Murder On The Menu: A Romantic Comedy Culinary Cozy Mystery (A Celebrity Mystery)

by Mackenzie, Zanna

  “Stella was just…” I start to explain but the woman in question shushes me.

  “I’ll tell you upstairs,” she says, grabbing David’s arm and leading him out of the room. “It was so exciting.” Throwing a backwards glance in our direction she adds, “Besides, I think we should give the crime fighting duo some time alone to plan their next move.”

  “Crime fighting duo!” I repeat, laughing nervously.

  Jack moves to stand close to me again. “Isn’t that exactly what we are?”

  The spicy and citrusy notes from his aftershave drift enticingly under my nose, and I can feel the heat of his arm next to mine despite our autumnal clothing. Reluctantly, I move away. I need to keep my focus on staying out of jail, not on this handsome special agent who might not know about electronics but certainly knows his way around a kiss. “So, what happens next?”

  “Well, for one thing, I still need to delve into Bryony’s business dealings and see if I can find anything concrete about her being involved with Silvers. Plus, I want to run some checks on this Francesca woman who was the other finalist on that Culinary Cook Off competition.” He closes the gap I just created between us and rests a hand on top of mine. “If the Veggies is open from tomorrow, when are you next due to work there?”

  “Tomorrow evening,” I say, feeling sick at the very thought of stepping back through those doors again. That, in itself, is bad enough, but to be working for fiery Carl Silvers who could have been the one who stabbed Armand, well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.

  Jack’s thumb is gently stroking my hands now and it’s making me feel all tingly. “Will you be all right working there?”

  I swallow and manage a nod, then pull my hand away. “I’ll have to be. The police will get suspicious if I don’t turn up for my shift. Plus, I need the money.”

  “You know the place has been cleaned up. You’ll be fine.”

  “I will be fine,” I say decisively, pulling away. “With any luck the police will have acted on Stella’s information by then, done all their checks and found Carl could well tick all the boxes with motive, opportunity and means. They might even have taken him in for questioning.” I lift the kettle and fill it with water at the tap. “Do you want a drink?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?” I flip the switch and stay on the other side of the kitchen table from him, half of me wanting to be beside him again while the other half chants warnings in my head about keeping distance and maintaining focus.

  “Whether I’m in the way or not.”

  Turning my back, I busy myself getting mugs and coffee and milk. “Why would you think you’re in the way? I mean, you’re the one who is working to keep me from being arrested.” I lower my voice. “And from being killed tonight. I’m very grateful for that.”

  “And yet I get the feeling you’re uncomfortable around me right now and want to put some space between us.”

  I glance over my shoulder to see he’s staying where he is. Safely on the other side of the room.

  “And I’m thinking it’s connected to the pretty damn amazing kisses we end up sharing.”

  I say nothing. I’m not even sure what’s going on between us. We flirt a little. We kiss. Then we pull apart and make excuses. Well, I do. I’m in no position to start a relationship at the moment. Oh, my head is all over the place!

  “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped the mark. I thought you…” He pauses and I risk another look at him. He pushes a hand through his hair and looks endearingly nervous. “Well, I thought you liked me too.”

  I can’t deny my attraction to him, but at the same time, admitting to it is asking for trouble. Big trouble. And I’ve had more than enough of that in my life as it is. “I do,” I eventually concede. “But, like I said before, with all of this murder business going on, I really need to focus on not getting arrested.” The kettle clicks off and I turn to face him. “And allowing myself to get involved with the guy who is working to clear my name, well, it wouldn’t be sensible, now would it?”

  I expect an argument and am waiting for him to protest, but he doesn’t. Instead he says, “You’re right. Thanks for the offer of a coffee but I should get going and delve further into the bits of information we’ve found. Do me a favour and don’t leave the farm tonight. Stay indoors, everything locked up tight. If you hear any noises, see any prowlers, call me immediately. I’m only five minutes away. I’ll be in touch first thing tomorrow about Daisy.”

