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

by Mackenzie, Zanna

  “And?” Jack prompts.

  “That night…he was stabbed,” she finishes, tears now rolling down her cheeks.

  I reach out and place a hand on her arm again. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I loved him,” she sniffles into a tissue Jack hands her. “But everything had to be a secret. My parents would have gone ballistic if they’d known about us. Mum had spotted us together a couple of times and I’d made excuses. She thought he was being overly friendly and warned me to be careful. I told her it was all fine.”

  “Katya, I know this is difficult, but if you have any information which might help us catch who murdered Armand, then we need to know about it,” Jack says, handing her the whole pack of tissues he’s just found in the door pocket.

  She blows her nose and then fixes him with an inquisitive stare. “Who are you anyway? I’ve already talked to the police.”

  “Did you tell them you were involved with Armand?” he asks.

  She shakes her head. “I was worried they’d think I’d killed him in a fit of jealousy. You know, a crime of passion. People misunderstood him. He could be sweet and kind and romantic. When I got upset about his flirting, well, sometimes he’d call at the kitchen garden or phone me up and say how much he wanted us to make this work. He’d beg and plead about how we should try again.”

  Sweet, kind and romantic are not words I associate with Armand but appearances can be deceptive. Maybe Katya is the only one who knew the real man behind the volatile celebrity chef persona. And did she just say he’d call her and beg for the two of them to start again? My mind flashes back to when Jack and I visited Vanessa in Delamere. How she’d said she’d overheard Armand on the phone and thought he was talking to his wife about trying again with their marriage. But it wasn’t Bryony he was talking to – it was Katya!

  “You know they have you on their suspects list, don’t you?” Katya says to me, looking exhausted and emotional now.

  “Which is why we’re trying to gather any information we can to help the police catch the right person,” Jack replies.

  “So, if you aren’t the police, then who are you?”

  “I’m a concerned friend of Lizzie’s; think of me as a private investigator if you like. We need your help. Did Armand say anything to you about enemies? People he might have upset?”

  Katya waves a hand of dismissal at his question. “Armand upset lots of people. That’s what is expected of celebrity chefs. I know the separation from his wife was acrimonious. He said he should never have married her in the first place. He never really loved her.”

  “He didn’t mention anybody else specifically?” Jack asks. “Even something he said in casual conversation might turn out to be a clue as to who stabbed him. Did he ever talk about his manager?”

  “Billy?” She nods. “He was always complaining about him. Armand and I were together for a while and, at the start, he couldn’t praise Billy enough. He’d told me how Billy had discovered him at a home and cookery show in London. Armand, via a friend of a friend, had got a job for a few days demonstrating woks on a stand at the exhibition. Billy apparently thought Armand had stage presence and offered to sign him up there and then.”

  “And later?” I prompt. “You said in the beginning he couldn’t speak highly enough of Billy, but then what happened?”

  Katya looks wary and starts biting at her thumbnail again. “He discovered Billy was swindling him. Billy would lie about fees being offered for various jobs. He’d have different contracts drawn up. I don’t know the details but somehow he managed to make it look as though people were offering to pay Armand one amount for, say, doing an advert or being a guest speaker, when in reality they were offering much more. Billy would pocket the difference.”

  “Didn’t he ever tackle Billy about it?” Jack asks.

  “Yes.” She nods emphatically. “Billy told him he should be grateful for any money he got because all of it was thanks to him. He said Armand had more than enough money as it was and Billy needed money desperately. He’s got a gambling problem and a drinking problem and huge debts. I think Armand felt a bit sorry for him when he found out, but he was still mad. He said Billy should have just come to him and explained the circumstances and he’d have tried to help him out. I think most of Armand’s money was tied up in the Veggies but he said he could have tried to free some money up for him. Of course, Armand had legal fees with the impending divorce, so money was tight for him anyway, but he would have tried to help. That’s the kind of man he was.”

