Book Retreat Mystery 07 - Murder in the Cookbook Nook
Page 15
Jane advanced on the young men. “How dare you harass my sons? How dare you film them? My sons. Who. Are. Minors. Do you know how lucky you are that a pair of phones are all you’ve lost? If I ever see you in Storyton again, you’ll lose far more than that.”
The groundskeeper opened and closed his loppers, emphasizing Jane’s point.
“You’d better start running.” Jane looked at her watch. “In five minutes, that dog will be coming for you. Tick tock.”
The young men ran.
“I’ll make sure they leave.” The groundskeeper hurried off before Jane could thank him.
The door to the cottage opened. Olivia stepped out and whistled for her poodle. Captain Haviland bounded up the stairs, tail wagging, to receive praise from his owner. He then trotted into the cottage and was immediately greeted with exuberant cries of, “Good Haviland! Good dog!”
Smiling at Jane, Olivia said, “You look like you could use a drink.”
Jane smiled back. “Or two. Care to join me?”
Chapter 12
Jane had never invited a guest to her home before. Then again, a guest had never stopped her sons from being harassed before.
“Can Captain Haviland come too?” pleaded Fitz.
Hem clasped his hands. “Please, Mom?”
“If it’s okay with Ms. Olivia, it’s okay with me.”
Olivia replied that she always preferred that her best friend went wherever she went. The boys smiled and scratched behind the poodle’s ears and patted him on the back.
“Can we give him a treat?” Hem asked Olivia. “For saving the day?”
Hearing the word “treat,” Haviland’s nose quivered and he glanced left and right, hoping something tasty was on offer.
“Why don’t I bring a bag of favorites to your house and you can reward him there?” Olivia suggested.
Haviland watched her slide his chicken and apple sausage dog treats and a bottle of Chivas Regal into a padded tote. He kept his eyes trained on the bag as everyone filed out of the cottage. But the moment the boys started across the grass, calling Haviland’s name as they picked up speed, the poodle forgot about the treats and looked to Olivia for permission.
She whispered, “Go on,” and he was off like a shot, barking with joy as he raced alongside Fitz and Hem.
“I could use some of that energy,” Jane said.
She was hot, thirsty, and emotionally drained. She needed to kick off her shoes and pour herself a generous measure of chilled prosecco.
Jane popped the cork on a fresh bottle and offered Olivia her pick of glasses. The twins washed their hands, grabbed water bottles from the fridge, and went to the living room to feed Haviland and watch an episode of their anime show.
The two women carried their drinks to the kitchen table.
Raising her stemless champagne flute, Jane said, “Thanks for looking out for my sons.”
Olivia knocked her glass against Jane’s and took a sip of scotch whiskey.
“I also want to thank you for helping Mr. Gilmore,” Jane went on. “Are you getting any writing done in the face of all this altruism?”
Olivia laughed. “To my surprise, I am. There’s freedom in anonymity. No one knows me here. Except Michel. And he’s too wrapped up in this competition to give me much thought. It’s oddly relaxing to be a stranger in an unfamiliar place. My words are flowing again.”
Jane got up and rooted through the pantry for a suitable snack. She found a can of mixed nuts and dumped the contents into a bowl. She put the bowl and a plate of cheese straws on the table.
“What about you?” Olivia asked, reaching for the nuts. “It must be hard to concentrate on everyday tasks after the death of a guest.”
Jane took a swallow of prosecco and said, “Honestly, I should be calling the sheriff right now. I should explain why I ran off while he was speaking to a theater full of guests. And I will. Eventually.” She watched the shifting bubbles in her glass. “From the moment this cooking competition started, every day’s felt a hundred hours long.”
Olivia rolled a macadamia nut around on her palm. “That’s the ripple effect of violence. This is your resort, and you feel responsible for everyone here. If something goes wrong, you’d move mountains to make it right. But with violence, you can’t really make things right. Justice is the best you can hope for.”
Jane gave her a sharp look. “What makes you think I’m dealing with violence?”
