The Missing Ingredient

by Diane Noble

  “It’s my signature bakeware company that has me hanging by a thin thread. After my husband died, I dumped our savings into the start-up, thinking the return would be tenfold, or greater. I thought my name alone would sell the bakeware, but the truth is, I should have put half the money into marketing and advertising. I had advisers, but I didn’t listen. I thought I had the Midas touch. Turns out I didn’t.

  “I have a new cookbook about to come out—Chocolates to Die For—and I’m pinning all my hopes on it doing well.” She paused. “Actually, to save my bacon, it’s got to do better than well. It’s got to top the charts.”

  Kate leaned forward. “So that’s why this show is so important. It coincides with the release of your book. Added publicity, better sales.”

  Susannah suddenly smiled. “You always were a quick study. Yes, that’s it exactly.”

  “You said someone is trying to trip you up.”

  “Big time.”

  “In what way?”

  “Someone broke into my home office just a few weeks ago. Whoever it was trashed the place. Nothing was missing. No fingerprints. I suspect he—or she—was looking for an advance copy of the manuscript. That would be the only thing of value anyone could possibly want.”

  Kate studied her friend while the dots connected in her brain. “For the recipes?” she finally said. “To release them as their own before the book is published?”

  “You’re right again, Katie dear. You always were the smart one.”

  Kate grinned in spite of herself. “Did they get them—the recipes, I mean?”

  Susannah shrugged. “They’re on my computer, and someone tried to log on. Unless that person was a total geek and knew how to break into my system without a password, no, I don’t think so. But I can’t say for sure.”

  “What about suspects? Can you think of anyone who would want to do this to you?”

  Susannah shook her head. “At first I suspected everyone I work with, especially the other chefs. I thought that jealousy might be the motive. It didn’t take me long to realize that’s no way to live—or to treat your colleagues. Then some other odd occurrences began...” She poured them each another cup of tea, added a lump of sugar to hers, and stirred thoughtfully. “It’s sabotage, pure and simple. Things disappear from my soundstage kitchen right before I go on the air. Props turn up missing, and ingredients are substituted—salt for sugar, sugar for salt. If it’s only the visuals you care about, that’s not a big deal. But this happened in front of a studio audience. The reaction of the guests I’d chosen to taste my creations was terrible. We had to retape the show. Thank goodness it wasn’t live.”

  “And you don’t have a clue as to who’s doing this?”

  She shook her head. “I almost canceled this gig. If it hadn’t been for my cookbook, the needed hype, I would have. It also helped to know I had a trusted friend in this town. As soon as you got in touch, that sealed my decision. I knew I had to go through with the show.”

  Kate looked around. She and Susannah were the only patrons left in the tearoom. The lights were dim in the foyer beyond the open doors. A lone waiter was watching them expectantly. Kate glanced at her watch. It was almost nine, and the tearoom was essentially closed.

  “We’d better go,” Susannah said, following Kate’s gaze. “I didn’t realize they were waiting for us to leave.”

  Kate reached for the bill, but Susannah was quicker. She smiled. “I’ll get this one.”

  The two women walked through the foyer and, for a moment, stood talking at the entryway.

  “What can I do to help?” Kate asked.

  “I’d love it if you’d keep a close eye on my set before the taping. Tell me if you see any funny business.”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  They visited for a few more minutes, then said their good-byes. Kate turned toward the door, then she hesitated and looked back at the retreating Susannah. “Suse,” she called out, surprising herself that the childhood nickname came so easily.

  “I haven’t heard that name in years,” Susannah said, looking pleased. “Makes me feel young again.”

  Kate took a few steps closer. “The question that keeps nagging me is why. Why would someone want to sabotage your show, or your cookbook?”

  Susannah shrugged. “I’ve asked myself that dozens of times, and I honestly don’t know.”

  The police had probably asked the same questions, but Kate needed to know the answers too. “Do you have any enemies—anyone you’ve met over the years who might want to harm you? Someone you went around on your way to the top?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “How about an adoring fan who’s, shall we say, a few eggs short of a carton?”