  Jack rubs a hand across his forehead, looking exasperated. “Did you tell the police all of this?”

  “No. It would have seemed, I don’t know, disloyal somehow. Plus, like I said, I was worried they would arrest me or something.” She shakes her head, looking confused. “I thought it best to just keep quiet.”

  “So why have you told Jack and me all of this?”

  She shrugs. “Because you’d pretty much figured out about the two of us being in a relationship, and I can see you’re worried you might end up getting arrested yourself. Plus, you work at the Veggies, and I suppose I trust you more than the police. My family doesn’t have the best record when it comes to the police. My dad has been in trouble a few times for drunk and disorderly behaviour and my uncle has been to prison, so I thought it best to just keep my mouth shut when they interviewed me.”

  The air is heavy with silence for a few moments.

  Eventually Katya speaks. “So, what are you going to do now? Tell the police what I’ve told you? Speak to Billy? Do you think he was the one who attacked Armand?”

  “Don’t worry,” Jack reassures her. “We won’t get you into trouble with the local law enforcement. And no, we don’t think it was Billy. He has a cast iron alibi for that night. He was attending a big charity dinner in London.”

  “Oh, right.” Katya slumps in her seat. “I miss Armand so much. I shouldn’t have let my jealousy push us apart.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. I truly am,” I say, feeling awkward and embarrassed. We got this all wrong. Armand and Katya were in a relationship and cared about each other. Is what Armand said true, though? That he was only flirting with the women at the Veggies to maintain appearances? Is that why he never took things further? Why he’d make a half-hearted play for me or Marla or one of the others but pretty much back off straight away? Did he love Katya? Why had he ever married Bryony if he claimed he never loved her? Or was that a little lie to appease Katya?

  “I should go,” she says, scooting along the seat and opening the back door. “I’m sorry if I made a mistake keeping quiet. I’ll try to get my head round sorting the garden out from tomorrow. It might help me take my mind off of things. You will find who did this, won’t you?” With that she climbs out, closes the door behind her and walks back up to her parents’ house.

  “I feel sorry for her,” I say as I watch her go. She looks so fragile as she makes her way back into the house. “I think I got Armand completely wrong.”

  Jack starts up the car. “Misjudged him a bit, yeah, I think we all probably have, but got him completely wrong? Nah, somebody still stabbed him and killed him and there had to be a reason for that.”

  “So,” I sigh, feeling as though we’re not getting anywhere with tracking down the killer. “Billy has an alibi, Katya was in love with him, not being harassed by him. We know I didn’t kill Armand. What about this Francesca woman, the other finalist in the cookery competition?”

  “I’m still looking into it. This Silvers guy should arrive tomorrow to work at the Veggies. I’ll talk to him then and see if I can find out anything useful there.”

  I frown in the darkness. “You’ll speak to him? What about me?”

  “I’m the investigating officer on this case. I think you should distance yourself from trouble and from the Veggies.”

  Remembering the earlier phone call, I reply, “They don’t want me working there anyway, so that helps with the distancing side of things.”

 
As he pulls the Land Rover into the yard at Eskdale he glances over. “They said that?”

  “Yes. Peter, the assistant manager, phoned me earlier. Told me not to go in for my shift today. Armand’s murder and finding myself on the suspects list…” I throw both hands up in the air in frustration. “And now, losing money.”

  Jack switches off the engine then rests a hand on my thigh. “It’s all going to be OK. I have never failed to find the murderer on a case yet and I’m not about to start now. Tomorrow I’ll speak to Silvers and I’ll keep you informed every step of the way.”

  I chew on my bottom lip and nod. “Thanks, Jack, I really appreciate this. I don’t know what I’d do without you looking into all of this stuff for me.”

  Jack leans over and, for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me again.

  He does, but it isn’t like before.

  This time he plants a chaste kiss on my cheek and then settles back in the driving seat. I get out, slam the door shut and lift a hand to wave goodbye.

