Murder On The Menu: A Romantic Comedy Culinary Cozy Mystery (A Celebrity Mystery)

by Mackenzie, Zanna

  After making myself a hot chocolate I try to resume my computer work but my mind isn’t on the job and it’s impossible to focus. I want to be out there doing something to clear my name but I don’t know what to do or where to go. My computer pings to announce the arrival of an email. It’s from Adam. Another one. Given our circumstances, I’m surprised by his persistence in trying to contact me. If I’d really meant that much to him before then he’d never have made the choices he did. And I never would have found myself on…

  No, I don’t want to relive it. I’m finally sleeping without the recurring nightmares jolting me awake in the middle of the night. I shove the scary flashback into the darkest recesses of my mind, but not before I remember the feel of the hard cold pavement under my head once more and a shudder promptly rips through me. My hands move unconsciously to my left elbow, thankfully the aching pain and bruising is long gone.

  Stop it. Forget what happened. It’s all in the past. Eskdale, my new life, that’s what’s important now. Well, hopefully, that’s if I don’t end up in jail, charged with Armand’s murder. With a sharp strike of the keyboard, I delete Adam’s email. He considers himself to be a serious journalist and the death of a celebrity chef wouldn’t usually cause much of a blip on his story radar I’m sure, but he knows I’m up here, in Cumbria, and might be trying to get some information from me, wanting to grill me about the murder perhaps. He can’t have heard I’m on the suspects list via his numerous shady contacts, can he?

  Thankfully, he doesn’t know exactly where I am. Just somewhere in Cumbria. He doesn’t know about Eskdale. I was informed I’d inherited this place after all hell had broken loose between us, and Adam and I had split.

  Adam does have lots of contacts, though. If he really wanted to, he could find me. What would I do if he turned up on my doorstep? My fingers freeze mid-type and I break out in hot and cold sweats at the very thought. Get serious, Lizzie, I tell myself. It’s just your overactive imagination getting carried away, yet again. Adam is not going to turn up at Eskdale. Absolutely not.

  As the early evening darkness settles around Eskdale it feels as though the hills towering above the farmhouse are closing in. I make some soup, even though my appetite has gone, and settle in front of the television in the living area. The sofa here is newer and more comfortable than the one in the kitchen, but still long past its expiry date. I have fond memories of this room as a child, playing card games with my aunt and uncle. There’s carpet in here, red and gold striped, making this room seem a cosier alternative than the kitchen, but I still probably should have started a fire. I forgot to bring in any logs earlier and I don’t fancy battling the elements to go and fetch some now. A storm batters at the windows and the wind squeals around the chimneypot. What happened to the earlier sunny September day? Summer has gone, and in the space of ten or so hours has been replaced by winter. I shiver and stare, unseeingly, at the comedy programme on the TV.

  And that’s when the lights go out.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Why didn’t I anticipate this would happen? I may have only lived up here a few months, and those were over the so-called summer, but I learnt pretty quickly how things work in rural areas like this. I should have known the storm would cause a power cut. My mind is all over the place at the moment thanks to what happened to Armand. I’m not organised at all.

  Right. Focus. Where’s the torch? In the kitchen. Great. Not handy at all then. The living room is off the kitchen/dining room cum snug area. OK. Tentatively, I ease my tray of supper to one side. I’ve probably spilt soup everywhere in the process, but right now, that’s the least of my worries.

  I blink rapidly, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the dark. Pushing to my feet, I stumble unseeingly around the sofa, hands and arms feeling for the edges of furniture. The darkness is absolute. A flicker of fear clutches at my throat. I’m all alone. In the dark. And there could be a killer on the loose.

  Stop that!

  Freaking myself out is not going to help matters. Stemming my overactive imagination, I manage to resist the part of me which wants to retreat to the sofa and stay put behind a cushion until the power comes back on - that could take hours anyway!

