by Maymee Bell
It was nice to be able to step into a kitchen and be recognized for the hard work that I’ve put in to get to where I’d gotten in my career.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I said after I’d retrieved the returned lunches in to-go boxes. I walked down the hallway where the offices were because I knew for sure I’d see some of Bitsy’s friends if I left through the dining room, and when the name plate on one of the doors read EMILE / HEAD CHEF, I got detoured and went in.
I flipped on the light. The office wasn’t much to see. The walls were bare white. The desk was cleaned off and Emile’s chef jacket was hanging on a coat tree in the corner. There weren’t photos or even posters or artwork as I’d seen in most offices of head chefs. They were creative people and thrived on seeing and hearing creative things to stimulate their muse. Not even a radio was in here. No wonder it hadn’t taken Carter long to go through the office.
I sat down in Emile’s chair. I rubbed my hands over the desk and channeled my favorite TV sleuths, wondering what they’d do.
My eyes drew down the three drawers. I sat still for a few minutes to make sure I didn’t hear anyone. The first and second drawers were empty, but the third drawer had the chef ’s ledger.
“Old school for a fancy French chef,” I noted and took the ledger out.
He’d written the dates on the outside, and this particular ledger appeared to span six months.
Most chefs used the basic online ordering form and spreadsheets to keep up with the items stocked on the shelves, wet and dry ingredients. It was easy to print and hand off so others could take inventory.
He had them broken down into months, with the past months held together with a paper clip. Within the month, he broke them down into weeks. He’d already planned for the next three months. It seemed like a long time to plan out, which only confirmed that he was a control freak and planned on keeping his job.
Page by page, I flipped through. The ledger was definitely one to be envious of. Emile kept a very detailed account. The only thing that caught my attention was that in the last month there were some minute changes in the handwriting. According to the wait staff, Emile had recently had a bout of carpel tunnel, which would make sense for the small inconsistencies. Though I wasn’t going to rule out that maybe someone had helped him take inventory since his hand hurt.
It appeared he’d been in the process of ordering for next month until I got to the last and final entry where Charlotte’s name was scrolled in fancy writing at the top of the page. At closer glance, I noticed that all the ingredients to make the meat dishes Evelyn had told me he was planning on serving was listed. Not only had he planned on the fancy meats, but the appetizers and soups were also fancy. Foie gras, lobster, and Trou Normand, a pallet cleanser, were among the items it looked as if Charlotte had signed off on. There was a blank line where Brett was supposed to sign. Next to the empty line, Emile had written something about meat and potatoes.
The next line had five dollars signs, which was something you’d normally see on a restaurant website indicating the cost. I pulled Charlotte’s wedding file out of my bag and began to compare the items Evelyn had on her list to Emile’s list. They appeared to be the same, only Evelyn had written down all of her correspondence with Charlotte and Brett.
I dragged my finger down the dates and times, noticing that Brett had recently called her three days in a row. Next to the last entry, Evelyn had written that Brett didn’t approve the menu. Did Charlotte know this?
Laughter floated in from the hall. I quickly shoved the ledger back in the drawer and walked out of the office.
* * *
Evelyn had been scarce all day, and I wanted to ask her about the wedding menu. Telling her that I’d noticed Brett didn’t want the fancy food would help me lead into why he’d called so many times and if he and Emile had argued about it. Was that what Evelyn and Emile had been arguing about in front of the staff?
It was a bit surprising that Evelyn hadn’t come to the kitchen to check on us, though it did make me feel as if she was confident we’d do a great job. Her office door was closed when I approached it. I lifted my hand to give it a quick knock. I didn’t want to leave without at least telling her everything had gone smoothly and let her know that she could count on me and I’d be back tomorrow. Plus, I wanted to put a little bug in her ear that Nick was the answer to her needs and all we had to do was convince him.
Just as I swept my closed fist up to knock on the door, I heard voices coming from the inside of her office.