  And with that he walks out of the door into the dark and stormy night.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “So, how did things go yesterday with your parents?” I pause from harvesting tomatoes in the biggest of the greenhouses at Eskdale and wipe the sweat from my brow. Yesterday’s rain and autumnal mist is long gone and the sun is beating down. “I bet they were delighted about the wedding.”

  Stella gently empties her collected tomatoes from the bowl in her arms into the large basket at our feet. Today her hair is gathered up messily in clips. On me it would look as though I’d crawled out of bed and forgot to brush my hair. On Stella it looks playful and relaxed, yet still somehow stylish. “My mum wanted to get started planning things right away but I managed to calm her down enough to wait until David and I have at least agreed on what we want.”

  “Difference of opinion?”

  She rolls her eyes and nods. “I think we’ve rejected the overseas idea but that’s as far as we’ve got. I think I like the idea of having the ceremony and the reception in a hotel up here. Preferably somewhere with a lake view. David’s a bit of a traditionalist though and is now leaning towards a church wedding in London. He says I’ve lived in the city all this time now so really it’s home for both of us. He’s from Surrey so a wedding down south does make more sense in terms of all our friends and his family being able to get to celebrate the day with us quickly and easily. But isn’t the ceremony supposed to be in the bride’s home county? Or is that too old-fashioned these days?”

  “I think basically you can do whatever you want.”

  “That’s the problem; it’s looking like we want different things,” she frowns and plucks a bright red tomato from a nearby plant.

  “Not entirely,” I say, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “You both want to marry each other. That’s a great place to start.”

  “You’re right, it is,” she says, hugging me back. “Sorry, all this wedding talk and me moaning about arrangements, it’s not fair on you.”

  I squeeze her tightly and close my eyes then step away and go back to my tomato picking. “It’s fine, honestly. I’m thrilled for both of you.”

  “Jack is a far better man than Adam could ever be.”

  Her words take me by surprise. I lean down and pick up the full-to-bursting basket to gain a few moments to compose myself before I speak. “I’m not with Jack, not in a relationship sense anyway. He’s helping me out investigating this case and hopefully doing so will help him with…” I stop short. Sugar. I still haven’t told Stella about Jack being suspended from his job. Firstly, because I know she’ll worry and fret about it, and secondly because she’s bound to ask me loads of questions I don’t have answers for. Like what he did to get himself suspended from his job with this celebrity crime fighting agency in the first place.

  Stella is looking at me expectantly. “Will help him with what?” she asks, pinning me with one of her stern looks. “Is there something you’re not telling me about your sexy special agent sidekick?”

  I dip away from her gaze and out of the greenhouse, the basket of freshly picked produce in my arms. The sweet yet sharp tomato smell assails my nostrils and brings back childhood memories of helping my aunt and uncle pick tomatoes. As I approach the corner of the ramshackle barn near the farmyard, the sound of a vehicle makes my heart jump into my mouth. Is it the police back again? Is it Jack? Quickening my pace with Stella hot on my heels, I round the corner and see a car I don’t recognise parking at the far end of the yard. A woman gets
out and I realise it’s Katya who runs the kitchen garden for the Veggies. That’s strange. She’s never visited me up here before. I wonder what she wants.

  “Hi!” She spots me and jogs across the farmyard in my direction and then stops when she sees Stella. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise you had company.”

  “No worries,” Stella says, beaming her a friendly smile. “I was just going to make some tea anyway.” She waves a hand at Katya. “Nice to have met you!”

  “Stella’s a good friend from London. She’s visiting with her fiancé David.” I explain to Katya who looks uninterested and, I think, rather anxious. Katya’s on the skinny side anyway but today she looks, I hate to even think it, but I’d say she seems gaunt. “Is everything OK?”

  “I was hoping you’d be able to help me out,” she replies, her fingers fiddling with one of the buttons of her baggy checked shirt. “Some of the produce at the restaurant’s kitchen garden has been attacked by a fungal problem and I can’t present it for use in the kitchen.” Shooting me a beseeching look she adds, “You do know the Veggies is opening again today?”

