Books, Cooks, and Crooks (A Novel Idea Mystery)

by Arlington, Lucy

  “We did.” His voice was full of tenderness. “When I got back to the States, we wrote to each other. She mailed me recipes for years. Almost every dish mentioned in My Grandmother’s Hearth was hers. She passed away over a decade ago and I really miss her.”

  “So that’s what you meant when you said that Klara could never have climbed onto a pedestal without you,” I mused aloud. “You were the true chef, but she knew just enough to cook on camera.”

  Ryan nodded and then a look of panic surfaced in his eyes. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this are you? It would destroy everything we’ve built over the years.”

  I didn’t make any promises. After all, I’d have to tell Sean everything I’d heard. Instead, I said, “Klara was so convincing. How did she do it?”

  “I walked her through each and every recipe at home. She was a quick study when it came to parroting my movements, and like I said, she could talk about anything while she was on the air and people would respond favorably. She was like a ray of sunshine bursting into their living rooms.”

  That couldn’t be denied. After all, I’d tuned in to her show over and over, hypnotized by her charisma. “You’re right,” I told him. “She never failed to make me laugh and I’d been delighted by her anecdotes of cooking with her grandmother. Poor Klara. She didn’t actually have a relationship with the wonderful woman she described so vividly on television and in her cookbook. And she clearly wasn’t close with your kids. So you were everything to her. Until Bryce,” I added hesitantly.

  Ryan made a low, guttural noise. “It seems that I was a better manager than husband, but I gave her everything. Everything! And how does she repay me?” His eyes darkened with quiet fury. “Cleans out the safety deposit box. Sneaks out of our bed to have sex with her lover and then comes creeping back before dawn. How could she make such a fool out of me?”

  I noticed he was using present tense, as if Klara were still alive. Ryan’s hands clenched and his lips curled in a snarl. “I loved you, you stupid woman. What would you be without me? Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.” He practically spit the last word and I was frightened by how swiftly his tender reminiscences had changed into angry accusations. The man beside me was coming unglued. Or had that happened in the coffee shop yesterday? Had Ryan been filled with enough silent rage to murder his wife?

  “I think you should be with Carter and Carrie,” I said, trying to put an end to our conversation without upsetting him further.

  He didn’t seem to hear me. Staring down at the ground, he muttered under his breath. I caught Klara’s name once or twice, but his words were otherwise unintelligible. I glanced around, wondering what would happen if I just left him here. Even though I continued to view him as a murder suspect, it seemed wrong to simply walk away from this broken man.

  And while I didn’t think he should be alone, I didn’t want to place anyone else in a precarious position. Who could watch over him and be on guard against him at the same time? Suddenly, I had an idea. “Ryan?” I touched him briefly on the shoulder. “Have you seen Annie? Maybe you could—”

  “Annie,” Ryan whispered blankly. “She brought me breakfast. Strawberry jam on a croissant. It was flaky and warm from the oven. So sweet.”

  “That was nice of her,” I said. “Have you had anything else to eat today? Maybe you and Annie and the kids could have supper together? I don’t think you should be alone.”

  Something shifted in his vacant eyes. “Annie. She always knows what to do. She’s always there for us. For me. She’s an angel.”

  “Will you call and tell her where you are?”

  He nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket. I waited until he dialed, spoke a few sentences, and then hung up. “She told me to wait here. She’s coming to get me.”

  “That’s good,” I told him and forced the corners of my mouth to turn upward in a smile. “I’ll see you soon, Ryan.”

  He didn’t reply. I left him amid the mulch, flowers, and grass cuttings. As I walked the rest of the way to Novel Idea, I hoped I was right in my belief that he’d never hurt Annie. He was obviously unstable and, therefore, dangerously unpredictable.

  I quickened my stride.

  In the privacy of my office, I called Sean. I wanted him to assure me that the case was closed, that Bryce had been arrested and the entire town could rest easy. However, I couldn’t think of a single reason why Bryce would have killed Joel. As the phone rang and rang, the flat tones reverberating through the earpiece, I had a horrible feeling that, although the festival was coming to an end, the chefs would be staying with us well beyond the closing ceremony.

