by Luna Snow
Making another pot of coffee she sat at the table and studied the photograph once more, as if some new revelation would jump out at her. She was sure there was a clue in the picture and she studied the photo in detail, forensically taking it apart piece by piece. There was a large, white building in the background, the black Daimler, the wistful look of the man towards the hidden cameraman. Sandy spent most of the day looking through the papers until it was time to get ready. She had gleaned nothing that seemed of any importance and wondered what could be gained by meeting the man.
Max phoned her mid-afternoon and she had to admit that it was no use. She hadn’t found anything in the file that she thought of as suspicious.
He still wanted her with him at the meeting. He was so insistent that she could hardly refuse.
A car was sent to pick her up at 7. She had dressed in a little black number and red heels to match her lips and nails. Even if she couldn’t be of any help – she could look good.
The venue was an exclusive Japanese restaurant at the far end of the city by the river. The lights were low and the atmosphere hushed. with the faint strains of Eastern music playing at a respectful volume in the background. Sandy was escorted to a private room where a small Japanese man was sitting on a cushion on the floor, his legs crossed. She was quite disgruntled that she had to leave her shoes outside of the room as was tradition. Those shoes cost a small fortune, and besides without her heels she was 4 inch smaller. The dress didn’t have the same impact without those killer heels.
As she entered the room the old man stood and gave a polite bow.
It was the man in the photograph, she recognised him at once. Max Stephen’s entered just behind her and the bowing continued. Mr Yakimono spoke very little English, but of course Max spoke perfect Japanese and introduced Sandy as his girlfriend.
She sat quietly throughout the whole evening watching in amazement as Max spoke fluent Japanese and not understanding a word of the conversation. Occasionally Max would throw her a few lines in English so she got the gist of the conversation, but mainly she was left to the food, which was of course delicious, and her own deep thoughts.
She had soon forgotten about the shoes, anyhow they would have been wasted on Mr Yakimono, he was ancient and seemed quite shy, looking either at Max or down at his food. Perhaps it was a Japanese custom – a sign of respect not to look a woman in the eye, but it made her suspicious.
Towards the end of the meal, as they were drinking bowls of green tea, Sandy caught the glance of Mr Yakimono. He stared at her for a split second before looking away again. It was then that she knew. Something was wrong and it stirred uneasily in her mind. She thought back to the picture.
That was it, the look, the eyes. It wasn’t the same. Somehow the face looked the same but there was something in the eyes that was different. Max sensed her reaction.
“What’s the matter Sandy?”
The old man looked up quizzically, noticing the change in his hosts tone.
“Smile Sandy, relax and tell me what’s wrong. Our Japanese friend cannot understand a word.”
Smiling at his guest Max nodded, and the old man relaxed and nodded in return.
“Well what is it? Remember keep your voice light and keep smiling”
Sandy didn’t know what she was thinking, she only knew that something was not quite right.
“I don’t think that this is the man in the photograph.”
Max struggled to remain composed.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t really explain it, call it a gut reaction but it’s something about the eyes. There not the same eyes looking at me as the ones in the photograph. I can’t explain it.”
Max sounded disappointed.
“Sandy, I have to sign the merger papers in less than 12 hours. I need something more than that. Now think.”
Closing her eyes she tried to re-imagined the photograph. She had looked at it so long that the picture in her mind was almost perfect; the building, the car, the outstretched hand on the car door.
Max carried on smiling and talking to Mr Yakimono as if nothing untoward had happened.
“Think Sandy think.”
Her head was thumping; building, car, hand, eyes, building, car, hand, eyes.
“It’s not him!”
Her voice was loud and sharp and caused Mr Yakimono to look up suddenly towards her.
“What do you mean, it’s not him. Can you prove it?”
Sandy smiled. ”Of course. In the photograph Mr Yakimono has a mole on his right thumb. I’m not sure who the gentleman sitting next to you is, but he certainly doesn’t have a mole on his right thumb.”
Sandy Jones had saved the day once again. Max Stephens delayed the merger, much to the consternation of his shareholders, but when it was discovered that Mr Yakimono was a fake then the deal was called off and Max Stephens showered with praise for his astute thinking.
After investigations it was found that the real Mr Yakimono had been found dead of natural causes a month before the merger was due to take place. With its founder and President dead, there would have been instability in the company causing the shares to plummet. In desperation the company had turned to a distant cousin of the deceased President who had a striking resemblance to My Yakimono and set up to impersonate the dead man. If the merger had taken place and the death of Mr Yakimono had been made public- it would have been the ruin and end of Max Stephen’s career.