  I nod. “I’d heard. So, did you want some produce from here?”

  “Please,” she nods gratefully. “I’ll present it as though it’s all from our kitchen garden. I have a budget and petty cash for the garden so I can pay you from that. This replacement chef sounds just as tough as Armand was, and I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot with not enough fruit and veg and salad stuff or taking in things of inferior quality.”

  “What bits are you after? Salad leaves? Tomatoes? Salad onions? Cucumbers?”

  “All of the above please.”

  “All of them have been hit by a fungal problem at your place?” I check. That seems odd. OK, at this time of year fungal spores do cause problems but for something to attack multiple crops so swiftly seems unusual, especially as I know Katya gardens organically and is very careful about such things.

  “Yes,” she nods. The dark circles under her eyes suggest she’s feeling the strain about something. Probably all this business with Armand’s murder and now problems at the kitchen garden. Why have her crops been suffering quite so much though? It doesn’t add up.

  “Look, let’s leave this for now. You can spare ten minutes for a drink, can’t you?”

  “No!” She looks panic-stricken at the very thought and backs away from me, pushing a hand through her cropped red hair. “Sorry, I don’t have time.”

  I reach a hand out in a calming gesture. “Not to worry. Let’s get you your produce right now then, shall we?”

  We work our way through the indoor and outdoor planting areas, gathering up fresh produce as per Katya’s requirements. I make a list as we go, and once I’ve helped her into the car with it all she grabs her rucksack and hands me some money.

  “You don’t need to worry about that now.”

  “Take it, please,” she says with an earnest expression.

  Shrugging I take the money and thank her. Turning the car round, she heads back down the track, driving far too fast for its potholed surface.

  I find Stella in the kitchen, helping herself to a slice of the cake that Brenda brought to Eskdale the other day. “Sorry,” she says with a wry smile. “Couldn’t resist. Let’s blame it on wedding stress, shall we? By the time the big day rolls around I’ll probably be at least two dress sizes bigger!” Then, as if suddenly remembering my own stress levels and the murder case, she adds, “I’m sure you’re far more stressed out than I am at the moment. Come on, sit down and have some cake. So, who was that?”

  “Katya. She runs the Veggie’s kitchen garden. She wanted to buy some produce from me for use at the restaurant. To tell you the truth, it was all a bit odd really. She said a lot of the stuff she grows had been wiped out with some fungal disease, but it doesn’t make sense that everything would have been affected in one go.”

  Stella sits opposite me at the kitchen table. “But why would she lie about something like that? Do you think something else has happened at this garden and she doesn’t want to admit it? Vandalism perhaps?”

  I take a bite of the delicious cake Stella has just given me while pondering what could have happened. Curiosity gets the better of me. “I might call round there when I’m out doing the next deliveries and have a bit of a nose. If I make sure Katya isn’t there first, I should be OK. I’d hate her to find me snooping around the place.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Stella finishes her second slice of cake. “David’s gone fishing with my dad today. A bit of male bonding I suppose, ahead of welcoming him to the family as the latest son-in-law.”

  Then I remember I don’t have a car. One quick call to Frazer reveals he’s already fixed her and he’ll drop her back at my place shortly. Sure enough, thirty minutes later Daisy appears back in my yard, driven by Jack. Frazer follows behind in the Land Rover. He stays in the vehicle while Jack climbs out of Daisy. I rush to her side and run a hand over her paintwork. “Is she all right?”

  “Good as new,” Jack replies, handing me her keys.

  I frown.

  “Honestly,” he adds, spotting my look of concern. “She’s perfectly safe to drive. Frazer used to be a car mechanic before he took on the farm.”

  I nod, still a little nervous though about driving her again despite his reassurances.

  Jack lowers his voice. “The brakes had been tampered with, I’m afraid.”

  “So, somebody did try to…” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

  “Yes, they did. Can you think when somebody might have done it?”

