by Leigh Hearon
“I think you definitely have to tell Wollcott. Although that’s exactly what you may have seen, Gwendolyn going inside because she forgot something. Chef Gustav told me he had the judge’s tea ready at six, but when no one picked it up, he tossed it and made a fresh batch. If Gwendolyn did spike the first thermos, the contents were discarded. The poison had to be in the second batch, the one made around seven. And by then, Gwendolyn was at Harriett’s, having coffee.”
“Yes, but what if Chef Gustav didn’t rinse the thermos thoroughly, and some remnants of the poison remained?”
Annie paused. “Good point. I mean, why would the killer know that the chef was going to replace the first batch of tea with another? It makes sense that whoever did it would have spiked the tea that was made first.”
“Yes,” Liz said doubtfully, “And I know you said the kitchen was hopping, Annie. And that’s my problem. I still don’t understand how anyone could have poisoned the tea. Honestly, don’t you think someone in the kitchen would have seen a guest creep in, unscrew a thermos, pour a vial of poison or whatever into it, then seal it again?”
They were all silent. The scenario Liz had described did sound pretty ludicrous.
“I don’t know how the police can be so certain,” Liz finally declared. “It’s like the iced tea that everyone seems to think killed Betsy Gilchrist. How would anyone know which one she was going to pick? If Jorge was the killer, which I don’t believe for an instant, even he couldn’t predict which glass she’d choose. What was he going to do if she picked the wrong one? Say, excuse me, Mademoiselle, this iced tea, the one laced with arsenic, tastes so much finer?”
They all laughed.
“Liz, it’s nearly gone past nine o’clock. We’d better get down to the stables if we’re going to tuck Sammy in tonight.”
“Ready whenever you are. Hopefully the atmosphere is quiet and peaceful by now.”
Annie bade the two women good night but stayed out on the patio, thinking. It occurred to her that she’d never even considered her hosts as potential suspects, only their houseguests. Should she? Ridiculous. Miriam was too frail, Both of them obviously had been quite fond of the late judge. Besides, they were just too damn decent to kill anyone, at least off stage. It was time to have another talk with Chef Gustav. She knew he was innocent of any wrongdoing. But she suspected he still had a lot more to say.
Chapter Nineteen
SATURDAY EVENING, OCTOBER 14
Then she remembered. The kitchen was officially off-limits, with no exceptions. She knew Chef Gustav would still be embroiled in kitchen affairs, prepping for tomorrow and overseeing the cleanup. How could she get him alone?
She peered through the window on the upper side of the swinging doors. There he was, rolling out a piecrust, and talking behind his back to a young man who was chopping a massive pile of onions into tiny bits. The knife he was wielding moved so quickly, the blade was nearly a blur.
Annie hated to bother the overworked chef, but too many questions were crowding into her brain to be ignored. She tapped on the window. The sound of running water inside rendered her timid knock mute. She tapped again, loudly this time. Chef Gustav looked up, and she waved to him. A smile creased his face and he motioned for her to come in. She shook her head no, trying to look as sad as she felt at being banned from this place, the room of wonderful aromas.
The chef looked puzzled, but put down his rolling pin, dusted his hands on his coat, and waddled over to the door.
“What is it, Mademoiselle Annie? Anything you want is here. You need only come in and ask.”
“I’m sorry, Chef Gustav, but Hollis told us that the kitchen is now off-limits. I’m sure he has your best interests at heart. But I do want to talk to you. Do you think you’ll have any time tonight?”
“Off-limits? Ridiculous! I am the one who chooses who will enter and who will not. Come in and make yourself comfortable!” The chef opened the door and gestured for her to enter.
“No, I really can’t. Only authorized personnel can come in. It wouldn’t be right to ignore Hollis’s directive. But I can come back later.”
“Authorized personnel? What does he mean?”
“I think he means only people who work for you.”
“Bien sûr! Mademoiselle Annie, how would you like a job washing mushrooms?”
She smiled. “I’d love it.”
At Chef Gustav’s instruction, she donned a white coat two sizes too big and rolled up the sleeves. She then joined the chef, who was now putting the piecrust into a large tart pan. Annie was amazed at how easily he flipped the perfect elastic circle into the pan without it breaking apart. Annie had tried to do this in her youth and had never succeeded. All her piecrusts were patched together with stray bits of floury dough. The chef pulled a large bowl of mushrooms toward them.
“Now. Watch me closely. Take the brush and lightly scrub the top, comme ça, until it is clean, but not too much is shaved off. With the knife, remove the very end of the stem; and then place the mushroom in this bowl, the one filled with water and lemon slices. That will keep them fresh. Do you think you can do that?”
Annie nodded. She could tell from his one tiny slice that the knife he’d handed her was wickedly sharp. After nearly three glasses of wine, she hoped she’d finish the job with all her fingers intact. She picked up the first mushroom and began to work.
“So, what is it you wish to ask me?”
“Well, I’m curious. Did your missing waitperson ever show up today? And your sous chef?”
“The sous chef, oui. His car ran out of petrol, and he was very late. The imbécile! I tell him, fill up la voiture before you depart in the morning but these young men, they never listen. Yet he is a very good sous chef; très bon. So, I scold him and let him get to work.”
