Mystery: The Cook's Comeuppance: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder and Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 3)

by Victoria Benchley

  "Stop!" he yelled.

  A waiter ran into the kitchen and said something in Spanish.

  "No, no, está bien," Mondo replied and the waiter left, knowing better than to intrude on the chef in his Inner Sanctum.

  Armondo flashed his large teeth in a smile at Duncan.

  "Did you not think Mondo could recognize your madre, Duncan? Mondo is not estúpido!" the chef hissed.

  "What?"

  "You resemble your mother, except she is pretty and you are plain, Peasant. During the weekend, when we design the dishes for my menu, Mondo pays attention to her accent. She sounds like the Peasant, except her voice is like an angel and yours, well, it is like a, a…"

  "Enough!" Duncan interrupted the chef.

  "A screeching fowl!" Mondo finished his thought, then continued, "Still, Mondo could not be sure until just now. When I speak of your madre, you have convulsions," the chef whispered, leaning across the table, close to Duncan.

  Then he burst into another round of laughter, rocking backwards in his chair, finally stopping himself by biting down on the knuckle of his forefinger. Duncan's anger simmered as he waited for Mondo's chortling to subside.

  Then he demanded in a low, threatening tone, "Where's my mum?"

  "Not to worry. Ms. Bell is out purchasing supplies for the pantry," Mondo said, still snickering and using Margaret's alias. The chef must have noted Duncan's ire because he added, "Don't be angry. Mondo should be angry. What if I had fallen in love with her? I assume she is a married woman. Not fair play, Duncan."

  "See here!" Duncan snapped. "She wanted the experience of working with a chef of your caliber. I had my reservations, but she brushed them aside. You better not have done anything improper towards my mum."

  "Of course not! Mondo is the gentleman. You must thank me for taking care of her."

  "I'm not prepared to go that far," Duncan said. Then he asked, "Does she know that you know?"

  "No. Mondo did not want to embarrass your madre or make her uncomfortable. She is fine sous chef, Duncan, and we enjoy cooking together. She is good listener and quick to learn. Do not be angry at the little fun I had here today, and do not spoil her time here. We keep it a secret, no? Now, Mondo will answer your questions."

  Duncan thought about what the chef said. His mum was enjoying herself at the academy. If Mondo promised not to reveal Margaret's identity, he guessed it could do no harm.

  "You haven't told anyone about her, have you?" Duncan whispered across the table.

  "No, and I won't," Mondo said.

  "I'm counting on that. Her safety could be at stake," he warned.

  "Mondo won't tell a soul," the chef replied in a whisper.

  "All right. Tell me everything you know about Ella Peña. Start with how you met her."

  "Mondo met Ella ten years ago in Madrid. I was a chef and she a dishwasher. After some time, she quit. Later, Mondo moved to another restaurant. Behold, Ella is now a line cook there. She chops ingredients before Mondo cooks. Ella tells me she's been to cooking school. Her work is good. Then, Mondo gets position at better restaurant, more prestige, no? I no see her for six, maybe seven years. Later, she appears again."

  Duncan wished the chef would stop referring to himself in the third person. After his earlier prank, he had no patience for the man.

  "Please continue," Duncan said, his tone curt.

  "She must have heard I needed a sous chef. Ella tells me she was fired from another restaurant. Says she was sous chef and they got rid of her to give the owner's nephew the job. Claims she has been working as a sous chef in several restaurants over the years. Tells me this with tears in her eyes. She is too old to start over. Of course, Mondo has big heart and gives her position."

  The chef made several bold sweeps of his arms during this oration, to express his actions.

  "When was this?"

  "About three or four months before Mondo is asked to interview at academy. Ella works hard for me in Madrid. I am happy with her. She volunteers to come here with me for my interview and help prepare my food. Then, she somehow takes job from Mondo!" the chef said, agitation in his voice, his anger apparent by the red color of his face.

  "Did you ever hear from her again, Mondo?"

  "Not after she cleared out from Madrid. When she left the restaurant there, she tells Mondo they must have recognized real talent at the interview. Can you believe it?"

  "No, I cannot."