  He does another one of his nifty three-point turns and heads the Land Rover back towards Frazer’s farm. I can’t help feeling a little disappointed. But then it was me who thought it best to keep things on a platonic level, wasn’t it?

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  I can’t focus on what I’m supposed to be doing. I keep imagining I can hear a car bumping its way down the track towards Eskdale and am convinced it’s the police, here to lock me up and throw away the key this time. I waved Stella and David off back to London after breakfast. Stella had hugged me tight, made me promise to keep her up to date with the whole dreadful Armand business, and said she really liked Jack and that it was time I moved on in relationship terms to somebody far better than Adam – i.e. specifically Jack. She didn’t mention again about me calling Adam. I know I don’t want to. Speaking to him isn’t going to change what happened.

  Now, I’ve completed my jobs on the farm for the morning and feel a bit cabin feverish and in need of an escape. I know Jack suggested I stay away from the Veggies but he didn’t say I needed to be cooped up here all day. I could just go for a drive. At least it would distract me for a while. I seem to be desperate for distractions lately. I even attempted to bake again this morning. Following my Aunt Molly’s recipe to the letter, I arranged all of the ingredients on the table and got myself composed and organised. Well, attempted to. There’s something about baking which makes me feel flustered. It’s supposed to be relaxing and therapeutic but so far it’s probably adding to my stress levels rather than reducing them. Still, baking is a distraction and while I’m fretting about whether or not my creations will be edible, it’s taking my mind off the case and Armand. This time I kept one eye on the clock, determined not to burn the chocolate sponge. Unfortunately, when I took it out of the oven, it looked perfect on the top but wasn’t cooked enough inside. Ahhhh….Maybe one day I’ll get it right.

  After a quick shower and change, I start Daisy up and we head towards the village. Somehow, fifteen minutes later, I find myself in the car park at the Royal Oak. I know I shouldn’t go inside but the clock is ticking and with every passing day I live in greater fear of being hauled in and charged with Armand’s murder. Jack has been amazing taking on this investigation for me but I think it’s time I stepped up and started to help myself instead of relying on others. I used to be believe in myself and my abilities but what happened in London took much of that away from me. Now, I need to put my fears behind me, stop being a coward and start fighting my own battles again. Heading into the hotel’s foyer, I stifle a voice in my head warning me this is a bad idea. I’m doing this. We need answers, and I don’t think my nerves can stand another sleepless night fretting about who killed Armand and why. Not to mention the deeply worrying thought that the killer could still be somewhere in the area. And after me…

  “Hello, madam. Welcome to the Royal Oaks. How can I help you?” a perky receptionist asks.

  “I’m here to see Bryony Seville,” I say, pasting a polite smile on my face though inside I’m wracked with nerves. “We, er, we’re meeting for lunch,” I quickly add.

  “I’m sorry but Ms Seville left about thirty minutes ago,” the receptionist, whose name badge reads, ‘Becky’, says, looking awkward. “Perhaps she forgot? She’s obviously upset at the moment with this terrible situation with her husband.”

  I nod and my fingers toy nervously with a pile of leaflets on the reception desk. “Yes, of course, that’s probably it. She didn’t, by any chance, mention where she was going?”

  Please let her have mentioned where she was going.

  “Yes, she said she was going to Amswick,” Becky replies, looking relieved to be helpful.

  Two minutes later Daisy and I are on the road again and heading back to Amswick. As soon as we enter the village I’m on the lookout for Bryony. There aren’t that many places she can be. The village store? I pull up outside and glance through the windows but there are no customers inside. All I can see is Brenda stacking some tins of soup on a shelf. Could Bryony know about Katya being involved with her husband and have gone to tackle her about it? I drive to the kitchen garden but it’s deserted. I doubt she’s called into a local hostelry, so the only other place she could be is the Veggies.

