by J. C. Eaton
“Oh, thank God,” I said to myself. “Please do not release that name until I’ve had a chance to call my aunt.”
No sooner did I finish my hot dog when the annoying musical tune from my cell phone went off. My mother’s voice at the other end was equally annoying.
“Phee! Where are you?”
“Um . . . work. Well, getting lunch, but work. Why?”
“Why? Cecilia and Myrna had to report to the sheriff’s station for questioning, that’s why. Have you been watching the news? No, I suppose not. You’re at work. Well, anyway, that chef, the one from Saveur de Evangeline, was found dead in a ditch at the White Tank Mountains. Are you listening?”
“Yes, yes. I’m listening.”
“The county sheriff’s office sent two deputies to the restaurant once they identified the body. Cecilia told me the chef’s name was Roland LeDoux. I suppose they couldn’t locate any next of kin. Anyway, to make a long story short, the deputies found out the last two people to see that man alive were Cecilia and Myrna. According to the restaurant’s calendar log, the chef met with them after closing at eight-thirty. No one else was in the restaurant at that time. Cecilia called me practically in tears from the sheriff’s station. It’s a good thing they didn’t have to report to district headquarters. That’s in Mesa. It might as well be in Albuquerque it’s so far away. Phee, are you listening?”
“I haven’t gone anywhere. Of course I’m listening.”
“Don’t you understand? Cecilia and Myrna were the last two people to see Roland LeDoux alive. That makes them ‘persons of interest.’ One minute you’re a ‘person of interest’ and the next minute you’re a suspect. This is awful.”
By now I had moved to a small table by the vending machines, away from the counter.
“Cecilia and Myrna can’t possibly be considered suspects. Roland’s body was found in the Petroglyph Plaza ditch. That’s at least a quarter-mile hike from the main park road. For heaven’s sake, I’ve seen Cecilia get winded bending over to tie those black shoes of hers. And Myrna? She may be tall, but those legs of hers do not and I mean do not move quickly. We have to wait at least ten minutes for her to walk into any restaurant. No one can possibly think they’re suspects. Look, Mom, does Aunt Ina know about this? Did she call you?”
“Oh, who knows? She might have. I’ve been on the phone all day with Cecilia and Myrna. Phee, you need to do something. Find out who killed that chef before two of my dearest friends wind up in jail for a murder they didn’t commit. And while you’re at it, you can light a firecracker under your boss so he can catch the killer in my neighborhood.”
“Mother! You’re going off the deep end. Calm down. As soon as I get out of work, I’ll stop by. Okay?”
“It’ll have to be okay. I just hope it’s not too late.”
My mother was being overly dramatic, as usual, but it was a minor league performance compared to my aunt Ina’s reaction when I called her a few minutes later. I wasn’t about to take time away from work, so I placed the call while I was still at Quick Stop.
“I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe! This is horrendous. A nightmare. Roland LeDoux dead? By the very spot where Louis and I will take our eternal vows? I’m gasping for air, Phee.”
“Take a deep breath, Aunt Ina, and try to relax. It will be okay. Saveur de Evangeline has many fine chefs. I’m certain of it.”
“I don’t understand any of this. What was it you were saying? That my chef extraordinaire was trampling around those Indian ruins and got bit by a snake? What was he doing there? Only the tent people needed to be there. Oh my. I can’t breathe. The air in this room is getting heavier by the minute.”
“Sit down, Aunt Ina. Um . . . unless you’re already sitting. Pull yourself together. And er . . . um . . . well, there’s more.”
“More? What else could there possibly be? My master chef is dead and now the wedding meal will be prepared by underlings.”
“I wouldn’t exactly refer to the other chefs as underlings. From what I’ve heard, they’ve all trained at top culinary schools. Anyway, Aunt Ina, there’s something you need to know.”
This time I didn’t give her a chance to say a word or make gasping noises over the phone. I got straight to the point.
“Cecilia Flanagan and Myrna Mittleson were taken in for questioning since they were the last two people to see Roland LeDoux alive. They were at his restaurant after closing hours in order to taste the hollandaise sauce for you.”