  If I’d started a fire earlier, then the light from that would have made my find-the-torch task much easier. But I didn’t start one, so now here I am, fumbling in the pitch black. Reaching the side of the sofa, I mentally picture the layout of the room and the furniture blocking my path. There’s a Welsh dresser en route to the kitchen doorway - somewhere around about… Ouch! I stub my foot on something solid. Pain sears through the big toe on my right foot. Well, at least I’ve found the Welsh dresser. That gives me another ‘landmark’ on my journey.

  OK. So, if the Welsh dresser is here, then that means the doorway to the kitchen should be a little way across to my left. Ignoring my throbbing foot and the eye-watering pain, I stretch my arms out in front of me and locate the oak shelves of the dresser. A little further to the left… my hands reach into nothingness. Phew. OK. Found the doorway now. Staying close to the wall, I creep along until my hands come across the first of the kitchen cupboards. Careful not to cause myself any further injury, my fingers find the drawer above the cupboard and I yank it open, dipping my hand inside in search of the rubber surface of the flashlight.

  Out of the corner of my eye something flickers on the other side of the kitchen window, just off to my right. Did I just see a light? But that’s impossible… My fingers close gratefully around the torch and I’m about to heave a sigh of relief when I see it again. There’s definitely a light out there. Somebody is prowling around in one of Eskdale’s barns or greenhouses. I gulp and a shiver makes its way from the top of my head all of the way down to my still-throbbing foot. Why would somebody be out there? The farm is in the middle of nowhere. Who would be… a sudden and very unwelcome thought barges into my mind again. Is the person nosing around out there the same person who killed Armand? Has the murderer, for some reason, tracked me down? Am I to be the next victim? My knees go all trembly and I grasp the torch tightly. I could, if forced, use it as weapon.

  But I don’t want to find myself in that situation.

  I could just switch it on and push away the creepy dark, but I don’t want whoever is outside to spot it – or, should I say, spot me. Instead I peer around the edge of the curtain in the all-pervading darkness. I can’t see anything now. Did I imagine the light? Is my already spooked-out mind playing tricks on me? Holding my breath, I stay stock still and wait and watch. A few seconds later the pinprick of light appears again. It looks as though it’s in the barn where Daisy is parked.

  Sugar.

  I was hoping it was my imagination in overdrive, a much less frightening prospect than having somebody roaming around outside my isolated farmhouse. I could phone for help. But what would I say? I think there’s somebody in my barn, officer. They’d think I was some crazy woman and, as I’m already on their radar as a suspect in Armand’s case, I don’t want to draw more attention to myself right now. Reluctantly I realise my best option is probably just keep quiet and hope whoever it is out there is more interested in the contents of my outbuildings than in me or the farmhouse.

  My eyes are dragged back to the window by yet more lights. These are bigger, brighter and definitely heading in my direction. The flames of fear inside me are fanned even higher. What if this is the accomplice of the prowler, arriving to help him in his mission?

  Whatever that might be.

  An icy shudder runs down my spine. Now, I can make out that the latest lights seem to belong to a vehicle, growing steadily nearer along Eskdale’s track. The lights bump up and down as the vehicle navigates the potholes. The other light, out amongst the barns, flickers as though the person holding it is moving, out in the open one second, hidden behind something the next. Then it fades into the distance, as though its owner is sprinting off across the fields. Whoever it was out there is now running away, presumably frightened off by whatever or whoever is
about to pay me a visit. So, the approaching car and the vanishing torchlight are not connected. I let the edge of the curtain drop back into place and crouch down, the torch clasped to my chest. Outside the wind gusts even more fiercely, the sound howling hauntingly down the chimney. Rain batters the windows, making it feel as though Eskdale is under attack. I realise that I’m even more terrified now, in this moment, than I was before in my old life, in the moment that made me decide to leave London.

  I’m taking a sabbatical from that life though. This is rural Cumbria, not the big city.