The chef’s backward glance revealed the young man dicing onions now with very bright red cheeks. Aha, Annie thought. His identity is a secret no longer.
“But the waiter.” Chef Gustav clicked his tongue. “He remains at large. He does not answer his phone, and so his absence is un mystère. One of the other waiters has agreed to check his home to see if he is all right. He is a good boy, and I am a bit worried about him.”
“Has he worked for you long?”
“All my staff has been with me many, many years. I inspire much fidélité,” he replied with not a trace of modesty in his voice.
“I’m sure you do. Tell me, were the police polite to you today?” What she really wanted to know was what they might have hauled away.
The chef shrugged. “They are gendarmes and not polite by nature. But they do not do too much damage to my kitchen. And aside from the thé, they take nothing with them.”
That question was answered.
“And since Madame Bennett is no longer with us, her special flavor of tea is not needed. It is sad, but so very true.”
“I thought it was Lady Grey tea.”
“It was! But with my special addition, just to her specifications. Madame Bennett has been a friend of the Darbys for many years, and I have learned exactly what she likes to eat and drink. I have always kept a canister of her special thé in my cupboard, for just those occasions when she is here.”
“You mean it’s more than just Lady Grey?”
“Mais oui, Mademoiselle. And much, much better.”
“Chef Gustav, is this something only you can do, alone? Or is there anyone else you would have entrusted to make the judge’s tea?”
“Ah, now you are beginning to sound like the gendarmes, only you are much prettier. I will tell you what I tell them. It is a process, making this tea. One job I give to the staff, but only a small one, you understand. The mixture is my own creation, and only I can do it, because, naturellement, it is all in my head.”
“Of course. But would you mind sharing the process with me? The steps you do, and the steps you give to your staff?”
“Yes. But only because I know you are trying to help, Mademoiselle Annie.”
/> The chef toddled over to the cupboards below the ones filled with loose tea and pulled out a large, round, stainless steel container.
“This is how it begins. I put the thé in cheesecloth, then in the pan. I then give it to my staff, who take it to the garden, fill with springwater, and let it bake in the sun for one entire day. Now we have the makings of the thé. It goes in my refrigerator, not the one here, the bigger one in the pantry, and when it comes the time to make hot thé for Madam Bennett, I gently heat in a saucepan on the stove and transfer to the thermos. I then place the thermos on the tray, and it is picked up.”
“But today, Margaret was late, and you had to make a whole new thermos up for her.”
“Exactement! After an hour, I notice no one has come by, and the thé will be getting cold. So, I repeat the process in the saucepan and set the new thermos on the tray.”
“New thermos? You mean you didn’t just wash out the old one and fill it up again?”
“Non. Every dish that is used in the kitchen, no matter how slightly, must go in the dishwasher. And it is no trouble. We have dozens of thermoses. It is easy to grab a new one, whenever one is needed.”
The chef opened a small cupboard that appeared to be built into the wall. Annie noticed this cupboard opened with a small china knob, the old-fashioned kind that she’d seen in older houses, instead of the modern handles on the other cupboards in the kitchen. She peered inside the cubicle and saw a half dozen gleaming thermoses, each with the Darby Farms logo.
“Wow. You do have a lot.”
“And not only here. Monsieur Hollis orders them by the box, to give to his guests as a small gift of the house. If you go to the pantry, you will see many more, some on the shelves, some still in the case.”
“You’ve found an interesting place to keep them. What was this cupboard used for? It looks as if it’s an original part of the house.”
“It was once a dumbwaiter, Mademoiselle. It used to be that dishes were carried from here to upstairs by means of a pulley, then delivered back to the kitchen the same way. It is most charming, is it not? But no longer in use. Still, the space is good, and so that is where the thermoses are stored.”
Annie had heard about these devices but never seen one. She stuck her head in and tried to find evidence of the pulley system.
“You cannot see the pulleys. I believe they have been cut away, many years before.”
Annie nodded and looked at the chef.
“Too bad. What an ingenious idea.”
“D’accord. But now we use the elevator, and much more food can go into that.”
Annie saw his point.
“Chef Gustav?” It was the voice of the sous chef, who now placed the chopped onions in a large bin in the refrigerator. “I believe that’s everything. If it’s okay with you, I’ll take off now, but I’ll be back at five tomorrow morning.”
“Très bien. And make sure that voiture of yours is filled with petrol!”
“It will be, I promise! See you tomorrow.”
“Bonne nuit. And safe travels home.”
Chef Gustav turned to Annie. “Now we are alone. And your mushrooms are clean and put away. Are your questions done, too? Or do you have more?”
“Just a few, if you have the time.”
“Mais oui, but let us enjoy a sip of Armagnac while we continue our conversation.”
He pulled a dusty bottle from a nearby shelf, along with two small brandy snifters.
“Shouldn’t we go outside? Officially, I’m no longer your employee.”
“If anyone comes, I shall say I am reviewing your work.”
“How am I doing so far?”
“Pas mal, not bad. But you need to learn how to better handle the knife. It is one of the most important tools in the kitchen.”
