by Polly Holmes
Margaret’s jaw dropped, irritation slowly brewed in her belly.
“I beg your pardon?” Logan snapped. “I think you may have crossed-wires.”
“Well, come now. No-one expects Margarete to deal with the excessive badgering Pierre dished out on a continual basis. I heard from Joe’s wife. You know, Joe from the Christmas tree farm. His wife, Samantha?”
Margarete bit her tongue and nodded.
Mary-Jane continued, almost without taking a breath. “Well, she was telling me about the argument you and Pierre had a few weeks back. Nasty business, greed.”
“What?” Margarete fumed.
“And then that dreadful video.” Mary-Jane continued. It was as if she had one continual supply of oxygen to her lungs. “I heard it somehow found its way into the hands of the police. No wonder you lost it. I don’t blame you for getting rid of the competition. Who wouldn’t? Maybe I would have done the same thing if I were in your position.”
Margarete saw red. It was as if a volcano had erupted in her stomach and was heading right for Mary-Jane’s head. “What on earth are you talking about? I did not kill Pierre. I had nothing to do with his murder and I am not going to rest until the real murderer is behind bars.”
“I think you may have jumped in feet first, Mary-Jane. After all, have they accounted for your whereabouts during the party?” Logan asked, an air of suspicion in his tone.
Mortification paled Mary-Jane’s expression. “As a matter of fact, that is exactly where I have been. Giving my statement to Robert. I’ll have you know at Pierre’s time of death, I was in an interview with Morgan Archer from Heart of the Home, the interior design magazine. She wanted an exclusive interview with good friends of the happy couple, and I happened to be available. I think she said it was going to be a featured article in their magazine next month.”
Great. Another party guest eliminated.
Margarete folded her arms across her chest. “That must have been nice for you and Noel. To be able to share some insights into the happy couple.”
“Oh, Noel wasn’t at the party, it was just me.”
Margarete’s brow raised. “Oh.”
Mary-Jane’s eyes were beaming with what Margarete thought was pride. They sparkled like glistening diamonds as she spoke. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I just can’t hold it in any longer. Noel’s been promoted and was away on business. I’m so proud of him.”
“Congratulations,” Margarete said, deflated.
Mary-Jane hiked her Guess designer handbag up on her shoulder and quickly sidestepped them and continued down the stairs. “I really have to be somewhere. Good luck with everything.”
Luck… Luck. Are you for real? I’m going to need more than luck, if I’ve got any hope of a future that doesn’t include cooking copious amounts of mashed potato and meatloaf.
A renewed determination filled Margarete and she stormed toward the doors. “Come on, let’s find Kayne.”
She stood by the counter, her gaze drilling Alison. Margarete couldn’t believe her ears. “What do you mean he’s not here? Where is he?”
Alison dropped her chin and glared a fiery death stare over the top of her strawberry glasses. “I thought I made myself clear. He’s. Not. Here.”
“But we’ve come to see him with some very important information that could clear my name,” she said, exasperated.
“He’s gone for the evening. I’ll leave a note that you stopped by. Maybe come back in the morning,” Alison said as she pushed her glasses back up her nose.
Morning? The morning was too far away. It would have to be tonight or bust. Like I’m going to be able to sleep tonight. “Thank you, Alison.” Margarete grabbed Logan’s arm and headed out the door.
“Slow down,” Logan said with a chuckle. “You’re not the Road Runner. What is going on?”
Margarete stopped and edged herself to the side of the pavement, out of earshot of nosy passers-by. “Don’t you remember? Alex said that Kayne was picking her up at the McCorrson’s once he finished here. So, it stands to reason that’s where we’ll find him. If we hurry, we won’t miss him for the second time.”
A frown dented his brow. “Are you sure that’s what you really want to do?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, sternly putting her hands on her hips.
“I mean,” he continued in a softer, calming tone. “The McCorrsons have just finished celebrating their milestone anniversary with their family and friends. For the second time, I might add. Do you really think it will make their night if you barge in, guns blazing, demanding to speak to Kayne?”
