Cherringham - A Dinner to Die For

by Matthew Costello

  Jack went to Alan.

  “Alan – maybe, if you can – let us know what they find out?”

  And Alan, who had grown comfortable working with Jack and Sarah, nodded.

  “I will.”

  Jack walked over to Sarah – the fire now gone, the last burning embers killed. The stench of the doused fire filled the chilly air of the sodden street.

  “What did you tell her?”

  She saw Jack look away, watching Anna walk back to her flat, down the road.

  “That we’d get to the bottom of this.”

  “And you think we can?”

  “I hope so. Think… we have a lot to do tomorrow. I’m guessing – kitchen fires do happen – but–”

  “You don’t think it was an accident?”

  “No, I don’t. That fire was set, I’m sure of it.” Then: “Walk you home?”

  “You need checking out at the hospital.”

  “Just a bit of smoke,” said Jack. “No big deal – I’ve been there before.”

  “You’re not back on the streets of New York any more, Jack. Come on – I’m going to get you a lift to the hospital.”

  She saw him shake his head, his face serious.

  “No way, Sarah. Best place for me is back on the Goose, with a medicinal whisky in my hand and Riley at my side. Plan in the morning?”

  Sarah shrugged.

  Then she watched as he turned towards his car.

  But after he had gone only a few steps… she called after him.

  “What you did. Running in there. It was… You could have got yourself killed.”

  She saw him pause for a moment and smile. “I didn’t though – did I?”

  “I’m not kidding, Jack. You scared me.”

  He stood, staring at her.

  Then he seemed to understand she needed more, and he walked back to her.

  Put his hands on her shoulders.

  “You’re right. It was… a little crazy. Kinda my training, though.”

  “I’d call it damned risky. Dangerous.”

  She looked at his face, serious, the fire and police lights flashing behind him.

  “Okay. What it is… I just have this instinct – and training – to run towards trouble, not away from it. In my mind, I don’t have a choice. I’m guessing… you know that about me.”

  She nodded. Waited for him to go on.

  “But here’s the thing. I hadn’t really thought through the effect that might have on you.”

  “The fact that I care about you? Care if you got hurt?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Sarah looked at him.

  “Okay,” she said. Then: “So now will you let me take you to the hospital?”

  “Compromise.”

  “Go on.”

  “How about you drive me back to the Goose and we have that whisky together?”

  “That’s the compromise?”

  He nodded. “If, after that, I seem wobbly at all… to hospital we go. But trust me – I’ll be fine.”

  She smiled and took his hands from her shoulders.

  “In you get then. Passenger side.”

  She walked round to the driver’s side, climbed in and waited for Jack to join her.

  “Key?”

  He handed it over and she started the engine, adjusted the driver’s seat.

  “Just the one, okay?” she said. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow and I know you and that bottle of Lagavulin.”

  He laughed – the laugh turning into a cough.

  “Not too late to divert to the hospital,” she said.

  “Get outta here.”

  She spun the wheel and headed off down the High Street.

  14. Digital Footprints

  “It’s a catastrophe, darling, nothing less,” said Helen.

  “Well, I wouldn’t quite go so far as to call it that, Mum,” said Sarah into her phone.

  She looked up as Grace slid a cup of coffee onto her desk. Sarah mouthed the word “thanks”.

  “A week ago, we were all so looking forward to Sam’s special menu de l’opera followed by the Metropolitan Opera’s most perfect Turandot. Today the poor boy is not only in hospital – but likely to be charged with arson. And now Lady Repton – and honestly, I do really have to question her judgment – has hired the very person responsible for this calamity to take his place and cater for the dinner. If that isn’t a catastrophe I don’t know what is.”

  “I’m sure Sam is going to be fine, Mum,” said Sarah, rolling her eyes at Grace who now sat at her desk opposite. “And Anna – well we can hardly blame her for what happened to Sam. In fact, I think it’s amazing she’s prepared to take the whole thing on at such short notice. I’m sure she and her team will do a marvellous job on Saturday.”

  But her mother wasn’t going to listen.

  “It’s all too, too much. At some point, you’re going to have to explain to me just what on earth happened this week, Sarah. It makes no sense to me. World gone mad, totally mad. In fact, I seem to remember you and Jack were going to sort all of this nonsense out?”

  “We’re trying! It’s been a bit complicated, Mum.”

  Sarah paused as another dump of emails pinged into her inbox. She’d been on the phone to her mother for ten minutes now, her morning already stressful enough.

  Time for a white lie.

  “Look – I’ve got to take another call.”

  “Oh, right–”

  “Sorry, Mum – work. Talk tonight? I’ll call you when I’m home, we can have a proper chat.”

  “Well, if you really must…”

  “Byee, Mum.”

  Sarah put the phone down and took a deep breath to calm down. Then she stared at her computer, not knowing where to start.

  “Want me to take over the garden centre brochure?” said Grace.

  “God – would you?” said Sarah. “This morning’s been totally all over the place, phone calls, emails.”

  “Not surprised – I think the whole village is in shock. You heard anything more about Sam?”

  “I spoke to Julie this morning – she said they’re going to keep him in for a couple of days. He’s lucky to be alive.”