“A fire close to the competition tent, the sudden death of a chef, and an explosion during a challenge can’t be coincidence.” Olivia traced a line in the condensation fogging her glass. “My husband was a police chief. He used to tell me about some of his cases. He knew I could listen to heartbreaking or gruesome details without falling apart, because violence has always been a part of my life.”
Her admission struck a chord with Jane. “Same here. I wonder if people like us are drawn to each other.”
Olivia considered this. “Perhaps. You remind me of my husband in some ways. Sawyer was fiercely loyal and protective. He died in the line of duty. He gave his life to save two women. I was one of them. Michel’s pregnant wife was the other.”
There was a clicking of nails on hardwood as Haviland entered the kitchen. The poodle walked over to Olivia and put his head in her lap. She stroked the back of his neck and told him that everything was okay. He stared up at her with his warm, expressive eyes until she mustered a smile for him. Only then did he lay down at her feet.
“I’m so sorry,” said Jane, caught between sorrow for Olivia’s loss and amazement over her connection to her dog.
“Michel and Shelley named their son after my husband. I’m the boy’s godmother. They’re my family, and when I learned that Michel could have died today, and that it was his grill that blew up, I got very upset.” Olivia’s blue eyes turned cold. “Tell me the truth. Is Michel being targeted?”
Olivia’s intensity didn’t bother Jane. The woman had every reason to fear for her friend’s safety.
“I don’t know if Chef Michel was singled out or who had the opportunity to tamper with his grill. Mr. Gilmore tested and inspected every grill right before the competition. Our fire chief went to the hospital to question him. The chief will also examine the damaged grill.”
“What do you expect him to find?”
Jane answered honestly. “Evidence of arson. Chef Pierce’s death was no accident. Neither was the fire in the field. Someone is desperate for the show to fail.”
“Are you pulling the plug?”
“I probably have a dozen emails and voicemails reminding me of the terms of my contract with the production company. But even if I’m sued for breach of contract, the show’s over.”
Olivia frowned. “It’s a difficult situation. If the chefs don’t finish the challenges, there won’t be a winner and they’ll have come here for nothing. If the competition continues, someone else might die. Either way, the villain is in control.”
“No matter what, everyone involved will lose something. Time, money, reputation—but it’s better than risking another person’s life. Only an arrest could save the competition, and Sheriff Evans isn’t close to making one. He’s asked the guests for their help, but I doubt that’ll lead to much.”
A pair of ice cubes rattled around the bottom of Olivia’s glass as she turned it in her hand. “Dumas once said that all of human wisdom can be found in two words: wait and hope. I’ve never been good at waiting. Or banking on hope. I want the lowlife committing these crimes to face justice, so if I can help by cozying up to certain guests or using Haviland to scare off more journalists, just say the word.”
“You might withdraw that offer after Sheriff Evans comes knocking,” Jane said. “I inadvertently added your name to his persons-of-interest list when I told him that you saw Levi and Coco the morning of Chef Pierce’s death.”
“I’m not worried. After all, I survived Mr. Butterworth’s interrogation,” Olivia said, her eyes shining with humor.
Olivia laughed. “He tried to analyze my every blink, twitch, and pause. By the end of our conversation, he gave up on that stuff and was almost friendly.”
“You must have made quite an impression. Butterworth is as approachable as a porcupine.”
Olivia’s smile lit up her face, and Jane was struck by her beauty. “The older I get, the more I’m attracted to people who are unapologetically themselves. I guess that makes me a fan of porcupines.”
Haviland stood up, stretched, and padded across the room. Suddenly, his ears pricked and he glanced over his shoulder, waiting to make eye contact with Olivia. When she looked at him, he issued a muffled bark.
“You’re about to have company,” Olivia said.
Jane hoped not. The only person she’d be happy to see right now was Edwin, and he was working the dinner service at Daily Bread.
