George shook her head. “I don’t like that guy. What about Ned?”
“Ned doesn’t know. But I’ll call his room.”
Nancy dialed swiftly, but there was no answer—and no time to find Ned. “I wish I knew where he was.”
“Probably looking for you,” George said darkly.
Nancy winced. “I asked him to follow Paul Slesak. You don’t think he got into any trouble, do you?”
“Look, I saw Ned earlier for a second. He was fine, but he was worried about you. Go on your date. I’ll handle it on this end. Just be careful, okay?”
Nancy kept looking for some sign of Ned as she walked through the lobby, but he was nowhere. Jacques was waiting outside the door. He winked and waved when he saw Nancy, then held the car door for her as she climbed inside.
He didn’t waste any time getting to the restaurant. The car sped like a bullet through the crowded city traffic.
Très Bon was an elegant restaurant done in mauve and gold. The sweeping crystal chandeliers were so huge they seemed to cover the ceiling. The maître d’ led them to their table—an intimate place for two tucked into an alcove.
Jacques ordered for both of them. And Nancy tried her best to do justice to the food.
Well, she thought to herself, as long as I’m stuck here I might as well make the most of it. “When we were in Chef DuPres’s office, you mentioned that this Washington dinner was kind of hush-hush,” she said tentatively.
“Did I?” Jacques’s smile didn’t quite match his eyes.
“You must have special clearance even to be the chef at a dinner such as that.”
Jacques regarded Nancy with faint amusement. “Why do I get the feeling you accepted my dinner invitation just to pump me for information?” he asked.
Nancy managed to hang onto her poise. “Sorry. Just a bad habit of mine, I guess.”
She was glad when the check was paid and the valet was retrieving the car. But when she felt Jacques’s fingers smooth lightly over her bare arm, she had to force herself not to jerk away.
When they arrived back at the hotel, Nancy said, “Thanks a lot for dinner,” and backed off as fast as she could toward the south wing.
At the elevator she heard a familiar voice call, “Hey.” A very sober Ned walked toward her.
“Don’t be mad,” Nancy said before he could speak. “Please. I really didn’t know how to get out of it.”
“What about a simple no?”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know the evening was a total waste. I didn’t learn anything new,” Nancy admitted.
“I did.”
The elevator doors whisked open at that moment, but neither Ned nor Nancy stepped inside. “What do you mean?” Nancy asked.
Ned grabbed her arm and led her outside to the moonlit night. “I followed Slesak. He met with another man, someone I’ve never seen before. But there was something really secretive about him. He kept looking around, as if he was afraid someone was watching him. He and Slesak climbed into a car together,” Ned added. “I ran back to my car and tore off after them, but I couldn’t find them.”
“I wonder who he is,” Nancy murmured.
Ned exhaled heavily and draped his arm over Nancy’s shoulders, giving her a hug. “Then I ran into George, and she told me you were having dinner with Bonet.”
Nancy bit her lip. “Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad, but I was worried. Nancy, I think Bonet’s dangerous.”
Nancy remembered the way Bonet had hustled her out of Paul Slesak’s office. Had he wanted to make certain she wouldn’t go back there? “Maybe he asked me to dinner just to keep an eye on me,” she said, thinking about the evening.
• • •
“And now we will have Ms. Drew demonstrate her chicken cordon bleu,” Jacques said the next day at the end of class.
Nancy was taken by surprise. Why was he choosing her? Her chicken wasn’t anything special; in fact, it was a little dried out.
“I think it might have gotten a little overdone,” she said apologetically, walking to the front of the room.
“Let me see. Put it on the counter here.” Jacques indicated a space on the work island.
He stepped back, bumping the wrought-iron pot rack, which swung lazily from side to side. Nancy glanced up at it. She didn’t remember the hook from which it hung being so exposed before.
Carefully setting her dish on the counter, Nancy said, “I really think mine’s overcooked.”