There was a noise in the hallway. Jane put down the book and tiptoed as quietly as she could to the door and listened. There was someone walking down the hallway. Carefully turning the key in the lock she opened the door and peered out just in time to see Alf Jeffries disappearing down the corridor towards the servant’s staircase. Jane glanced at her watch, it was eleven thirty. What on earth was Alf going to the kitchen for at this time of night? Her heart was in her mouth, but she had to follow him. Perhaps she had been right about Alf Jeffries all along. He had always seemed too familiar with her; there was something about him that made her feel uneasy that she had never been able to put her finger on. He had been gallant today, but what if he were the murderer? He was quick to respond to her cry of help, the first on the scene, almost as if he had been following her. The thought chilled her but she had to find out. She was tenacious like Sandy Jones – perhaps the only thing the two women had in common.
She paused at the top of the stairs. There was no light on in the kitchen below but there was nowhere else for him to go. What on earth was he doing down there with the lights off?
No good, that was for sure.
Slowly she stepped down, one step at a time, holding her breath with every step. At the bottom she stopped and listened. There was no sound. Perhaps he wasn’t even there, but if so, where had he disappeared to?
Pushing at the door she entered slowly.
“Don’t move!”
The light flicked on and Alf Jeffries pounced upon her, pushing his hand across her mouth as she began to scream out in fright.
“My god Miss Dough, what on earth are you doing here and please don’t scream”
He removed his hand from covering her mouth, and anger suddenly replaced her fear.
“I might ask you the same thing Mr Jeffries. Creeping about in the dark at nearly midnight when there’s already been one murder in the place?”
Despite the situation he started to laugh.
“Oh dear Miss Dough, you can’t possibly think I’m the murderer can you?”
“Why not Mr Jeffries. We are all under suspicion. Why should I believe you?”
Patting her gently on the arm he whispered in her ear.
“Because I am an undercover agent, Miss Dough”
The shock was greater than having a second dead body fall on top of her.
She took a long time convincing, but eventually she was satisfied. Alf was working undercover in the palace until after the Royal celebrations had finished. Alf had decided to check out the kitchen areas a
gain before the morning. The whole place had been searched for the tiara but still without any luck.
“But surely the tiara will be on the other side of the world by now Mr Jeffries?”
He tapped his nose knowingly.
“Well you see Miss Dough. That is what the criminal mind would have us want to believe. But the safest place for that tiara at the moment is in the Palace itself. The thief is just waiting for an opportunity to seize the stolen goods from their hiding place and abscond.”
“But you’ve searched everywhere and still you haven’t found it?”
Alf sighed.
“Precisely Miss Dough – and that is what I was trying to look for tonight. If only we had a clue?”
“What about the dead body. Didn’t that give any clues?”
He shook his head.
“I’m afraid we still have to identify the body.”
A thought suddenly flashed through her head and she told Alf all about the conversations she had overheard between Jimmy Hines and his assistance Mark.
At the sound of footsteps in the corridor above them, Alf brought a finger to his lips for them to be silent and switched off the light. Someone was approaching. Alf picked up a large earthenware jar and readied himself. There were two pairs of footsteps upon the stairs and Jane armed herself with a second jar.
As the door opened Jane smashed down the jar as the first person entered the room and switched on the light. Poor Mark Taylor was sent reeling across the floor with a gash to his head and a very surprised Jimmy Hines stood like a rabbit in the headlights in the open doorway.
“What the f***”
A dozen expletives dropped from the chef’s mouth as he rushed over to where poor Mark lay. Fortunately the strike to the head was not as bad as it looked and the unfortunate lad was soon sat up and rubbing his head with his hands.
Alf produced his warrant card and Jimmy furrowed his brow.
“What’s this all about?”
“I was just about to ask you the same question Sir. I would like to know what you are both doing in the kitchen at this strange hour.”
He scratched at his head.
“I could ask the same of you and Miss Dough?”
She felt herself bristle and tried to stand taller against the tall chef and look impressive, although it was rather difficult in her stocking feet and pink PJ’s.
“I heard a noise Mr Hines-but what is you excuse?”
“And what is all of this talk about Sparklers Mr Hines. Could that have anything to do with a stolen tiara?”
Alf Jeffries stepped forward and laid a hand upon the chef’s shoulder.
Jimmy Hines looked quite stricken for a moment –his face as white as a sheet.
“I haven’t the faintest clue of what you are referring to Mr Jeffries?”
“Oh come, come Jimmy. I have reliable witnesses that overheard you talking about sparklers with your assistant here and that you were going to get them tonight. A sparkling diamond tiara is stolen from the Palace. Surely you don’t expect me to believe that the two are not somehow connected?”