I knew I shouldn’t have and it wasn’t good manners, but I put my ear up to the door—but not without looking up and down the hall to make sure no one was coming. Eavesdropping wasn’t considered polite around these parts.
“Ms. Moss.” Carter’s voice thundered through the door loud enough for me to be able to step back and listen without appearing to be nosy. “There are several eyewitnesses to the fight between you and the deceased.”
“It wasn’t a fight.” Evelyn sounded nervous. Her voice cracked. “He always had an issue with me being his boss. It certainly wasn’t a reason for me to kill him.”
“Why didn’t you fire him?” Carter baited her.
“Because he’s Emile. All the members would skin my hide,” she said. “He’d recently been offered a three-year extension on his contract from the club committee.”
“Who is on this committee?” Carter asked.
“Arnold Devin.” She mumbled a few names I didn’t recognize. “Brett Ponder.”
The air tightened around me.
“So instead of putting the heat on you, you figured you’d kill him and no one would ever know.” Carter was relentless.
I leaned a little closer to hear her response.
“I didn’t kill him. I told you that.” Her voice took on a sudden stiffness. “I made our working relationship work like a good general manager does with her staff.”
“You are the only one who was signed in at his time of death. It looks pretty clear to me.” His voice escalated as she tried to talk, and he talked over her.
“I was…” Evelyn butted in, to no avail. He wasn’t going to let her have the opportunity.
“There is a history of the two of you getting into arguments on a weekly basis. If it wasn’t the food choice, it was the tablescapes, down to the noise of the kitchen leading out into the dining room. You didn’t want to have to listen to him put you down. He didn’t like women and you were at the top of his list. So you killed him.”
There was a murmur of crying, and I figured it could only be Evelyn.
“I didn’t kill him,” she insisted. “I keep the peace with all my employees. Ask them,” she said, giving Carter a wee bit of a challenge.
“Don’t leave town,” Carter warned. “And I suggest you get a good lawyer.”
Immediately I jerked back from the door and scurried as fast as I could down the hall, hoping I’d not get caught, but hoping was a bit much.
“Did you hear anything?” There was a smug look on Carter’s face. “You know this is a homicide investigation and not some sort of bake-off, right?”
“I was leaving work.” I rolled my eyes.
“You were listening in on my conversation with Evelyn.” He’d caught me.
“Okay, only because I think I’ve got someone else for you to look at.” I walked back toward him. “Brett, Charlotte’s fiancé, wasn’t happy with the menu at the wedding.”
“So he killed Emile over a little salmon tartare?” Carter laughed.
“No, he killed Emile over the price tag.” I gnawed on my lip. “Though I don’t know what the price tag is because it’s only got the five-dollar-sign rating.” His brows furrowed. I continued. “Anyways, Charlotte is pretty used to getting what she wants, and she wanted this fancy menu. Brett confronted Emile about it because Brett didn’t want to come off as cheap in front of Charlotte. With Emile out of the kitchen, Brett can have his meat and potatoes at a low cost.”
“Fi
rst off, I’ve known Brett for years. He’d been sleeping on my couch that morning before I got the call about Emile’s death.”
Crap.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” He darted ahead of me.
“Wait. Why was he sleeping on your couch?” I wanted to know. “I thought he and Charlotte were living together.”
“We were out the night before having a little bachelor party for him. Do you want all the details of where we were in case you want to investigate that too?” He turned and started walking away.
I stalked next to him out the door and followed him across the parking lot.
“I want you to know that I’m trying to look out for my friend and make sure her wedding goes as planned,” I stated matter-of-factly, realizing he was stubborn as a mule.
He clicked the key fob for his door and got into his cruiser.
“You bake the cake and I’ll figure out who killed their chef.” He slammed the door in my face and peeled off.
My jaw dropped open in surprise that he would storm off like that. “The nerve!” I screamed, raising my arms his way.
