by Diane Noble
She spotted Renee off to one side, near the Nicolette Pascal star coach, and headed toward her. “What’s going on?”
Renee shifted her designer tote pet carrier to her other side and sidled closer to Kate, keeping her voice low. “It’s a news conference,” she whispered. “There’s going to be an announcement.”
Kate frowned. “Who called for the conference?”
“Daryl Gallagher.”
Moments later, Daryl took her place at a makeshift podium in front of the hotel and asked for everyone’s attention. She looked every bit the part of an up-and-coming network executive. Her bouncy demeanor was still evident, but there seemed to be a new sophistication about her. She was fitting into the new somber role with an attractive flair.
She tapped the microphone, and the hubbub around Kate subsided.
“I want to thank the citizens of Copper Mill for all you’ve done to help search for this man who is, as some have put it, Mr. Taste Network,” she said. “We at Taste are gravely concerned. I also want to give special thanks to the cast and crew who make up the Taste family. They’ve carried on under the most grievous circumstances, continuing to tape the segments of the show, just as Newt himself would have done.”
Slightly behind Daryl and to one side was a woman Kate recognized as Newt’s ex-wife, Jacqueline Keller. Nicolette Pascal and Birdie Birge stood on the other side. As if on cue, Jacqueline stepped forward to join Daryl at the podium.
Daryl, dressed impeccably, was poised and beautiful. She shot Jacqueline a professional smile, appropriately touched with gravitas, as if they were on the Today show.
Jacqueline put her arm around Daryl’s shoulders. “I owe a debt of gratitude to this young woman. It was she who moved heaven and earth to find me in France and alert me to Newt’s disappearance. Without her stepping forward in my absence, and because—I’m sorry to say—the local authorities were not taking Newt’s abduction seriously, we would not have been able to get the professional help we needed for this search. Daryl has tirelessly kept me abreast of developments, sometimes hour by hour across the Atlantic, until I could get here myself.”
Kate let her gaze drift from Jacqueline to Birdie, then to Nicolette, who was staring at Jacqueline. If looks could kill, the former Ms. Keller would have been long gone. Birdie’s expression, on the other hand, was as pleasant as ever.
But Nicolette’s normally cool demeanor had turned to ice.
Daryl was her daughter. Kate would have thought she would be bursting at the seams with pride, not shooting daggers at the CFO of the network that employed her.
Kate’s thoughts returned to the photograph of Newt Keller and Nicolette. Of course. Kate could practically see the green-headed creature jealousy raising its head in Nicolette’s heart.
After her speech, Jacqueline stepped back, and Daryl continued with the news conference, fielding questions from the media and chatting about the network, the challenges ahead, and, of course, the hope that Newt Keller would be found alive and well.
Then she took one last question.
“What about the suspect who is about to be arrested?”
“Do you mean Susannah Applebaum?”
There were gasps of surprise from the audience. Hands popped up and questions were shouted as reporters tried to get the details.
Daryl looked down, blinking as if embarrassed and ready to cry. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment, holding up both hands to stop the questions. “It was premature of me to name names. I can tell you that, yes, there is a suspect, but please consider what I just said as off the record.”
Kate’s cheeks flushed in distress. Until then, there had been no official statement that Susannah was a suspect. Perhaps rumors had been circulating about her possible arrest, but no one knew it as a certainty.
Off the record? Hardly. It was too juicy a tidbit for a reporter to keep to himself or herself: Susannah Applebaum, one of the three darlings of the Taste Network lineup, a suspect in her producer-director’s disappearance? No, they wouldn’t keep that quiet.
Daryl, regaining her composure and looking as poised as ever, drew the news conference to a close.
If Kate hadn’t known better, she would have thought Daryl dropped Susannah’s name on purpose.
Then again, maybe she did know better.
But what was her motive?
THE TAPING OF NICOLETTE’S segment was delayed because of the news conference. Kate checked her watch. She had just enough time to do a little more sleuthing on the second floor of the hotel.
