Lord of the Pies

by Nell Hampton

  “That’s crazy. What tabloid would be interested in a personal chef? It’s not like I blog or do anything remotely like a celebrity. In fact, I think my lack of fame is part of the reason I got this job.”

  “The duke and duchess are so famous that everyone is looking for a new angle to sell newspapers and news feeds.”

  “This angle is dull.” I dipped a fry in ketchup and popped it in my mouth.

  “Well, you did find a dead body and solve a murder.”

  I made a face. “I don’t want to be famous for solving a murder. I’d rather known for my cooking. Now if I do become famous, it will be for all the wrong reasons.”

  “Oh, don’t say that,” Penny said. “There is still a good chance that you will be known for your cooking.”

  “So who all was Wentworth taking pictures of?”

  “Rumor has it that he was following Chef Wright around snapping pictures of the man and his various lovers.”

  “Various lovers? Poor Evie,” I said.

  “Evie is a big girl who knew what she was getting into when she started to see him.”

  “They think I was one of his lovers,” I said. “It’s why they have me out of the kitchen. But I swear it was just the guy being smarmy with me.”

  “Smarmy? You used that word before. I had to look up the meaning.”

  “It’s a good word,” I said in my defense. “He stood too close and had that look in his eye. You know the one where a guy looks as if he is picturing you naked?”

  “Oh, yuck.”

  “See, exactly,” I said. “It seems to me as if Chef Wright should be the lead suspect.”

  “But it wasn’t his pie that poisoned Wentworth,” Penny pointed out rather unhelpfully.

  “Who else was Wentworth photographing?”

  “I understand he took pictures of visiting dignitaries,” Penny said.

  “So maybe someone didn’t want anyone to know what they were doing while they visited. I think we need to see all of Wentworth’s pictures.”

  “The police won’t let us near them,” Penny said and sipped her cola. “But never fear, I’m certain some newshound has already gotten ahold of copies.”

  “How?”

  “The bloggers and papers never rest,” Penny said. “If there’s money to be made, there’s someone looking into it. Besides, Wentworth didn’t live in the palace. That means his camera, phone, and computer are open to being hacked by anyone who needs a few bucks.”

  “Crazy.”

  “Oh, you know what else I heard?”

  “What?” I loved that Penny was a font of knowledge when it came to the Kensington palace staff.

  “Old Butterbottom is enjoying taking over the duke and duchess’s dinner.”

  “That’s not news,” I said with a frown.

  “He’s not the only one,” Penny said. “There are others on his staff who felt as if you shouldn’t have catered the bridal shower.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because they are jealous of your brilliance,” Penny said and patted my hand. “Don’t worry. There is nothing they can do to hurt you.”

  I did worry. Especially because I was kicked out of my kitchen at the current moment.

  “Let’s talk about our night on the town tomorrow,” Penny said, changing the subject abruptly.

  “Oh, I didn’t think we were going anymore,” I said.

  “What? Why not? You promised.”

  “Fine,” I said. “But I don’t have anything to wear club-hopping.”

  “No worries,” Penny said, jumping up. “Come on, let’s raid my closet.”

  I followed her out to her suite of rooms. Her rooms mirrored my own. Her kitchen was on the right of the door and was filled with cozy bric-a-brac and a small teapot collection. While I left my walls beige, Penny covered hers with art and fabric in a cozy mishmash of colors.

  She pulled me into her bedroom where her bed was left unmade, a scramble of bright blankets and white sheets. Like me, she had a well-worn wardrobe for her clothes. But unlike me, she had clothes that spilled out to the floor and the chair. She also had a closet rack filled with clothes that squished up against the wall, covering the bedroom window.

  “Okay, you need something like a little red dress.” She went over to her clothes rack and started pushing through the thick sprawl of hangers and outfits. “Yes!” She pulled out a gown that was made of jersey material that would cling to all my curves. It had no sleeves and a skirt that was so short I wouldn’t wear it without leggings underneath.