* * *
Carter was wrong. Evelyn Moss had been a pillar to the RCC community and Rumford itself. She’d dedicated her life to the country club and keeping the members happy. She spent more time putting out fires than creating them. The Evelyn I knew from years ago wouldn’t hurt a fly. I had to get my hands on Natalie’s and Ella’s RCC membership files. Somehow I needed to talk to them. There might be even more women in Emile’s little black book, but I figured there was no better place to start than his two most recent conquests.
Chapter Eight
“It’s about time you got home.” Bitsy’s eyes bore into me. Her jeweled fingers gripped the old cordless phone. “I’ve been worried sick. I even left a message with the police to have them put out an Amber Alert on you.”
“Mama, I’m fine,” I assured her, and twirled around in the middle of the kitchen. Once I stopped, I handed her the takeout containers. “See?”
Dad tucked the top edges of the newspaper away from the front of his face. He gave a slight smile before he flipped it back up to finish whatever article he was reading.
“Here, extra food.” I put the containers on the table and left out the part about the meals having been sent back. “And an apple skillet pie.”
I put the other pie I’d made into the freezer for later consumption.
“All I knew was that you were going to the RCC to meet Charlotte, and the next thing I knew, Emile was found murdered and I thought that you got in the middle of some scuffle with the killer and was kidnapped.” She shook the phone in the air between us. “I’ve been waiting for a ransom call. I even called Bob Bellman down at Rumford First National Bank to get some liquid cash.”
Dad curled the edges of the paper down again, looking at us, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Kidnapping? I’m not a child,” I said, knowing Mama had lost her marbles.
“I saw it on TV. It can happen at any age. And you are ripe for the picking.” Bitsy was always on my side no matter what. I could declare the sky was pink and she’d agree until her dying breath.
“I left a voicemail that I was staying at the RCC today to help Evelyn out with lunches and dinner.” I was touched that Bitsy was so concerned.
“You know I leave my cell in the car.” Bitsy’s eyes snapped open. A line formed between her brows. She put the phone down on the island and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s where a cell phone belongs. In a car in case of emeeergencies,” she drew out the vowels to get the point across.
She stalked across the kitchen to the desk.
“You never know about crazies, and now that there’s a killer on the loose, I’ve got us signed up for a conceal and carry class.” Bitsy opened one of the many empty drawers of the built-in and pulled out a handgun. “This here is mine.” She flung it around as if it were a string of pearls in her hand.
“Bitsy!” Dad closed the paper and got up from the table. “Put that down.”
“Mama, I don’t know much about guns, but I don’t think you’re supposed to flail that around like that.” I shimmied behind the island in case the darn thing went off.
“You’ve lost your mind.” Dad confirmed my exact thoughts. He jerked the gun out of her hands and, with a quick yank, had the barrel open. “No bullets, thank God.” He looked at Mama. “Where did you get this?”
The tone in Dad’s voice told me he was mad. He wasn’t one to speak his mind or even get between Bitsy and me when we’d argue or disagree. But when he did speak up, you knew he was passionate about whatever it was. This gun thing lit him on fire.
Bitsy shrugged. Her lips curled in as tight as bark on a tree. She wasn’t going to give an inch. Stubbornness was Bitsy’s strong suit.
“I’m still going to take the class,” she stubbornly declared.
Dad sucked in a deep breath. In a calm voice, he asked her again, “Bitsy, dear, tell me where you got this?”
Bitsy batted her three-layered-mascaraed eyelashes, and her lips drew to a pucker. “If you must know, I bought it from Gus down at Finders Keepers Thrift Shop.” She thrust her chin up and to the side. Her eyes drew down her nose at Dad.
“Geesh.” Dad put the gun in his pocket. He pulled the sleeve up on his blue button-down and looked at his watch. “I’ll go see Gus in the morning. What were they thinking, selling you this?”
Dad shook his head and walked out of the kitchen. Probably to get as far away from Bitsy as he could before he killed her.