  • • •

  AS BENTLEY HAD foreseen, this event was very low-key. Other than the Novel Idea agents and the chefs, there were barely thirty people in the audience at the Marlette Robbins Center for the Arts. This surprised me; I assumed that at least twenty-seven of them were the writers who had submitted stories to the contest. I supposed in the wake of two murders, most attendees from out of town had chosen to leave Inspiration Valley.

  Despite all the empty chairs in the hall, Bentley assertively walked onto the stage, her pink heels clicking on its wood floor. She spoke briefly about the tragedies that had befallen Joel Lang and Klara Patrick, and concluded with, “These events are in no way a reflection of our beautiful town, or Novel Idea Literary Agency. Our agency is committed to our authors and to great books.” She then held up an envelope. “I have here the recipient of the first Novel Idea Best Cookbook Award as voted by you, the readers. And the winner is . . .” She peered over her rhinestone-studded glasses at the expectant faces in the audience and dramatically ripped open the envelope. This was an act, of course, since Vicky had given us the results of the vote when we prepared for this final ceremony. Bentley leaned in to the microphone. “My Grandmother’s Hearth by Klara Patrick.”

  The audience broke into applause. I regarded them from the wings of the stage. The thirty or so people clapped enthusiastically, but with their small number, the accolade was feeble. Among the group of visiting chefs, only Annie joined in with the acclamation. I could not see Ryan or his kids anywhere.

  Bentley displayed a certificate. “Is Mr. Patrick in the audience? No?” She looked at me and raised her eyebrows, then turned back to the audience. “We bestow this honor upon Chef Klara posthumously. I would now like to call upon two of our agents, Jude Hudson and Lila Wilkins, to announce the winners of the short story contest.”

  Bentley stepped back, and Jude and I took her place at the podium.

  “We were impressed by the quality of writing in the entries we received,” began Jude. “Those of you who submitted a story should be commended for your efforts. In fact, could all the authors who entered the contest please stand?”

  About twenty-five people rose from their seats. In the front row, Jay Coleman was smiling.

  “You all deserve a hand.” Jude began to clap. The rest of us joined in, and soon everyone in the hall was applauding. Jude nodded for the writers to sit, and the room quieted. Suddenly, the door to the auditorium banged open, and we collectively turned to see who had entered so late in the proceedings.

  At the door, Bryce St. John held up his hands. “Sorry,” he said to the assemblage, and took a seat in the back row. I couldn’t keep from staring at him. The fact that he was here indicated that the police had released him, which meant that he was no longer a murder suspect. Although deep down I had not believed that he was the one, his presence nonetheless disconcerted me. It would have been a relief if Bryce had been guilty, because then the killer would be behind bars, all the chefs could go home, and Inspiration Valley would be safe and peaceful once more. But clearly, the murderer was still on the loose. Uneasiness crept over me as I recalled my conversation with Ryan Patrick and his overt instability. I wondered if my earlier suspicions about him being the murderer could be valid.

  Jude nudged me with his elbow. “Lila!” he whispered. “You’re on.”

  Drawing my gaze away fr
om Bryce, I focused on the people sitting in the front row and said, “The third-place winner is . . .” I looked down at the sheet of paper in my hands. “Stephanie Miller for ‘Cupcake Chaos.’ Stephanie, please come up to receive your prize.”

  A tall, freckled teenage girl rose and climbed the steps to the stage. Jude handed her an envelope and a book, and shook her hand. “Congratulations, Stephanie. This is a gift certificate for Sixpence Bakery and a copy of Leslie Sterling’s cookbook.” Stephanie grinned.

  I also shook Stephanie’s hand. “Keep on writing,” I said. “And perhaps one day we’ll be signing you as a client.”

  Stephanie blushed. “Thank you.”

  When she’d left the stage, Jude spoke into the microphone. “The second-place winner is Donna Wainright for ‘A Tale of Two Kitchens.’ Donna, could you please come up?” A full-figured woman with rosy cheeks and a long gray braid hanging down her back joined us on the stage. Jude congratulated her. “You’ve won a gift certificate for dinner for two at the Nine Muses Restaurant and a copy of Joel Lang’s new cookbook,” he said and presented her with the prizes.

