by Nell Hampton
“Yes, he did threaten to make up a story about me and Chef Wright,” I admitted. “But once I got there, the interview itself wasn’t so bad. He thinks that all the murders and chef Butterbottom’s poisoning are connected. He says someone in the kitchen wanted Chef Wright dead and accidently killed Wentworth.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” Ian said.
“So no comment?”
“I told you what I can,” he said. “I need you to be patient with me and let the Inspector and I do our jobs.”
“Evie told me she saw Rachel leaving the Orangery about the time that Chef Wright was murdered.”
“Rachel?”
“Yes, they say that poison is used mostly by female killers. Do you think that Rachel was trying to kill Chef Wright all along?”
“You think she’s a jilted lover,” he stated.
“Evie is pregnant with Chef Wright’s child,” I said. “She claims he was going to leave his wife and start a new life with her. Rachel was upset over Evie and Chef Wright’s affair.”
“Or Evie was upset over Rachel and Chef Wright’s affair,” Ian said thoughtfully.
“Do you think Evie would kill the father of her child?”
“It’s amazing what people will do when affairs of the heart are involved.”
I looked at him, trying to figure out if that statement had two meanings. A blush rushed up my cheeks. I could feel the heat of it and turned away from him. “Maybe you should check out Rachel’s alibi.”
“I will,” he said and it was nice to be acknowledged.
“Oh,” I turned to him. “Evie also said that Mrs. Wright got a very large insurance settlement. That means Chef’s wife had a motive for his murder as well. He might have told her he was leaving her for Evie, and she stabbed him.”
“We looked into Mrs. Wright,” Ian said. “There is no record of her being on palace grounds that day. We keep a pretty tight eye on guests.”
“There’s no way that she could have gotten on the grounds without security knowing?”
“I certainly hope not,” he said. “That would mean I have a giant hole in my security.”
“But Wentworth was able to sneak around and take unauthorized pictures. Who’s to say someone didn’t sneak Mrs. Wright into the Orangery.”
“Wentworth had authorization to be on the premises. I admit he misused that trust, but we were able to track his movements the day he died.”
“Then you could track the movements of anyone who might have been with him?”
“You know as well as I do that people come and go out of doors without swiping their cards. Especially if they are with another person with a badge.”
“So Mrs. Wright could have done the same,” I pointed out.
Ian frowned. “No, we have security at the gates. Mrs. Wright could not have gotten on the grounds without going through a checkpoint.”
“Oh.” I sighed. “Well, that’s a suspect we can scratch off the list. But is it true that Chef Butterbottom and his crew were accidently poisoned with water that was meant for Chef Wright?”
“I can’t say,” he said.
“Right. Then that’s most probably true,” I tapped my fingers on my chin. “The thing that keeps bothering me is that whoever killed Wentworth tried to pin the deed on me. They used my pie. I don’t know Mrs. Wright at all, but I do know Rachel and Evie. The last time I saw Rachel was the day Chef Wright was murdered. She passed me in the hall while I was talking to Chef Wright. She did give me a pretty nasty stink eye at the time.”
“Maybe she believed the rumors that you were Chef Wright’s next conquest.”
I laughed and not in a good way. “Those were purely rumors. I really found the guy too urbane for my taste.”
“Right.”
Tilting my head, I looked at him. “Why do I feel as if my love life matters to you?”
He looked me in the eye. “Maybe because—”
“Chief Gordon!” Penny called in a loud, soused voice. “What brings you to our little hallway?” She walked up to him and flung her arm around him. “Talking to my friend again, I see. You know she didn’t hurt anyone. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Isn’t that right, Carrie Ann?”
“That’s right.”
“See? Now why don’t you leave her alone? Hmm?”
“I see you’ve been out clubbing.” Ian checked his watch. “What brings you in before the crack of dawn?”
She shrugged and leaned against the wall to help hold herself up. “Rachel ditched me. I thought I’d come back and see if Carrie Ann won’t go out with me. Come on, Carrie Ann. Help a friend drown her misery.”