Excusing herself, Jane peeked out the window just as Mia Mallett pushed open the garden gate. Jane felt a surge of annoyance. The sign on her gate reading, NO ADMITTANCE PRIVATE PROPERTY, was there for a reason. Jane’s home was off-limits to guests. She’d made an exception for Olivia Limoges, but Mia didn’t warrant the same treatment.
Olivia shouldered her tote bag and put her glass in the sink. Jane walked her to the front door where Olivia took hold of Haviland’s collar and said, “Thanks for having us over. Your home is warm and welcoming. Please call me if I can help in any way.”
When Olivia opened the door, Mia started in surprise. “Ms. Limoges. What brings you here?”
“I was invited. I would never invade Ms. Steward’s privacy otherwise.” Olivia shot Mia a loaded look before breezing down the stairs.
Jane crossed her arms over her chest and waited for an explanation.
“I’m sorry to bother you.” Mia tried to sound contrite but failed. “I’ve been trying to reach you for ages. None of your staff could tell me where you’d gone, so I thought I’d try you at home.”
Jane glared down at Mia. “Unless you came to tell me how that propane tank exploded, whatever you have to say can wait until tomorrow. I’m not on the clock. Good night.”
Mia raised both hands. “Wait! I wanted to warn you that the bigwigs from Cook’s Pride are threatening legal action if the filming is delayed or canceled. The CEO is already on a plane. He’ll be in Storyton tomorrow with a team of lawyers.”
“You heard Sheriff Evans. The competition is on hold. Indefinitely.”
“The sheriff might not realize that there’ve been accidents—even fatalities—on set before. Stuntmen. Actors. Crewmembers. It’s awful, but it happens. That’s why the sponsors don’t see Chef Pierce’s death as a reason to cancel. The show’s a major investment for Cook’s Pride. Every day we don’t film, the production company loses money and Cook’s Pride loses faith.”
Jane listened to Mia, growing more and more angry with every word. “What about Mr. Gilmore? Or the employees of Chef Pierce’s restaurant? What about their losses?”
“The Epitome employees will be fine. I already talked to my lawyers about becoming a silent investor. The restaurant will close for a full reno and the staff will have paid leave. When Epitome reopens, it’ll have a fresh look, reenergized employees, and my financial backing.”
Though Jane was glad to hear this, she wasn’t going to let it show. She was ready to go inside and pour another glass of prosecco.
Tears glittered in Mia’s eyes. “I’m sorry that Chef Pierce died, and that Mr. Gilmore was hurt. I’ll make sure he gets the best possible treatment and see that he’s compensated for the risk he took trying to save us. My lawyers are taking care of that too.”
“There hasn’t been a moment’s peace since the film crew arrived,” Jane said. “None of this is your fault, but it’s my job to protect Storyton Hall guests, including you. Someone wants to destroy the chefs or your show—I don’t know which—and that should scare you as much as it scares me.”
Mia spun her tiger eye ring around and around. “I am scared. And I don’t want more bad things to happen, but I also don’t want the chefs to have made it this far for nothing. They left their jobs and their families to compete. Even if I paid them for their time, it wouldn’t make up for the exposure the show would give them. Past winners have ended up with amazing careers. They own multiple restaurants, host TV shows, become the faces on new product lines, and write bestselling cookbooks. This show will change the winner’s life, but every contestant will receive offers just by appearing.”
“If the show is that important to the contestants, why not film it after the sheriff’s investigation is over? In another location?”
Tears rolled down Mia’s shell-smooth cheeks. “No network will touch the show if we do that. It’ll be finished. I can always focus on other projects, but the chefs won’t get a second chance to show their talents to the world. They’ll be the chefs from the canceled season, which won’t be good for their reputations.”
Jane felt genuinely sorry for the chefs, but she wouldn’t allow the filming to continue.
Sensing defeat, Mia hung her head and said, “I’d better go. I want to talk to my team about treating the chefs to a meal in the village tomorrow. I’m hoping some good food and a walk around the berry festival will distract them from the mess we’re all in.”
“I’ll see you there. My sons will be selling their jam at the Storyton Hall booth.”
