, making sure to get every detail correct. “And that’s what I intend to tell Kayne.”
“Maybe you got it wrong. Just because Charlie won’t reveal his alibi doesn’t mean he is a murderer,” Mish said. “It could’ve been something highly personal, you never know.”
Margarete stood. “Highly personal or not, if it puts the knife in his hand instead of mine, then that suits me just fine. As they say in the movies, ‘means, motive and opportunity.’ He had the motive: revenge, the means: my chef’s knife that was on the dish drainer by the door for anyone to pinch and the opportunity: a party in full swing, with no cameras out the back where the outer cool room is located.”
Alex shrugged. “I guess.”
“Thanks again,” she said making her exit.
Chapter Eight
“There’s one right there,” Margarete said as she pointed to the empty car space to the right of the police station. Energy filled her chest knowing she was so close to solving the mystery. “I thought with most people at the McCorrson’s gathering there would be more car spaces available.”
Logan pulled in and cut the engine. “Well, the crowd was thinning when we left.”
“True,” Margarete said hopping out and following him toward the steps. “I cannot wait for this to be over.”
“I bet.”
The sliding glass doors opened just as they reached the top step and Mary-Jane Gregory came barrelling toward them. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, Margarete I hadn’t expected to run into anyone. You, of all people.”
Me. Why not me?
Margarete sucked in a deep breath through her nose and plastered on a smile. Mary-Jane worked at Ashton Point Chemist and while she was a nice enough woman, she never thought twice about putting her two-cents worth into any situation. A real Hyacinth Bucket type character.
“That’s quite all right, Mary-Jane. My fault entirely,” she said through her fake smile and gritted teeth.
“How are you holding up, dear? Such an awful situation with Pierre, isn’t it? I was shocked. Shocked, I tell you. Especially when they said you did it, but I guess people’s actions are motivated by goodness-knows-what these days.”
