by Maymee Bell
I kept an eye on Nick to make sure he had everything under control as I pulled out the mixer from underneath one of the counters along with the ingredients I needed to make the almond cake with raspberry filling Charlotte had picked out.
Even if Emile had been a male chauvinist, I liked how easy he had made it for me to find the ingredients. I walked around the dry-ingredient shelves with one of Patrick’s bussing buckets and put in what I needed to transport over to one of the free stainless steel workstations: cake flour, baking powder, salt, almond paste, sugar, butter, almond extract, ten eggs, and whole milk.
The sound of the mixer filled the kitchen. The roar gave me joy, so much more than making fried chicken or collard greens ever would. As the ingredients mixed and folded, my shoulders fell back to their normal position instead of staying around my ears from stress. There were too many witnesses that had seen Evelyn and Emile arguing, and she’d know that.
Nick brought me out of my groove when he walked over and watched me fill the sixteen-inch round flat-edge cake pans. I had to fill four to get the eight inches I needed, since I baked only two inches in each pan.
Patrick bebopped to his own whistling and even did a little turn as he headed into the dishwashing room.
“Patrick sure does look happy,” I observed, noticing all the humming and gum popping he’d been doing. When I’d had to do the dishes at his age, I sure hadn’t been happy about it.
“He should be.” Nick’s brows rose. “Emile isn’t here to bully him.”
“Bully him?” I questioned. It was the first I was hearing about this despite all the gossip that’d been swirling around today.
“Yeah. Emile was good at putting him down because he was a busboy. We have at least five of them, but for some reason, Emile picked on him.” Nick eyed the cake batter. “That looks really good.”
“Hmm, maybe.” I noodled the thought that Patrick could’ve reached his limit with Emile and done the deed. “Did Patrick and Emile ever come to blows?”
“Nah.” Nick waved off my idea. “Of course, Patrick would threaten Emile under his breath during his shift, but he’s a kid. Kids say things like that.” Nick’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t thinking Patrick…”
I didn’t bother letting him finish his sentence.
“You never know. I mean, he seems like a good kid, but he’s awfully cheerful today.” We both looked over at Patrick doing a little dance with his backpack on his shoulder. “Where’s he going?”
“He’s on the high school baseball team and has practice tonight, so he’s off,” Nick said.
“See ya tomorrow.” Patrick gave a peace sign before he stuck his earbuds in his ears and shoved through the door before I could grab him to ask him some questions. Not that I was being nosy or anything.
I couldn’t forget the warning from Carter about watching my back, though. I was going to be sweet as pie to all the staff during my brief time here.
Chapter Seven
The kitchen smelled heavenly between the Derby pies and the baked layers of Charlotte’s wedding cake. It smelled more like a bakery than a kitchen in a restaurant. For a brief period of time, all my sadness had disappeared and there was a sprinkle of joy that warmed my heart.
I’d gotten the four sixteen-inch layers baked as well as four of the fourteen-inch layers. All of them were lined up on the cooling rack. It was important for the layers to cool before I wrapped them in saran wrap and put them in the refrigerator.
One secret to a very moist and nicely decorated wedding cake was refrigerating it and allowing it to cool before decorating it. Fondant, icing, and any part of the decorating process adhered better to a cooled cake. If I’d had much more notice, I’d have baked Charlotte’s cake a week before in preparation for decorating. As it was, this last-minute commitment didn’t allow me that kind of time, so I was going to have to jerk a knot in my own tail and get it done.
“I don’t get people.” Jane barged through the door with a couple of full plates of the special that she’d just taken out to a few club members. “The first lunch crowd was fine with Emile being gone, but not this afternoon. The men didn’t care. The women”—she sucked in a deep breath—“they’ve gone plumb crazy. Nearly fainted when I told them that I found Emile dead this morning.”
“Why are these being sent back?” Nick took a sudden defensive tone. He wiped his hands on the towel tucked in the wraparound tie on his chef jacket while he looked the two plates over that Jane had set down on the island.