  Susannah groaned and then laughed. “Tasties don’t get all that carried away over chefs. But I suppose it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”

  It occurred to Kate that although they had been childhood friends she really didn’t know the details of Susannah’s life. She seemed like the Susannah of old, but how could Kate know for sure?

  She gave her friend a quick good-bye hug and headed through the doorway toward the parking lot. The lot was deserted. Even the Taste Network crew had turned in for the night.

  The mist had lifted, but the foliage near the creek still dripped with moisture. As the drops hit wet leaves on the ground, the sound was magnified in the quiet of the night. It almost sounded like footsteps moving along the creek path.

  No. It couldn’t be. Kate wouldn’t allow herself to believe it. But still, she quickened her pace toward the Honda.

  She reached her car and started to open her door, then, unable to resist, she pivoted toward the hotel for a last look at the second-floor windows.

  Nothing.

  With a sigh of relief, she stepped into her car and turned on the ignition. She was just swinging the Honda around toward the parking lot driveway, when a flicker of light caught her eye.

  But this time, it wasn’t in the hotel windows. It moved along the path to the creek, exactly where she thought she’d heard footsteps.

  Her heart caught in her throat. She floored the accelerator and sped out of the parking lot.

  Chapter Three

  Paul looked up and smiled when Kate came into the kitchen. The heavenly scent of melting chocolate wafted from the pan he was stirring. She slipped off her coat, then gave him a kiss on the cheek before heading to the entryway closet. Paul met her in the living room a few minutes later, two mugs of cocoa in hand.

  They sat down in front of the fireplace, and she told him about the strange occurrences at the hotel, her visit with Susannah, the footsteps she’d heard on the path leading to the creek, and the flickering light she’d seen as she was pulling away from the hotel.

  “Did you investigate?”

  “Do you even need to ask?” She laughed. “I’m going to look at the rooms tomorrow.” She grinned. “You know me. Never met a mystery I could leave alone.”

  He sighed and took a sip of his hot cocoa. “I take it you didn’t find anything.”

  “Actually, no. But it’s the strangest thing. I thought I heard footsteps as I was walking to my car. Very light, almost like slippered feet. I could almost have dismissed that as my imagination, but then I saw the flicker of light near the creek.” She leaned forward, studying his face. “I’ve never been one to get too excited about ghosts. In fact, mostly I find the whole idea silly...”

  “But?” He quirked a brow.

  “You should have seen the...well, apparition in the windows, or whatever it was, Paul. It gave me the chills.”

  “Could it be a hoax?”

  “I can’t imagine why someone would pull something like that.” She watched the flickering flames for a few moments, then took another sip of cocoa, looking at Paul over the rim of her mug.

  “Publicity for Joel St. Nicklaus?”

  “I wonder about that. Livvy said he’s coming to town for a signing.” She studied the fire for a moment, then tu
rned again to Paul. “A haunting certainly would guarantee a better turnout for the signing, but he’s a well-known investigative reporter. I can’t imagine that he would risk his reputation. Besides, these ghost sightings began before the book released.”

  Paul stood to stoke the fire. A spray of embers crackled and popped.

  “I get the impression you’re wondering if the ghost is real,” he said as he sat down again.

  “This is the South. There are a lot of people with solid reputations who’ve reported seeing ghosts...” She suddenly felt ridiculous and laughed, shaking her head. “Even so, the jury’s still out as far as I’m concerned.”

  Paul squeezed her hand, then said, “And what about Susannah? Was it a good reunion?”

  “The best...” She hesitated, remembering her friend’s troubled expression. “Let me back up. The reunion was wonderful, but Susannah is facing some tough challenges. I came away from our time together with a heavy heart.” She told Paul about the break-in at Susannah’s home office and the sabotage attempts on the show set.

