by Nell Hampton
“Aw, that was nice.”
“I told her you didn’t eat.”
I glanced at him as he held the elevator door open, and we stepped out into the hallway just outside the kitchen. “That was nice of you.”
“I need you alive if I’m going to solve this case.”
“I see,” I said. We passed the kitchen and took the hall and stairs up to the family’s apartment and my room. He stopped at my door.
“Let me have your key.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I want to ensure that your room is still safe.”
I handed it to him and he took out his gun.
“Stay put,” he commanded.
“Okay.” I was so tired that the thought of a killer waiting for me in my room just seemed like another inconvenience in an already crazy day.
He went inside, flipping on the light switch and disappearing into the bedroom. I had the sudden worry that I had left the bed unmade. Had I picked up my dirty clothes? I walked into the living area when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled my phone out and saw that it was John calling. “Hello?” I said once I picked up.
“Hey, baby, how are you? I wanted to tell you that I’ve made quite the impression on the Tribune’s food critic.”
“John, that’s great news. When does the review come out?”
“Tomorrow’s edition. Matt is stoked. We plan on a full house for the next month.”
“You know you can’t count on anything until the review comes out. Matt knows that, too.” Matt was John’s boss and the restaurant’s owner.
“It’s going to happen,” John said with confidence. “Some of the regulars saw his face as he left and have already started reserving entire blocks of tables.”
“Oh, well, that’s great news,” I said.
“How’s the personal chef gig?” he asked, surprising me with his interest.
“It’s good. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I miss you.”
“You, too,” he said it as if he was distracted.
“I know we’re on a break, but you said you would come visit. My day off is Monday—you could fly in Sunday night and we could spend Monday together in London celebrating. I might even be able to introduce you to the duke and duchess of Cambridge.”
“London is far away, love. Things are heating up here. Seriously, Matt is popping champagne. There’s no way I could take a day off. Why don’t you fly back? You can see the packed restaurant, and we can celebrate the review.”
“It’s a new job. I told you, I can’t leave.”
“What do you mean you can’t leave? Don’t you get weekends off?”
“John . . .” I glanced up to see Ian leaning against my bedroom doorjamb, his gun holstered and his arms crossed. “I have to go. We’ll talk about this later. Okay? I’ve had a bad day.”
“Sure, baby,” he said. “Sure. I’ll see you soon.” A good review could make a restaurant. A great review could make a chef. John’s attention was not focused on me.
“Bye,” I said and hung up. I looked at Ian. “Find anything?”
“No, you’re clear.” He straightened and walked to me. “Who was on the phone?”
“I don’t think I have to tell you that,” I said. “I get to have some privacy.”
He reached up and gently placed his thumb under my chin. “Yes,” he said softly. “You do get your privacy. As long as it keeps the family safe.”
Our eyes met for a long moment. I finally stepped away. “It was my boyfriend, John,” I said. “He’s a chef and got reviewed tonight. He’s certain it’s going to be great and wanted to celebrate.”
“Sounds like you wanted him to celebrate here.”
“I miss him, but he can’t. The restaurant is booked solid for the next three months, which means his days off are few and far between.”
“And you’re good with that?”
“We’re on a bit of a break.” I put my hands on my hips. “Why does that matter to you?”
“It doesn’t,” he said simply as he pushed passed me. “Your room is clear. Have a good night, Chef.”
I closed the door and flipped the bolt. My life had gotten terribly complicated since my arrival in London. In a fit of emotion, I strode to my room, stripped, and hit the shower. I reminded myself that I wasn’t a quitter. It was only my second day. Besides, how much worse could things get?
Chapter 7
Early the next morning, Penny knocked on my apartment door.
“Do you have any biscuits left?” she asked.
“Sure, come on in. I was just making tea. I’m going to cook up a meal for Mrs. Deems.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Penny said and took a seat on the barstool. I plated some cookies I’d made before everything got crazy. I put the cookies and the tea out on the bar. “I heard that some of the royals are coming back to their apartments already. The duke and duchess can’t be far behind.”
“Cool,” I said. “I hate feeling like I’m not doing my job.”
“I heard from Harriet, who is on staff with the prince, that the family is quite upset by this. Ian had to really scramble. He had to explain why something like this could happen in their home when they pay him to ensure it doesn’t happen. I heard he got called in front of the queen herself.” She stirred sugar in her tea and took a cookie off the plate.
“I would be shaking in my boots,” I said and sipped my tea. “I can’t imagine. No wonder he was so grumpy yesterday. He treated both me and Michael as if we were suspects.”
“No, really?” she seemed surprised. “Why?”
“Because I found the body and Frank was killed in the greenhouse attached to our kitchen.”
“That’s pretty circumstantial if you ask me,” she said.
“That’s what I said. He was reaching, I think.”
“From the palace gossip, I bet he is reaching. He needs to get this thing solved and solved quickly. The press is having a field day.”
“It doesn’t make me feel sorry for him,” I said stubbornly. “The rest of the staff isn’t talking about me, are they?”