She trotted into the foyer and up the left side of the large double staircase. She had only a few minutes to poke around upstairs. If her theory was right, she would find it near room 213. She rounded the corner near the hallway leading to the ghost wing. As usual, the light was dim. She blinked to let her eyes adjust and kept walking.
She heard the sounds of two women arguing, one with a distinct French accent, and the click of high heels on a wooden floor. The hallway was carpeted with a runner down its center with highly polished hardwood on either side. If someone was walking on the hardwood, simple deduction told her that two people were walking together, one on the carpet, the other on the hardwood floor.
Kate looked around quickly for a place to hide, then ducked into an alcove that appeared to have housed an objet d’art sometime in the past. She scrunched back as far as she could, realizing too late that she could be seen by anyone with moderate vision, even in the dim light. Not only that, her silly attempt to hide would look awfully suspicious to whoever was coming down the hall.
Better not to hide at all.
She stepped out into the hallway again. There in front of her stood two women.
“So,” Nicolette said, a half smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “What brings you here?” Almost as if a sleight of hand, Nicolette slid something the size of a credit card into her pocket. It looked suspiciously like a room card key, and Kate wondered why she had it in her hand. Her room was obviously not in this wing.
Beside her, Daryl Gallagher blinked in surprise. She smiled at Kate, almost embarrassed to have startled her. But she did glance at the alcove, and a slight frown crossed her brow before the smile returned.
“We’re on our way to the taping,” Daryl said, still all smiles. “Are you coming?”
If Kate hadn’t heard their raised voices seconds earlier, she wouldn’t have known they’d been arguing.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Kate said easily. “You’re on today, aren’t you Nicolette?”
The chef nodded curtly. “Yes, of course.” She gestured to the alcove, started to speak, then apparently thought better of it and let her hand fall to her side. But a knowing smile again played at her lips.
“Mother, we need to get downstairs.” Daryl glanced at her watch. “The run-through starts in just a few minutes. We can’t be late. I’ll never hear the end of it.” She laughed lightly and cupped Nicolette’s elbow with her hand as the two made their way to the end of the hall and the grand staircase beyond.
Kate listened to the fading footsteps and the click of Nicolette’s heels.
The strange thing was she had seen the two women just a few minutes before at the news conference outside the hotel. How had they gotten up to that wing before she did?
What did they know that she didn’t about getting around in this old hotel?
Chapter Seventeen
Fifteen minutes later, Kate entered the Taste studio and took her seat. The mother-daughter team had just begun the first run-through, and even though it was a brief rehearsal, they were putting on quite a show. Nicolette’s flair in the kitchen and Daryl’s directing skills were a perfect match.
The studio audience seemed enthralled with Nicolette’s simple methods of French-fusion cooking, her elegant style, and of course, her charming French accent.
She began by telling the studio audience about her favorite recipe for sole meunière with a balsamic brown-butter sauce, then delighted them when she sh
owed them how to give the dish a Southern flair by substituting catfish fillets for sole. She received a standing ovation when she presented the final product, golden brown and steaming, to the audience members who had been chosen to be the day’s tasters. She chose deep-fried fingerling potatoes as a side dish, and a warm salad of collard greens sautéed in olive oil, then she finished with a sweet-and-tart apricot glaze.
Kate noticed that a few reporters had slipped in sometime before the taping started. They were just as enthusiastic as the studio audience. Surprisingly, though Daryl had asked the media to remain outside, she welcomed their participation. Lucy Mae Briddle was one of the most enthusiastic members of the press, clapping and cheering between her note taking.
During a break, Kate walked to the foyer and punched in Susannah’s number on her cell. While she waited for it to ring, someone called her name.
She turned to see a woman in pink-hued designer sunglasses, a floppy-brimmed hat, a billowing caftan, and high-heeled boots headed her direction. Kate flipped the phone closed and squinted at the woman who had just called her name. She looked vaguely familiar.
