by Nell Hampton
“DCI Garrote said it isn’t the picture he sold to the tabloids that got him into trouble,” I said.
“They think Wentworth was blackmailing members of the staff to keep pictures out of the tabloids,” Penny said.
“Like the picture of Lord Heavington buying stolen recipes,” I said.
“Wait, what? What recipes?” Chef Wright asked.
“Lord Heavington has sold a recipe book concept based on all the royal kitchens he has visited,” I said. “Apparently, he was purchasing recipes, without permission, to fill his book.”
“He better not have taken any of my recipes … Wait! One of my staff was selling him recipes?”
“We don’t know that,” I said. “We only have him buying recipes from Beth Branch. She works for Princess Anne.”
“I’m going to have a sit down with my staff,” he said. “Selling recipes is stealing money from our employer. I can’t have stealing in my ranks.”
“Just poisoning?” Penny asked.
“No,” he said. “No one on my staff did that. It was her pie after all.”
“See,” I said. “Everyone thinks I did it. Well, I didn’t. I don’t have time for this. It’s my day off.” I pushed through the hall toward the parking area and headed outside. Even Chef Wright pointed a finger at me. All because it was my pie pan.
My pie pan … a lot of people knew I was making pies for the bridal shower. I hadn’t kept that a secret. In fact, I had ensured that everyone knew so that they wouldn’t have any complaints over the menu. I suddenly wished that the police had kept the pie itself. I had proprietary ingredients. A simple test would tell if it was actually my pie.
Chapter 19
I fumed over the conversation the rest of the afternoon, trying to figure out ways someone could have stolen a pie pan and set me up.
“What are you frowning about?” Agnes asked when she returned from taking tea to the children. I was back in my kitchen. It was the only place I felt welcome right now.
“I’m trying to figure out how Wentworth’s killer got the poison into the pie without anyone noticing.” I poured hot water into my teacup. “I had the crazy thought that they simply put their pie in my pie pan, but that wouldn’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because they would have had to know which pie I left for Chef Wright’s staff, make the same pie, then switch it out. How would they have gotten ahold of my pie pan?”
“They could have taken a used pie pan you had stacked up and left to wash in the kitchen,” Agnes suggested. “You did say you have two missing pie pans.”
“But how would they know what pie I left?”
Agnes shrugged. “You’ve got me there. Maybe they injected the poison into the pie. That would be easy.”
“How would they ensure that Wentworth would take a bite out of the part of the pie with the poison. I mean injecting doesn’t go uniformly through the pie.”
“So what do you think happened?”
“I wonder if they tested the fork he ate the pie with,” I mused.
“You think the silverware was poisonous?”
“It’s a thought,” I sipped my tea. “But I think they tested the pie and said that the pie was poisoned. That sounds like something was baked evenly into the entire pie.”
“That makes the most sense.”
“So how did they do that? I mean how did they get ahold of my pie plate and how did they know I was going to leave a lemon pie?”
“Did the pie have meringue?” Agnes asked as she cleaned up the kitchen and prepared to go home for the day.
“Yes,” I said. “I put a nice five-inch meringue on the top to seal in the lemon custard.”
“Well, there you have it.”
“Have what?”
“The simple answer,” Agnes said. “It would be easy to take your pie, remove the meringue, whip new meringue with the poison, and recover the pie. It wouldn’t take that long, especially if the pie was left to sit and the meringue shrunk.”
“Crazy,” I said. “Whoever might have done that would most likely have done it in Chef Wright’s kitchen. Don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Agnes said.
“I should go see Chef Wright and ask him if anything was out of place after the murder. Well, I mean anything that wasn’t disturbed by CID.”
“What if he can’t tell?” Agnes asked. “I understand the crime scene guys do a pretty good job of going through everything.”
“I think it may be worth checking with him.” I stood. “I’ll be back before you finish cleaning up. If not, go ahead and do the prep for tomorrow’s breakfast.”
“Thank you for coming in on your day off. My granddaughter has her school play this evening. I appreciate you covering for me. I might be gone when you get back.”
“Don’t worry, whatever you can’t get to I’ll do in the morning.”
“Thanks, Chef.”
I left and walked across the parking lot toward the Orangery. It was bustling with clients, just as Chef Wright had said. It made me frown to think that people were so morbid as to want to dine in a place not because of the history or beauty of it, but specifically because a man died there. I went around to the back entrance so as not to attract too much attention. The last thing I needed was for a crowd of people to start speculating that I was doing anything other than cooking for the duke and duchess.
“Hello?” I called inside the kitchen. There were people coming and going. Two staff members in aprons washed dishes. A third plated sandwiches and tea cakes. Waiters and waitresses came and went. Hey, hi,” I said to the woman plating. “I’m looking for Chef Wright.”
“Yes, well, aren’t we all.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes.
“He’s not here?”
“He’s been gone over an hour,” she said. “It’s closing time, and I need to know what to start for tomorrow’s menu.”
“Do you have any idea where he went?”