  "Well, Mondo does some digging. She was fired from three jobs and not all as sous chef. Fired for not coming to work, being drunk, and for not showing respect to her chef. She lied to Mondo to get job!"

  The chef's face was now a shade of plum. The subject still upset him.

  "Mondo," Duncan lowered his voice to a whisper. "Didn't it bother you when Mum shared a similar story with you about losing her position at the kirk?"

  "No. I have learned from my mistaken judgement. Mondo knows sincerity when he sees it now. I like first sight of Margaret. Her food is good, plus she is pleasant in kitchen. Not many can be. There is great stress here."

  Mondo sat up ramrod straight, lifted his arms and rotated his body in a half circle as if he were a gladiator in the arena.

  He continued, "Plus, Margaret is good for Mondo. Encourages Mondo to do great things. Your mother is a wonderful woman. You are very lucky, Duncan. When I first suspected the truth, Mondo had small hope she was your sister, but it was not to be."

  "No, it wasn't," Duncan added, still upset with the chef. He continued, "One more question. Who was present at your interview with the academy when Ella accompanied you?"

  Mondo thought for a moment. His brows furrowed as he tried to remember.

  "Frogo," the chef said and then paused before repeating, "only Frogo. But I'm not sure who ate the food Mondo prepared that day. I made paella, fit for a king!"

  He thanked Mondo for the information regarding Ella Peña and reminded him to keep quiet about his sous chef. Then, he returned to his office, gathered his things, and left for the day.

  When Duncan entered the casa, he walked straight for the kitchen. He could hear some splashing out by the pool. The doors to the terrace were open and he spotted Angus swimming the backstroke while Angela sunbathed on a divan. Mary was nowhere to be seen. He felt drained. The direction the case took troubled him and his conversation with Mondo wore him down. After greeting Angus with a silent wave, he headed up to his room.

  He threw himself on his bed and retrieved his cellular from his pocket. He dialed his friend, Donald Merriwether. The innkeeper of the Blue Bell in Taye, Scotland, was old enough to be his father, yet the two had developed a close friendship during Duncan's last case. Since that time, Donald and his daughter, Skye, had trekked to Edinburgh to see him several times, and the three kept in touch with regular telephone conversations. When his love interest departed Scotland, she deposited one of her dogs with the Merriwethers. She claimed to have left Mr. Lincoln because he'd formed an attachment to Duncan. Unfortunately, he did not bother with animals, and Donald and Skye had been kind enough to care for the mutt until he decided what should be done with him.

  "Hallo, Donald. It's me, Duncan."

  "Aye, I recognized yer number, Lad," the innkeeper said.

  He enjoyed being called Lad by Donald.

  "Wha' stole yer scone? Ye're not peely wally are ye, on holiday?"

  "No, I'm not ill. I'm tired and a bit dowie. I need a good blether is all, Donald," he said, realizing his voice must have given away the depression he felt.

  Now he tried to sound cheerful.

  "Well, I've got time to blether with ye! What have ye been about?" Donald asked.

  "Would you believe this case involves someone who was crushed to death?"

  "Nae, that's quite a coincidence. Will ye be returning to Scotland soon?" the innkeeper asked, moving on from talk about Duncan's case.

  "Aye. I'm nearly finished here. I'm afraid some people are going to be hurt sorely by it, the case, that is," he said.


  "I'm sorry fer it, Duncan. Whilst ye've been in the Spanish sun, I've been working fer ye here, in rainy old Taye."

  He wondered why Donald referred to his home that way. It wasn't like his friend to criticize the village.

  "How so, Donald?"

  "I believe I've found yer next case, Lad. And it dinnae involve anyone being crushed!"

  "Really? What kind of case?"

  "Dinnae fash yersel. I will reveal all when ye come back. Ye'll need to visit Taye, though."

  Duncan had not been back to Taye since the resolution of his last case. The place, although charming, held too many painful memories.

  "Why, has there been another murder in the area?" he asked.

  "Ach! Of course not. We're a quiet bunch here. I have a business proposition fer ye and I will only discuss it here. And of course, if ye'd like a case that doesn't involve someone getting squashed, ye'll have to return."