  “I don’t know,” I said doubtfully.

  “Oh, no, you’re going to wear it. You promised to get tarted up with me. Come on, you need to have a good time. You’re missing out on London staying in Kensington Palace all the time pouring over recipe books. There’s a whole world out there.” She waved her hand at the wall where the blocked window was. “You never know. You might land yourself a prince.”

  “Oh, I don’t need a prince,” I said.

  “I know you prefer a gardener or a security chief.”

  “Stop,” I said. “I promised myself I wouldn’t date people I work with.”

  “You broke your own rule when you kissed them,” she teased.

  “I never kissed Ian Gordon,” I protested.

  “We can change that once we get you all dressed for our night out tomorrow. I have a pair of red stilettos.”

  “Wait, my feet—”

  “No protests. It’s only for one night. I want you to have fun while you’re young. This is London, baby!” Penny reached into her wardrobe and pulled out a pair of killer high heels. “Now, let’s talk about what we’re going to do with your hair.”

  *

  Mondays are my errand-running days. The one day off I have all week and I usually spend it doing chores and paying bills. The fact that I was under suspicion for yet another murder did not deter me from going outside the palace gates. I made a trip to a local grocery store near the tube station.

  “What are you buying this week?” the store manager asked. He was a young guy with ruddy cheeks and long blonde hair that fell into his eyes in an endearing way.

  “I thought I’d try some of the more obscure cheeses,” I said. I lifted my handheld basket to show that I had a box of crackers already inside. I didn’t keep much food in my tiny kitchenette. There was no reason to since I had access to a fully stocked kitchen. But there were times when I wanted a late-night snack or had Penny over for wine. It would be nice to have some things on hand.

  “Try the raw cheddar,” he suggested.

  “Raw?” I wasn’t sure.

  “It’s good, it has different enzymes at work. Oh, and how about some mangosteen fruit?”

  “What?”

  “Some people call it the Queen of Fruits because it is said that Queen Victoria offered a reward to anyone who could bring her a fresh one. They come from Asia.” He picked up a small purple fruit. “Tastes citrusy.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m game.”

  I added a few of the fruits to my basket and kept walking when another customer caught his attention. I picked up a few more things on my list and went to the checkout where I spotted the tabloids. There were pictures of the Orangery and the crowd that had gathered to see what was going on yesterday morning. The headlines read: Photographer Uncovers Spy, Ends Up Dead.

  “What?”

  I pulled the tabloid off the shelf. A glance at the long line behind me at the checkout told me I couldn’t waste any time reading the pulpy paper. I bought it and a second one that read: Duke and Duchess Watch in Horror as Man Dies of Lemon Pie.

  Okay, now I know they were lying. There was no way the duke and duchess were up and watching out their window at four AM.

  “Find everything you were looking for?” The checkout lady asked. Her name was Sally and she checked me out every Saturday. “Not like you to pick up the tabloids. Terrible things going on at the palace these days.”

  “People do awful things,” I s
aid.

  “If you ask me, anyone who takes pictures of the royals and sells them to the tabloids deserves what he gets.” Sally was a small woman with short white hair that was tightly curled, a puffy round face, and pale blue eyes. She always wore some sort of sweater, dark slacks, and a green and white striped apron on top of it all.

  “I almost have to agree,” I said. “But I can’t condone murder.”

  “Ah, well, if a bad man slips and accidently kills himself I’m not going to cry over it.” She expertly rang me up and bagged my goods. “You take care now.”

  “See you next week.”

  Once outside, I walked the blocks to the park and sat in the sunshine and thumbed through the tabloids. The spy story caught my attention. Apparently, there was a report that Wentworth had caught a diplomat from another country in the wrong part of the palace taking something from a woman. The photograph was grainy and out of focus. But it looked like the man was exchanging paperwork for cash.

  The man was identified as Lord Heavington. The woman was dressed like one of an army of assistants who helped run the households in the palace. What did the papers contain?