Logan’s words made perfect sense, and if she were in his position, she’d probably give the same advice. But this was her life they were talking about. A life that was fast spinning out of control. Determination coursed through her. “I understand where you’re coming from. I really do, but I am going to see Kayne tonight. This is too important to wait until tomorrow. I promise I won’t go barging in there and rain on their happiness. I’ll just ask to speak to Kayne quietly. I’m sure everything will be okay. Now, are you with me?”
Margarete’s anxieties hiked up a notch with each second that ticked past.
Logan smiled and stepped to the side opening his right arm as if he were her private chauffeur. “Lead the way.”
Elation flowed through her as she headed toward his car. The warmth that bled through her heart for this man was quickly squashed by the realisation that he would be leaving town sooner rather than later. Best to keep her heart guarded from impending heartbreak.
****
Kayne’s gut seized as he stared into the dumbfounded expressions of the entire McCorrson family. Liam stood by Charlotte, while Mason and Clair’s hands were interlinked. Kayne was glad they had the love and support of both men. They were going to need it.
They all stood around the island bench in the kitchen. He knew the newfound revelation would be a shock to everyone, more so to Charlotte and Clair, who had worked alongside Pierre for the past year.
“What do you mean he’s not the real Pierre?” Charlotte snapped, her face as pale as the whites of an egg.
Kayne swallowed and began the explanation one more time. “After much digging, the body Savannah found in the cool room was not the real Pierre Bellamy. Apparently, the real Pierre Bellamy was seventy-two when he died and that was over twenty years ago. He’s buried in a graveyard in France. Our victim’s fingerprints are not on file anywhere. We don’t know who he was.”
The kitchen erupted in an explosion of noise and shocked mutterings. Dumbfounded expressions, mixed with disbelief, clouded Kayne’s vision.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. So, who has been working for us?” Clair asked, her gaze flitting from Kayne to Charlotte and back again.
Mark McCorrson shook his head. “That is a very good question. Have you any idea, Kayne?”
He shook his head knowing his answer was woeful at best. “No, we have no idea. Like I said, his prints are not in the system. The best we can attain at this point is that he stole the real Pierre’s identity. Why or how, we have no idea.”
“Whoever he was, he sure knew how to cook,” Alex chimed in. “His pastries were some of the best I’ve ever tasted.”
Edith put a comforting hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Do you ladies have any ideas? Maybe you can remember something that will help identify him. Did he have any phone calls or visitors that ring a bell? His referees, maybe?”
Clair shook her head.
“Good point,” Liam chimed in. “Maybe his referees said something you remember.”
Charlotte picked up an orange-choc cupcake and peeled the casing off. “No,” she said, biting into the moist-looking sweet treat. “He did travel down to Sydney once or twice a month, but he never spoke about it. I just presumed he was visiting family. But now, I’m not so sure. I mean how observant can we be, but we didn’t even know he was seeing Olivia Boothman. We’ve managed to solve at least three murders, but we can’t even p
ick out who is dating whom in a town this size.”
“What about his referees?” Mason asked.
Clair huffed. A definite sign of frustration. “We only rang two. I mean, they were so good that we figured the rest would be the same. They both raved about the man. His professional manner. His experience—”
Charlotte butted in. “His pastries and how he’d cooked at some of the best cafés in the world. What were we supposed to think? And if we’re realistic, he never did anything to hurt either CC’s Simply Cupcakes or CC’s Cupcake Haven. In fact, I’d say he helped raise our reputation and image.”
Kayne felt for the woman. He knew what it was like to trust people, only to have your heart trampled on time and time again. His gaze landed on Alexandra and his heart did a backflip. His new love. He’d made the right choice to leave his old life and ex-fiancée behind and move to Ashton Point.
He cleared his throat. “How well did you actually know him?”