Mia smiled. “Really? That’s how I got started. When I was a kid, I loaded my red wagon with jam and hit the streets. I had so many customers that I recruited my cousin to help out. Eventually, we added cookies and pound cake to the menu.”
“Impressive.”
“Except for the name.” Mia grimaced and started fiddling with her ring again. “Mia’s Munchies? My cousin teased me about it for years.”
Seeing the bereft look on Mia’s face, Jane said that it was a cute name for a little girl’s business.
“Mom!” Fitz shouted from upstairs. “When’s dinner?”
“That’s my cue,” said Jane.
This time, Mia didn’t object. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned away. With her downcast gaze and sluggish movements, she seemed utterly deflated.
It hasn’t been a good day for anyone, Jane thought.
In the kitchen, she examined the contents of her refrigerator and considered having cereal for dinner. But her sons deserved better. Knowing they’d help with the cooking, Jane lined up the ingredients for a quick, hearty meal.
After putting a pan of water on the cooktop to boil, she called her sons.
Fitz and Hem gave her baffled stares when they didn’t see plates of food waiting to be carried to the table. What they saw instead was a box of uncooked linguini, a block of Parmesan cheese, and a bag of frozen peas on the counter.
“Are we cooking?” Hem asked.
“Put your aprons on, Chefs,” Jane said. “The Steward Family restaurant is serving Italian tonight. Decide who’ll cook the linguini and who’ll grate the cheese. I’ll pop the peas in the microwave and melt butter with garlic and parsley to mix with our pasta.”
After a round of Rock, Paper, Scissors, the boys headed to their stations. Jane showed Fitz how to use the grater and gave Hem tips on cooking pasta. Fifteen minutes later, their meal was ready.
“Thanks for helping,” Jane said. “Why don’t we eat in the living room? We can watch A Series of Unfortunate Events.”
Later, after they’d eaten, Hem said, “Restaurant night is cool.”
Fitz gave Jane a quick hug. “Yeah. Thanks, Mom.”
And just like that, Jane felt like she could do anything. She could cook dinner. She could make her sons happy. She could handle the CEO of Cook’s Pride and his team of lawyers. She could even catch a killer.
* * *
Edwin had had a late night at Daily Bread, but he still called the next morning and invited Jane and the boys for a late breakfast at the restaurant.
When they arrived, Edwin beckoned Fitz and Hem into his commercial kitchen and said, “You’ll need lots of energy to sell your jam, so pile on the eggs and bacon.”
Jane laughed. “No need to tell them twice.”
“And for you, my love, I have cappuccino and a bowl with yogurt, berries, and granola.”
“But first, a hug.”
Jane wrapped her arms around Edwin and held him tight.
“I missed you yesterday,” she whispered.
He brushed her forehead with his lips. “After today’s lunch service, I’m all yours. I won’t let you go through this alone. I can intimidate that pretty boy director, rub your feet, or hang out with the boys. Whatever you need.”
“I don’t know how I ever managed without you. What we have isn’t exactly traditional, but it works, and I love us,” Jane said.
After a long and tender kiss, Edwin said, “I love us too.”
Thirty minutes later, Fitz and Hem had eaten their fill and were eager to set up their jam display. They loaded their crates into a Storyton Hall pickup truck while Jane and Edwin lingered in the kitchen.
As she enjoyed her second cappuccino, Jane told Edwin about the impending arrival of the CEO and his lawyers.
“That should keep those prats from the press from bothering you,” Edwin said.
“I take it you didn’t enjoy having them in your restaurant last night?”
Edwin glowered. “I told Magnus that it’s high time we establish our own technology restrictions. Some people have no idea how to behave in public.” He gestured at the door leading to the dining room. “Our tranquil atmosphere was obliterated yesterday. Those media people had so many gadgets on their tables that I had to clear away the candles and flowers to make room for their food. They barked into their phones and shouted at each other across the room. And the more they drank, the louder they got. I felt like I was in a grade school cafeteria.”
Jane sighed. “And now they’re combing the village in search of a scoop. I should have worn a disguise.”