  Grace hesitated a moment.

  “You don’t think he had anything to do with–”

  “I know he didn’t,” said Sarah. She looked over at Grace, who nodded back at her.

  “I also hear Jack was quite the hero.”

  “Scared the life out of me,” said Sarah, scrolling through her emails as she spoke. “The way he just ran into the fire. Meanwhile, all my mum can be bothered about is her charity dinner on Saturday.”

  Grace laughed at that.

  “Your mum and dad don’t live in the village,” said Grace. “I’m sure when she actually comes in and sees the Bayleaf for herself she might think differently.”

  “Very forgiving of you,” said Sarah, smiling.

  “Just trying to live up to the little pep talk the vicar gave me and Nick!”

  “Wow – I haven’t even asked you about that,” said Sarah. “Let’s grab lunch together, shall we? Catch up?”

  “It’ll have to be sandwiches here,” said Grace. “Busy, busy.”

  “Fair enough – I’m buying though,” said Sarah. Then she turned back to her screen.

  She still did not believe that Sam had set that fire.

  But if not Sam – then who?

  She thought back to her meeting with Karl Desmond and his wife out at his house. And the feeling she had then that something was just… off.

  But what?

  Something drifting under the surface, some clue that she couldn’t quite see…?

  She took a sip of coffee, opened her browser history and went back into the searches she’d done the other day on Desmond’s past.

  Looking to see if she’d missed anything.

  *

  She stared at the list of Desmond’s “directorships” – the Sheffield restaurants he had a stake in.

&nb
sp; Only one thing she hadn’t really noticed first time round: Karl Desmond had resigned from nearly all of them last spring.

  In itself, it was nothing that didn’t chime with his story of moving south. It made sense he should withdraw from those businesses to concentrate on the Bayleaf.

  She ran through the long list of restaurant names: Antica Italia; Profumo; Texan Heatwave; French Menu…

  Quite a range of styles, cuisines.

  Time to dig deeper.

  One by one she put the names into a search engine, looking for reviews, features, articles online.

  Some were still open. Two had closed. But nothing suspicious.

  A few photographs – publicity stills from their openings, the web pages still cached. She flicked through them – then stopped – flicked back.

  A photo of the owners and staff at the Blue Lizard, a couple of years back. Waiters, front of house, chef, sous chefs.

  In the middle – Karl Desmond, smiling at the camera. His arm over the shoulder of his chef, standing next to him.

  Tall, built like a rugby player.

  “Paddy Fitzgerald, star chef on the way up,” said the caption. “We’re delighted to have him,” says owner Karl Desmond, “he’s a genius.”

  Sarah looked at the photo, then quickly zoomed in on it. Grainy though it was, she recognised the face of the chef.

  It was Paddy – Anna Garcia’s sous chef. The man she’d seen last night outside the Bayleaf.

  There was no doubt about it.

  The very guy that Karl Desmond had told her he didn’t know.

  Sarah sat back from her screen.

  Why would Desmond lie about that?

  Why pretend he didn’t know Anna’s sous chef?

  It didn’t make sense.

  On a hunch – she searched for the chef and filtered the search with Sheffield. Paddy’s name came up again – three times – and each time linked to one of Desmond’s restaurants.

  She went back to the photo, grabbed a copy, and emailed it to her phone. Then she picked up her notebook, looking for the name of the fish supplier that Jack said the Bayleaf had used back in December.

  She found it – and was about to phone them, when she stopped.

  She wasn’t going to find out anything in a phone call. She needed to actually be there. See the place. Talk to them face to face.

  She checked the address. Cheltenham. Then looked at her watch. If she left now, yep, she could do it…

  She got up from her desk, slipped her phone into her handbag. As she did – another email pinged onto her desktop.

  This one couldn’t wait.

  It was from an old colleague in London – a cyber-security expert who’d helped her out years ago when she’d uncovered her ex-husband’s not so pleasant trail of lies and deceit.

  Shot in the dark, she’d asked him if he could track down the source of the negative reviews of the Bayleaf.

  She opened the email and, as she read it, her heart sank: he’d traced the reviews, no problem. They all came from the same IP address. An address in Cherringham.

  The owner was registered as – the Spotted Pig, Cherringham High Street.

  She stared at the email, wishing it wasn’t true, wishing that Sam wasn’t involved. Now… this.

  Thinking – maybe there’s an innocent explanation.

  And wondering if it was now pointless to go all the way to Cheltenham. What if Sam really did post those reviews? Hack into the Bayleaf booking system? Set fire to the place?

  No. That wasn’t the Sam she knew.

  She stood up from her computer, picked up her bag and turned to Grace.

  “Sorry. Rain check for lunch? Gotta go out,” she said heading for the door. “Urgent errand. Won’t be long. Oh – and wish me luck.”

  And as she headed down the stairs and out onto the High Street, she opened her phone and called Jack.

  *

  Jack tapped on the glass door of the restaurant. Although the “Closed” sign hung on the door, he could see Julie inside, sitting at one of the tables with her laptop open, surrounded by papers.

  He waited while she came to the door, unbolted it top and bottom.