  “Thank you, thank you,” said Donna, bobbing her head. She grabbed my hand and pumped it up and down. “Thank you, thank you,” she enthused again.

  “And finally,” I said as Donna descended from the stage. “The winner of the first annual Books and Cooks short story contest is Jay Coleman for ‘Diner in the Rough.’” The audience applauded while Jay came up on the stage. I shook his hand and handed him an envelope. “Jay’s story will be published in Inspiration Valley’s weekly newspaper, Inspired Voice, as well as in the weekend edition of the Dunston Herald. And he wins a gift certificate from the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast for a romantic night for two, including champagne and a selection of fine chocolates.”

  “Nice work, Jay,” Jude added. “I hope you have someone special you can share that prize with.”

  At Jude’s comment, Jay’s cheeks flushed tomato-red and he shrugged lightly. “I might. Thank you,” he said and returned to his seat.

  Bentley approached the podium, and Jude and I stepped back. We were joined by Franklin, Flora, and Zach. Bentley spoke into the microphone. “And that concludes our first annual Books and Cooks festival.” She gestured in our direction. “On behalf of all of us at Novel Idea, we thank you for coming and hope that, despite the unforeseen calamities this weekend, you enjoyed yourselves. Have a good time at the rest of the Taste of the Town events, and be sure to return next year.”

  People milled toward the exit. I looked over to where Bryce had been sitting but he had already left.

  “Man, I’m glad that’s over,” Zach declared. “There was more tension at this festival than a twelve-string guitar!”

  “The tension has yet to dissipate, Zach,” said Franklin. “A murderer is still at large, and we have the chefs to babysit until the police determine the killer’s identity.”

  “You do,” said Zach. “They’re your clients. This bad boy has new clients to snag. Catch ya later!” He snapped his fingers and headed for the door.

  “We won’t have much to do with the chefs anymore will we?” asked Flora. “I mean, I know we invited them here, but now that the festival is over, they’re not our responsibility. And one of them is a murderer!” She rubbed her forearms as if chilled. “Hopefully, the police will resolve all this very soon so life can get back to normal.”

  “Amen to that,” said Jude and departed.

  Stepping outside, I inhaled the fresh air, feeling a relief similar to Zach’s. Although the murderer had not yet been caught, the festival was over. It had certainly had its glitches, but discounting those, the events that our agency had sponsored could be considered successful. While it seemed a bit inappropriate to celebrate, I felt like doing something special, so on a whim I decided to stop in at the Grape Escape for a bottle of wine to have with dinner. Trey was home, after all, and Sean was coming over. I had wild-mushroom lasagna in mind, and a robust red would go nicely with that meal.

  The bell on the door jangled as I entered the Grape Escape. Bottles lined every wall, and the light that filtered through the stained-glass window gave the room the illusion of being in a wine cellar. A giant barrel served as a tasting table, upon which sat wineglasses and a few opened bottles.

  “Good afternoon, Lila,” said Jeff, the owner. He had opened this shop several months ago, and the residents of Inspiration Valley had come to rely on his expertise. “It’s been quite a weekend for our town, hasn’t it? And for your agency.”

  “Yes, it has. And today has been an especially long day. I need a good wine to go with mushroom lasagna. What do you recommend?”

  “I have a lovely Barolo that arrived the other day. There’s a bottle open. Would you like to try it?”

  He led me to the barrel table, where he poured a half inch of dark red liquid into a glass and handed it to me. I took a sip. As the wine hit my taste buds, I felt warmth inch through my body.

  “Do you perceive the overtones of raspberry and ripe cherry, with a hint of spice?” he asked, watching me closely.

  “Yes, I do. It will go perfectly with the lasagna. I’ll take a bottle.”

  Purchase in hand, I pulled the door open and almost ran into Annie.

  “Ms. Wilkins!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad I bumped into you. I wanted to talk to you.”