  They finished their cocoa, and Paul took Kate’s hand to help her to her feet. He circled his arm around her waist as they headed to the kitchen and rinsed their mugs. She leaned against him, enveloped in his warmth and smiled as thoughts of ghostly apparitions flitted from her mind.

  JUST AS SYBIL PREDICTED, the next morning Kate found nothing unusual in the hotel’s upper wing. She spent extra time in the three rooms where the strange flickering lights and ghostlike figure had appeared. The first was obviously used for storage, but not often, Kate surmised, because of the thin layer of dust. It appeared it might have once been used as a conference room. One round table was set up in the center of the room with a half dozen leatherette chairs around it. Several folding banquet tables leaned against one wall.

  The second room was used for storing bed linens, pillows, and the such. A couple of mattresses, still plastic wrapped, were propped against one wall. The dust on the floor of both storage rooms was smudged with footprints, though none was distinct. Kate remembered Sybil’s investigations after the reported ghost activity and surmised the footprints were hers.

  The third room contained cleaning supplies for the housekeepers, vacuum cleaners, mops, buckets, and dozens of spray bottles with generic cleaners.

  The laundry room was at the end of the partially carpeted hallway, and after a cursory glance at the industrial washers and dryers and a dumbwaiter that appeared to lead downstairs, Kate moved on to the opposite side of the hallway and the four rooms that faced away from the parking lot.

  Nothing struck her as being out of the ordinary. Three rooms were made up as if waiting for guests, though they smelled musty. The lock on the fourth door wouldn’t open with the master key card Sybil had loaned her. She made a note to check with Sybil later about that room, which was directly across from the laundry room.

  She was surprised at the location of the laundry room. If she had designed the hotel, she would have put it downstairs to save the housekeeping staff the extra footwork. At least the dumbwaiter in the corner sent up the dirty laundry so the workers didn’t have to carry it upstairs.

  As she headed back downstairs to Sybil’s office, she thought about the activities going on in what she was beginning to think of as the “ghost wing” of the hotel. During the day, the maids and service people were likely to be buzzing in and out, so there was very little chance for ghost activity during those hours. But at night when no one was around...

  A moment later, Kate rapped on Sybil’s door, then opened it as soon as she was invited in.

  Sybil looked up and smiled as Kate approached her desk. She looked much more composed than she’d been the night before.

  “Did you find anything?” Her expression said she knew the answer.

  Kate shook her head. “But I do have a couple of questions.”

  “Shoot.”

  She handed Sybil the master key card. “This worked in every lock except the last room on the right-hand side—room 213. Were you aware of that?”

  Sybil frowned, then shook her head. “I’m surprised. It’s always worked for me.”

  But Kate saw something behind Sybil’s eyes that said she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

  A moment of silence fell between them, but Kate didn’t press. “Something else I wondered,” she said. “The guests who’ve reported seeing things—unusual things, shall we say?—have those occurrences been in the daytime or at night?”

  “Mostly at night,” Sybil said. “Why?”

  “Just trying to connect some dots,” Kate said. She hesitated, then added, “By the way, is there a blueprint of the hotel around someplace that I could have a look at?”

  “A blueprint?”

  “Or a map—maybe you have a drawing of the hotel layout you give guests so they can find their way around. Something like that.”

  “Oh yes. Of course.” She opened a file drawer and handed Kate a brochure-like drawing of the hotel. Kate gave it a glance, nodded when she found what she was looking for, then smiled her thanks and turned to leave.

  “Kate?”

  She turned back to Sybil, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes and her gaunt cheeks.

  “There is something else I should tell you—”

  Just then, a loud crash, followed by shouting, reverberated down the hallway from the foyer.

  Sybil shot up from her desk like a rocket. Kate stepped out of her way as she swished by, then followed her toward the foyer. Kate was only a half pace behind her.

  There, on the floor in front of the reception desk, lay a large boom mike. To Kate, it resembled a toppled metal giraffe. A young, red-haired crew member stood nearby, white-faced, while Newt Keller berated him. A hush had fallen over the foyer.