“Misery?” Ian raised an eyebrow in my direction.
“Man trouble,” I said and grabbed my key. “How about we get you off to bed?”
“No, I don’t want to go to bed. I want to go out and drink until I’m blind. Blind, I tell you.”
“Come on then.” I put my arm under hers and let her rest against me.
“Are you going out like that?” She looked at my cotton pajamas and my old striped bathrobe. “Color suits you at least.”
They were pink-and-white striped.
“Give me your key,” Ian said.
“Why?” Penny said, grinning lasciviously at him. “Do you want to put me to bed?” She patted his chest. “Everyone knows you have a girl in Brighton. I don’t spend time with other girl’s guys. Sorry handsome.” She patted his cheek.
“Right,” he said. “Key.” He held out his hand and she opened her pocketbook and fumbled inside it.
“Can’t find it,” she said, continuing to grin at him. “I’m just going to have to stay in your quarters.”
“Oh no you don’t.” I handed her to Ian. Rummaging around in her purse, I found her key card. “Got it!” I opened her door and stepped aside so that Ian could help Penny into her rooms.
“Don’t mind the mess,” she said as Ian urged her to her random-stuff-covered couch. “I like a lived-in look. Just stay out of the bedroom.” She sent him an exaggerated wink. “Or don’t. Your choice, handsome.” She ran her hand along his jaw again.
I grabbed her hand and moved it away. “I’ve got this. Thanks for the update.”
“Right, okay.” He left and closed Penny’s door behind him.
“Okay, then.” I filled Penny’s teapot. “Let’s get some tea into you.”
“You mean coffee.” Penny rested her head on the couch. “Don’t they give drunks coffee? I don’t have any coffee.”
“Anything with caffeine will do,” I said.
“Sorry to get between you and the big guy.” She curled up on the couch and closed her eyes. “It’s for the best. Men. You can’t trust them.”
I went over and removed her shoes and covered her with a pink knitted blanket that was on the back of the couch. “I’m sorry about the vicar.”
She didn’t answer. Instead I heard her snoring softly. I suppose I should have insisted she drink some water or tea. She was surely going to be dehydrated in the morning and feel every bit of her party state. But I didn’t have the heart to wake her.
Instead I turned off the kettle and placed a small pink trash can beside her in case she got sick. I could hear her in my mind tell me it wasn’t a trash can. It was a dust bin. I turned on her bathroom light and left the doors open so that she could find her way if she needed to. Then I left. Sometimes the only way to get through pain was to sleep it off.
Back in my own much sparser room, I picked up my cup and put it in the kitchen. What was Ian going to say? Did it make any difference? He had a beautiful girlfriend. Wasn’t I pretty much seeing Jasper? I hated these tricky situations. I enjoyed both men’s friendship. The last thing I wanted was to lose one because of the other.
Some things were out of my control.
*
The next morning, Penny wandered into my kitchen. “Do you have anything for a hangover?” Her eyes were puffy, and she squinted against the light. Her hair, although pulled back, stood u
p on one side and there was a pattern pressed into her cheek from the couch. At least she was dressed in a tidy blouse, simple skirt, and flats.
“Water and aspirin to start.” I set down a glass and two tablets. She sat at the table in the kitchen.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Agnes said with a laugh.
“Oh, my head, please don’t laugh. It’s not funny,” Penny put her head in her hands.
“Drink the water,” I said. “I’ll make you some tea and dry toast.”
“Sounds nasty,” Penny grumbled but did what I told her to do.
“Out late last night, were we?” Agnes asked as she cleared the breakfast tray. She put away leftovers and rinsed and stacked the dishes ready to put them in the dishwasher.
“I guess so,” Penny said, squinting at me. “I vaguely remember you helping me into my room.”
“Ian was there,” I said.
“Ugh,” she moaned. “I didn’t need for him to see me at my lowest.”