“Two of the women suddenly lost their appetite when they asked to see Emile.” Jane’s brows bounced up and down.
“Do you know the women?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm,” she muttered sarcastically. “Ella Capshaw for one and Natalie Devin for another.”
“Oh.” Nick stiffened. “I forgot about them. Do you think I need to tell Carter about them?”
“Them?” I asked, and went down the line of cakes, feeling them to check the temperature.
They were cooling down perfectly. There was just enough time to bake Bitsy’s favorite skillet apple pie.
“Emile was a ladies’ man.” Nick’s brows furrowed.
“To say the least,” Jane quipped. “Natalie was at her tennis lesson all morning, so she hadn’t heard the news about…” She dragged her finger along her throat. “Ella has been at her standing massage and pedicure appointment.”
“Let’s get back to the ladies’ man thing.” I pulled the hairnet off my head because my brain needed to breathe.
I walked over to the fruit and grabbed a few Granny Smith and Braeburn apples. They were the perfect combination of bitter and sweet for the best apple pie. After chasing one of them around the island after I put them down, I retrieved the rest of the ingredients while listening to Nick and Jane give a few accounts of Emile’s player ways.
If Emile was a ladies’ man and I could find out which RCC members he’d seduced, then we’d have more suspects. We—as if I were trying to solve the murder. I cracked myself up sometimes. I knew I should leave it up to Carter, but I couldn’t help myself. Call me nosy, call me curious; the reality was, I liked trying to see where all the pieces fit. Sorta like a puzzle.
The feeling deep in my soul was how I felt when I tasted someone else’s dessert and wanted to replicate it. I’d try several combinations of ingredients until it was perfect. Emile’s murder hit that nerve in me and I just couldn’t stop myself.
“He could throw that French accent on our oldest member and have her in bed in a minute.” Nick did his best French accent, which wasn’t good.
“Was he having an affair with some members?” I asked, just to make sure I understood what I thought I was hearing. I put my hands on the counter and leaned in, looking at all the pots hanging over the island to find a good seasoned skillet.
“Yes.” Jane’s nose curled.
“Jane.” Nick stopped her. “We don’t know that for sure.”
They looked at me as I grabbed a square skillet that would be perfect for my simple pie.
“You and I both know”—she gestured between them—“that there’s more than just food being cooked up in this kitchen.” Her brow cocked.
My tongue jutted out as in ew, and I jerked my hands off the counter and pulled them to me.
“Gross, I know. This stuff goes on a lot more than you think. But Emile was so tight-lipped about it even after I saw him being all lovey-dovey with Natalie.”
“Natalie?” I was shocked.
Mama and Natalie had been friends way back when. They’d even been in a few clubs together.
* * *
Why would Natalie cheat on Arnold Devin with Emile? Emile couldn’t make that much money, and the Devins were loaded. At least Arnold was. I didn’t mean a million or two; I meant boo-coodles of money.
“Honey, you know Evelyn and how messy she can be. Well”—Jane’s hand fluttered down at the wrist—“I had to get me another ordering pad because I’d used up the one I had, and I went
down to the supply closet that had things like that. You know—extra pens, pencils, menus—and when I couldn’t find none, I headed on down to Evelyn’s office to see if she knew where they were, thought I doubted she did.” She sucked in a deep breath and continued, “Don’t you know that when I turned the corner, I caught Emile and her a little too close in the small hallway, and Natalie gave me this big old smile. Then she took off down the hall with her ass swinging like church bells on Easter. Even a groan escaped from Emile.” She nodded her head. “True story. If I’m lying, I’m dying.”
“Really?” I could feel my face crunch up. “I thought that stuff only happened in Dirty Dancing.”
“That’s the difference between us and you.” She gestured between me and her and Nick.
“What?” I felt a little offended and quickly peeled one apple after the other.