  And then the banging on the door starts.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  My heart thuds in my chest. What if it’s Adam? Has he tracked me down? What if it’s the police? Are they here to arrest me for the murder of Armand? I don’t want to be interrogated in a pokey dark room or locked in a police cell at the local station. I get claustrophobia! Battling to stay rational I tell myself it could just be Jack, not the police. He might be here to fill me in on the latest news. Perhaps he’s already managed to get himself inside the Veggies. Maybe he’s managed to clear my name!

  “Lizzie! Everything all right?” The voice yelling through the door sounds vaguely familiar but it takes me a few seconds to place it.

  “Lizzie! It’s Frazer! Are you OK?”

  Frazer. Of course. I scramble to my feet, switching on my torch. When I open the front door a burst of rain follows Frazer onto the quarry tiled floor and I hastily step back to avoid getting soaked. It really is coming down out there.

  “Hi,” Frazer says, taking off his waterproof jacket and dripping rain everywhere. “I just wanted to check if you’re all right, what with the storm and the power going off.”

  I usher him through to the kitchen. Should I tell him about the prowler? But what can he do? Whoever it was has gone now. My nerves are still on high alert and a part of me just wants to get out of here, but I’m not going to worry Frazer. He has enough on his plate already. “I’m fine. Thanks for coming up here to check on me.” I omit to mention the fact that his arrival also scared off my outbuilding intruder. “I’d offer to make you a coffee but…” I gesture towards the now redundant electric kettle.

  He waves a hand in understanding. “Of course, no worries. Look,” he fidgets awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I don’t mean to sound all chauvinistic or anything, but if you’d rather not stay on your own up here in the circumstances then you’re welcome to come back down to my place.”

  Tempting. Very tempting. But I can’t. “I’m OK here, honestly.”

  “I guess we’re all a bit on edge at the moment with this business with the chef at the Veggies.” He pushes a hand through his hair, which is the same shade of dark blond as his brother’s. “We don’t get things like that happening around these parts. You worked at that place, didn’t you? So you knew this chef guy, Armand?”

  “Yes, he was my boss. He was, shall we say, challenging…” I reply, feeling guilty, again, for speaking ill of the dead.

  “Everyone must be really shaken up down there,” Frazer says. “On top of all the worry about a murder, I hear people are also panicking about what will happen to the Veggies now and whether they’ll still have jobs at the end of the week.”

  He leans against the edge of the oak kitchen table. “I drove past there earlier on my way to collect some stuff for the farm. The police were all over the place. Had it cordoned off like those crime scenes you see on the TV.” He shudders. “I know it’s mean, but I hope whoever did this was specifically targeting Armand for some personal reason and that it’s not a…” He pauses before finishing. “Well, you know, a more general thing. I’ve got a young family to worry about. Bringing them up right and keeping them safe and warm with a roof over their heads is enough of a worry for a dad without this kind of thing going on close to home.”

  I nod in understanding. “Speaking of which, how are the kids doing? And Emma too?”

  “The kids are having the time of their lives at their grandparents and Emma is much better, thanks. They might even let her out of hospital if she carries on the way she is. Blood pressure is back down and everything. The baby isn’t due for another couple of weeks and she hates the thought of having to stay in that place.”

  “That’s good news about her coming home. I’m glad she’s doing better. It must be a weight off your mind.”

  “Yeah, it is. It’s great that Jack has some time to stay at the farm right now and help me out too. He’s not usually around much. It means he can take over the stuff Emma used to do on the farm as well as some of my stuff so I can go and visit Emma and be there for her, you know? You’ve met Jack, right? He mentioned he’d bumped into you a couple of times.”

  My thoughts veer off momentarily to ponder what Jack has been saying about me. Has he told his brother he’s helping me clear my name?

  “I’m sorry about the cows which wandered over to your place yesterday,” Frazer continues. “Don’t know where they’re getting out. I really need to check all the hedges and fences, but with everything else going on lately there aren’t enough hours in the day.”

  I wave a hand of dismissal. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Well, I’ll get off then and leave you in peace, if you’re sure you’re OK staying up here on your own, that is?”