  I park Daisy down the road, pull up the hood on my jacket as the best disguise I can manage at short notice, and walk towards the building. The front doors are flung wide open and I can hear the chatter of customers coming from the bar area. Slipping inside, I’m glad of the muddle of people as it makes it easy for me to scoot past them unnoticed and dive into the corridor where the toilets are. It’s also where the door is located for the staff area and to Armand’s flat upstairs. I enter my key code to the staff corridor, thankfully still unchanged, and tuck myself inside a half-open cupboard as I debate what to do next. Marla scuttles past on her way to the Ladies’ looking upset and I can hear shouting coming from the direction of the kitchen. Does that mean Carl Silvers is now in residence and hard at work shouting at all the Veggie staff? There’s a brief lull in the yelling and I think I can hear footsteps from upstairs. Somebody is in Armand’s flat. But who?

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Common sense tells me to sneak out of my cupboard hiding place and run full tilt for the door to the car park and safety. But listening to common sense won’t help to clear my name. My heart is beating so fast I feel as though I’m about to have a major panic attack. More footsteps echo along the corridor and I duck further inside the dark sanctuary, leaving just a centimetre or so between the door and its frame so I can still see out. The footsteps grow nearer and I can make out Marla heading back in the direction of the kitchen. She pauses near the door and I hold my breath, not daring to move even a fraction. Humming to herself, clearly happier now, she leans against the door and pushes it closed, plunging me into complete darkness.

  The panic attack rises up again but I force myself to breathe, thinking calming thoughts. As it’s the middle of the day I didn’t think to bring a torch with me, so I can’t pull one from my pocket to help me see how to get out of here. I rest my head back against the wall and mentally try to visualise this cupboard and its contents. I’ve only fetched things from it a couple of times when I was working here. There’s a row of wooden shelves which house everything from printer cartridges to cleaning supplies. Is there an internal light? No. I don’t think there is. I can’t recall seeing one. As my eyes grow accustomed to the dark, I can make out slivers of light around the edge of the door. OK. I can use them to help me guestimate where the handle should be. Running my hands along the surface in front of me, I feel for a doorknob but find nothing. There has to be a way of opening the cupboard from the inside. The alternative - banging my fists loudly to attract attention and be rescued - would be too mortifying for words. I can hear more footsteps outside and a tiny part of me debates calling for help but my pride won’t let me. Plus, it’s going to look extremely suspicious being found hiding in a cupboard. It’s certainly not
going to help my case any. Once the footsteps have retreated I resume my door handle search. It’s only after what seems like an age that I recall the external handle on this door is much higher up than you’d expect. Running my fingers upwards they eventually close around the metal handle. Hallelujah! I press down on the handle with one hand and outwards on the door with the other. It opens. Phew.

  The corridor is empty again now – yay, more good news! I tiptoe across to and up the stairs. At the top I press myself against the landing wall and peer through the half open door. Bryony is sitting on the sofa. There are photos in her hands and scattered across the coffee table in front of her. I can’t see what the images are but they’re clearly upsetting her. Trying to edge forward, I stumble on the carpet and grab the door in an attempt to keep myself upright. Startled by the noise, Bryony looks round, sees me and leaps to her feet.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you no longer worked here. I asked Peter to ensure you stayed away.”

  “I had to collect some things, you know, from my locker,” I hastily lie. As I speak I step forwards, hoping I might be able to catch a glimpse of one or two of the photographs. Is she taking a trip down memory lane via the array of images? Did Bryony still have feelings for her husband? Was there still some love lurking amongst the animosity?

  “Then I suggest you get your things and leave. Don’t the police have you at the top of their suspects list? That’s what they told me yesterday.”

  I’m at the top of it now? Oh, wonderful. “But I didn’t do it. Why on earth would I?” I protest vehemently. I’m closer now and can see the photos appear to be of Bryony and Armand. They look so happy together. They’re on a beach somewhere hot and sunny. Arms wrapped tightly around each other. So much in love. They look a lot younger, too.

  “I don’t know, do I?” she retorts. “But I do know I don’t want to see your face around here.”