by Nell Hampton
Lord of the Pies
A KENSINGTON PALACE CHEF MYSTERY
Nell Hampton
This book is for the readers.
Thank you for being part of my life.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks goes out to my family for their love and support. The only way to get a book written is with a lot of help and patience.
Thank you to the team at Crooked Lane. You all are awesome.
And always, special thanks to my agent, Paige Wheeler.
Chapter 1
“What are you doing in the kitchen so late?” Penelope “Penny” Nethercott asked as she walked into the room. Penny was dressed in a Topshop miniskirt and T-shirt. Her blonde hair was down around her shoulders and she wore bright blue and pink eye shadow to highlight her eyes and bubble-gum-pink lipstick.
“Where are you going all tarted up?” I asked as I frosted the chocolate digestive biscuit cake I had baked for the family’s dessert tomorrow. “You look marvelous, by the way.”
Penny smiled and stuck her finger in the frosting bowl for a taste. “The girls and I are going clubbing. Why don’t you come with us?”
“It’s Wednesday night. We work tomorrow.”
“All the better,” Penny said. “Come out and get crazy with us.”
“Who are you going with?” I wiped my hands on a clean kitchen towel and studied the cake. It was a no-bake cake with chocolate ganache frosting. It was the Queen’s favorite cake and one of the duke’s favorites as well. The duchess asked that I make it at least once a week. I was getting very good at dessert. The no-bake cake was new to me, but I was proud at how much the family loved my version.
“I’m going with Evie Green and Rachel Houser from Duchess Anne’s household. They work in the offices.”
“As much as I’d love to meet more people, I think I’m going to pass this time. The duchess has asked me to cater the bridal shower she is giving your sister on Saturday. I got her approval on the dessert lists and there are a few new recipes I want to perfect by Saturday.”
I had been working for the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge at Kensington Palace in London for three months and still felt the need to prove myself as an American Chef in a Royal British Household. So far, the staff had gotten to know me as Carrie Ann Cole—the chef who gets on Head Chef Butterbottom’s last nerve. As the upstart American who thinks she can cook for the future kings of England. That strange American girl from Chicago who found her assistant dead under a raised bed of kale. I really wanted them to think of me as the amazing personal chef to Will and Kate. I guess amazing is too strong. What I really wanted was to simply fit in. That was tough because I was an outsider.
Most of the employees were like Penny. They either went to school with the Royals or had generations of their family working and living in and around royal households.
It was a tall order for a Midwestern girl to be seen as anything other than an interloper.
“You worry too much. My sister and her friends will love everything you make,” Penny said and came around to give me a hug. “They know you are my friend and therefore their friend.”
“All the more reason to get everything just right.”
“I have to admit, your choice of pies and tartlets for the shower is very unique.”
“My thinking was that everyone expects cake for a wedding—but it’s spring and something light and dainty like lemon, coconut, and cinnamon cream pie would be a wonderful surprise.”
“I like that you’ve chosen a pie theme, starting with veggie tartlets and moving on to meat pies and then the desserts. It’s a veritable pie-heaven party.”
“Well, you did say your sister loves pies.”
“And the guys will enjoy your hand pies,” Penny said as she snitched one more taste of ganache frosting and headed toward the door.
“Guys? I didn’t know there would be any men at the party.”
“Oh, they won’t be there,” Penny said. “But they expect the girls to bring them leftovers.”
“Then I’ll make extra.” I took a deep breath. “No pressure.”
“No pressure,” she blew me a kiss and left the kitchen.
I added some pink flower decorations to the cake, and when I thought it was good enough I covered it carefully and put it in the refrigerator. Chilling was the secret to the icebox no-bake cake that was a royal favorite.
I made myself a cup of tea. Careful to put milk in it, not cream. Here I’d been making tea what I thought was the English way by putting cream in first then pouring the tea. But someone had pointed out in public that if I really knew how to make tea the English way I would use milk, not cream.
Yes, I was a silly American. But as embarrassing as it was to be called out in public, I now made tea correctly.
In fact, I actually preferred milk to cream in my tea. The one thing I knew for sure was that I didn’t like sugar in my tea or coffee. I guess that comes from living in Chicago. Sweet tea was more of a southern comfort.
The little private kitchen was quiet tonight—well, most nights. I liked the calm that came at the end of the day and the sleepy calm of the beginning of the day before the rest of the workers showed up at the palace.
I felt intensely blessed. A year ago, my girlfriend in New York had gotten sick and needed me to step in to cater an event for the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s visit to the states. When that happened, I felt like I had hit the top of my dream list. Then afterward when the duchess asked to meet me, I was sure that it was the best night of my life.
Until three months later, when I got the call asking me to come work for the young couple. To inhabit one of the three kitchens in their Kensington Palace apartments and cook for the family and their guests was bigger than any other dream. Even if it meant the end of my relationship with my boyfriend.
While it was well known that the duchess liked to cook for her family herself, the growing number of obligations and public service events made hiring a personal chef a necessity.