  I stepped aside. “Hi, Annie. I was just on my way home. Is it very important?” I didn’t mean to be rude, but I was tired and yearned for this day to end.

  “I only need a few minutes.”

  Through her stylish cat-eye glasses, her pleading eyes were hard to resist. “Let’s go to that sidewalk bench, okay?”

  Once we were seated, she began. “Ryan told me that you talked with him today when he was . . . well, when he wasn’t feeling quite himself. Thank you for that.” She gave me a sad smile. “Even though I was Klara’s assistant, I was also Ryan’s, you know? And he’s been hit hard by all that’s happened, so I feel like I need to take care of him.”

  “You truly take your responsibilities seriously,” I said.

  She nodded. “It’s my job. And just because Klara is gone, that doesn’t mean that my job is done. Not until Ryan says so, anyway.” She adjusted her glasses. “I heard they arrested Bryce St. John and then let him go. So I guess the police still don’t know who killed Klara or Joel Lang.”

  I shook my head. “Not as far as I know.”

  “I don’t want to tell tales, but I might know who did it.”

  “Annie, if that’s true, you should go to the police immediately.” My tone was gentle but firm.

  She shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure, but I thought if I told you first, you could decide if what I know is worth telling the police. I feel more comfortable talking to you because you’ve been so kind.”

  “Okay. Tell me what you know.” My pulse quickened in anticipation of what Annie might say. Did she really know the murderer’s identity?

  “Dennis Chapman is a bitter man,” she began. “And he harbored plenty of resentment toward Klara. He can be quick to anger, too. And volatile. If he’s in a foul mood, you have to walk on eggshells around him or he’ll explode. I’ve had to calm him down many times on set.” She exhaled. “I don’t want to get him in trouble if he’s not guilty, but I’ve been thinking about his personality and his bitterness toward Klara, and that combination just seems to add up to the probability that he poisoned her. Especially after what he said to me when she died.”

  I nodded in encouragement. “Go on.”

  “Well, you should know that Klara was not kind to him. Even though she appreciated his skills, she treated him badly. But then, she treated most of us badly at times.” She picked at a fingernail. “Dennis believes that Klara sabotaged a job application he’d submitted for head chef in an upscale restaurant. He never forgave her for costing him his dream job. He vented to me about it all weekend. But that’s just Dennis.” She shrugged. “At least that’s what I thought. But wh
en we found out that Klara was dead he was actually happy. He kept saying things like ‘She got what she deserved’ and ‘I’m glad she’s dead.’ He even said that poisoning was too good for her and that she should have suffered more.” She slid a lock of hair behind her ear. “And there’s something more. I think Dennis knew Joel Lang before he came to work for Klara. I don’t know anything about their shared past, but from the way he talked, and the way he acted the few times he was in the same room as Joel, it was obvious that he hated Joel, too. So you see? He might be responsible for both murders.” She looked up at me wide-eyed. “Ms. Wilkins, he scares me. I’m afraid to be near him.”

  I put an arm around her shoulders. “You need to share all of this with the police, Annie. If Dennis is a murderer, they’ll take him into custody.”

  “That’s what I thought. But I feel better for having told you. Could you call your policeman friend for me?”

  I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Sean’s number. He answered on the first ring, startling me. I’d grown accustomed to getting his voicemail.

  “Sean, I’m sitting with Annie Schmidt, and she’s been telling me some things about Dennis Chapman that I think you should know. Based on the information she’s provided, I’d say he’s a pretty solid suspect for Klara’s murder.”

  “He’s actually next on our list for questioning,” Sean said. “I’ll send a couple of uniforms out to collect him but will talk to Annie myself. Are you at your office?”

  “No, we’re on the bench just outside the Grape Escape.”

  “Lila, do you mind staying with Annie until I get there? I’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes, I’ll wait.” I slipped the phone back into my purse. “He’ll be here soon.” I hoped those fifteen minutes would go fast. “How did you end up with the Patricks?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

  “I was a prep cook in a small restaurant in New York. One day I read an article about Klara and Ryan, and then I saw her on TV and decided I wanted to work for her. I liked the way she celebrated Dutch food. She was very unique.”