It wasn’t until the woman pulled off her sunglasses that recognition hit.
“Susannah!”
She grinned. “A girl has to get around without being recognized.”
“Honestly, I wouldn’t have known you.”
She looked relieved. “Good. I’ve been hounded by the press and curiosity seekers a bit too long. Maybe this will keep them at bay. Katie, I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything—as long as it doesn’t involve killing spiders.”
Susannah grinned, then gave her a quick side hug. “You haven’t changed a bit.” Then she sobered. “Seriously, I need to get away from here.”
“And you need me to drive the getaway car?”
Susannah laughed. “Thank you for offering, but I have a driver. I thought I’d have him move my coach over to your house. Would you mind terribly if I stayed there?”
“We’d love to have you. Can I help you move anything?”
Susannah replaced her sunglasses and shook her head. “I’ve already checked out of the hotel and put everything in the coach. I’m ready to roll.”
They had just started toward the exit when the sound of the cheering studio audience poured from the Taste studio. Susannah stopped. “Wait, I want to see what’s going on.” She signaled Kate to follow, then walked over to the doorway leading to the studio.
The taping had resumed, and Nicolette was dancing around the kitchen, as graceful and light on her feet as a ballerina, bantering with the audience about the ingredients she was about to present.
She asked for a drumroll, and from the back of the stage, Armand Platt appeared and, with a grand flourish, drummed the counter with two wooden spoon handles.
After a dramatic pause, Nicolette smiled at the audience. “Tiramisu,” she cried triumphantly. “And now, let me show you how to make this delicious, sumptuous dessert.”
With a dramatic flutter of her fingers, she pulled out the ingredients one by one, as if they were made of pure gold. The audience sighed as she poured the orange liqueur over the ladyfingers. “Though this is usually thought of as more Italian than French,” she said as she worked, “in my opinion it’s decadent enough to be French.”
Beside Kate, Susannah stiffened. “That’s my recipe,” she breathed. “I developed it specifically for Chocolates to Die For.” She turned to Kate. “If she goes through with this, it will be terrible. Not just for me, but for us both.”
As if on cue, Nicolette halted midsentence. “Take five,” she called out, scowling. “Somebody get me some coffee. And I mean right now!”
“Mother, we’re right in the middle of taping...”
“I said I need coffee.” Nicolette rubbed her forehead, her elbow on the counter. When she looked up, she spotted the women gaping at her. “Is there a problem?” she said, her French accent harsh.
Kate shook her head, but Susannah stepped forward, pulling off her sunglasses at the same time.
“Actually, there is,” she said, taking a few steps farther into the studio.
“Funny, we were just talking about you, Susannah,” Nicolette said with a cold smile. “Nice outfit.”
“That’s my recipe,” Susannah said quietly. Nicolette moved toward them, slowly, deliberately, again adopting her runway model’s walk.
Behind her, Daryl told the crew to take a quick break, got her mother some strong coffee, then spoke to the audience in her cheerleader’s voice, but no one seemed to be listening. All eyes were on Susannah and Nicolette.
“It’s obvious you got an advance copy of the book,” Susannah continued, “though I don’t know how you did.”
“What are you talking about? This recipe has been in my family for years. I can prove it if necessary.” She paused, her eyes bright with anger. “It’s you, dear Susannah, who somehow lifted it from my collection.”
Susannah stepped closer. “My attorney is on his way here. You’ll be hearing—”
Nicolette’s laugh came out in a single bitter burst. “It’s a good thing you sent for him. From what I hear, he’s going to be a very busy man.”
“I’m telling you, Nicolette, your reputation is on the line. People will find out you got an advance copy of Chocolates to Die For and claimed the recipe as your own. If you don’t believe it’s mine, check with my publisher. I can prove how long it’s been since I turned in the final manuscript.”