In three short months, I, Carrie Ann Cole, from Chicago, Illinois moved to London and became a personal chef to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge.
A movement in the window caught my eye. I gasped and looked again. It was dark out but there appeared to be a man looking in the kitchen window right at me. I stood and grabbed the kitchen phone and called security.
“Palace Security, this is Hawthorne Willis, what is your emergency?”
“Hi, yes, hello, a man was outside the window watching me,” I said.
“I see,” Hawthorne said. “Is this Miss Cole?”
“Yes, I’m in Apartment 1A’s professional kitchen.”
“Yes, Miss, we have identified your whereabouts from the phone line. You say someone is peering in your window?”
“Was,” I studied the now empty window. “There was a man watching me through the window. He’s not there anymore.”
“I’ve sent someone down to check it out.”
“Thank you. I hate to be paranoid, but after Mr. Deems…”
“It’s better we check these things out,” he answered. “Stay on the line with me until the security officer gets there.”
“Okay,” I awkwardly sat in silence listening to the dispatcher breathe. “It’s taking some time. I’m sure the man is long gone.”
“Remain on the phone, Miss.”
“Okay.” I bit my bottom lip and studied the window. I felt stupid. If only I had called on my cell phone, I could have gone outside and seen if I could confront the peeping man.
The sound of footsteps in the hall outside filled the air and the door opened. “Chef Cole?”
“I’m right here.” I waved my hand from the spot behind the door where the phone was attached to the wall. “I’m
going to hang up now.”
“Okay, Chef,” Hawthorne said. “You’re in good hands.”
“Thank you.” I hung up the phone.
Ian Gordon, the Head of Security for Kensington Palace and a man I considered a friend, walked into the kitchen. “What’s the matter?” He asked in his Scottish drawl.
“I saw a man peering in the window there, watching me.” I pointed to the curtained window over the sink. The window was just about counter height and usually allowed me a nice view of the parking areas inside Kensington Palace. “I called security right away. I think he must have seen me get up and dial because he’s gone now.”
“Stay here.” Ian gestured with his hand toward the small table. “I’ll be right back.”
I went to the table and sat down. My cell phone rested on the top of the table and I lifted it up and snapped a couple of pictures of the window. It was light in the kitchen and dark outside, making it hard to see anything outside. The man must have had his face right up against the glass for me to see him. A shiver ran down my back.
The door opened again, shaking me out of my thoughts. “There’s no one outside right now,” Ian said, studying me with an intense gaze. Ian was tall with wide shoulders and handsome as the day is long. He had gorgeous deep blue eyes with long black lashes and thick black hair cut in a military style. His nose was straight and his jaw square with a dimple in his chin. It was enough to make a girl’s heart beat just a little quicker.
Not that mine needed to move any quicker
“Someone was out there,” I said. “I saw him watching me, plain as day.”
“Did you get a picture of him?” He asked, lifting one of his dark eyebrows questioningly as he looked at the phone in my hand.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. I held out my phone’s camera. “I didn’t think to take pictures until you were out there.”
We studied the picture I had taken. There was no sign of Ian in the window.
“Did you see any footprints or anything?”
“It’s all pavement out there,” he said. “Can you describe the guy?”
“Yes, I think so.” I knew that eye witness accounts were usually very unreliable, but I would do my best to describe what I saw. “I could see his face rising just above the windowsill, so he wasn’t very tall.”
“And you’re sure it was a man?”
“Yes, he had short hair and large ears that stuck out. I think his nose was thin and his face was sort of oval shaped.”
“Could you see the color of his eyes or hair?”
“No, they just looked black through the window. But his skin was pale.”
“It could be any number of employees on the grounds,” he said, mostly to himself. “The palace is pretty locked up and secure. I doubt that it was a random stranger in the employee parking area.”
“Okay,” I took a deep breath to try to calm my beating heart. “So what are you thinking? Was it someone who works here peeking in?”
“Well, your light is on and it’s late. It could have been a security guard looking to ensure there wasn’t anything odd going on.”
“Right,” I shivered, glancing back to the window. “Then when he saw me go for the phone he could have identified himself.”
“I agree,” Ian said. “I’ll check into the outside guardsmen and see where they were at that time.”
“And if it wasn’t a security officer?”
“There are cameras on the corners of the building. We will see what they show.”
I slumped in relief. “Okay.”
“What keeps you in the kitchen until eleven PM?” He asked, leaning against the wall.
“I was making a cake and going over the desserts to be served at this Saturday’s event.”
“You put in some very long hours for a personal chef,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“I want to do a good job.”
“Even Butterbottom doesn’t put in the kind of hours you do,” Ian said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“How do you know?” I asked. “Have you been peering in my windows, too?”
“I pay attention,” he said. “No need to peer in your windows.”
“That’s what security cameras are for,” I teased.
He frowned. “There are no cameras in your kitchen. I see your light on all the time.”
“I’m kidding. Wait, if you see my light on that means you are working longer hours than I am.”
