A Death at Dinner: An amateur sleuth murder mystery (A Mary Blake Mystery Book 2)

by AG Barnett

  “No,” she said quietly, “I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. That man was murdered, I’m sure of it, and I’m not going to leave this alone until I’ve proved it.”

  Corrigan took a deep breath, his lips tightening as his deep brown eyes stared back at the defiance in her gaze.

  “Just be careful, Mary. People don’t take kindly to being accused of murder, especially when there’s no evidence.” He waited a moment, but when Mary didn’t respond, he continued. “And think of his parents, think how upsetting this could be for them if they hear that someone is claiming foul play?”

  Mary closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was experiencing something that she rarely had during her life. She was embarrassed. She felt like a foolish little girl who had been playing at a game she didn’t understand and was now being admonished by the adults. There was a sense of loss there as well. She could feel the enormity of her acting career being over, threatening to rise up from the depths where she had buried it. Why had she wanted this so much? Why had she felt the need to pull at threads, to poke into corners? Was it just to give herself a sense of purpose, to prove to herself and the world that she wasn’t past it?

  “No,” she said suddenly, feeling her rush of emotions cool into something hard, like steel. “I’m doing this because I looked into a young man’s eyes and I saw how afraid he was, and how confused. Then I sat with him as he died and I know that something was not right about it.” She knew she was saying it as much for herself as for Corrigan, but she no longer cared. She folded her arms and stared into the deep brown eyes of the inspector. “Let me know what happens at the autopsy. Until then, I’ll just continue to do your job here.”

  She turned and marched off down the street without looking back. Dot, who had stayed a few yards away with Pea, followed. Pea gave a quick, awkward smile at the inspector before he scampered after them.

  Corrigan watched them go and raised one hand to his chin thoughtfully as a smile crept across his lips.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I’m fairly sure this could be considered stalking,” Dot said, her mouth pursed in disapproval.

  “Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” Mary answered without a hint of irony. “I just fancied a gin and tonic that’s all.”

  “Yes,” Dot said in a flat voice. “It’s just funny how you suddenly fancied one after you saw James Donovan come in here, isn’t it?”

  Mary rolled her eyes and scanned the room.

  Dot was right. As Mary had been storming back to the hotel, unable to even speak to Dot and Pea in her fury, she had suddenly seen the young barman from the hotel entering a pub set back from the High Street. She had immediately declared her raging thirst, causing Dot’s eyebrows to become almost permanently raised in suspicion.

  James was playing darts with a couple of lads his age, laughing and joking as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Was this normal behaviour after someone you knew had so recently died? Mary thought back to her youth and admonished herself. Of course it was—the young had a remarkable propensity to bouncing back.

  “So now we’re here definitely not stalking him,” Pea said sarcastically, “what exactly is the plan?”

  “Well, I think we should ask him what he was talking about with Edward Landry, don’t you?” Mary shrugged. “The two of them clearly think someone might have done it, so why haven’t they told the police?”

  “And you think he’s just going to tell you?” Dot asked cynically.

  “Well,” Mary said, draining the last of her gin and tonic which she had finished at breakneck speed, “there’s only one way to find out.”

  She stood up and walked along the bar towards the dartboard at the back. James was taking his shot, but she watched the other two men notice her and stare with widening eyes.

  “James?” she said in what she considered her most sultry voice.

  “Miss Blake?” he said, turning around from collecting his darts in bewilderment.

  She looked between his two friends, who were standing to either side of him and both grinning from ear to ear.

  “I was wondering if I could buy you a drink?” Mary said, putting her hands on her hips and shifting them to one side in what she hoped would still pass as an attractive manner.

  “Erm…” James said, looking pale and confused.

  “James!” hissed the man on the left, “Go on, you bloody idiot!”

  “Right, yes,” James stammered, handing the darts to the hisser before stepping towards her.

  She turned and moved towards the bar, her eyes searching across the room until she saw Pea and Dot, who had obviously swapped chairs to watch the show. Pea was grinning as Dot shook his head slowly in despair.

  Internally, Mary was feeling rather pleased. She had kept herself in shape and although she was facing a now constant battle with sagging flesh and skin, she still clearly had enough about her to impress. Although it could be that men of around twenty weren’t exactly choosy when it came to a chance with the opposite sex.

  “What can I get you, James?” she asked, hopping onto one of the tatty leather stools as she reached the bar.

  “Erm, I’ll have a lager top, please.”

  She ordered it along with another gin and tonic for herself and watched as he gulped at the frothy pint nervously.

  “Have you worked at the hotel long?”

  “A couple of years,” he said, shrugging. “It’s all right, I don’t have to do much.”

  “That’s good,” Mary answered with a smile. “It must have been a shock to you, Thomas dying?”

  He looked at her, frowning. “Yeah,” he answered, but his voice sounded different, warier.

  Mary realised he was already suspicious of her motives. No matter how much she tried to charm information out of him, the likelihood of a fifty-year-old TV actress coming on to a hotel bartender in his early twenties had obviously occurred to him. Time to take another tack.