  The tabloid speculated that Lord Heavington was spying for his home country. That he paid the unknown woman for copies of the itineraries of the royal family. There was speculation that there was a plot to kidnap the young prince.

  “That stuff’s all made up, you know,” a man said from over my shoulder. I gasped and glanced over to see Jasper Fedman standing behind me. He looked gorgeous in a white T-shirt and jeans.

  I quickly stuffed the papers back into my grocery sack. “They say there are bits of truth to be found in the tabloids.”

  “There are?” he asked, sitting down beside me.

  “Yes, I saw it in the movie Men in Black.”

  “Ah, right,” he said, crossing his arms. “I believe they were talking about aliens.”

  “Aliens, spies … it’s sort of the same thing, isn’t it?”

  He laughed. The sound was hearty and made me smile. “How are you, Chef?”

  “I’m not so good,” I said with a shrug. “They’ve kicked me out of my kitchen again. This time they have Butterbottom cooking for the family instead of me.”

  “Wait, I thought Mondays were your day off.”

  “They are,” I said. “The duchess likes to cook for her children on Monday. But they kicked me out last night and the main kitchen cooked for them.”

  “Maybe old Butterbottom is jealous of your talents,” he said.

  “He has no need to be,” I said. “You would think he has enough to do running his own kitchen.” I shrugged. “Enough of that, how are you? How are the gardens?”

  “The gardens are growing well. We have leaf lettuce out now, and I’ve got tomatoes and peppers and zucchini started for you. I also have squash, pumpkin, four varieties of beans as well as onions and herbs.”

  “You are amazing,” I said.

  “I know,” he teased.

  We sat in silence for a moment with our faces raised to the blue sky. “I hear that a fellow died face first in one of your pies.”

  “That’s what they tell me,” I said. “But not one of the twenty-five or so women who attended the bridal shower I catered is in the least bit sick.”

  “Did they eat your pie?”

  “Every one of them had at least one piece.”

  “So odds are twenty-five to one of dying from your food.”

  I shook my head at him. “I think he died of something else and just happened to fall face first into my pie. Ian Gordon tells me that they should know the laboratory results soon.”

  “When did he tell you this?”

  “I saw him in the hall this morning on my way out of the palace.”

  “He’s keeping an eye on you then.”

  I sat up straight. “I suppose he is. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “He can be sneaky like that.” Jasper stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “But a little bird told me you were going out on the town tonight.”

  “Have you been talking to Penny?”

  “Maybe.”

  “She is making me wear her clothes,” I said. “I’m supposed to meet in her room at seven PM for her to do something wicked with my hair. I’m afraid.” I smiled.

  “You should be,” he said. “Take a picture, okay? I’d love to see what you look like going out on the town.”

  “I think we might be stopping at your family’s pub,” I said. “You can see for yourself.”

  “That’s an invitation I can’t pass up,” he said and winked at me. I watched as he strode away.

  What had I just done? Maybe ventured my toe in the London dating pool. Maybe broken my own new rule of not dating people I work with. I wondered if he would really show or even if Penny would let me go someplace as low-key as Jasper’s family pub.

  I grabbed my bags and hurried toward the palace and inside. I had to show my key card badge even though the security men knew me by sight.

  My apartment was quiet and freshly cleaned. Yes, one of the benefits of living in the palace was having a chambermaid who cleaned the apartments once a week. It was nice to concentrate on work and not have to worry about cleaning my own space. It was also a luxury I had never had before and never thought I would have.

  Mrs. Worth explained it was a way for the administration to keep close track of any maintenance issues that might pop up. I understood—the building was one of the oldest I had ever lived in.

  I put the groceries away and pulled out the tabloids. I grabbed a tea, sat down on my couch, and tried to find the kernels of truth in the sensationalism. The pictures were accredited to Wentworth. So he was selling pictures to the tabloids. I wondered if Lord Heavington was behind the murder. Who was the man? Why would he want to purchase palace secrets?