“I’m dedicated to my job.”
I laughed. “I guess that means neither of us has a life. You know, there’s such a thing as work-life balance. No one is indispensable. I do have my day off.”
“I do too,” he shrugged. “I’d just rather be on my watch.”
“Then if you don’t mind will you walk me to my room? I’m still a little spooked by the face in my window.”
“Sure thing.” He held the door open for me as I turned off the light and locked up the kitchen behind me. The staff-only hallways were simple wood floors and beige walls. The kitchen was down a couple of flights from the servants’ apartments, where my tiny suite was next to Penny’s and a few other people who needed to have direct access to the duke and duchess. Like the children’s head nanny and the nanny’s assistant.
Did I mention that Penny was the duchess’s personal assistant? They met in school and Penny had the dream job of taking care of her now-famous friend.
“I hear you are getting a new assistant tomorrow,” Ian said as we walked down the hall to my room.
“Yes,” I said. “Agnes Moore. She comes highly recommended.”
“You go through assistants quickly.”
I stopped at my door and gave him a look. “Chef Butterbottom likes to impress upon them my unworthiness. My first two left because of the murder. My last two because of the difficult working conditions when the kitchen garden was being redone. Let’s hope this new girl has staying power.”
I thought I saw his mouth twitch into what might have been a smile. “Good luck with that.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Fingers crossed. I mean how often does a murder happen around here anyway?”
Chapter 2
The next morning, I went down to the kitchen at five-thirty. It felt a little spooky to turn on the kitchen lights after last night. I glanced at the window and noted that it was pitch black. No face stared at me. I shook off the feeling and put on a kettle of water.
I liked French press coffee in the morning. My assistants had all preferred tea, which meant that having a boiling kettle of water always on hand was helpful. The kitchen was small but mighty. There was room for a chef, a sous-chef, and one assistant. Attached to the side of the kitchen was a small greenhouse. The greenhouse had been knocked down and rebuilt since I’ve been here.
That meant the plants weren’t as mature as I had hoped. At least the various leaf lettuces and kale and chard all grew fast.
Jasper Fedman, the kitchen’s head gardener, had planted new raised beds of vegetables that the duchess had requested and had even allowed me to dictate a few plantings as well.
I poured the heated water over the coffee in my French press, stirred the water mixed with fresh-ground beans, and then covered it, putting it in a cozy to steep. A sudden sound in the glass-walled garden had me whipping around, my hand going to my heart.
“Whoa,” Jasper said as he stepped into the kitchen. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I didn’t know you were in the garden,” I said as I clutched the counter trying to calm myself down.
“I’m planting carrots and onions today,” he said. “I saw you turn the light on and wanted to pop in and see how you are.”
Jasper was a good-looking guy who was working his way into my heart. He was tall and athletic, with blonde hair and a reddish beard. He looked kind of like the movie-version of Thor, and his blue eyes tended to twinkle around me. Today he wore jeans and a dark T-shirt that showed off his biceps.
“I think you startled a ye
ar off my life,” I said.
He grinned at me and my heart melted. “Sorry, love, I’ll knock before I enter next time.”
I turned away and pulled down two mugs. “I’m making coffee, if you want some. Or I have hot water for tea.”
“Coffee is fine by me.” He turned one of the kitchen chairs around and sat down so that he could rest his arms on the back. “I hear you are getting a new assistant today.”
“Yes, Agnes Moore,” I said, glancing at the kitchen clock. “I expect her in the next half an hour or so.”
“I hope she stays longer than the last ones.”
“Me, too,” I shook my head. “That is if the Peeping Tom doesn’t scare her away.”
“Peeping Tom—what are you talking about?”
I handed him a mug of coffee and placed a small tray with a creamer and sugar bowl in front of him. I sat down next to the table. “Someone was watching me through the window last night. I called security but they didn’t find anyone. The ground outside the window is paved so there were no tracks.”
“That’s weird.”
“Creepy,” I said and sipped my coffee. I like the acidic taste of French roast mixed with the smooth taste of cream.
“He had to be someone who works at the palace,” Jasper said. “No one else can get back into the employee parking area. What’d he look like?”
I gave Jasper the same description that I had given Ian. “Do you know anyone like that?”
“No one I work with.” He sipped his coffee. “No wonder you hit the ceiling like a scared cat when I stepped into the kitchen.”
“Hopefully it was an anomaly and won’t happen again.”
“What does Gordon say about it?” Jasper asked.
“He’s going to have his men look through the security footage from last night.”
“Maybe it’s a ghost,” Jasper said with a twinkle in his eye.
“If it’s a ghost, he can’t come in,” I said.
The kitchen door flew open and a middle-aged woman stepped in. She wore a trench coat with a white button-down shirt and black slacks under it and sturdy black kitchen shoes. She was plump and about five feet tall. Her steel-gray hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun. “Good day, everyone,” she said with a faint Irish accent. “I’m Agnes.” She extended her hand to Jasper.