“Only that you and Chef Butterbottom had some kind of clash yesterday. Word has it you won that skirmish. Be careful, my friend. No one wins a contest of wills against Chef.”
“Yes, well, maybe this time he’s met his match.”
Penny was silent for a moment.
“What is it?”
“You just reminded me that I heard a rumor about Chef Butterbottom . . . of course, it probably means nothing.”
“What did you hear?” I leaned in closer.
“Chef Butterbottom and Mr. Deems were seen in a heated argument the night before Mr. Deems was killed.”
“Now that is interesting,” I said and sat back. “Frank fought with quite a few people that night. Witnesses said he fought with Michael, Michael said Frank fought with Jasper, and now he may have argued with Chef Butterbottom. That makes Chef Butterbottom and Jasper as much suspects as Michael and myself.”
“He does have access to both the kitchen and the greenhouse.”
“No one would think twice if they saw either of them leaving the greenhouse that night,” I said. “Do you know if Ian knows?”
Penny shrugged. “I wouldn’t say anything to him unless I had proof of some sort. You know, a witness to the arguments or someone seeing them leaving your kitchen or the greenhouse late that night.”
“There are cameras in the halls,” I said. “If I can find out who might have witnessed the argument and prove Chef Butterbottom left the kitchen around the time of the murder, Ian will have to consider a new suspect.” I drummed my fingers on my chin. “Can you see if you can hunt down the source of the rumor? We can ask them to come forward with the information. Once we do that, then I imagine I will have enough for Ian or the inspector to take a second look at the hallway cameras.”
“Brilliant plan,” Penny said and sat up straight. “I kind of like this sleuthing business.”
/> “I’ll like it better if we can ensure Michael’s innocence,” I said. “Finding the witness to the arguments would go a long way to solving this case.”
* * *
After Penny left, I finished preparing the meal, put on a brave face, and left the palace to take the tube to see Mrs. Deems and give her my condolences. I made a lasagna, salad, and garlic bread. I placed the easy-to-reheat meal in a carry basket and got the address for the Deems’s home from Miss Smithson in human resources.
“It’s in a bit of a dicey area of town,” she explained. “Do be careful and watch your purse.”
I got on the tube and checked for my connections and my exit point. I thought Michael had told me they both lived just outside of town. But Miss Smithson said it was a dicey part of town. It was all confusing.
The only theory I had was that London was like Chicago. People said they lived in town, but they actually lived in attached suburbs. Still within the metropolitan area, but just outside the town proper.
At least this morning I was leaving town, which meant that the tube was not as cramped as going into town. Not bad for a Friday.
“That basket smells wonderful,” an older woman sitting in front of me said.
“I’m sorry, it’s right in your face,” I said with an apologetic smile. Despite the smaller crowd, I was still standing with one hand on the bar above the seats.
“You won’t hear me complain,” she replied. “It’s the best smell I’ve ever had on my way home from work. I smell garlic and tomatoes. Am I right?”
“Yes, it’s a lasagna for a friend who just lost her husband.”
“How terrible for her, poor dear. Is she very young?”
“She has two boys ages eight and ten,” I said. “I thought the meal might help them. Besides, it’s kind of a tradition in my family.”
“You’re American,” she stated. “Where from?”
“Most recently Chicago,” I said. “Was it the accent that gave me away?”
“That and the clothing,” she said. “The jeans and athletic shoes give you away.” She paused. “But the smell of that meal is so wonderful that all is forgiven.”
“All is forgiven?” I drew my brows together.
She grinned. “We have our fair share of foreigners here. A few bad eggs make us wary of all. Especially in this part of town.”
“Oh,” I replied, not knowing what to say.
“It’s quite all right, though. I think you’ll be safe enough with that basket in your hands. As long as you don’t have to go too far. It certainly smells good. Someone might pinch it for themselves.”
“I don’t think I have too far to go,” I said.
“Good thing,” she replied as the train reached my stop. “Be safe now.”
The damp, tiled tunnel of the tube station smelled like an old zoo. I waited for the majority of people to move past me, then trailed behind. There was a short walk through a hall and then a huge crowd waited by two giant service elevators that moved at a snail’s pace. It would take at least four trips before I got close enough to squeeze into the elevator.
I saw a sign that pointed toward stairs. I figured that might be faster. After all, I only had so much time before I had to get back to work. Pushing around the crowd, I followed the corridor to the spiral staircase. At the bottom was a warning: “There are two hundred fifty-two steps to the surface.”
I mulled over that fact for a moment. How bad could it be? Bad enough that no one else appeared to be taking the stairs. I decided to give them a try. At least it would make for a good workout.
I was out of breath and my legs were trembling by the time I reached the surface. I made a note to myself to only take the stairs down from now on. A glance at my watch told me I had better catch my breath again and press on. The elevator doors opened, and a crowd of people spilled out. I walked with the crowd out into the gloom of the street.
It was a cool gray day. I was glad for my jacket as I followed the signs, down one street, left, up two more blocks, and there I was in front of a two-story brick row house. The steps were freshly swept and the door painted brown.