  I popped open my laptop and typed his name into a search engine. Lord Andre Heavington was an Ambassador from a small Eastern European country. He had been in London for the last ten years and was a favorite of the social set. What was he doing in the picture?

  There was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Ian standing in the hallway. “Hello.”

  “Chef,” he said with a nod of his head. “Your kitchen has been released.”

  “Can I cook for the duke and duchess tomorrow?”

  “That’s up to the duchess,” he said.

  “But I’m not a suspect, right?”

  “I can’t comment,” he said. “But the cause of death was definitely poisoning.”

  “Poison.”

  “Yes.”

  “It wasn’t my pie.”

  “Can’t comment.”

  “Have you seen the tabloids?” I walked back into my apartment to pick up the papers. “Wentworth was selling pictures to the tabloids. Have you looked into this Lord Heavington picture?” I showed him the picture of the ambassador buying something from an assistant.

  “A man doesn’t usually poison a person,” he said skeptically.

  “Oh, pooh, what if Wentworth was blackmailing him? He might take advantage of what was available.”

  “And most probably bashed the man on the head.”

  “Well, what about the woman who is in the picture?” I pointed at the blurry shot. “Do you know who she is? Do you know what she sold him?”

  His mouth went into a thin line. “I’ll look into it.”

  “Fine,” I spat out. Then softened. “Thank you.”

  “Have a good day, Chef Cole,” he said and walked off down the hall. Well, if nothing else, I brought the possibility of other suspects to him.

  I texted Penny. “I got my kitchen back.”

  “Cool.”

  “But I can’t cook until the duchess agrees.” I sent a frowning emoji.

  “Mrs. Worth is meeting with her now,” Penny texted back.

  I sat down on my couch. Maybe, just maybe, I would have my job back by the end of the afternoon.

  Chapter 7

  “
Good news,” I said as I entered Penny’s apartments. “Mrs. Worth has informed me that the duchess is letting me return to cooking tomorrow!”

  “That is good news,” Penny said. “But you can’t use it as an excuse not to go out tonight.”

  “Not even if I have to get up at five-thirty AM to prepare breakfast?”

  “Not even.” She pulled me inside. “I see you are wearing the red dress.

  “Yes,” I subconsciously pulled at the short hem.

  “Where are the shoes?” She peered down at my flip-flop–covered feet.

  “I brought them,” I said, lifting the shoes in the air. “I didn’t want to fall and break something on the way to your room.”

  “Oh, pish, you aren’t going to fall and break anything. They’re only five inches tall plus they have raised toes.”

  “It’s like walking on stilts.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Come on, we’re going to do your hair and makeup.”

  An hour later, I toddled out of the palace to the cheers of the security guys.

  “Looking good, Chef!” One guy called.

  “A tasty dish,” another called.

  “Ladies, ladies, ladies, come with me,” Penny’s friend and private chauffeur for one of the royals, Ethan Craig, put his arms through ours and escorted us to the sedan he had parked in front of the palace. He opened the door for us and I felt like a bit of a celebrity as I tucked myself into the vehicle.

  Ethan got into the front seat and put on his chauffeur’s cap. “Where to, Penny?”

  She grinned. “Let’s pick up Veronica and her friends.”

  “Veronica?” I asked.

  “Yes, don’t worry Veronica and her friends are great. Veronica knows the doormen at a couple of London’s hottest clubs. I promised to show you London and we’re going to see it tonight.”

  “And we’re off,” Ethan said as he entered the traffic. Twenty minutes later we had squeezed four girls into the car and headed toward the London night club scene.

  One of the girls—Maegan, I think her name was—pulled out a bottle of vodka and took a swig then passed it around.

  “Um, no thanks,” I said, waving away the offered bottle.

  “Nope, you’ve got to do it my way tonight,” Penny said, pushing the bottle back into my hand.