Kale to the Queen

by Nell Hampton

  I patted his arm. My heart filled with sadness at the tragedy. “I can go check on her if you want, in the evenings.”

  He looked up and I saw the redness rimming his eyes. “Would you do that?”

  “It would be my pleasure.” I patted his arm again. “Tell me about Meriam. Were you really having an affair with her? I mean, that is what they said was your motive.”

  “Meriam and I were not having an affair,” he said in a tone that suggested his words were only truthful to a point. He looked at me. “We are in love. But we didn’t do anything about it because of Frank. We both loved him and couldn’t hurt him.” He sipped his tea and I noticed a small tremor in his hand. “Besides, the boys needed their father.”

  I sat back. “That is sad. But it’s still a motive because now that Frank is gone, Meriam is free to be with you.”

  Michael swallowed hard. “Except she hates me right now.”

  “Why?”

  “Now she thinks I killed the father of her children. She won’t have anything to do with me. She told me herself that she won’t bring a murderer into her house.” He put his head in his hands. “I’ve lost everything—my friend, my love, my godchildren, my job, my reputation. I wish I had died instead of Frank.”

  This time I took his hand and squeezed it. “Please don’t say that.”

  “Why not? Everyone thinks I’m a killer. Who cares if I live or die? With me out of the way, life can go on for Meriam, for the kids, and even for you.”

  I let go of his hand and sat back, stunned.

  “I heard you interviewed four people for my replacement today.”

  “I interviewed four people to try to replace Frank,” I said. “Miss Jones said she would stay on until you got through this. Your job with me is still waiting for you. I want you to know that.”

  “I highly doubt I’ll pass the security briefing after this incident. They can’t have a person of interest, even an innocent one, working in the kitchen of the future king.”

  “But that’s not right.”

  “Life has its ups and downs.” He wrapped his hands around the white mug filled with warm tea. “If I’m lucky enough to be found innocent, then they will be kind and offer me a severance package and good reference. But either way, my life at the palace is over.”

  “It’s just not fair,” I said. “You did nothing wrong.”

  “You are the only one who believes that.”

  “I happen to know your sister Rosemary believes it as well. I spoke to her on the phone this morning. She was adamant that you couldn’t have done this.”

  His mouth lifted in a half smile. “She’s my sister. Family always takes care of its own.”

  “So there’s no way I will get you back in my kitchen?”

  “No.”

  I blew out a deep breath. “I guess that means I need to hire two new assistants.”

  “That would be for the best.” He stood and picked up the tea mugs. “Also, you shouldn’t come around to see me anymore. It looks bad for your reputation. You just got this job as the family’s personal chef. I’m pretty sure you want to keep it.”

  “I do,” I said as I stood up.

  “Then do yourself a favor and stay away from me and this mess. Okay?”

  “I just . . .”

  “What?”

  “Want to help.”

  His mouth tightened into a straight line. “You can’t.”

  I bit my bottom lip and pulled my spring coat off the back of the kitchen chair where I hung it. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

  “Sure.”

  “I saw you in the alley when I left Mr. Deems’s wake. There were two pretty scary men with you. It looked like they were going to harm you.”

  He straightened in shock and surprise. “Was anyone else there with you?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Only me. I heard them demand money from you. Can you tell me what that’s about? Did you owe them money? Did they kill Frank as a warning?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said and walked toward me. There was a sternness to his walk and I backed up out of the kitchen. “What you saw was nothing. Do you understand?” He practically pushed me toward the door. “You saw nothing. Promise me you’ll never mention this again. Not to me or anyone.”

  “I can’t promise that,” I said as we stopped near the door. “You’re my friend. If those men are threatening you or your sister . . .”

  He grabbed my arm and gave it a little shake. “If anyone knew you saw that, you could be in a lot of danger. I’m not kidding, Chef. Those men can and will hurt you. Stay out of it.”

  “But if you need help . . .”

  “Stay out of it. I’m serious. Go back to the kitchen and make happy meals for the happy little family. You barely know me. Trust me, it’s not worth dying over.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No,” he said and opened the door. “Look, you’re a nice lady. I appreciate all you did. Now go and don’t come back.” He gently but firmly pushed me out the door.

  “But—” I turned around only to have the door shut and locked in my face. It seemed to me that Mr. Haregrove was in a lot more trouble than he would like to admit. I glanced up at the house. A curtain in the upstairs windows moved shut as if someone had been watching me.

