by Ellery Adams
When Jane asked if things were running on schedule, Ty gestured at Milton’s Gardens and declared, “Everything’s coming up roses.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and said, “I hope the chefs are wearing their running shoes.”
“When do they arrive?”
Ty consulted his enormous gold watch. “Any minute now. If they’re all still alive, that is.” Seeing Jane’s mortified stare, Ty flashed her a brilliant smile. “I’m teasing! I’ll miss Pierce. The guy wasn’t pretty, but he made for good TV. Speaking of pretty, here comes Mia.”
Mia was in a 1950s-style garden party dress. The wide skirt flounced as she led the chefs to the row of deluxe gas grills sitting on the grass bordering the terrace. After telling the chefs to look over the grills and tools at their workstations, Mia joined Ty and Jane.
“Good morning,” she said. “Our crew and our chefs are ready to embrace this new day. How’s my wagon, Ty?”
“It’s good to go.” Ty studied Mia’s outfit. “You’re like a younger, hipper Korean version of Mary Poppins.”
“You’re off by about sixty years on the dress, and I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not part Korean, I’m part Thai. But I forgive you because I love Mary Poppins.” Mia smiled at Jane. “We’re ready to seat the audience.”
Ty glanced skyward. “I’ll do a final sound and light check. Tell Bentley to get on the walkie as soon as you’re in motion.”
Mia waited until Ty began talking to a cameraman before she pointed at her cell phone. “It’s been blowing up since five. People want to know what happened to Chef Pierce, and the sheriff’s statement doesn’t say much. Is there anything I need to know?”
“If Sheriff Evans has new information, we’ll find out when he gets here.” Jane’s gaze swept over the lawn. “Where are the judges?”
“Waiting for my signal.” Mia was giddy with excitement. “We’re going to make a grand entrance. You and your family have VIP seating, so you won’t miss a second of what we have planned. Enjoy!”
As soon as Mia turned and headed toward the herb garden, Ty called for all nonessential personnel to clear the set.
On the terrace, Aunt Octavia and Uncle Aloysius were holding court. All of the guests wanted to thank the octogenarians for opening up their familial home.
“My husband hasn’t been this relaxed in twenty years,” a woman gushed.
“And my wife keeps smiling,” her spouse added. “I never knew she had dimples.”
The couples laughed.
“Jane, darling!” Aunt Octavia patted the empty chair beside her. “Our ever-thoughtful Butterworth fixed us a thermos of coffee. Aloysius, would you fill our cups?”
“It would be my honor, my beautiful bride.”
Uncle Aloysius poured coffee into takeout cups and then demanded a tip from Aunt Octavia in the form of a kiss.
“You rake.” She pretended to be scandalized. “In front of all these people?”
“A peck on the cheek is all I ask.”
Aunt Octavia bestowed a kiss on her husband’s wrinkled cheek, marking his skin with a smear of fuchsia lipstick. Uncle Aloysius refused to wipe it off.
“Now all the other ladies will know I’m spoken for,” he said.
This exchange made Jane smile. Her great-uncle and great-aunt had an ideal relationship. They were friends as well as lovers. They’d managed Storyton Hall together, raised Jane after her parents died, and shared an unbreakable bond that grew deeper with every passing year. Jane aspired to be just like them.
When a member of the film crew raised a sign reading QUIET, the live audience fell silent and the chefs took their places behind their prep counters. Jane perched on the edge of her seat, eagerly awaiting Mia’s grand entrance.
It wasn’t Mia she saw next, but a pair of horses. Their chestnut coats gleamed, and their bridles were decorated with flowers. Ribbons of green and yellow peeked through the braids in their manes and tails. The horses were pulling a farm wagon carrying Mia, Coco, and Levi. Sam Nolan of Hilltop Stables sat up front. In his denim overalls and straw hat, he looked like a character from a John Steinbeck novel.
At the entrance to Milton’s Gardens, Sam told the horses to hold up. He jumped down from the wagon and offered his hand to Mia and the judges. Mia picked up a basket brimming with vegetables and smiled for the camera.