I hid my grin. I decided not to tell her that she practically threw herself at him last night. I placed a steaming cup of tea in front of her and pushed milk and sugar toward her. “You told me that Rachel dumped you.”
Penny opened on eye and studied me. “Right.”
“Why?”
“I got a text from Evie,” Penny said. “Rachel didn’t want anything to do with me after that.”
“Did Rachel make sure you got home safely?”
“No,” Penny said. “She just left me.”
“What did you do? Did you have a driver?”
“Rachel was driving. I think the bartender called me a cab.” She opened her eyes wide. “I hope I paid the guy.”
“You don’t remember?” I felt nervous in my heart. How sad that she was alone and vulnerable. This was worse than my walking home alone. “You should have called me from the club. I would have come and gotten you.”
“With what? You don’t have a car and you certainly haven’t driven in London.”
“It doesn’t mean I can’t get a taxi and come get you and see you safely home. We have to stick together.”
“She’s right, you know,” Agnes said.
“Right. Fine.” Penny sipped her tea. “Do you have any toast?”
I smiled and popped some into the toaster oven. “It’s nearly ready. Security must have let you into the palace. Did anyone walk you to our hall?”
“It’s kind of sad, but I don’t really remember. Ow, my pounding head!”
I placed a plate of dry toast in front of her. “I bet someone helped you in. Chief Gordon tells me that security has its eyes on things these days.”
“Like that science fiction book about big brother watching you,” Agnes said. “Sad to say that life has come to being under surveillance at all times and yet still they can’t figure out who killed Wentworth Uleman and Chef Wright.”
“I heard Wentworth was poisoned with cyanide.” She shuddered. “I searched it. There are articles on suicide and cyanide.”
I made a face. “Do you think Wentworth committed suicide?”
“Why else bake it into the meringue of your pie?” Agnes asked. “Too complicated. If he was committing suicide, he’d just ingest the stuff.”
“There are several how-tos on the internet for suicide by cyanide,” Penny said morbidly and bit into her toast.
“I’m sorry I asked,” I said. “But it does seem as if using that as a poison was rather difficult to do.”
“I agree.” Penny made a face and sipped her tea. “No more toast, thanks.”
“Feeling queasy?” I asked. “I put a dust bin beside your couch last night in case you felt sick.”
“Yes, I saw it. Thanks, but I wasn’t that drunk. Not that I didn’t try.”
“Are you working today?” I glanced at the time.
“I begged off for the day,” she said.
“Well, good. You need some time to take care of yourself.”
She gave me a wry smile. “How was class last night?”
“I learned all kinds of interesting things about the employee handbook,” I said. I was making rolls for the family’s lunch. The dough had already risen twice, and now I was hand rolling the dough into individual balls to rise one more time before they were placed in the oven and baked.
“You said Ian helped me into my suite,” Penny said. “Why was he there?”
“He stopped by to let me know how Chef Wright died.”
“It was kind of late for him to be stopping by,” she teased. “I bet it could have waited until morning.”
“He must have been walking by and saw my light was on.”
“It seems to me he wanted to do a little more than let you know how Chef died.”
“Like what?”
“Like see you in your pajamas.”
“Stop it. The man has a girlfriend.”
“I heard he was stabbed,” Agnes said. “With a kitchen knife most likely.”
“Who was stabbed? Ian?”
“Chef Wright,” Agnes said.
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” I said. “He was stabbed, but I didn’t hear what with or how.”
“Well, as long as they don’t shut down your kitchen to search for blood on your knives, you’ll be fine.” Penny sipped her tea again. “Seriously, can you get the room to stop spinning?”
“Do you really think they will shut us down again?” Agnes asked. There was a worry wrinkle in her forehead.
“No,” I said. “No, Ian—Chief Gordon—would have said so last night when he stopped by my rooms. Penny, do you know that Evie thinks it was Rachel who killed Chef Wright?”