“No,” she said. “I suppose you can ask one of his many girlfriends. My guess is he’s with one of them … you.” She sent me a long, side-eyed look.
“I’m not one of his girlfriends. I’m the personal chef for——”
“I know who you are,” she said. “Listen, Chef, let me give you a piece of advice. Don’t go snooping around Chef Wright, okay? The man is not going to settle for one woman. He never has and he never will.”
“I told you I’m not one of his girlfriends,” I said. “I don’t want to be. I have a question about the day of the murder.”
“I can help you with that.” She handed the plates to two waitresses. “I was here that day. In fact, I was with Chef Wright when he found Wentworth.”
“I thought Chef Wright was alone when he found Wentworth.”
“Yeah, he wants everyone to think that. You know, he wants everyone to perceive he’s a good worker, always stays late, gives two hundred percent.”
“He’s not?” I drew my eyebrows together.
“No, he’s not,” she grumbled. “Talk to the real staff. We’re always covering for him.”
“So wait, you were with him when he found Wentworth’s body facedown in the pie?”
“You can sort of say that,” she said.
“Say what? That you were with Chef Wright or Wentworth was facedown in the pie?”
“Wentworth wasn’t exactly facedown in the pie. Look, I told CID this. I came in early to make sure the kitchen was ready after your bridal shower.”
“I left it spotless.”
“Yes, you did a good job. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be there. I turned on the lights in the kitchen and started looking over the stations to ensure they were clean. Then, surprise, Chef walks in. I asked him what brought him in so early. He said something about not being able to sleep that night. Seems his wife sent him to the couch where he should be.”
“Ouch.”
“Yes, well, Chef’s conquests are legendary, and I don’t like them. So sue me. Anyway, Chef asked me
to make coffee. I was starting the brew when I heard Chef yell. I dropped what I was doing and found Chef in the breakroom. Wentworth was in a chair with his head back and his mouth open. There was some kind of foam dried up on his mouth.”
“Was he dead?”
“As a doornail.” She leaned in close. “I swear you could see the little crosses on his eyes like in the cartoons. Anyway, Chef is screaming like a little girl. So I went over and thought the least I should do is verify the guy is dead, right?”
“Sounds right,” I said. I had some experience with finding a dead man. It’s surreal. You have to check the body to make sure that what you think you’re seeing is real.
“I went over and touched his shoulder, and he fell face first into the pie. I jumped back and might have let out a scream of my own. Meanwhile, Chef is running to the back door.”
“Who called security?”
“I did,” she said. “They called the cops. You know the rest.”
“That means that he didn’t suffocate in the pie.”
“No,” she said. “He was dead. But the pie was in front of him at the table and there was a slice cut out.”
“Was there only one slice?”
“Yeah, I think so. Why?”
“Why was Wentworth sitting alone in the breakroom eating a slice of pie out of the pan?”
“Gosh, I hadn’t thought to ask that question. I don’t know. It’s not like the guy was homeless. Maybe someone was with him.” She frowned. “No, I didn’t see a second plate. Weird.”
“Really weird,” I said. “Listen, was anything out of place in the kitchen?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, did it look like I left anything undone? Like I made meringue and then didn’t quite clean it all up?”
“No,” she shook her head. “I assumed you baked all the pies in your kitchen.”
“I did,” I said with a sigh. “And I cleaned up any sign of the bridal shower before I left.”
“You think someone snuck in and created a new pie in your pan?”
“That’s reaching,” I said. “But thanks. Can you tell me where Chef might be? I really want to talk to him.”
“I have no clue. He just up and left.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“He was heading for the walk-in freezer,” she said. “Over here.” She opened the freezer door and there on the floor was Chef Wright. The man was blue and stiff.
“Crud,” she said.
“Oh, dear,” I said at the same time. We both rushed to his side. I felt his wrist. She felt his neck. His skin was ice cold. His lips and fingers blue. “I can’t feel a pulse.” I looked at her.
“Maybe he’s just frozen, you know? Maybe we should drag him out of the freezer.”
I glanced out the freezer door and noted that the staff had started to gather. “Someone call security,” I shouted. Then I looked at the woman. “What’s your name?”
“Sandy.”
“Well, Sandy, I don’t think we should move him. If he’s as dead as I think he might be then we’re contaminating a crime scene.”
“And if he’s not?”
“Then the warm air from the door being open should help to unthaw him a bit.” I looked at the crowd. “Does anyone have a blanket or towel?”
Several people stepped in and handed me kitchen dish towels. I covered his expose skin. “Let’s try not to touch him, okay?”
“Got it.” Sandy stood. “Okay, people, there’s nothing to see here. Go back to work until you’re told otherwise.” She glanced at her wrist. “At least it’s after four. There won’t be any more people coming in.” She looked at the remaining waiters and waitresses staring at Chef Wright. “Come on then, let’s get all the customers out of here safely, okay? All right.” She glanced my way. “I’ll try to clear the place as best I can.”
“Do you think that’s wise? What if he was killed? The murderer could still be here.”
“Then let’s make sure no one else dies today,” Sandy said. She stuck her head out to the kitchen. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t drink or eat anything. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” came the reply.