“Welcome to Posh Palate with Mia Mallett. We’re here at Storyton Hall—heaven on earth for readers, foodies, and nature lovers. With me today are TV’s favorite judges, Coco Kennedy and Levi Anjou. I’d like to thank Sam Nolan from Hilltop Stables for giving us a ride to work. Sam’s horses also delivered the pantry for today’s challenge, and I think they should be rewarded for their efforts.”
On cue, Sam held up two carrots. A camera zoomed in on him feeding the treats to his horses. He then smiled and tipped his hat at Mia.
After waving at Sam, Mia turned back to the camera. “Behind me is a garden filled with plants and flowers of every color, shape, and fragrance. Storyton Hall grows many of its own herbs and vegetables, and guests can taste that homegrown goodness in their food. Colorful plants, sunshine, and a walled garden remind me of one of my favorite childhood books—Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden.”
A dozen audience members whispered, “Mine too.”
Mia acknowledged the murmurs with a smile. “I love this quote from The Secret Garden: ‘I am sure there is Magic in everything, only we have not sense enough to get hold of it and make it do things for us.’” Again, she paused. “Cooking is a form of magic. The best chefs can prepare flavorful dishes with just a few ingredients. Chefs, your Secret Garden challenge is to use the vegetables and herbs in our wagon, along with eggs and other pantry staples, to make an enchanting breakfast dish.”
Jane guessed what was coming next, but she still grinned when Mia said, “Sounds pretty straightforward, right? But there’s a catch.”
The chefs groaned.
Mia held up her basket. “You must prepare a vegetarian breakfast dish, and you can only make one trip to the wagon. Your ingredients must fit in the basket on your prep station, so choose wisely. You have one hour to complete this challenge. Go!”
The contestants grabbed their baskets and raced for the cart. They were almost there when Chef Lindsay stumbled. She pitched forward and would have fallen on her face if Chef August hadn’t caught her by the arm and hauled her upright. To show her gratitude, Chef Lindsay hung back, ensuring that Chef August reached the cart ahead of her.
“There’s hope for humanity yet,” Aunt Octavia whispered to Jane.
Jane couldn’t believe how quickly the chefs began chopping vegetables or mixing ingredients in bowls. It would take her most of the allotted time to come up with a recipe, let alone cook it.
Crew members holding cameras and mics wound their way around the prep stations, getting footage of the chefs at work while Coco and Levi watched from the judges’ table. The chefs had clearly found their rhythm, and Mia was ready to ask each of them what they planned to make.
She started with Chef Alondra. “Is that a tortilla?”
The chef nodded as she worked a green-specked ball of dough into a thin disc. “My dish is huevos rancheros with a smoky pepper salsa served with avocado, cilantro, and black beans on a spinach tortilla.”
When asked if she had any concerns about time, Chef Alondra said, “No. I got this.”
Chef Saffron was also rolling out balls of dough for her naan spiced with garlic and lemon. “The naan will be the side of toast for my breakfast of curry scrambled eggs served with a side of roasted potatoes, onions, and bell peppers.”
Chef August wasn’t as calm as his female competitors. “I’m definitely worried about time, Mia. I’ve made cornbread twenty ways, but I’ve never tried to make it in a cast-iron skillet on a grill!”
Mia said, “Tell us about your dish.”
“I’m whipping up some beautifully poached eggs served with hollandaise, purple sprouting broccoli, and
charred cornbread.”
“So the charred part is intentional?” Mia grinned.
Chef August put a finger to his lips. “I’m not giving away my secrets.”
With a laugh, Mia walked over to Chef Lindsay’s station.
“You almost started this challenge with a hard fall. What happened?”
Chef Lindsay shrugged. “I stumbled over a rock or something. Lucky for me, Chef August is a gentleman.”
“It looked like you repaid the favor by being the last person to choose your ingredients,” said Mia.
“I ended up with plenty of veggies,” Chef Lindsay replied. “Being last actually helped me edit my dish. When I saw the muffin pans, I knew I wanted to make my own version of toad in the hole. Instead of toast, I’m doing a rosemary and thyme popover filled with fried egg and spinach and topped with a cherry tomato garnish.”