  “Hello, Jack,” she said as she swung the door open. Voice low.

  Worry in her eyes; her tone.

  “Good of you to drop by. Come in, come in.”

  She stepped back and Jack entered the restaurant, gave her a kiss on both cheeks.

  “Can I get you a coffee? As you can see – we’re not open.”

  “Kind of you, Julie, but I’m not stopping. Any news from the hospital?”

  “They’ve cleaned up his arm – nasty but not as bad as they thought,” she said. “Thanks to you – so I hear. You were amazing, you know…”

  Jack shrugged. “Just did what anyone would have done.”

  “Not so sure about that. And as soon as Sam’s out…”

  Jack could see she was just holding it together. He looked around the restaurant. “You on your own?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the kid you took on – Izzy?”

  “Oh, she quit. Phoned this morning. Said she won’t be coming in.”

  “Just what you needed, hmm?”

  “Rains, pours. But to be honest – it’s no big deal,” said Julie with a shrug. “She was pretty useless.”

  Jack nodded.

  “So, Jack – did you want something? I have to sort things here – we’re going to be closed for weeks unless I can find a stand-in chef for Sam. That’s not likely!”

  No easy way to say this, thought Jack. But here goes…

  “There is something, Julie. You remember Anna – at the Bayleaf – said Sam had been posting bad reviews online…”

  “I’m not about to forget that accusation in a hurry – or the others.”

  “I know. But look – here’s the thing – Sarah did some digging and it seems the reviews were actually posted from here. From the restaurant.”

  “Hang on. That can’t be right.”

  “She’s pretty certain.”

  “It’s impossible. Sam wouldn’t do that – to any restaurant. Ever.”

  This was tough.

  Jack shrugged. “I know. Just saying – that’s what Sarah found.”

  “And you believe it?”

  “It’s a fact, Julie. ’Believing’ doesn’t come into it.”

  “And it’s definitely from our computer?”

  “Your IP address. So I’m told – but you know, I’m not the expert, that’s Sarah’s line.”

  “There must be an explanation. Maybe it was a customer?”

  Jack shrugged again and watched Julie taking this in.

  She shook her head, then turned and went back to the desk.

  “Maybe somebody came, parked outside – used our wireless connection?”

  “Maybe,” said Jack. “Anything’s possible.”

  He waited for Julie to say more. But she stared into space.

  “Just… wanted you to know. And Sarah and I… we’ll keep digging. Okay, well, best be on my way,” he said, turning towards the door.

  And in response, Julie stood up. A hand to Jack’s shoulder.

  “Jack – I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you to come by and tell me that,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

  Jack nodded.

  Another hesitation, and whatever was coming, hard for her…

  “There’s another thing I want to thank you for,” she said. “At the hospital last night, Sam said you and he had talked.”

  “We did.”

  “And you told him he needed be honest with me. About Anna.”

  She held Jack’s gaze.

  “That was good advice,” she said. “He took it.”

  Jack nodded.

  “Glad to hear. Let’s hope he’ll be out soon, you two can get back to your lives.”

  “Pick up the pieces,” she said, staring at the paperwork. Then: “Least we don’t have the charity dinner to deal with any more
.”

  Jack nodded, then opened the door: “Look after yourself, Julie. Anything else I can do – anything, just ask. Okay?”

  He saw her smile, then he stepped out onto the High Street. A bitter wind was blowing up the hill.

  Time for a coffee.

  He put his head down and headed for Huffington’s Tea Rooms.

  Good that Sam had come clean about the past.

  The present, though, might be tougher to fix. If Sam was guilty, the Spotted Pig would close. Julie would be on her own with a new baby and no job to support them.

  Now there was a bleak prospect for the family.

  And, right now, he couldn’t see a way of helping them out of that fix.

  15. Something Fishy

  Sarah parked near a small cluster of warehouses and commercial buildings.

  Straight ahead, a sign caught the light: Carter’s Seafood.

  A sign on the door in stencilled letters announced: “Wholesale Only – No Retail”.

  Okay, she thought, they won’t be expecting any walk-ins.

  She went to the door and – giving the sign’s warning no heed – turned the door knob, and went in.

  *

  Inside, there was a small front counter, all shiny stainless steel, a row of computers, and a grey-haired woman who sat in front of one of them.

  The woman looked up.

  Behind her, through a window, Sarah could see a warehouse area full of boxes crammed with fish, and islands of seafood topped with ice.

  With a friendly smile that belied the warning words on the doors, the woman said: “Can I help you?”

  Sarah nodded.

  She took a breath.

  Even though the fish was behind glass, the swirl of smells was dizzying.

  The rich smell of the sea. The aroma of salt air and bustling harbours.

  All it needed was the call of gulls swooping overhead.

  “Yes, er, I’d like to speak to the person… in charge?”

  And at that, the woman’s smile faded.

  Probably not the most welcome words, as her lips made a small oval as in “Oh… I understand.”

  When clearly – at this point – she didn’t.

  *

  “That would be Mr Carter. But I’m afraid we’ve just had a delivery in and–”

  But then the door to the warehouse area opened.

  And Sarah watched a man in olive-green PVC chest-waders walk out.