  Am I sure? Not really, but I don’t want to get in the way down at Frazer’s place and come across as a needy female who can’t look after herself. I nod and paste a smile on my face, which I hope is convincing enough for Frazer to be on his way. As he reaches the door I find the words tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Is Jack at home right now? Back at the farm?”

  Frazer pauses, hand on the doorknob. “Truth be told, I don’t know where he is tonight. He muttered something about having some business to take care of and said he’d be out for a few hours. I didn’t ask for details. Sometimes it’s better not to know what he’s up to.”

  My heart starts racing again. Does that mean Jack has gone to try and get into the Veggies and do some investigating? I hope he knows what he’s doing and doesn’t end up getting himself arrested. Of course he knows what he’s doing, I tell myself – he’s an investigator for this celebrity crime agency place. Or so he says.

  “Is he really a special agent?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me once more. “He said he was, but he didn’t have, you know, an ID badge or anything.”

  Frazer nods sagely. “That’s because they took it off him when he was suspended from active duty. My brother, unfortunately, has something of a knack for getting into trouble.”

  “So, he wasn’t telling fibs then? He’s some kind of James Bond special agent?”

  “Ah, he’d love to hear you calling him that!” Frazer says, chuckling softly. “Yes, he really does work for the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency. He’s a bit of a maverick agent though, so despite how lenient the CCIA can sometimes be, even he pushed his luck too far and got himself suspended for a month.”

  “What did he do to warrant that?” A variety of options whizz through my head, each more terrifying than the one before it.

  Frazer shrugs and opens the door. “No idea. I didn’t ask. It’s…”

  “Better than way,” we chorus together.

  Peering outside he says, “Looks as though the storm might be abating. The power could even be back on before the night’s out, if we’re lucky. Just in case you do need anything, have you got phone numbers for us at the farm? Mobiles and the house phone?”

  I shake my head.

  He reaches into his pocket, finds a tiny notepad and pen and scribbles down several numbers as I shine the torch in his direction so he can see what he’s doing. “Here you go,” he says, handing me the paper. “Call anytime, we’re always happy to help each other out around these parts.”

  I take the proffered piece of paper and smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it. The same goes for me too. If I can help out with babysitting or do anything for Emma, just let me know.�
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  “I might well hold you to that,” he says, stepping outside and pulling up the hood of his waterproof jacket.

  Waving a goodbye I retreat back into the dark and cold of Eskdale. I stand, my back against the inside of the door, listening to the rumble of Frazer’s pickup truck fading into the distance. I walk back into the lounge, wrapping my arms around myself for comfort and warmth. I could start a fire - that would cosy the place up a bit. Then I remember I still haven’t fetched any logs inside. I could just go up to bed, try to block out the sounds of the storm with a pillow and try to sleep. Or, I could pull on a coat, brave the storm, and drive down to the Veggies and see if Jack really is there. I clench my fist nervously at the very thought and the rustle of paper reminds me of the note Frazer pressed into my hand. I flop down on the sofa and stare at the slip of paper. There are three numbers. A home phone number for the farmhouse. A mobile number with Frazer’s name next to it. Another mobile with Jack’s name next to it.

  I have Jack’s mobile phone number. I chew on my fingernails. The question is, do I use it? Should I call him and find out where he is and what he’s up to? He could just be out on a date, not attempting to break and enter at the Veggies. A flicker of something I refuse to believe is jealousy rushes through me. Yes, Jack is good looking, I’ll admit that much. But being attracted to him? A maverick special agent with a nose for trouble? Definitely not. Plus, I’m sworn off men for a while, I remind myself. After everything that happened in London, I need some time to get myself sorted and my life back on track. That’s if I have a life to get back on track of course. The only direction my life might be going in at the moment is a prison cell.

  Which is why I need to stop sitting here being a wimp. I retrieve my phone from the table and, holding my breath, tap in the number of Jack’s mobile phone. It rings out once, twice, three times. Then it goes to the message service. Of course it does.