“You’re one of them.” Jane gestured to the door that led to the dining room.
“Far from it.” I gave her a brief rundown of how my parents hadn’t been so approving of my job choices in the restaurant industry, making a parallel with her. As I talked, I cut all the apples into wedges.
“What are you doing?” Nick asked.
“While I wait on Charlotte’s cakes to cool completely, I have enough time to make a few of my skillet apple pies. It’s so easy and good.” I tossed the apples into the mixture.
There really wasn’t enough time to make the crust. The refrigerator had some premade crusts, so I decided to use those. I used my fingertips to press the crust around the bottom of the skillet.
“You know,” I said. There was still something that didn’t click about the murder weapon. “I understand that Emile was killed by the blow to the head from his skillet, but I don’t think it was his skillet.”
I poured the apple mixture into the skillet and carefully put the other pie crust over it, pinching around the edges to seal in the apples.
“He used all of these dishes.” Nick continued to get the lunches completed.
“Yeah, but the skillet used to kill him wasn’t seasoned.” I cut an X in the middle of the top pie crust before sprinkling a little sugar on top and placing it into the oven. “Think about it.”
“I didn’t see the skillet that killed him,” Nick said. “I just assumed it was one of ours.”
“I don’t know what the inventory is here, but I did tell Carter that it seemed really odd that there was a skillet in the kitchen that hadn’t been seasoned.” I shrugged.
“Maybe he’d bought new ones,” Nick suggested.
“Then Carter should be able to see some sort of inventory, right?” I asked.
“If he used the RCC’s funds, it’ll all be there.” Nick chuckled. “That was a touchy subject between him and Evelyn.”
“How so?” I asked, wanting to know if this was one of the reasons Evelyn was the number one suspect.
“She said he thought he was a million-dollar chef but was working at a beer budget club because he never stayed within the budget the RCC gave him. He added so many things to the order after she had approved the list. He’d lie to her and tell her he didn’t do it, but it was in his notebook where he kept the inventory with her signature on it.” Nick rolled his eyes. “Last year she had to cut the wine budget because he’d gone over so much. There was a time I hated coming to work. They fought like a married couple, not like a boss and employee.”
“Did you tell Carter that?” I asked.
“I totally forgot, but if he stops in, I’ll tell him.”
“Maybe you don’t have to just yet.” I cleaned up my workstation. “I really need Charlotte’s wedding to go off without a hitch this weekend, and it won’t if Evelyn is in jail.”
“It’s true. I don’t think the RCC would run without her. She might be hard, but she’s good,” Nick said, and went on his way fixing and preparing orders.
The afternoon quickly flowed into the evening with me barely getting a breath. The busboy for the afternoon shift was late, and as the head of the kitchen, I had to pitch in wherever I could. Since Nick knew Emile’s recipes and style, I felt a lot more comfortable with him than with me at the helm and was grateful for it too, because I couldn’t get the juicy tidbit of gossip about Emile and the women of the RCC out of my thoughts. If there was one, there were two, and so on.
Jealousy was a powerful motive to kill someone. Better yet, betrayal. The ultimate woman scorned. Had Emile threatened to expose their affair? Did one woman get jealous of the other?
I was going to have to keep one ear to the ground and my eyes open. Plus, I’d invite Mama to join me for a little girl talk. She’d be so delighted to spend some time talking that she’d sing like a bird and happily answer all my questions about the state of the Devins’ marriage.
I stared out into the dining room through the small kitchen window as I contemplated my questions and kneaded my lower back with my fingers.
I’d forgotten how hard the long hours and the toll of a fast-paced kitchen were on the body. Luckily at The Manhattan, we had so many sous chefs and employees, our hours were pretty normal. It wasn’t like the small establishments like the RCC where employees had to pull double duties.
“You look beat.” Nick looked up from the chopping station where he was refilling the salad fixings. His eyes focused on my back where I continued to press into it.