  "I'll think about it, Donald. How is Skye?"

  "Prettier than ever, Duncan, prettier than ever. She's taken a shine to that mutt of yers. Had him in the kitchen the other day. Skye claims he's no glaikit. Calls him her cunning canine. Dae ye ken, she is thinking of taking up her pohlis training again? Can ye imagine the lass arresting ye, Duncan?"

  "Nae, because I'm not a criminal," he said, laughing. "Donald, how are you feeling? How is the knee?"

  "Ach, the mizzle bothers it and Taye's been so dreich this week."

  "I'm sorry to hear it. I hope the weather will dry out soon, but you'll always have the mist in the morning."

  "Aye, that's true. Is it hot there, in Spain?"

  "It's glorious. The sun has been out every day," Duncan answered.

  "Enjoy it, Lad, and dinnae let yer case ruin yer fun," the older man advised.

  "Thank you, Donald. I feel better already after speaking with you."

  "Be sure ye ring me when ye return, dae ye ken?"

  Duncan agreed to call his friend when he arrived back in Scotland and signed off. Speaking with Donald provided a tonic to his emotions. The older man had the ability to make him feel better, most times.

  He took the slip of paper Frogo gave him from his briefcase. He stared at the name of the head of transportation at Tormes Limited, Benjamin Arillo, and tapped his number on his cellular's screen. Duncan waited for Benjamin to answer.

  "Hallo, my name is Duncan Dewar, and Frogo Valentine gave me your number, Mr. Arillo. I'm currently working with the foundation and had a few questions regarding the airplane used by Sunny Bentwell and the academy."

  "Of course, Mr. Dewar. Mr. Valentine informed me you might be calling. How can I assist you?"

  The man spoke perfect English with only the slightest trace of an accent. It was as if he'd been raised in England his entire life by Spanish parents.

  "Thank you. I recently took a trip on the jet myself and had a few questions regarding flight plans in Spain. Are they filed for a private flight? You see, I'm completely unfamiliar with the process here," Duncan said.

  "Oh, yes," Benjamin said in a helpful tone. "We always file a flight plan. It's company policy and a safety issue. It helps us track costs, as well," he added. Benjamin Arillo continued, "Flight plans here must be recorded with either the AFTN, that's the Aeronautical Fixed Telecommunication Network, or SITA. SITA stands for Society International of Aeronautical Telecommunications. The letters are switched in the French language."

  Duncan noted that Mr. Arillo was thorough in his explanations.

  He went on, "We cannot secure an airport slot for arrival or departure without a flight plan on record. Tormes hires a third party ground handler, Solid Transportation, for this. I call them and they confirm with me when the plan has been filed with Madrid Control. Then, about a half hour before the flight takes place, Madrid gives the plan to Air Traffic Control, or ATC."

  "What if the plane deviates from the flight plan?"

  "Well, let me see."

  His phone went silent for a moment as Benjamin thought.

  "Oh, they wouldn't be able to land without filing a revised plan, unless it was an emergency, of course."

  "Are there any other ways a flight plan can be changed or submitted?" Duncan pressed.

  "Yes, a pilot can always file a plan in person by walking into an airport and doing so with local authorities. But this is not recommended because the necessary airport space, or slot, may not be available on short notice for the plane."

  "I see. Does Solid Transportation keep records of your flight plans, Mr. Arillo?"

  "Why, yes, Mr. Dewar. They send me a copy, once filed, with the confirmation email."

  "Ah, in that case, I'd like you to send me some flight plans."

  - 17 -

  Discoveries

  He joined his brother and Angela by the pool. She had her hair up in a bun and was performing a slow breast stroke, keeping her head above water. She threatened Angus, telling him he better not splash her. Something Mondo said earlier stuck with Duncan. The chef told him he had learned from his mistakes and now knew how to recognize a sincere person. As he watched Angus and Angela frolic in the water, he realized he was watching an earnest lass. At that moment, everything became clear in his mind. In a few days, when this case was settled, he'd pursue a relationship with his former assistant. He had his reasons for waiting.