  Maybe Rosemary could help me. I made a mental note to call her in the morning. It had grown dark outside and a fog wisped down the streets. I shook off a chill and headed back to the relative safety of the tube and the recorded voice telling me to mind the gap.

  Chapter 12

  The four interviews had gone fairly well the day before. But now that I knew for certain I would have to replace Michael as well as Frank, I had to really look at the applicants with fresh eyes.

  Their résumés were all equally good. Of the four applicants, two had two years of experience and the other two had five years of experience. One worked for one of the other royal families.

  It was intimidating to think that I was going to hire people who most likely had more experience with royalty and with British dishes than I did. But that is precisely what I needed. I took a breath and made two phone calls.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, is this Phoebe Montgomery?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Chef Cole. We met today for the interview.”

  “Yes, Chef, I remember,” Phoebe said.

  “I would like you to come in again and cook your best dish for me. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, Chef.” She sounded excited.

  “Come in tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to see how you work in my kitchen.”

  “Is there a menu planned?”

  “I’ll take care of the menu,” I said. “What I want is for you to create your best dish, whatever that is—appetizer, entrée, or desert. I’m looking for locally sourced and fresh flavors.”

  “Got it.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’ll give your name to security. Go to the guard hut like you did today and sign in with a visitor badge. Have them call me and I’ll send someone to get you. Shall we say two PM? It shouldn’t take more than forty minutes.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Phoebe said. “I’ll be there.”

  I hung up and then dialed George Rabe. He also agreed that he could be there at two PM the next day to be part of the cooking challenge.

  Phoebe had very little experience but had attended a good school. While George had more experience, he had gone to a less prestigious school. My hope was that they would complement each other and work well with me as a team.

  With lunch complete, I went back to my room to freshen up. To be more exact, I went straight to my bed and laid down face first. The bed was freshly made and my room smelled of cleaning products. My chambermaid must have come in already for the day to make the bed and clean. I made my own bed out of habit and I didn’t have much time to spend in my rooms, so it seemed like a luxury to have someone freshen the room daily.

  There
was a small, stackable washer and dryer in the cupboard in my bathroom. I usually washed my own clothes, but today I found them freshly folded and put away. It was so strange to have someone else do the laundry—especially someone I had yet to meet. It was like having quiet little elves that come in and work while you sleep.

  I had washed my own clothes from the time I was eight or nine when my mother showed me how to do it. After that I was on my own when it came to having clean clothes.

  My mom was a hands-off parent. She was a modern-day hippie who lived by the motto “Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.” It’s why I learned to cook when I was five years old. My mother had meetings and protests and other important matters to worry about.

  That’s why it sat funny with me to have someone else washing my delicates. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice to have clean clothes. I needed them and had no idea when I would have the time to do them myself. It seemed that my entire life revolved around the kitchen these days.

  Mrs. Worth had told me my job was to concentrate on the cooking. I was to let the others do their own jobs. I wondered what the chambermaid was like. I don’t think she had been at the pub the other night with the others, and I made my mind up to ask Penny about her. I imagined her as a grandmotherly type.

  My cell phone rang and I snagged it out of my pocket. It was John. “Hello,” I said and rolled over on my back. The ceiling was painted a soft, blue-toned white.

  “Carrie Ann, baby, the celebration was fantastic. The reviews were phenomenal. Things are looking great for me.”

  “Hi, John,” I said. “Congrats.”

  “You sound tired. What time is it there?”

  I glanced at my watch. “It’s two fifteen PM. What time is it there?”

  “Nine fifteen AM,” he replied. “Too early for you to sound so tired.”

  “I’m a little stressed.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I found one of my staff members dead in the greenhouse that’s attached to my kitchen.”

  “That’s horrible, babe! Why didn’t you call me?”

  “It’s been a whirlwind.” Why hadn’t I called him? We are on a break. Should I have called him anyway? I’d have to think about that later. “They arrested my second assistant, but I think he’s innocent.”

  “You’ve only been there a few days. How could you possibly know someone well enough to know if they are guilty or innocent of murder?”

  I frowned at the tone in his voice. He sounded so . . . reasonable. I didn’t like it. It made me feel unreasonable. “Juries decide if a man is innocent or guilty all the time without even talking to him one-on-one.”