Mia wished her luck and moved on to Chef Michel’s station.
“I think I bit off more than I can chew, and I have a big mouth!” Chef Michel joked, dabbing his forehead with a towel. “My one-bowl dish is a goat cheese polenta topped with an egg and salsa verde. This will sit next to a medley of charred carrots and there’ll be an herb biscotti to provide a nice crunch.”
“Oh, my. How can I become a judge on this show?” Aunt Octavia whispered.
Forty-five minutes went by in a blur. With only ten minutes left to go, the chefs became manic. They groaned and shouted in frustration. They wiped their sweaty faces with towels and fearfully checked the clock on the judges’ table. At the three-minute mark, they started plating their dishes.
“This is so exciting!” someone whispered behind Jane.
She had to agree. For the past hour, she’d been so focused on the competition that she hadn’t studied Levi Anjou’s expressions or body language for signs of a guilty conscience. As soon as the chefs started cooking, she’d forgotten about both judges.
And it wasn’t Levi who finally drew her attention away from the riveting conclusion of the Secret Garden Challenge. It wasn’t a person at all.
“Do you smell gas?” she asked Aunt Octavia in an urgent whisper.
Aunt Octavia frowned. “I can’t tell. My allergies have been acting up.”
She leaned over and whispered in her husband’s ear. Uncle Aloysius took a deep inhale through his nose and nodded. He smelled it too.
“Get the guests inside. Hurry.” Jane jumped to her feet and took out her phone. She dictated an urgent message to the Fins as she raced down the terrace steps and over the grass to where Ty and the fire safety advisor were engaged in a heated argument.
“Two minutes!” Ty hissed, blocking the fire safety advisor’s path. “The judges are tasting the dishes now. The second they’re done, we’ll turn off the grills.”
“I’m turning it off now!” The man tried to push past Ty, but the director grabbed him by his neon vest and wouldn’t let go.
Ty might be willing to sacrifice people’s safety for the sake of television, but Jane wasn’t.
With a grunt, Ty released the fire safety advisor, and the man sprinted toward the row of grills.
He was halfway there when the world exploded.
Chapter 10
There was a deafening roar and a bright ball of fire rocketed skyward.
Jane dropped to her knees but didn’t cover her face. She couldn’t take her eyes off the flames roiling over the top of Chef Michel’s grill.
Her hypnotic state was short-lived. Concern for her guests brought her to her feet, and she hurriedly scanned the area for anyone in need of help.
Seeing the terrace, her heart lurched in relief. Aunt Octavia and Uncle Aloysius had managed to get all the audience members into the manor house. Their frightened faces stared out through the windows.
Safe.
The word sounded like an answered prayer.
Jane looked around for the chefs. All five were on the ground behind the judges’ table. They appeared to be unhurt. Levi and Coco were crouched in the grass, clinging to each other. Mia and Bentley were huddled together near the judges. Mia’s face was slack with shock.
One of the crewmembers started shouting. As if a spell had been broken, his colleagues sprang into action, moving cameras, lights, cables, and other equipment away from the burning grill.
A man leaned over the balcony of his second-story guest room and yelled, “Get water!”
Someone else cried, “Here’s a hose!”
Jane scanned the area near the grills for the fire safety advisor. Even though he wore a bright orange vest, she couldn’t see him. The smoke made it impossible.
Suddenly, the fire shifted, and Jane saw a body on the flagstones. A man’s body, too close to the fire.
“Help!” she screamed, running toward the flames. “I need help!”
Assistance came from every direction.
Lachlan and Sterling rushed across the terrace. They both had market umbrellas in their arms.
Butterworth ran across the lawn, heading for the terrace steps. For a big man, he moved fast. The tails of his uniform coat flapped like wings as he raced up the steps. At the top, he bellowed at the guest holding the garden hose.
“Put that down! Spray water on this fire and you’ll kill us all!”
Jane didn’t spare a glance for the guest. She was completely focused on reaching the fire safety advisor.
Sensing movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned her head to see Sinclair. He pulled up alongside her, carrying a two-gallon bucket in one hand and a fire extinguisher in the other.