All I could hear were more gasping noises and something that sounded like a moan.
“Aunt Ina, are you all right? Say something!”
“I’ll be fine, dear. Tell me, are they suspects? Were they arrested? Why would they kill my chef?”
“They’re not suspects. Not yet anyway. They haven’t been arrested and they certainly haven’t murdered your chef. Now calm down, Aunt Ina, and relax. I’m sure someone from Saveur de Evangeline will contact you to discuss the catering once things have settled down at the restaurant. I’m sure this is a shock for all of them.”
“A shock for all of them? What do you think this is doing to my nerves? I can hardly process a coherent thought. No, Phee. I can’t wait for them to call me. You have simply got to go over there and make sure my wedding meal menu is still intact.”
“Isn’t that something you can do?”
“In the state I’m in? Don’t be absurd. Why, I swear, my heart is palpitating. So you’ll go? Won’t you?”
“Look, I’ll see what I can do. I’m not making any promises but—”
“Thank you, Phee. Thank you. And call me once you’ve met with them. I’ve got to get a glass of water. My nerves are getting the better of me. Bye.”
I started to say “good-bye,” but she had already ended the call. I sat there at the counter feeling like the biggest sucker in the world when something dawned on me. I had the perfect excuse to meet with the staff at Saveur de Evangeline and maybe, just maybe, find out who might have had a motive for killing off their boss. Sure, Roland LeDoux died of a presumed snakebite, but everything about his death was suspicious, as far as I was concerned. Just like Theodore Sizemore’s. Needing all the caffeine I could get, I bought a can of Coke and headed back to the office.
Chapter 10
It wouldn’t have surprised me if Saveur de Evangeline was closed for the day, considering their owner and master chef was found dead in a ditch this morning. At least the news didn’t mention who found him or I’d be saddled with another disturbing phone call from my mother. Nevertheless, I decided to swing by the restaurant on my way home and set up an appointment to meet with someone regarding Aunt Ina’s wedding menu. I really wanted to see if any sheriff’s deputies or police officers from Surprise were milling around since it would be shared jurisdiction. Plus, something else might have been going on. If people were acting suspicious, I would be sure to notice.
When I left the office at five, Nate still hadn’t returned. I figured his meeting with that client lasted longer than expected or he had other business to take care of. Augusta offered to lock up and I thanked her as I headed over to the restaurant. I’d never been to Saveur de Evangeline because it was too pricey for my budget. Tonight was no exception. I’d be eating leftovers once I got home.
Judging from the parking lot in front of the place, news of the master chef’s death had very little impact on the customers. The restaurant was packed. Its small patio in front was seated to capacity as I stepped inside. Immediately I felt as if I had been transported back in time to a luxurious château in France. Given the fancy lace tablecloths and dinner service that looked as if it came from Louis XIV’s palace, it was no wonder Aunt Ina chose this place to do her catering. It reeked of ostentatiousness.
The hostess, who couldn’t have been older than twenty, was dressed in a backless black gown with a single strand of pearls around her neck. Compared to her, I felt as if I’d just come off the Cumberland Trail. Interestingly, her voice seemed to match her ensemble—sha
rp and elegant.
“Bonsoir, and welcome to Saveur de Evangeline. Do you have a reservation?”
“I, ah . . . no. I’d like to make an appointment to meet with your catering chef regarding my aunt’s wedding. Ina Stangler. I’m so sorry to learn of your owner’s unfortunate death, but my aunt was insistent I speak with someone as soon as possible. The wedding is only a few weeks away and she wanted to be sure you’re able to continue as planned.”
The hostess looked at me as if I’d just screamed “roaches” out loud. She stepped closer toward me and whispered, “How do you know about Monsieur LeDoux’s death? We were given to understand his name had not as yet been released to the public.”
So that’s why it’s business as usual. No one knows.
“The name hasn’t been released. I’m friends with the two ladies who were here last night sampling the hollandaise sauce for the wedding menu. They were informed of the owner’s death by the authorities.”