I rang the bell and Michael answered.
“Chef Cole,” he said, “this is a surprise.” Two boys came running down the stairs to see who was at the door. They had fresh, round faces, short-buzzed blond hair, and cornflower-blue eyes.
“Hello,” I said. “I brought a meal.” I handed Michael the basket. “I wanted to give my condolences. How is Mrs. Deems doing?”
“She’s upstairs with her mother,” he said. The boys studied me as if I were an alien creature. “Come on in. Let me take this into the kitchen.”
Following him inside, I said hello to the boys.
“These are my godsons, Charlie and John,” Michael said. “Boys, this is Chef Cole, the personal chef for the duke and duchess.”
“Did you find my da?” The youngest asked, his blue gaze filled with curiosity. “Did he say anything to you?”
“Yes, I did find your father,” I said. “But he didn’t say anything to me.”
“It’s because he was dead,” the little boy said matter-of-factly.
“Yes,” I agreed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you American?” the older boy, John, asked, his tone solemn.
“Yes.”
“I wondered why you have a funny accent. I’ve never met a real live American before.”
“Boys, go on and play now,” Michael said.
“Aw,” the oldest said and jammed his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to ask her about America. Is everyone really fat?” He tilted his head and studied me. “You’re not fat. Are you sure you’re American?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “And no, we’re not all fat.”
“You’re not loud either,” the littlest said. “Americans are all supposed to be fat and loud.”
“Off you go, boys.” Michael pushed them out of the kitchen. “Sorry about their manners.”
“It’s okay,” I said as I watched them go up the stairs. “Their dad just died, and I’m a stranger.”
“You’ve come a long way from the palace,” Michael said. “To be frank, I’m not sure Meriam is up for visitors.”
“I understand,” I said with a wave of my hand. “I wanted to bring food. It’s what we do in my family. How is everyone holding up?”
“The boys are young, and I don’t think it has sunk in yet. I think the little one, Charlie, still thinks his da will come walking through the door and tell his mom to stop blubbering. It’s what he would do if he were still with us.”
I noted the curtains were drawn in the kitchen and the parlor. The house had the lived-in look of an older home, with a small parlor in front, a tiny dining area, and a kitchen in the back. The house was attached to every other house on the block. There was no yard, only a sidewalk out front. I wondered if they had any yard at all in the back.
“Let me at least make you a cup of tea,” Michael said. “If nothing else, I know how to cook. Please, have a seat.”
I sat down at the small two-person dinette set and watched Michael work in the kitchen as if it were his own. “You said that you and Frank had known each other a long time.”
“Since we were boys, actually,” he said. “I got the job at the palace first and he followed. Then he got married and had kids.”
“But you didn’t?”
He put the kettle on the stove to boil and turned to look at me. “My wife was hit by a drunk driver and died two years after we married.”
I felt awful for having stepped into such a touchy subject. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have asked that. It really was none of my business. It’s just that you seem so at home in this kitchen.”
“I guess since Janine died, I’ve been as much a part of this family as the kids.” The kettle whistle blew and he poured the water into the pot and placed the cozy around it to steep. “Do you take cream and sugar?”
“Just cream please,” I said. “Thanks.�
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The house was quiet except for a television playing softly from the empty parlor.
Michael took a seat across from me and poured the tea. “Sorry, no biscuits. I gave the last to the boys.”
“Do you want me to run to the store and get some?” I asked. “Surely they will have family and friends stopping by to see how Mrs. Deems is doing.”
“No need,” he said and handed me my mug of tea. “Frank was the last living soul in his family. He might have some cousins somewhere in Ireland or America. Anyway, they’re all too far to travel and too distant to care. Meriam has a sister, Tammy. They had a bit of a falling out, but I expect she’ll be here for the funeral.”
“He had a small family then.”
“Yes, unlike me. I have a brother and three sisters. My mum and dad are retired and live in the country with my grandparents. How about you, Chef? Do you have a big family? What do they think of you living across the pond?”
“My mom died when I was young. My dad remarried ten years ago and has two kids. They’re still in elementary school, so he’s busy with them.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay.” I shrugged. “I have friends and my boyfriend, John.”
“You have a boyfriend?”
“Don’t sound so amazed.”
“Oh,” he said and put his hand up like a cop stopping traffic. “I didn’t mean you weren’t pretty enough to have a boyfriend. I only thought that you were unattached because you moved—”
“Across the pond,” I finished for him. “You know, with the Internet, you can live anywhere in the world and still see each other every day.”
“It’s still different,” he said with a shake of his head. “You need to be able to touch the person. I’m curious. What did he say when you told him you were taking this job?”
“‘Good for you,’” I said and sipped the last of my tea.
“He didn’t protest? Not even a little?”
“To be fair, he’s a chef—as he puts it, ‘a rising star.’ His focus has been a bit divided lately. Well, mostly on his career. But he said I should go for it.”
“I see.”
“And when I packed, he was at the restaurant . . . and when I left, he was preparing for a surprise visit from the local food critic.”