“You and me are still going to the gun class.” Slowly she dragged her finger between us. “What is this nonsense about you helping Evelyn?” Bitsy tsked.
“The RCC was in need of a chef, and I know my way around the kitchen fairly well.” I shrugged.
“Fairly well? I paid plenty of money to all those fancy cooking schools for you to learn your way around better than ‘fairly.’” Bitsy shifted her weight to the left and put her hand on her hip.
“Culinary school,” I corrected her, but she glazed right on over that. “Pastry school after that.”
“There is no way you’re leaving this house until the killer is found.” She stomped over to the kitchen chair where Duchess sat, unfazed by all of the fuss.
“Dad,” I called after my father once Bitsy had left the room.
“Yes.” He turned around.
“Do you think you could stop by the RCC tomorrow? I’d like for you to talk to Evelyn. I think she’s going to need a good lawyer.” It was a tall order for me to ask my dad, but it was worth it.
“I don’t know, honey.” Dad looked torn. “I’m so busy with my current clients, I’m not sure I can take on any more.”
“It’s just that all the evidence is pointing to her. And really I just need you to hold off any charges until after Charlotte’s wedding,” I begged.
“Isn’t her wedding this weekend?” he asked. I nodded. “So only a couple of days I need to ward off the law?” I nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. I was asking a lot of him, and I respected that he was going to take some time to think it over.
“See you in the morning.” He looked at me. His eyes dipped on the edges. “I’m going to need you to be careful.”
“Okay, Dad.” I hugged him before I answered the ringing phone.
When I saw Madison’s name scroll across the screen, I scurried out to the back porch to answer.
“Hey there,” I said, sitting down on the top step of the deck stairs.
The sun was still midsky, and it would be another hour before the sunset lit up the sky in brilliant oranges that would be mixed in with the white fluffy clouds. There was nothing as gorgeous as a Rumford sunset.
“Oh my God,” Madison gasped through the phone. “You’re alive!”
“Of course I’m alive. Why?” I looked back over my shoulder at the sliding do
or, where Bitsy stood looking at me as she raked her nails down Duchess’s fur.
“My mother called and said that you’d been abducted by Emile’s killer.” Her words made me cringe. It was then that I realized my Bitsy had called everyone she knew about my disappearance that never was. “Not that my mother wasn’t worried about your disappearance; she was worried about the Garden Club meeting being canceled since the annual flower show is coming up.”
“Well, you can assure your mother that I’m just fine. I stayed at the RCC to help out in the kitchen.” I chewed on whether I should tell Madison about Evelyn being the number one suspect.
“You helped in the kitchen? So did you see Emile?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact…” I pushed the image of Emile’s body lying on the floor of the RCC kitchen out of my mind. “Charlotte and I were there when Jane found him.”
“Jane?” she asked.
“The waitress. When she got to work, she found Emile.” I wasn’t sure what I could or couldn’t say about the crime scene. I mean, Carter had never said to keep anything hush-hush.
“Charlotte,” she whispered. “Is she just devastated? I guess the wedding is canceled.”
“She is very upset. But her wedding isn’t canceled.” I had to put a stop to any nonsense that might get around the gossip circle. “Evelyn has a really great chef on the hook and I’ve started the cakes. It’s all a go.”
“Still.” And there was the southern pause we did when we formulated our own opinion of the situation. “I need to go see her. I am in the wedding.”
“I think she’s just happy at home with Brett.” There was no need to bring unnecessary attention to an already crazy situation.
“Sophia.” The sarcasm spilled through the phone. “You don’t know anything about being a best friend. She doesn’t want a man to listen to her groan and moan when he’ll just tell her everything is okay. We need to help her beat it to death. Make her feel better. I’ll be over to get you.”
It wasn’t enough to just talk about something bad that had happened to us. We had to toss it out the window, run over it, and then back over it for good measure.