He thrust the extinguisher at her. “You’ll spray while I dump the baking soda. It’ll give Butterworth time to grab hold of Mr. Gilmore. Ready?”
The heat of the fire stung Jane’s skin and acrid smoke rushed into her lungs, but she planted her feet, ripped out the extinguisher pin, and aimed.
“Now!” Sinclair hollered.
Jane pressed the trigger and Sinclair hurled the baking soda. The double assault of foam and white powder was too powerful for the fire, and it shrank back.
Butterworth pulled the fire safety advisor out of harm’s way while Lachlan and Sterling smothered the choking flames with the umbrellas. The abrupt loss of oxygen stole the fire’s potency. All it could do now was blacken the umbrella canvas with its final breaths.
Lachlan and Sterling dropped the ruined umbrellas on the flagstones, and the noxious odor of singed fabric and plastic mingled with the other malodorous fumes billowing out over the terrace.
Jane’s eyes were gritty and sore, and it felt like her throat was lined with soot. As she rubbed at her eyes, a troop of bellhops and desk clerks streamed out of the manor house carrying electric fans, extension cords, and power strips. The kitchen staff was there too, distributing bottles of water and other items to everyone on the lawn.
A sous chef handed Jane water and a damp cloth for her face. She passed the cloth over her eyes and drank some water. Then, she looked for Butterworth and the fire safety advisor.
A few feet away, Sinclair was speaking to Lachlan.
“Where’s Mr. Gilmore?” Jane asked.
“Mr. Butterworth took him to the closest cottage. He’ll tend to him however he can until Doc Lydgate arrives.”
“Ms. Limoges is there, in that cottage.”
Sinclair poured some water on his handkerchief and passed it over his face. “I know, but it has a fully stocked first-aid kit, and we could hardly carry the man through the manor house.”
“Of course not. I’m sorry. I’m not as clear-headed as I’d like to be.”
“What would you have us do?”
The question steadied Jane. “I’d like Sterling to liaise with Chief Aroneo. You and Lachlan should take a head count. Make sure everyone’s present, accounted for, and unhurt. Continue to keep an eye on Levi Anjou until Sheriff Evans arrives. He’ll want me to fill him in on what happened, but that’ll have to wait. Mr. Gilmore was injured trying to save us. I need to do everything I can to help him.�
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Jane hopped in the maintenance cart parked next to the herb garden and sped down the driveway toward the employee cottages.
As she passed her house, she felt a surge of guilt because she hadn’t checked on the twins. But Edwin was there, and he wouldn’t let the boys out of his sight. Fitz and Hem were probably leaning out their bedroom window right now, peering through their spyglasses with the intensity of a naval captain searching for an enemy ship.
Jane took one hand off the wheel and dictated a text to Edwin.
Gas grill exploded. One person injured. I’ll call when I can.
At the little stone cottage, Jane jumped out of the golf cart, ran up the steps, and burst through the front door. “Butterworth?”
An unintelligible noise came from the bedroom and Olivia Limoges poked her head into the living room. She pointed at a bowl on the kitchen counter and said, “Can you bring that back here?”
Jane carried the bowl of water into the bedroom and set it on the nightstand.
“Mr. Butterworth went to meet the doctor,” Olivia said as she submerged a piece of white cotton in the water.
Jane saw a pile of the debris on the rug. With horror, she realized that it was made of scraps of clothing. There were ribbons of neon orange, a rhombus of gray cotton, and part of a leather belt. The sight drove home the seriousness of Mr. Gilmore’s injuries.
“Did Butterworth cut these off?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Yes,” Olivia replied. “He said it was crucial to remove restrictive items, elevate the burned area, and cover it with cool, moist cloths.”
Jane watched Olivia dip a square of white cotton into the bowl. After wringing it out, she gingerly laid it across the blistered skin of Mr. Gilmore’s chest.
“Thank you,” Jane said. She wanted to say more—to praise Olivia for her willingness to help—but was suddenly overcome by emotion. A lump formed in her throat and tears threatened. It took a Herculean effort to keep them from spilling over.