“Good, let’s see to our guests then. Henry, move everyone to the party room and keep them comfortable until security lets them go. But don’t give them anything that isn’t bottled or canned. Do you understand? I don’t want any more trouble.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I could hear sirens in the distance. Suddenly Ian stood outside the freezer door.
“Chef Cole.”
“Hi, Chief,” I said.
“I had hoped I wasn’t going to see you for a while.”
“Yes,” I said. “Me, too.”
Chapter 20
“I think he’s dead.”
Ian stepped into the freezer. “Did you cover him in towels?”
“Yes. In case he was alive and his heart beat just too weak for us to find.”
“Right.” Ian hunkered down and tried to find a pulse. “Nothing.”
“Sandy suggested we move him out to warm him, but I thought we shouldn’t move him.”
“That’s best.” Ian stood and looked around. “Who all was in here?”
“Sandy opened the door and I stepped in with her. She left to try to get the staff and the guests in a safe place.”
“Okay.”
The ambulance techs showed up with a stretcher and medical cases. “What do we have here?” The male tech asked. His name tag said “Hermit.”
“We opened the freezer and found him on the floor,” I said. “We didn’t want to move him, so we covered him in towels to keep him from freezing further.”
The two techs squatted down to assess the situation and Ian took me by the elbow and drew me out of the freezer. “You’re freezing.”
After he mentioned it, I noticed that I was indeed cold. My fingers were blue and my nose had started running. A shiver went through me.
“Here, sit.” He pulled out a chair. “Can I have a blanket here?”
The second ambulance tech stepped out of the freezer and handed Ian a blanket.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“We believe so, yes,” said the tech with “Finney” on his name tag. “CID is on the way.”
“So you don’t think he’s hypothermic?”
“No,” Finney said. “We’ve hooked up a heart rate monitor and it’s flatlined. No sense in trying to revive him. Did you find him?”
“Sandy and I did.” I pointed to the sous-chef who was keeping the staff safely away.
Ian wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. I was chilled to the bone. Not because of the time in the freezer but because another chef was dead.
“Please tell me it’s not poison,” I said.
“I can’t comment,” the tech said.
“Crap.” I felt tears well up in my eyes.
“You okay?” Ian put his hand on my shoulder.
“Yes, sure. I was just talking to him this morning.”
“Chef Wright?” Ian asked.
“Yes, I ran into him in the halls. He said he was on his way to the admin building to interview new staff.” I looked at Ian. “Did he make it?”
“I’m sure he did,” Ian said. “Then he must have come back here. What brings you here? Don’t you have a dinner to make for the family?”
“It’s my day off, and I wanted to talk to Chef Wright. I had an idea of how Wentworth might have been killed.” I covered my mouth with trembling fingers. “I wanted to warn him.”
“About what?” Ian asked softly.
“I don’t know.” I looked at him. “That someone might have used his things. That they might be trying to poison him. I left the pie for him.”
“It’s all right.” Ian squeezed my shoulder. “CID is on the way. I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you.”
“Right.” I glanced at the time. It was five-thirty PM. “Oh, no!” I jumped up and shivered, still fighting off
the freezer cold.
“What?” Ian had turned to talk with another member of security. He turned back to me when I got up.
“Agnes has to leave. Her granddaughter has a school play. I have to get back to the kitchen.”
“I’m sorry, Chef,” he said and took my hand. “You have to stay and give a statement. DCI Garrote is on his way. He’ll be here soon.”
“But—”
“Text her. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
I pulled out my phone. “I need to go.”
“Text her. I’ll make sure you are the first one to be interviewed.”
I noticed a member of the coroner’s office had come in. I texted Agnes. What the heck do you say? Go ahead and go to your granddaughter’s play. I’m running late because I found a dead body?
“Sorry, I got held up. Leave me a list of what needs to be done in the morning.” There, I thought. That was a vague but might hold her over.
“He’s been dead less than an hour,” I heard the coroner say. “It’s hard to tell for sure because the freezer slowed down the process.”
I winced. Chef Wright was dead. I looked at Sandy who had gone pale and sat down hard. “Someone get her a blanket.” I grabbed my blanket and put it around Sandy’s shoulders. “It’s okay.”
“I can’t breathe.” She looked at me with a wide-eyed expression.
“Put your head between your knees,” I suggested. “It will help if you feel faint.”
“Excuse me, Chef Cole?” A young police officer addressed me. “Detective Chief Inspector Garrote would like to speak to you now.”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “Can you stay with Sandy?”
She nodded.
DCI Garrote looked tired and rumpled in his suit. I think I knew how he felt.
“I need to get back to my kitchen,” I said.
“Yes, Chief Gordon told me,” he said. “I do have a few questions.”
“Of course,” I said. We went over everything again from the time I left my kitchen until the time we found Chef Wright’s body. As I finished my story, Evie Green came rushing in.
“No!” She screamed and threw herself on Chef Wright’s body, which had been placed on a gurney and was being wheeled out. “No!”