  A fierce gust of wind whips across the yard out of nowhere, whisking me back to the night of the storm, when the power was off. “The other night, I thought I saw somebody prowling around in the barns. There was a light, like a torch.”

  Jack curses and drags a hand through his hair. “And you didn’t tell me this why?”

  “I wasn’t entirely sure, and it was too late to do anything.”

  “If anything else happens, whether you’re sure or not, call me.”

  I nod. “OK. Do you guys want to come in for a drink?”

  Jack shakes his head. “No, thanks. Got a lot on today. I’ll be in touch.”

  Ah. So he’s still annoyed about my friends-only stance.

  As soon as we’ve completed all the deliveries, I head for the Veggie’s kitchen garden on the edge of the village. Nobody seems to be around. The gate is locked and Katya’s car isn’t parked outside.

  “Looks like the coast is clear,” I say, checking up and down the street, feeling on edge. I work for the Veggies so if anyone does turn up and start asking questions then I can always make the excuse I was sent to fetch something. Though why, in reality, should they ask?

  This murder business is making me paranoid.

  As the gate is a metal version of a five bar wooden one, it’s pretty easy to clamber over it. Stella has a dicey moment, a leg on each side, claiming she’s stuck, but I coax her over and we head for the shed at the far end of the plot. Along the way I pause every few feet to check the various fruit and vegetables. The plants look strangely neglected with weeds growing up between them and some of the produce rotting where it should have been picked days ago. There’s no obvious disease rampaging through it all though. Why has Katya neglected it so much?

  “Perhaps she was too upset about the murder to come down here,” Stella suggests as though she can read my mind.

  “Could be, but the way some of this stuff is rotting, it’s been here for more than a day or so, even taking into account all the rain we’ve had lately. It doesn’t make sense. Katya is usually really meticulous with the plot.”

  Stella looks all around us and shrugs. “Well, something else has clearly taken priority lately. The question is, what?”

  Standing on tiptoe, I shield my eyes and peer into one of the sheds in the corner of the kitchen garden. Thankfully nothing seems to be amiss in there.

  “Hey! This is a bit strange.”
Stella’s voice drifts toward me from behind the shed.

  I scoot round to find her standing in front of the area marked off to form three open air compost bins. The smell of damp and decay hangs heavy in the air. Dumped on top of the nearest compost bin is a huge bouquet of flowers. Stella reaches over and lifts up the rejected blooms.

  “If somebody sent me a bouquet like this, I wouldn’t be throwing it on the compost heap, that’s for sure!” She fingers the now drooping flowers. “They’re gorgeous, or, I should say, they were gorgeous! Such a shame. I guess she’s had a falling out with her boyfriend and rejected him and his flowers.”

  “I wasn’t even aware she had a boyfriend. She’s never mentioned anybody. Is there any sign of a card with the flowers?” An unpleasant thought pops into my head. What if she was having a fling with Armand?

  “Nope.” Stella hastily drops the flowers back where she found them. “The flowers aren’t from the dead guy, are they? Was she having a secret relationship with her boss?”

  “I don’t know.” Turning away from Stella, I take in the scene of neglect all around us. “None of this makes any sense. Even if Katya was involved with Armand, why would she dump his flowers, especially with him being murdered?”

  “Maybe she’s the one who murdered him,” Stella gasps, a hand to her mouth. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. He was separated, wasn’t he? Perhaps Katya had found out he was planning to get back with his wife and so,” she continues, obviously warming now to her dramatic idea, “in a fit of jealousy, she stabbed him.”

  “It’s possible,” I concede. Is Katya really capable of killing Armand? Surely not. “But why is the kitchen garden in such bad shape?”

  “Perhaps she’d been too busy sneaking off for secret rendezvous with her boss,” Stella suggests.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say another reason for the state of the garden is that Armand was harassing her and she was avoiding the place as much as she could because she was worried about being caught alone down here by him. But if I say that, then the whole sorry business about Armand hitting on female members of staff will come out and I don’t want to have to explain everything to Stella. Armand is gone and it seems disrespectful to drag up his mistakes and bad behaviour.