Annie smiled. “I look forward to the lesson.”
They sat down at the white table, and the chef deftly poured a small amount of dark liquid into each glass. Annie noticed an XO on the bottle.
“What’s that stand for?”
“Not poison, I assure you. It means the brandy has rested in an oak barrel for six long years. There are many kinds of Armagnac, but this is one of the best.”
He raised his glass for a toast.
“To the memory of Madame Bennett!”
Annie raised her own glass, and they each took a delicate sip. The flavor was intense. But somehow it reminded her of home and her Northwest forests, and although the earthy, fiery taste startled her at first, she’d found, with each successive sip, that it really was the most remarkable beverage she’d ever tasted.
* * *
For the first several minutes, Annie was content to let the chef regale her with stories of his childhood in Gascony, where, as a boy, he had watched local farmers create small batches of Armagnac and occasionally was rewarded with a soupçon of the stuff himself.
She gently brought him back to the subject at hand—the mysterious deaths of two women, seemingly because of something they’d ingested from his kitchen.
“Chef Gustav, I know you didn’t poison anyone. And frankly, I think the police realize this, too, and they’re looking for someone who had access to your kitchen. Not long, just for the brief moment in time it would take to put something noxious into a thermos.”
“Let us hope so. I have been with the Darbys for ten years and not once have I poisoned anyone!” His eyebrows knitted together in sudden anger, and Annie knew she should leave the topic of his own liability.
“Let’s go back to the raspberry iced tea Jorge brought down to the stables. Was that prepared the same way as Judge Bennett’s tea?”
Talking about food preparation had a calming effect. The chef settled back in his chair and took a small sip from his snifter.
“Non, that was much simpler. It is a black tea I mix with a few herbs and fresh raspberry juice and a dash of sugar. We always have it on hand in the refrigerator and it is always offered to guests wherever they might be, by the pool, or the tennis court, or on this day, with the horses. There was nothing strange about this errand. It is one Jorge performs nearly every day if guests are present.”
Annie nodded. “Did you pour the tea yourself? Do you remember?”
“Non, this would not be necessary. Jorge would do this task, but Mademoiselle Annie, Jorge is above reproach.”
“I’m sure he is. Have the police questioned him?”
“Bien sûr. But he was so nervous that the gendarmes must have seen that he was innocent.”
I hope so. “And how did he bring the tea to the stables? Surely, he must not have walked that distance with a tray.”
“Absolument pas! The ice would have melted. We use a small voiture Monsieur Hollis has given us to transport food to other locations when necessary. One with air conditionné.”
Annie sighed and looked at her snifter. It was almost empty, and she had enjoyed every last drop.
“I guess it boils down to who else was in the kitchen at those critical times, both Wednesday afternoon and early Saturday morning. Which guests, I mean.”
“That is difficult to answer. We are so busy, and the guests are welcome, although not so much when we are preparing a meal. Most of the guests know this and stay away at those times.”
“And I’m afraid I’ve made my question even more difficult to answer, now that most of us bring our plates to the kitchen after breakfast. Well, let’s start from the other end. Is there anyone in our group who hasn’t visited the kitchen? I mean, when you’ve been here?”
The chef thought for a moment. “Mademoiselle Forrester I have not seen. Nor Mademoiselle Smythe. The others, I believe, have been in the kitchen at one time or another to pick up something or ask a question. And, of course, Mademoiselles Rawlins and Litchfield assisted me one afternoon, as you did tonight.”
“And you’ve seen none of these people do anything that you thought suspicious?”
“Not a one.”
“Have any of the guests ever taken anything
from the kitchen, besides a bottle of water or a cookie, I mean, anything that really belongs here?”
“Not that I am aware of. Perhaps a wine opener? But I think not even that.”
She leaned forward. “Chef Gustav. Remember when you told me someone evil was staying in the house? I assumed you were referring to a guest. But you’ve told me that none of the people who have been to the kitchen have done anything suspicious in your eyes. Does that mean that one of the two women you’ve not seen in the kitchen is the one you consider evil?”
Chef Gustav carefully finished the last bit of brandy in his snifter.
“I regret that I cannot say anything further. I have my suspicions, but no proof. I will only say this, Mademoiselle Annie. The person I believe is doing these evil things has problems other than teaching her horse merely to go and then stop. I also fear that when it comes to more killings, it will be difficult for her to stop.”
Annie waited for him to speak further, but it soon became clear that was all he intended to say.
“Thank you, Chef Gustav. You’ve been very generous with your time. And I appreciate what you’ve told me.”
She rose from the table and left the kitchen, trying not to show her disappointment. Chef Gustav had been so adamant when he’d first told her evil resided in the house. She was sure he had a specific person in mind then, and she was even surer now. But the way he’d described the killer matched the mind-set of just about every guest in the house—with the exception of killing again. Who didn’t have problems beyond training their horse? Instead of homing in on the killer’s identity, he’d only expanded the list of suspects.
Still. She had picked up one tidbit of interesting information from the chef. It had given her just an inkling of an idea on how the murders might have occurred. As she climbed the stairs to her room, she vowed she would find out tomorrow whether or not she was right.
Chapter Twenty