The wrought-iron rack above her head was still swaying a little, and it made her nervous. Glancing up, she said, “Is this thing safe? I don’t remember it—”
She never finished her sentence. There was a sudden, terrible screech from above.
Nancy’s heart seemed to stop beating. With a last wrench the rack tore loose from the ceiling and plummeted straight for her head!
Chapter
Eleven
NANCY DIVED OUT of the way, hitting the floor just as the heavy rack crashed against the counter. Tiles splintered, and pans flew everywhere. Somebody screamed. Then a huge iron skillet slammed into Nancy’s arm, numbing it from shoulder to elbow.
“Nancy!” Ned’s voice was full of horror. He bent over her, his hands trembling when they touched her.
Jacques Bonet was also kneeling beside her. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.
“Nancy, don’t move,” Ned said. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No, I—think I’m okay.” Nancy’s voice was shaky. She cleared her throat, testing every muscle-as she slowly sat up. Only her arm throbbed. “Really. I’m okay.”
Nancy tested her arm. “It’s not broken,” she said with relief. “But I’m going to have one doozy of a bruise.”
“I am canceling class for the rest of the day,” Jacques said. Then he turned to Nancy. “Could I talk to you a moment?” His face was dark and set.
“Sure.”
As soon as the last student had passed through the door, Jacques said, “Nancy, I haven’t been totally honest with you. I think I know why these accidents have been happening.”
“Why?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if he was reluctant to speak his mind. Finally he sighed and said, “I think the accidents are Claude’s fault.”
Nancy blinked. “Claude’s fault? How can that be?”
“I didn’t want to believe it. I still don’t. But it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me,” Ned put in.
Bonet ignored him. “Claude’s reputation as a chef has been declining in recent years. He’s slowly losing his edge. To be truthful, I’ve been covering for his mistakes whenever I could.”
There was silence for a moment. “But why would Claude sabotage his own school?” Nancy asked.
“To satisfy a wounded ego?” Jacques suggested.
“I can’t believe that. He was horrified at the bad publicity. He even blamed me,” Nancy reminded him.
Jacques expression was pained. “He’s blamed me for things beyond my control as well. He hinted that I had engineered the loss of the Washington dinner.”
“Oh, no.”
“If these accidents don’t stop, someone else will either be hurt or killed. What do you suggest we do, Nancy?” Jacques asked.
Nancy shook her head. She couldn’t really believe what Jacques was saying. Claude DuPres was still a world-renowned chef. Although he was excitable, he hardly seemed like an egomaniac—certainly not in the way Jacques described him. But who knew DuPres better than Jacques? No one.
“Paul Slesak still has a stronger motive,” Nancy argued. “If the accidents at the school make the board of directors lose faith in Claude DuPres, it paves the way for Slesak to take over.”
“Claude would never stand for it,” Jacques said. “And Paul knows that.”
The coldness of Jacques’s tone led Nancy to believe he was no fan of Paul Slesak’s, either. “None of this makes sense,” she sa
id with a sigh. “And none of it seems a strong enough motive for murder.”
“Who’s talking about murder?” Jacques demanded.
Ned took a step forward to stand right next to Nancy. “Nancy and I don’t believe Trent Richards’s death was an accident. We think someone killed him.”
“You obviously haven’t read today’s paper then,” Jacques retorted. “The coroner’s office says he slipped, hit his head, and then froze to death. It was definitely an accident. The police don’t suspect foul play. Why should you?”
“We don’t know what the police suspect yet.” Nancy was doing her best to remain patient. “The coroner’s report was just a preliminary.”
Jacques shook his head. “Why would anyone want Trent Richards dead?”
“That,” Nancy answered grimly, “is what this mystery is all about.”
She and Ned left Bonet in the classroom and headed back to the hotel, where Nancy spent a frustrating afternoon trying to learn more from the police department about Trent Richards’s death. At four-thirty she announced to Ned, “I’ve gone about this all wrong. The person I really need to face is Paul Slesak.”