  The young man finally found his tongue and interrupted the tirade. “S-sir, it was an accid—” His face flushed almost the color of his hair.

  Newt raised his hand, palm out, to stop him. “Do you have any idea the cost involved in something like this?” His tone was belittling, sarcastic. “Not just the money but the time to find a replacement for the boom and, I might add, for you?”

  Kate’s hackles were standing on end, and she felt her own face go warm on behalf of the young man.

  From the back of the crowd, a voice called Newt’s name. It was authoritative, no nonsense, and completely in control. Kate would have known the voice anywhere. She watched as Susannah made her way to the boom. She stood directly in front of Newt and glared at him, hands on her hips.

  “You have no right to speak to Jack this way, Newt,” she said, quietly, calmly.

  The producer stepped back almost as if he’d been slapped. “Who do you think you are? You have no right to interfere,” he growled.

  “And you, dear sir”—she stepped closer and tapped his chest with her forefinger to emphasize each word—“have no right to berate any of the Taste Network employees...make that any human being...in such a manner. Someday you’ll be sorry.”

  “Is that a threat, Susannah?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she glanced at the young man, who looked like he was finally able to breathe again. He swept his fingers through his red hair and gave her a shaky smile.

  “These are my people, my employees,” Newt said, “which means I have the power to hire, fire, and call them up short when they need it.”

  “Okay, Mr. Bigshot,” said a voice behind Kate. She turned as Birdie Birge stepped forward with a confident smile. “Now that you’ve attempted to put us all in our places, don’t you think it’s time we got to work?”

  Behind Birdie stood Nicolette Pascal, who remained silent. Before the pretty, dark-haired woman turned away, Kate thought she saw a hint of a smirk. But Nicolette wasn’t leering at Newt Keller; her gaze was fixed on Susannah.

  Chapter Four

  I’ll be the one who determines our work schedule,” Newt Keller said, still huffing.

  But Kate could see the tension had broken. She
wondered how often the chefs and crew had to stand up for one another against his tirades. Already, she had noticed a pattern. Newt kept everyone off balance with his mood swings—easy-going comrade one minute, harsh taskmaster the next. She couldn’t imagine the tension of working under such conditions. She breathed a prayer for his employees.

  Ten minutes later, Kate headed up the risers of the makeshift studio-audience space. A few of those who had come out to welcome the cast and crew the night before were there: Eli Weston shot Kate a wide smile and waved. Willy Bergen, sitting next to him, did the same. Sam Gorman, who had tromped up the risers just before Kate, sat on a chair next to Willy. Joe Tucker followed and plumped down on Sam’s opposite side. Many of the businesses in town were closed for a couple of hours, so everyone in Copper Mill would be able to enjoy what they could of the tapings.

  LuAnne Matthews, Millie Lovelace, and Livvy Jenner had already taken their places a couple of rows down from the rest of the group. Livvy sat at the end of the row with an extra space beside her. As Kate made her way toward her friend, Renee called “Yoo-hoo!” from the bottom row.

  When Kate turned, Renee said, “Save us a place!” It was a demand, not a request. “I have something important to tell you.”

  Kate breathed a little prayer for grace and nodded that she would.

  Trailing behind Renee was Kisses, on his jeweled leash, and Caroline, with a flashy, apparently new jeweled cane.

  Everyone scooted down to make room as the mother-daughter-Chihuahua team moved into the row, a cloud of Estée Lauder’s Youth-Dew, Renee’s signature scent, descending upon all.

  Renee, who was now sitting to Kate’s left, leaned toward her conspiratorially, her hand covering her mouth. “You won’t believe what I’ve heard.”

  Kate sighed. She didn’t like gossip and tried her best to avoid it, but sometimes she felt trapped...usually by Renee.

  She held up a hand. “If it’s gos—”

  “Oh goodness, no. I don’t do gossip,” Renee said. “No, this has to do with what’s going on at Faith Briar.”

  Which meant it was probably gossip.