The tired chef looked crestfallen for a moment until he started to laugh heartily and very soon hi side kick Mark had joined in.
Alf shrugged his shoulders as he turned to look at Jane in bewilderment.
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to let us both into the joke, if it is so funny?”
It took both men a while to cease their chuckling.
“It is true Inspector, or whoever you say you are, that I did indeed conspire here with my trusty assistant to pick up ‘the sparklers’ as you so rightly say, but I am afraid you are far off the mark.”
“Well explain yourself man. It is the middle of the night!” Alf was starting to become impatient.
“You see, we really were picking up ‘sparklers’. it was supposed to be a surprise for her Majesties Birthday party. We heard that she had enjoyed them so much at a Bonfire Party at Balmoral in Scotland when she was a girl that I bought some small ones to decorate the special luncheon dish I am preparing for her. Oh Inspector, you must really check the source of your information next time.”
He glowered slightly at Jane and she blushed until her face matched the colour of her pyjamas.
“No need to apologise either Inspector, we all get things wrong, but I do hope that Jane will apologise to Mark here. At least he will live, unlike the body earlier. There will be no cause this time to arrest anyone on a charge of manslaughter, however mitigating the circumstances.”
Jane felt sheepish.
“I am truly sorry Mr taylor. If there is anything I can do…?”
The young man looked up at her with doleful eyes.
“I think you have done more than enough Miss Dough!”
Chapter Six
If there had been an atmosphere in the kitchen on the previous day, then the following day it was so thick that it would have been hard to cut, even with the aid of a sharp butcher’s knife. Mark Taylor nursed a very sore egg on his head, whilst Jane Dough nursed her fragile ego. Dead bodies and lost tiaras had definitely put the wind up everyone and silence was king in the kitchen. Tomorrow was the big day and everyone was making the final touches to their edible creations. Jane had finally finished the icing and the decorating on her cake and although tired she stood back to admire her handy work.
“Wow, fit for a Queen!”
There was a low wolf whistle and Jane turned around to find Alf Jeffries standing behind her and looking appreciatively at her creation. She had concealed the cracks well in the top layer of sponge and it looked perfect.
Out of instinct his hand reached forward towards the sticky icing to sample the goods, but she batted his hand away playfully just in time.
“No you don’t. That’s for her Majesty, not for you.”
Things had changed between Alf and Jane and she no longer felt awkward in his presence. Now that she knew he was a bona-fida Special Detective it seemed to make all of the difference. After all, you could always trust a police man.
“I used to watch you on that ‘Cake-Off’ competition on the telly you know. You were tons better than all the rest of them. I knew you would win. I even voted for you.”
Jane felt her cheeks blush at the compliment and for once she didn’t mind. She was warming to him.
“Any news on the dead body yet– who it might be?” she felt a strange responsibility for the body that had fallen onto her, as if she were responsible in some small way for avenging the murder.
Alf scratched his head.
“Not yet, still waiting the pathologists report and then we will run it against known missing persons. It could take quite a while yet. I have an announcement to make after supper tonight. I wonder if you can tell the others”
The kitchen was buzzing. The preparations for the Queens 90th Birthday party were all complete, but there was something else in the air. After the evening meal in the staff dining area, they had all been asked to stay behind as there was going to be an announcement made by Alf Jeffries on the current state of the investigations.
The usual silence between them had now been broken over the roast beef and Yorkshire puddings as they all tried to guess at the news.
“I bet they have caught the murderer. It’s bound to have been someone outside of the Palace. No-one inside would have committed such a dreadful act”. Geraldine Parker dabbed politely at her mouth with a white paper napkin. Since the evening she had been forced to stand in her pyjamas and face them all without her usual war paint, she had ensured that she applied additional and reinforced make-up at every opportunity – the heavily mascara’d eyes and bright red lips looking more terrifying than ever before.
Jimmy Hines scoffed. “Well, Miss Parker. Surely whoever the murderer is had to be in the Palace at some stage to dump the body into that cupboard. It could hardly have got there by itself now, could it?”
Snorting like a horse, Geraldine Parker looked down her long nose at him as if her were an idiot be
fore returning to her supper.
“Maybe they have even found the tiara. It may have been hidden for safekeeping by the Palace? Perhaps the dead person was the thief but was somehow killed?”
Josephine Lefite put down her knife and fork with a clatter, most of her food left uneaten on her plate. Jane had been surprised to see her. Since the incident with the body she had retired to her room with the shock and had refused to help her assistant Cecile with any of the preparations. She looked very thin and quite frail and Jane wondered if she were anorexic