“Pfft, obviously not very well,” Cassidy said joining Charlotte munching on a choc-caramel cupcake. “I didn’t have a lot to do with him, but he always creeped me out a little.”
“What?” Charlotte and Clair said in unison, disbelief lodged deep in their expressions.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Clair asked, annoyance edging her tone.
Cassidy’s eyes widened and all eyes shot to her. Waiting. “Because it wasn’t my place to say anything. I know very little about cupcakes, except the delicious taste of the mouth-wateringly good ones. I wasn’t about to butt in on your business decisions. I have way too much respect for you.”
“But—” Charlotte’s rebuttal was abruptly interrupted by the drone of the doorbell.
Kayne could feel the tension when an edgy silence fell upon the room. He tracked each scattered gaze and how they shifted from one person to the next. No-one was willing to look at anyone else for longer than necessary. No-one but him, who always tried to keep his eyes peeled for details.
“Listen, this really isn’t getting us anywhere. Why don’t we all take a moment to recoup while I get the door?” Edith asked. As she trotted down the hallway, the ring of her high heels tapping on the tiled floor was like a perfectly rhythmic strike of a musical triangle.
“It’s crazy to let this new evidence come between you all,” Alex said, moving over to stand by Kayne. “So, Pierre wasn’t who he said he was. But he was a damn good chef and I, for one, am better off for having tasted his food. Putting his unknown identity aside, no-one deserves to be murdered in such a ghastly manner.”
Kayne watched Alex’s words calm the tense mood like a soothing balm working its way across the room. Smiles crept onto the faces spread throughout the kitchen.
“Alex is right. Let’s find who did this and make sure they pay for their crime.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” A stern, female voice echoed behind them.
Kayne spun to see Margarete and Logan standing at the kitchen entrance, Mrs McCorrson by their side. Margarete twisted her fingers in front of her belly and Kayne’s suspicions were instantly aroused. “What are you doing here?”
“I am so sorry to interrupt your celebration, but—”
“Nonsense,” Mrs McCorrson said, swishing her hand flippantly in the air as she headed back to stand beside her husband. “You’re always welcome here, Margarete, and of course you too, Logan.”
Logan nodded. “Thank you.”
“Celebration. Ha,” Charlotte chimed in. “I think everyone would agree with me when I say the celebrations are well and truly over.”
Margarete’s jaw dropped. “I’m not sure I understand. I’m sorry for the intrusion but I was hoping to have a word with Kayne about a certain video recording. I also have some new information that may help my defence.”
Clair’s eyes widened and she beckoned Margarete and Logan into the conversation with keenness. “More new information. This should be good. If you share yours, we’ll share ours.”
Chapter Nine
More new information? Do they already know about Charlie?
“I think I speak for most everyone in this room, when I say we don’t believe you had anything to do with Pierre’s murder,” Clair said, snagging an orange poppyseed cupcake from the plate in the centre of the island bench. “It seems none of us knew Pierre as well as we thought we did.”
The puzzled expressions on their faces sent a warning chill through Margarete’s chest. “I don’t understand.”
“That man pulled the wool over our eyes good and proper,” Charlotte said. She folded her arms and leant on the edge of the bench, deflated. “Me the worst. I employed the guy, for goodness sake.”
“You had no idea of knowing,” Kayne said sympathetically.
Frustration danced up Margarete’s spine as she struggled to work out what Pierre had done. “Knowing what?” she asked.
“Please forgive us,” Edith McCorrson said in an apologetic tone. “Kayne was just informing us that the Pierre Bellamy who worked with my girls was an imposter. It seems he stole his identity, for whatever reason. We had no idea.”
Margarete’s stomach clenched as if she’d been punched with an iron fist. An imposter? Not the real Pierre Bellamy? Then who was he? Who have I been competing against all this time? “Are you serious? How? What? …I mean, who was he, then?”
Kayne’s voice was the first to answer. “That’s the very question we’ve been asking ourselves. His fingerprints are not in the database, but the real Pierre Bellamy died over twenty years ago.”