“Oh,” she said quietly, the relief apparent on her face. “Let me see if I can find someone to help you.”
Just then the doors to the kitchen swung open and who should come out but Rochelle. In the background, someone was yelling about vacuuming up “those annoying pieces of glitter glass.”
I was caught between listening to the kitchen conversation and eyeballing Rochelle. The very Rochelle who was Julien’s assistant at La Petite Pâtisserie. She breezed past us and stepped out on the patio. She either didn’t recognize me from my meeting with Julien at the Renaissance Hotel or didn’t notice me. I had to think fast.
“Oh my gosh,” I said to the hostess. “I left my cell phone in my car. Let me get it and I’ll be right back while you find someone in catering.”
Before she could say another word, I was out the door and at Rochelle’s heels.
“Wait! Rochelle! Don’t go!”
The tall brunette with shoulder-length hair and a figure that would make Behati Prinsloo jealous turned and faced me.
“Do I know you? What’s this about?”
Obviously, I didn’t look too intimidating or she would have taken off running.
“I’m Phee Kimball and La Petite Pâtisserie is making the dessert for my aunt’s wedding. An aviary. Multicolored birds.”
Rochelle didn’t say a word.
“And, um . . . Saveur de Evangeline is catering the meal. Or should be catering the meal. I’m not so sure since their master chef was found dead earlier today. Look, I’ll just get to the point. I know that you and Roland LeDoux—”
“My God! Shh! Let’s talk over here, away from the entrance.”
We walked a few yards from the restaurant and stood in front of a boutique shop that was closed for the day.
Rochelle started to tap her foot and glanced from side to side before speaking. “How much do you know? Did he tell you anything before he . . . before he . . . you know.”
“Oh no. Nothing. Well, nothing that definitive.”
“Then how did you know about my decision to leave La Petite Pâtisserie and come to work for Roland?”
Oh my God! I can’t believe she just blurted that out. She must be more nervous than I thought.
I remember Nate once telling me to take the pieces of a puzzle and put them together, even if there were gaps in between. Thinking back to the first time I saw her and overhearing the short conversation she had with Julien, I did exactly that.
“I overheard Julien talking to you at the Renaissance Hotel event. Very dismissive. Very demanding. I can certainly understand why you would want to seek other employment. You’re a trained professional pastry chef, not a short-order cook.”
“It’s not the demanding part. That comes naturally in our profession. Or the fact he can be abrasive. It’s the creativity. Julien is so exacting. Of course, that’s what gives him his reputation, but Roland, well, Roland wanted his chefs to use their own imaginations and come up with their own creations. I was going to be the head pastry chef here at Saveur de Evangeline. At least up until this morning. Now I really don’t know. Everything is in chaos back there. There’s a triumvirate of subordinate chefs who now have to make that decision.”
I nodded my head slowly and let out a long “hmmm” before pressing her further. “Rochelle, do you think any of them would have wanted to kill Roland?”
“Kill Roland? He was killed? Like murdered? I thought it was an accident. The snakebite and all. When the sheriff’s deputies came to question the staff earlier today, I had just walked in the door. Today is my day off from La Petite Pâtisserie and I had a morning meeting with Roland. When I arrived at Saveur de Evangeline I was informed of his death. Everyone said it was an accident. No one mentioned foul play. My God!”
“Um, I . . . er . . . assumed it was foul play. I mean, it looked as if—Listen, forget I mentioned murder. It could have been anything.”
“This day gets worse and worse,” Rochelle said. “Listen, please don’t tell Julien I was here. You won’t, will you? I can’t afford to be tossed to the curb. You know what I mean?”
“Don’t worry. I won’t say a word to him.”
She nodded, took a quick breath, and went on. “The sheriff’s deputies wanted to know how Roland got to that ditch in the White Tank Mountains since no one could find his motorcycle and his car is still parked in front of his condo near Phoenix. His calendar at the restaurant showed an appointment with two women for a tasting after the restaurant closed last night. Maybe they had something to do with it.”