“Oh, no.” Ned was adamant. “Not without me.”
Nancy smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
• • •
When they looked in Slesak’s classroom and office, the pastry chef wasn’t around. “Where could he be?” Nancy asked Ned.
“Maybe he left for the day.”
“It’s a little early for him to end his class, isn’t it? I guess I’ll just camp outside his door and wait.”
“Until tomorrow?”
“No, silly, but for a few hours anyway. If he hasn’t come back by, say, six-thirty, I’ll leave.”
“I’ll keep you company,” Ned said.
While they waited, Ned asked, “So what do you think of Bonet’s theories about DuPres?”
“I don’t know. They seem farfetched, don’t they?”
Ned agreed. “But why would Bonet finger his friend if he really didn’t believe it?”
“Beats me.”
When the school had all but emptied, Nancy said, “I don’t think Slesak’s coming back. But before we leave, let’s have a look around the school.”
Downstairs Ned put his finger to his lips at the sound of voices. “They’re not coming from the freezer, are they?”
Nancy shook her head. “No, I think they’re in the butchering room across from it. And one of them sounds like Slesak!”
They ran down the hall and stopped in front of the butchering room. Through the small window in the door they could see both Slesak and DuPres.
“You will get what you deserve,” Slesak spat out. “The board will make their decision.”
DuPres’s face was flushed with anger. “The board will see you for the fake you are!” he volleyed back.
“You insult me for the last time!” Slesak roared and grabbed a cleaver, brandishing it in front of DuPres’s face. His eyes glittered dangerously.
“Chef Slesak—” Nancy shouted, yanking the door open. But neither man paid any attention to her.
DuPres swept up a wicked-looking butcher knife. “We will decide this here and now!” DuPres yelled. As Nancy looked on in horror, he swung his knife at Slesak’s head!
Chapter
Twelve
STOP!” NANCY SCREAMED. She rushed forward and grabbed hold of Slesak, pulling him back. Her hand wrapped around his wrist until the cleaver clattered to the floor.
“Get back, Nancy!” Ned yelled.
DuPres’s face was dangerously flushed. He took another step toward Slesak, his weapon held high.
“He is a crazy man!” Slesak sputtered. “He tried to kill me!”
“That’s not the whole story, pal,” Ned said, grabbing DuPres by the shoulder. “We saw you pick up the cleaver first.”
Suddenly DuPres’s arm dropped as if the knife had grown too heavy. Nancy dropped Slesak’s arm and walked up to the other man. DuPres looked totally defeated. He wiped a trembling hand across his face.
“What’s going on?” a voice said from the doorway.
Nancy turned. “Jacques!” she said.
Bonet’s gray eyes sized up the situation in a glance. He walked straight to Claude DuPres and put a supportive arm around him.
“He was searching my office. He tried to kill me,” Slesak said in a surly voice. “He is not fit to run this school!”
“I was looking for you!” DuPres shouted with a momentary return of spirit. “You followed me here to attack me!”
“Hah!” Slesak spat disdainfully and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
Jacques regarded Claude soberly. “What was that all about—really?”
DuPres sighed. “Slesak did not tell the truth. I came to his office to find him. He was not there, so I went to the freezer to make certain the door is working again. And then I came here.”
“Why did you come here?” Nancy asked.
“To make certain everything was safe.”
Jacques’s eyes met Nancy’s over the top of DuPres’s head. “You look tired, Claude. Let me drive you home,” Jacques said.
“I would appreciate that,” DuPres said formally.
By unspoken agreement Nancy, Ned, and Jacques walked the older chef outside. “I’ll be back with my car,” Jacques said, and he took off toward the hotel.
Nancy and Ned lingered with DuPres.
“It is only a matter of time before the board replaces me,” DuPres said quietly. “My health is failing. So is my reputation,” he continued. “But I cannot bear the thought of Paul Slesak taking over my school.”
“What about Jacques Bonet?” Ned asked. “He seems to have the right reputation.”