  “Look, James,” she said, leaning towards him. “I know you think there might have been something more to Thomas’s death than just his heart condition.”

  “What do you mean?” he said, his thin cheeks flushing red.

  “My friends heard you talking to the hotel manager, Edward Landry. It sounded as though you thought a woman might have done something to Thomas?”

  His mouth opened and closed like a fish’s as his expression ranged from confusion to fear.

  “I was just being stupid,” he said, shaking his head. “The whole thing just messed me up and I was a bit all over the place, I didn’t know what I was saying.”

  “Sometimes our first reaction can be more on the nose than we think,” Mary said in a calming voice.

  He frowned at her. “Do you know something? Did Anna say something to you?”

  Mary tried not to show any reaction to the mention of the head chef’s name. “She told me some things. About Thomas, yes,” she lied.

  “Look,” he said, leaning forward himself now, his voice lowered conspiratorially, “I know what you’re thinking, I thought the same thing, but it doesn’t make sense if you really go through it properly.”

  “Why not?” Mary asked, playing along despite being now hopelessly lost in the conversation.

  “Well everyone in the kitchen knew that if Thomas left the restaurant was done for, and I thought the same as you—maybe Anna did something to him.” He shook his head and looked down at his drink. “She was definitely desperate enough. But then that wouldn’t make sense, would it?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because then he’d be gone anyway! Anna would still have the same problem of barely being able to boil an egg!”

  Mary tried to keep her face impassive despite the rush of excitement which was racing through her. “So Anna killing him wouldn’t have solved her problems anyway?” she said, in what she hoped was a level voice.

  “Of course not!” he said, waving his free hand dismissively before pausing and looking at her curiously. “Do you think Th
omas was killed then? Have you heard something from the police?”

  “All I know is they are still looking into it,” Mary said in a tone that suggested foul play more certainly than if she had said it out loud. She felt no guilt at this slight deception. After all, the autopsy was still to be done and if she was right, the police would be back on the case soon enough.

  “Bloody hell,” James said, taking another large swig of his beer.

  “Can you think of anyone other than Anna that would have wanted Thomas out of the way?”

  He gave a hollow laugh. “The restaurant going under wasn’t exactly good news for any of us. It was pretty much propping the hotel up.”

  “So anyone could have had a reason for taking it out on Thomas?”

  “No!” he cried suddenly. “Look, we were all pretty pissed off when Thomas said he was leaving, but you couldn’t really blame him. He was getting a crap deal and everyone knew he was going to go on to be some big-shot chef somewhere. No one would have bloody killed him because of it.”

  It was Mary’s turn to look thoughtfully at her drink.

  “Except Roderick, I guess,” James said.

  “Roderick?”

  “Well, everyone knows he wants to sell the place; now that Thomas has gone it is more or less going to be a done deal.”

  “And did he know about Thomas leaving?” Mary asked urgently, her heart racing.

  “Oh no, Anna and Ruth only knew a few days ago and Edward and I only found out yesterday morning. I told Daisy and she was so upset, cried her eyes out, she did.”

  “Are you two an item?” Mary asked, wondering if she’d get a different reaction than when she had asked Daisy.

  “She’s a lovely girl,” James said, blushing.

  “Thank you, James, I’ll see you later,” Mary said, jumping from her stool and gesturing for the others to follow her out of the pub and back onto the streets of Parchester.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You are joking?” Pea said, incredulous.

  “Nope, according to James, Anna Crosby can’t even boil an egg.”

  “But how is that possible? She’s got a Michelin star!”

  “The restaurant has,” Mary corrected him. “What if Thomas Mosley was the real talent in the kitchen? What if he was the one that was actually running the show?”

  “But then how did Anna become a head chef?”

  “That’s exactly what I want to ask Spencer,” Mary said in an annoyed tone. “I knew he was keeping things from us, but to not mention something like this!” She watched Dot and Pea exchange glances in front of her. “You two can knock that off as well!” She snapped.

  She knew she was angrier than they thought she should be, but she felt totally justified in the hot temper that was coursing through her. Spencer Harley had invited her here because he was being blackmailed, but had then refused to show her the blackmail letters or share with her any information that would even remotely help her find who was behind them until after Thomas’s death, where he then announced he thinks it might have been his business partner all along! Now she found out that the head chef he was so fond of was a fraud. As far as she was concerned, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  She called Spencer’s mobile as she marched back down the street towards the café that they would soon be considered regulars at if they kept this up.

  “Mary?” he answered in a somewhat weary tone of voice.

  “Yes, get to the Tumbledown Café on the High Street now, we’ve got things to discuss.” She hung up before he could reply and entered the café.

  “Oh! Back again, are we?” Sandra cooed from behind the counter.

  “For the third time actually.” Mary smiled. The woman’s round and pleasant face disarmed her anger almost immediately. She just hoped Sandra wasn’t going to chew her ear off again.

  They chatted as she ordered drinks for her, Dot and Pea before the three of them took their seats in the same corner they had sat in earlier.