“Oh, I doubt it. Those two women were tasting sauce for my aunt’s wedding meal. They’re both in their seventies and together they couldn’t kill a desert roach if you handed them a steel-plated shoe.”
Rochelle let out a short laugh before glancing back at the restaurant.
Suddenly my brain kicked in and I knew she was the perfect person to ask about the pastry birds.
“Um, there’s one more thing. Roland was on the cover of Phoenix Home and Garden with a backdrop of pastry birds. I thought those were Julien’s creation entirely.”
“Julien went ballistic when he saw that cover. I never heard him rant and rave so much, and believe me, I’ve heard plenty from him.”
“So you think maybe Roland stole his idea?”
“I don’t know. Both of them go, or I should say went, way back. According to what I’ve heard, they used to be good friends when they studied culinary arts in Paris. Then something happened and things fell apart. You know how friendships go. Anyway, maybe both of them designed those birds years ago. It’s not like something you could copyright. At least I don’t think so. Guess it doesn’t matter now.”
Unless it’s a motive for murder and Julien has more on his hands than pastry dough.
“I’m sure La Petite Pâtisserie will do a splendid job with them no matter who came up with the idea first.”
“Absolutely. Look, I should get going. Promise you won’t say anything to Julien about Saveur de Evangeline?”
“You don’t have to worry. Listen, Rochelle, if you think of anything else about Roland’s death, will you please give me a call? My aunt is hysterical already about her wedding, so whatever I can find out to put her at ease would be a tremendous relief.”
“Sure. No problem.”
I handed her my card. “I do the accounting. That’s all.”
As Rochelle hurried over to her car, I headed back to the restaurant. I couldn’t believe it, but even more cars had pulled into the parking lot while Rochelle and I were talking.
The hostess looked up from her seating chart and motioned for me as I walked inside. “As you can see, we’re quite busy right now, but I did speak with Sebastian. He’s the chef responsible for the catering. He can try to squeeze you in if you decide to wait around or he can meet with you when the restaurant closes tonight. If that doesn’t work, he can see you first thing tomorrow morning.”
The last thing I wanted to do was wait around inhaling aromas of foods I could never afford to eat or spend an ho
ur driving home and back. Nope. I expected to be sitting on my couch watching mindless television when Saveur de Evangeline closed its doors for the night. I locked gazes with the hostess. “What time shall I be here in the morning?”
“The sous chefs arrive at seven to start prepping for the day. Sebastian will be in early as well, since we’re catering a luncheon.”
I couldn’t believe these words actually came out of my mouth. “Seven in the morning will be fine. Please tell Sebastian I’ll be here to meet with him.”
I thanked her and started out the door when I suddenly felt a pit in my stomach. In my haste to get information out of Rochelle, I blundered on about Roland being murdered. How long was it going to take for her to wonder how I knew that? I mean, it wasn’t on the news and the sheriff’s deputies hadn’t said anything to the staff at Saveur de Evangeline about a murder. I couldn’t believe what a stupid, idiotic thing I’d done. That was probably why I’d make a lousy investigator. Investigators were supposed to get information from people, not give it to them.
The entire ride home I tried to drum up excuses or explanations because I was positive Rochelle was going to call me. As things turned out, I had no reason to worry myself to pieces. As soon as I flipped on the evening news, I spotted the banner running across the bottom of the screen. It read, DEATH OF MASTER CHEF ROLAND LEDOUX DEEMED SUSPICIOUS.
That worked for me. “Suspicious” in my book was a euphemism for “murdered.”
* * *
Seven in the morning was an ungodly hour to meet with anyone. At least I didn’t have to go traipsing up a mountain to do it. I seriously doubted I’d encounter a dead body at Saveur de Evangeline, but this recent series of events still unnerved me.
I got to the restaurant a few minutes before seven and knocked on the front door. The place looked dark inside, but within seconds, a tall, balding man, who looked as if he rarely shied away from the table, unlocked the door and let me in.