For the first time, Nicolette looked hesitant, then her expression changed. She shook her head. “Really, Susannah, you expect me to believe all this? You’re the one with the damaged reputation. I daresay, damaged beyond repair. Besides, who’s going to believe someone who’s the prime suspect in the disappearance of Newt Keller?” She laughed. “Think about it.”
Without another word, she whirled and headed back to the taping.
“An old family recipe? The woman’s heritage is French.” Susannah laughed, but the sound was etched with bitterness. “Besides, there’s always the missing ingredient—my secret weapon.”
“Missing ingredient?” Kate raised a brow.
But Susannah didn’t answer. She donned her sunglasses and murmured as if to herself, “This time Nicolette Pascal’s gone too far. But she’ll pay.”
Her words chilled Kate to the bone. It was another threat, too similar to those Susannah had made against Newt Keller before he disappeared.
Chapter Eighteen
The coffee had just finished brewing the next morning when Kate heard a light tap at her front door. She hurried to answer it before the sound disturbed Paul.
There, in sweats and fuzzy slippers, stood Susannah. She looked rested and refreshed, and she carried a plate of fresh-baked, fragrant cinnamon rolls in her hands.
She stepped inside, glanced toward the master bedroom, then whispered, “Paul still asleep?” When Kate nodded, Susannah grinned. “Now doesn’t this just remind you of old times? Next best thing to a slumber party.”
“Did you make these?”
Susannah raised a brow, and Kate laughed.
“I just can’t imagine your coach having a kitchen large enough to do any serious cooking or baking.”
“I’ll give you a tour later. But first this girl needs sustenance for the day ahead.” She headed to the kitchen and placed the plateful of rolls on the counter.
“Coffee?” Without waiting for an answer, Susannah helped herself to a couple of mugs, poured the coffee, and handed a mug to Kate.
They went into the living room and sat in front of the fireplace. Outside, a songbird began to trill as the sun slanted through the branches. He was soon joined by others. Inside, the fire crackled and popped, and the fragrance of the fresh-baked cinnamon rolls blended with the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee.
Susannah’s eyes filled. “I needed this, Katie. Just to get away from the awfulness of everything. My agent will be here later today with an attorney he’s hired on my behalf.
I may get through this without a formal arrest. But if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that my reputation may be damaged beyond repair.”
Kate leaned forward, speaking softly. “I’m no attorney, but the evidence against you is circumstantial. Plus, they haven’t found Newt.”
“True, but the FBI agent certainly put me through the wringer.” She laughed, though the sound was hollow “It was almost as if he wanted me to confess to something—anything—to get him off the hook.”
Kate remembered what Renee had said about political pressure to make an arrest. She shot a little prayer heavenward that law enforcement officials would resist such pressure.
Susannah took a sip of her coffee, then said, “You started to tell me something the other day when I canceled our tea date.”
Kate sat back, studying Susannah over the rim of her mug. “It may be nothing, but there’s a nagging little suspicion in the back of my mind that tells me my discovery might be significant.”
“I thought you were investigating the ghost sightings.”
“I was, though I had this vague feeling that Newt’s disappearance and the hauntings might be linked.” She stood to get them refills on their coffee. “Are you ready for your cinnamon roll?”
“Do you think we should wait for Paul?” Susannah was grinning. “Or do you think we should have one now and another when he’s ready for breakfast?”
Kate laughed. “What do you think my answer is?”
Susannah went with her to the kitchen, located the plates and flatware, then served up two warm and buttery frosted rolls. The years rolled away as Kate watched Susannah make herself at home in her kitchen. Tears began to form.
“What?” Susannah said when she turned around, a plate in each hand.
Kate swallowed hard before answering. “I was just thinking about my mother’s kitchen, about our friendship...and about how hard I’m going to try to get to the bottom of all this.”
“Well then, girlfriend, let’s get down to business.” She led the way into the living room. “I want to hear what you found out and how we can put an end to the injustice that’s been meted out against me.” Her words were meant to be light, but the import of their meaning stopped them both cold.