  Their conversation was stilted as Mary sulked in thought and the others, wary of her earlier outburst, stayed quiet and sipped their coffee. It was roughly ten minutes later when the small bell tinkled over the café door and Mary looked up to see a red-faced Spencer, flat cap in hand, his small, round eyes scanning the room. They landed on Mary and he gave a small nod before ordering a coffee at the counter and moving across to join them.

  “Hello all,” he said as he heaved himself onto the small wooden chair that was vacant.

  “Don’t you hello me!” Mary said, her anger rising back to her immediately. “Just when were you planning on telling us the truth about any of this?!”

  Spencer frowned at her before looking to Dot and Pea for support. They carefully kept their expressions blank, and finding no comfort there, he turned back to Mary.

  “I’m sorry Mary, I’m not sure what you mean?”

  “Not sure what I mean?!” Mary laughed mirthlessly. “First you get us down here on some rubbish about blackmail, then you casually announce that you knew who was doing it all along, and now we find out that the only person who’s keeping the hotel afloat is a fraud!”

  Spencer blinked. “A fraud? I’m sorry, who are you talking about?”

  “Anna Crosby of course!”

  Spencer recoiled as though he had been slapped. “Anna? What on earth are you talking about?!”

  There was a pause as a young and disinterested-looking waitress arrived with Spencer’s coffee before Mary picked up her thread again, now with a slightly calmer tone.

  “I mean, that your precious chef is apparently no more a cook than I am!”

  “I don’t… I don’t understand,” stammered Spencer, now looking around the group in confusion.

  “She means,” Dot said, deciding the conversation wasn’t getting very far, “that we’ve heard Anna is just the figurehead in the kitchen, but that Thomas was the real talent.”

  Spencer’s rotund face slowly changed from furrowed brow to a wide smile as he began to chuckle. “Ridiculous!” he said, shaking his head. “Thomas was just a boy. You can’t compare him with the expertise of Anna! I don’t know who’s been telling you this nonsense, but that’s exactly what it is—nonsense.”

  “Where was Anna working before you hired her for the restaurant?” Mary asked softly.

  “Where was she working?” Spencer said, his expression changing curiously. “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “I was just wondering what her reputation was like before you employed her?”

  “Well, I’ve known her for a number of years…” His voice trailed off as one chubby hand reached out to begin fiddling with the salt pot which sat on the table in front of him.

  “How did you know her?” Mary asked, attempting a new angle to attack this sudden reluctance to talk.

  Spencer snorted in annoyance. “If you must know, Anna was my secretary.”

  Mary’s mouth fell open somewhat in surprise. She glanced at Dot and Pea, who were both sporting similar looks of shock and confusion.

  “She was your secretary?”

  “Yes, that’s right. What of it?”

  “I’m sorry,” Mary continued, “I don’t understand. How did she go from being your secretary to being head chef at the restaurant?”

  “She’d always had ambitions towards being a chef and I could tell she had talent, nothing more. The opportunity at the hotel came up and I encouraged her to take it.”

  “So she didn’t have any experience of running a restaurant before, or even working in one?”

  “No, but she was a very competent secretary and she brought me in odd things she had cooked and they were always very lovely.” His chin rose as if defying them to question the decision. “In any case, it was the right choice, the success of the restaurant proves it.”

  “Unless that success was down to her staff members rather than her?” Mary said.

  Spencer looked up at her sharply. “Even if it was the case that she del
egated well, she still runs the kitchen—the success is hers. Now look here, I called you into this thinking you would be a discreet way of proving that Roderick was trying to blackmail me into selling the hotel. That doesn’t mean to say I want you muckraking all sorts of nonsense with the hotel staff and claiming murder when a man has died a perfectly natural death! I think it’s best for all concerned that you leave the hotel as soon as possible.” He stood up and strode purposefully from the café, leaving his coffee untouched on the table.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “It still doesn’t make sense to me that Anna would do anything to hurt Thomas,” Dot said as they walked back to the hotel. “It doesn’t help her run the restaurant now, does it? If he really was the talent behind their success, they’re not exactly going to be able to maintain standards now he’s dead.”

  “Everyone keeps saying that, but who knows what people might do when the red mist descends. We need to talk to Ruth Faulkner,” Mary said decisively. “If Thomas was the one really running the kitchen, then Ruth would know and she might be more likely to admit it than Anna. I can’t believe I didn’t notice something going on this morning!”

  “What do you mean?” Pea asked as he neatly sidestepped an old lady who whizzed past on a mobility scooter at a rate of knots.

  “Can you remember what Anna said at breakfast when she ran out of the room? She said she ‘couldn’t just replace him’ and that it was ‘all over now.’ At the time I thought she was just being emotional about losing a colleague, but now we know what we do, it all sounds very different. Then, when I talked to her and Ruth in the kitchen, there was something off about their relationship.”

  “You mean, they were…” Dot paused, searching for the words. “Romantically involved?”

  “Bloody hell, Dot,” Mary said, laughing at her awkwardness, “sometimes I think you’ve been thawed out from the nineteenth century, but the answer is no, I don’t mean they were ‘romantically involved.’” She said this last part in a mockingly serious tone before becoming more thoughtful. “It was odd, it was as though the relationship was the other way around from how I imagined it.”