“He is too young. And anyway, he is too restless. He wants much, much more than just one school.”
Jacques’s sports car pulled up, and Nancy watched as the younger chef helped the older one into the car. As the sports car made a tight U-turn and sped away, Nancy turned to Ned. “Let’s not go back yet,” she said. “I want to walk around awhile and do some thinking.”
“All right.”
They strolled down the pathway in silence. After a few minutes Nancy stopped short. “I’ve got an idea.”
“What? No, don’t tell me. Can it wait until after dinner?” Ned asked.
Nancy continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “Do you think Slesak’s left the school yet? We never really got a chance to talk to him.”
“You want to go wait around his office again?”
“Just for a little while. Look, if you go with me, just for an hour or so, we’ll go get burgers or pizza or take-out Chinese—whatever you want, my treat.”
“Well, okay. But I’m watching the clock.”
Slowly they went back into the building and returned to Paul Slesak’s office. “The light’s on,” Nancy said. “Maybe he’s here.”
Ned grabbed her arm. “Yeah, but look who’s coming!”
Nancy turned around and looked out the hall window. She could see Jacques Bonet’s sports car wheeling into the school parking lot.
“Come on,” Ned said. “Let’s get out of sight.”
They ran past Slesak’s office and turned at the nearest branching corridor. As she pressed against the wall, Nancy could hear Jacques’s determined footsteps pounding up the stairs.
She heard a door open, then softly shut. She peeked around the corner. “He must have gone into Slesak’s office,” she said excitedly.
She tiptoed down the hallway, then crouched in front of Slesak’s door. Ned kept a lookout.
Paul Slesak was speaking, but Nancy could only catch about one word in ten. “Information . . . in the wrong hands. If maintenance—”
Bonet’s answer was lost to her entirely. Then Slesak suddenly shouted, “You had no right to steal the recipes!”
Nancy’s lips parted. She wished she dared look through the window in the door.
“Psst,” came a s
oft warning.
Nancy glanced at Ned and read his signals. Someone was coming! She straightened, looking around for somewhere to hide. There was no place. We’ll have to bluff our way out, she realized as she tiptoed to where Ned was standing. “I can’t find it,” she said out loud, seeing a chef just a few feet from her. “I’ve looked everywhere, and I just can’t find it! I guess I’ll have to come back and try to find it tomorrow,” Nancy said, heaving an exaggerated sigh. “Let’s go.”
Ned chuckled as they stepped into the warm evening air. “It’s a good thing that chef didn’t ask you what you were trying to find. Did you hear anything at Slesak’s door?”
“Not much, but one thing may be important.” She reported the pastry chef’s words. “Why do you suppose Jacques stole Slesak’s recipes?”
“Maybe he wants to take a shortcut to success, like Trent Richards. He figured he could use Slesak’s recipes.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. Jacques already has an excellent reputation. And Claude DuPres made it clear he thinks Slesak is second-rate.”
Ned shrugged. “Then you’ve got me.”
Nancy took Ned’s hand as they began walking back to the hotel. “What is the deal with those recipes?” she mused out loud. “I wish I’d gotten a better look at them.”
“You said they were just recipes.”
“They were. But there was something about them. . . . ” She sighed. “I’ll think about it tomorrow. For now, let’s go take a swim.”
They got back to the hotel and split up. “I’ll meet you down here in ten minutes,” Ned told her.
“Make it five,” Nancy answered, smiling. She walked quickly to the south wing. There was no one around. As she approached the elevator, movement caught her eye. She looked up in time to see a man hurrying around the corner with some kind of wooden sign.
The elevator doors opened. Nancy stepped inside and rang for her floor. She leaned against the railing as the doors closed again.
But instead of making a smooth start, the elevator jerked. A dreadful clanking noise accompanied its progress upward. A sick feeling spread in the pit of her stomach. Something was terribly wrong.
Recipe for Murder Page 6