Margarete’s mind raced its own sprint. A fraud? Did Charlie know he’d made a deal with an imposter? Maybe that was why he silenced him? This new information made her think. How well do any of us really know one another?
“Your turn. What juicy information do you have for us, Margarete?” Cassidy asked like an eager beaver.
A multitude of ideas bolted through her mind. It was as if she were trying to do a jigsaw puzzle. Only, every time she thought she had the right piece, it fell through her fumbling fingers.
“Margarete?”
Clair’s sweet voice snapped her back to the present. She shook her head. “Sorry, I was a hundred miles away.”
“Like we couldn’t see that,” Cassidy said with a cheeky grin. “You said you had information that could help your defence.”
“Oh, yes, I was hoping to talk to Kayne about a certain video recording that has made it into his possession as evidence.” Nervous anticipation weeded its way into her stomach.
Kayne frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know how you know about that recording, but it’s evidence and I really think it needs discussing down at the station.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Kayne Pendleton,” Mrs McCorrson tutted. “Can’t you see this poor woman has been through the ringer? All she wants to do is prove her innocence. I seem to remember it wasn’t that long ago, Alex was in the same predicament. The least we can do is hear her out, so she doesn’t go completely insane.”
She’d always loved Edith McCorrson. Margarete’s eyes widened as she waited in anticipation for Kayne’s answer. All eyes drilled into him and he held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Technically, I’m off duty, so really, we’re all just a bunch of friends gathered around the kitchen bench chatting. Even so, I would like Margarete to come in when I’m on duty to give a formal statement.”
“Of course,” Margarete nodded.
Charlotte’s sapphire-blue eyes glowed like a little girl’s who was about to find out a secret. “Okay, now that that is sorted don’t keep us hanging, Margarete.”
Margarete sighed and she felt Logan take a step closer. His presence comforted her. “I know a video recording was anonymously handed in to the police and I know when you look at it, it’s going to look bad, but I promise you it is all innocent.”
“How do you even know about the recording?” Kayne asked.
“Logan and I were on our way in to see you at the police station to get an u
pdate. I ran into Mary-Jane on her way out of giving her statement regarding the murder and she mentioned it. I knew I had to find you to explain. I know it will look bad and I just wanted to explain before you got the wrong impression.”
“Go on,” said Mr McCorrson.
“It was taken last December. Behind the café, before the annual Christmas fair was in full swing. It’s all innocent but looks suspicious under the circumstances. I didn’t realise Pierre had expressed his interest to Pam over at MMM. So, I did. He found out and came to see me. Actually. It was more like he chewed my ear off. I admit he was angry, until I explained that I’d had no idea he had already expressed interest. I backed off and wished him well on his adventure. We left on good terms, I swear.” It had been the worst part of her day, but she’d refused to let him spoil such a wonderful event.
“This new evidence, combined with the argument you and Pierre had at the Tea 4 Two Café a few weeks back doesn’t look good,” Kayne said.
Heat maneuverer its way up Margarete’s neck until her cheeks warmed like a simmering cauldron. The memory of Pierre’s raging voice rang in her head as if he were standing next to her. She swallowed around the lump in her throat.
“Margarete?”
Blinking the cobwebs from her mind Margarete continued. “I know, but it all looks worse than it is.” Margarete turned toward the McCorrsons. “Ashton Point is a small town and Pierre thought it wasn’t big enough for two new restaurants. He thought he’d tell me so. He was ranting and raving about how he would be the only chef opening a new restaurant. He said that I was stealing his limelight and accused me of sabotage.” Margarete paused. Her breathing was laboured under the constant weight of their gazes.
“I think it’s fair to say Pierre was jealous of Margarete’s cooking abilities,” Logan said in her defence.
“Ashton Point may be a small, seaside town but it is definitely big enough for two new eating establishments,” Liam said with a chuckle. “I, for one, like variety when I take my beautiful woman out to eat.”