“What?” Penny eyed me. “Why would she think that?” Penny raised her hand. “Wait, I know why. Evie is as vindictive as can be. I learned that last night.”
“What do you mean?”
“Evie texted me that she heard I was out with Rachel. She swore she was going to do me in if I didn’t cut ties with her.”
“Ouch,” I said. “I think Evie has gotten a little hormonal. She told you she was pregnant, right?”
“Yes.”
“What?” Agnes said. “Seriously? What is that girl going to do now that her lover is dead?”
“She told me she was suing Mrs. Wright for a quarter of the insurance settlement. She patted her stomach and said she was going to be rich.”
“Oh boy,” Penny said. “She really has gone off the deep end.”
“You don’t think that Rachel really killed Chef Wright, do you?” I asked.
“I don’t think that Wentworth’s death is even connected to Chef Wright’s death,” Penny said. “We really haven’t looked that deep into Lord Heavington and his recipe book. I’m telling you, the man could have hired someone to kill Wentworth so that he would stop blackmailing him.”
“The only way to know for sure is to see if anyone in the Orangery kitchen needed the money enough to poison Wentworth. I mean, I’ve been told that only palace employees could have possible been in that kitchen that night. It is highly unlikely that a hit man would have stolen my pie, replaced the meringue with one laced with cyanide, and somehow forced Wentworth to eat it.”
“That’s the key,” Agnes said. “Don’t you think?”
“What is?” I asked.
“Whoever did it convinced that boy to eat the pie. Who could convince a young man to eat dessert?”
I laughed. “It doesn’t take much convincing with most young men. He could have been working late and wanted a snack.”
“But why would he eat that particular pie on that particular night if he wasn’t with someone who encouraged him to eat it?” Agnes asked.
“That’s true,” Penny said.
“But there wasn’t any evidence that there was anyone else in the kitchen. Wouldn’t there have been two plates and such had someone snitched the pie with him?”
“A killer might have served up two plates of pie and then gotten rid of the evidence. It really doesn’t take a lot of work to put a pi
ece of pie back in the pie plate and wash the dishes.”
“All the while, Wentworth was sitting there dead? That’s morbid, isn’t it?”
“Cold-blooded, I’d say,” Agnes said, “but not beyond consideration.”
“True, they did just murder someone,” Penny said. She was reading her cell phone. “Eww, murder by cyanide poisoning is not pretty.”
“I have to believe that the murderer did not accidently poison Wentworth like some believe, but specifically targeted him.”
“I think you’re right,” Penny said. “Why poison a pie and leave it for whoever comes along if you have a specific target in mind.”
“That means we are back to finding the link between Wentworth and Chef Wright.”
“Not necessarily,” Penny said. “What if the poisoner and whoever stabbed Chef Wright are two different people. What if Chef Wright’s killer used the opportunity to kill him?”
“That sounds too planned,” I said. “Think about it. Poisoning takes planning, but stabbing someone is more spur of the moment.”
“So we have two different killers with possibly two different motives,” Agnes said.
“That means no one on staff is above consideration,” I said.
“Speak for yourself.” Penny took another bite of toast. “Agnes and I didn’t kill anyone. Did we, Agnes?”
Agnes nodded. “Too much work in that.”
“Murder is a lot of work, isn’t it? Who has time for that?”
Chapter 25
Who has the time to plan a poisoning and then stay hidden? That was the question going through my mind. I had just sent Agnes up to the family with lunch. Today was fish, chips, and mushy peas. The children liked the basics.
My thoughts turned to Lord Heavington. If he was the one who killed Wentworth, then he had to have hired someone who had the time to create cyanide—since buying it was nearly impossible—and put it in the pie. Someone who had the time to look for an opportunity—like me leaving the pie—and taking advantage of it. Someone who worked in and around the kitchen on a regular basis and needed money enough to commit murder for it.
Maybe Chef Wright figured out who it was and that’s why he was killed with a knife.
That means we should be looking at people who worked in the Orangery. Maybe I would have a talk with Sandy.