  "Hey, where do you two want to go for dinner tonight?" he yelled, interrupting Angus as he pretended he was about to splash Angela.

  "I'm having dinner with Sunny," she answered.

  Angus stood upright in the pool, shaking moisture from his hair with exaggerated movements and thus spraying Angela. She shook her fist at him while he flashed her his grin.

  Angus shrugged, turned towards his brother, and said, "I guess it's just you and me then, Duncan."

  * * * * * *

  Duncan arrived at the academy at close to ten in the morning. He had too much to drink last night and his head was sore. He and Angus spent the evening in a new bodega, drinking in the Spanish ambience and the local wine. He hadn't slept well, either, worrying about Angela's dinner with Sunny. He didn't like the older woman's influence on his former assistant.

  He put his briefcase in his office and dropped in on Frogo.

  "Hallo. How are you this morning?" he asked the director.

  "I'm well, Duncan. I cannot say the same for you. You look a little pallid. Too late in the bodegas, no?"

  Frogo pointed at Duncan's face.

  "Yes, Angus and I overdid it last night. We still are not used to your Spanish ways," Duncan said, joking. "I have a few questions for you when you have a moment," he added.

  "I have one now. Please sit."

  Duncan took his usual chair and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing a thick lock off his face. The coarse chunk of hair immediately fell back across his forehead, it's usual position.

  "I'm just tying down a few loose ends," Duncan began. "I don't think I've ever asked you where you were the night or morning Ella died. The police aren't sure of the exact time of death, you know," he added.

  The information was in the police reports, but Duncan wanted to see his friend's reaction. He tried to control his increasing heart rate by filling his lungs with air and exhaling slowly through his nose. Frogo rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

  "I worked until about eight that night and then went home. Around nine, I walked to Bodega Manchiego. I was there until about two in the morning. I believe the police confirmed this with witnesses at the bodega. Although I walked home past the academy, it was dark and I never bothered to glance in the courtyard. I'd had quite a bit to drink. In the morning, the police woke me at home, after someone discovered the body."

  Police interviews stated that the few artists who did spend that night at the academy had all returned home by eleven. Ella was killed some time after that, but Frogo had been no help determining a time of death.

  Duncan nodded, but noted he referred to the body instead of Ella or the victim. He didn’t lik
e that. He could feel his temples throb and his heart pounding against his chest. Duncan continued the questioning.

  "Mondo says you were the only person present at his initial interview here. Is that true?"

  Duncan watched Frogo's eyes as they darted to his desktop, then back to the Scotsman.

  "Yes. I usually perform initial interviews with candidates," Frogo replied, at ease.

  "Why was Ella Peña offered the job, when she wasn't even a candidate?" Duncan asked, concentrating on keeping his tone pleasant and calm.

  He scrutinized the director's reaction. Frogo's expression froze for a second. His gaze flitted to the ceiling before dropping to the floor. He blinked more than once and a quick frown appeared on his face before he regained his self-possession. Even when Mondo chased off the sous chefs, he had remained steady. This was the first real crack Duncan had seen in the director's composure.

  He added, "Did someone tell you to hire Ella?"

  "No."

  The word flew from Frogo's lips.

  "It was budget constraints. I decided to save money by hiring an unknown chef," Frogo lied and Duncan knew it.

  "Well, that's all I needed," he stated, sounding chipper.

  He summoned all his composure to produce a smile for his friend. When he left the director's office, his face fell, and Duncan felt an enormous weight upon his shoulders. He didn't want to believe his pal was involved with a woman's murder.

  It was time to take a closer look at Betty Gruber from Benjamin Franklin High School in Pittsburg, USA. Duncan tapped into a background research program on his laptop. He used this program at L&G, but of course his official access had been cut off when he was released from their employment. However, he knew a back door entry where he could piggyback into the system and utilized it now. He plugged names and dates into the software and waited for results. Meanwhile, he checked his email.

  Angela had forwarded a message from Robert Nolan. She'd asked L&G's forensic accountant to determine the ownership of Alcala Equipment. Duncan opened and read the email.