“Thanks,” I scoffed. “I haven’t worked in a full-time kitchen in a long time. I forgot just how much toll it takes on the body. I’m going to be sore in the morning.”
“We’ve got this.” He used his knife to point around the kitchen. “Why don’t you call it a night and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Hesitant, I looked around. The kitchen was buzzing with a couple of busboys and a few more waitresses as well as some extra cooks. Everything was under control. I just hated to leave Evelyn in a bind, but less time here meant more time for me to look into who else had a motive to kill Emile besides her.
“It’s no different than if Emile were here.” He went back to chopping. “Unless you don’t want to go home.”
“You get that from me?” I asked, grabbing a piece of the green pepper and tossing it into my mouth.
“Emile would’ve written you up for that.” He pointed the knife at my mouth.
“I’m not Emile and he’s no longer here.” I smiled back at Nick and took another look around. “That was in bad taste, wasn’t it?” I asked, my way of apologizing for lessening what’d happened to Emile.
“Aw.” Nick brushed it off. “It’ll be weird around here for a while. He was hard to work for, but I learned a lot from him.”
There wasn’t much more I could say that would make a difference or would make Nick feel better.
“You do have everything under control. And I might be stalling going home. I’ve been gone from Rumford for ten years, and it’s hard to come back home when my mama still sees me as the young twenty-year-old. Plus, she’s never been proud of my job choice.”
“Your mom has always been real nice to us. She’s actually one of our favorite members.” Nick continued to chop and slice. “Actually, she always bragged about you and your fancy pastry job.”
“Really?” I asked, feeling really touched.
“Yeah, she even brought in some magazine where you were featured for some important dinner.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about.
“I did the New York governor’s son’s wedding cake. It was sort of a big deal.” I blushed. “There were celebrities and government officials who attended. It was where I met Noah.” My voice trailed off.
The memory felt as if it’d just happened last night. Every time I’d told that story before, Noah had been by my side giving his account. We’d ended up talking over each other and then bursting out laughing.
My heart fell to my toes. I realized I was going to have to start leaving that little tidbit out.
“Noah?” That stopped Nick in midchop.
“My ex.” I gulped. “
He’s the reason I’m here. I caught him with the maître d’ at work.”
“Caught him, caught him?” Nick put his knife down on the table.
Slowly I nodded. “In a very compromising position with the hostess.”
“Man, that’s rough. So you really are only here until Evelyn hires the new chef.” He leaned his hip against the table and crossed his arms across his chest.
“Yep.” I offered a smile to at least make him feel better. “You know, I think you’d make a great replacement for Emile.” It was a perfect choice. Evelyn wouldn’t have to step outside the RCC, and Nick ran the place as if Emile were still alive. “You know the kitchen like the back of your hand.”
“I’m not really sure I’d want the head chef position. It’s a lot of work, and I’ve gotten a look firsthand on how Emile was treated and treated others. I’m just not like that. I like it right here. Knowing my place and being told what to do.” He wasn’t up for the job.
Yet. Maybe with a little coaxing over the next couple of days, I’d convince him.
“Then I think I’m going to go, because you have this place running like a well-oiled machine.” I took off the white chef ’s coat and hung it on one of the many hooks on the wall. I slipped my bag across my body.
“See you in the morning.” He gave me the captain salute. “Why don’t you take those returned meals home to Robert and Bitsy?”
“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing they’d probably not eaten yet.
It wasn’t even cocktail hour for my dad. He loved his before-dinner drink. It helped him get through Bitsy telling him about her day and the new gossip going around Rumford that she’d been privy to from all her club meetings. Poor Dad.
“Absolutely. They raised a fine daughter. I’m glad you’re here.” His words were comforting. “They’re in the refrigerator.”
“Thanks, Nick.” It was so nice to feel appreciated.
That was one thing about an uppity restaurant like The Manhattan. No one ever gave compliments. If things were going great, everyone kept their mouth shut. But one wrong move and the staff complained and ruined the shift.