  “I can’t fault you there,” John said. “Listen, I didn’t call to fight. I called because I wondered if you read the review. I e-mailed it to you. It was fantastic. He says—and I quote—‘Chef John Sheridan is well on his way to superstardom. Matt’s is the place to go to discover the next culinary superstar.’ He called me a culinary superstar!”

  Now I felt guilty. “Wow, John, that’s fantastic. I’m sorry I didn’t read it right away. I told you things are crazy here. Today I have to make three meals and interview and hire two new assistants.”

  “I know I said we should be on a break, but are you thinking of me?”

  “I think about you,” I said and a pang of homesickness filled me. “Do you miss me?”

  “I do,” he said. “You should be here to share in the celebrations. He said my Korean fusion was magic . . . magic! The restaurant is booked for the next six months. They’ve started the paperwork to evaluate me for a Michelin star.”

  “John, that’s fantastic. It sounds like your dreams are all coming true.” While John was super ambitious, I preferred to cook to help others live better lives. John’s ambition was more important than me every time. It was like a mistress that I lived with. John loved me, but he loved his career more.

  “No, not all my dreams,” he said. “At least not yet.”

  “There’s plenty of time,” I said.

  “Seriously, though,” he said, “I need to tell you. I’ve gotten an offer from a venture capitalist. He wants to help me start my own restaurant in California. He has the perfect building in downtown San Francisco. Babe, my own restaurant! My own concept.”

  “You’re moving to California?” Why did that bother me? After all, I was in London for the next year at the very least.

  “It’s the chance of a lifetime,” he said. “What’s the matter? Are you jealous?”

  “Yes, that’s it,” I replied. “I want to leave the royal family to hang out in wine country with you.”

  He laughed. “That definitely didn’t sound sincere.”

  “Hmm, London, San Fran . . . which would you pick given the choice?”

  “I would pick the best thing for us, babe.” His tone got suddenly serious. “You should come. You can be my sous chef.”

  “Please,” I teased. “You will be so engrossed with your concept and menu that you won’t even miss me. You know how time flies when you are concentrating on your work.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t miss you,” he said.

  “I know.” I gave him the benefit of the doubt. When John focused on me, I felt like the queen of the world. If only he would focus on me more often. It was something I accepted because I was in love with the guy. But it was also something I wasn’t sure I wanted for the rest of my life.

  He broke the silence. “So two assistants, wow. You must be in heaven. I know you’re used to working alone. Will you hire another American?”

  “I know two assistants seems a bit much, but it’s nice to have help. I’m looking at two Brits. It’s good to have people who know the area, the culture, and the traditions. That way I don’t have to worry too much about making blunders. I’d hate to be the classic stupid American.”

  “Honey, you worry too much about what people think of you. They wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t perfect for them.”

  “I know,” I said, “but I can’t help my worries.” It was an argument we had a lot. John’s ambition and confidence were so high that he couldn’t understand why I second guessed myself. He thought that life was best lived in the moment, and it seemed that no matter what he did, he came up smelling like a rose. I was the type of person who had goals and plans and worked to ensure that there were as few surprises as possible in my life. While John had luck, I had pluck.

  They say opposites attract, and I think they’re right. John’s boyish good looks still made my heart beat faster. He could get lost in cooking and creating for days, but when he came out of a job, he was spontaneous and fun, while I hated anything that wasn’t planned out in detail.

  That’s why it was so odd for us that this time, I had been spontaneous and left the country to do something only a handful of people get to do. Meanwhile, John’s career was taking off because he stayed.

  I did miss him. But I wasn’t sure if it was just homesickness or if I actually missed him. Everything was so new and different in London. With this murder, I craved stability and something, anything, that seemed normal. “Can you come for a visit before you go out to California?”

  “There’s no way, sweetheart. The restaurant is fully booked. If I’m going to move to San Francisco, I need to train the new cooks. And I need to work on my concept and menus.”

  “You can’t work on menus from London?”

  “No, my investor is here. He wants to be involved every step of the way.”

  “Is this investor real?” I had to ask. “Did you do your research on him?”

  “I did my research,” he said, sounding insulted. “This guy started some of the biggest names in the Bay Area.”

  “Then congrats as long as it’s legitimate,” I barreled on, ignoring his tone.

  “It’s legitimate. What’s wrong with you—are you not happy for me?”

  “I’m happy for you.”

  “Good, because I didn’t call to argue,” he said. “H
ow’re your parents? Have you heard anything from them?”

  “My dad is in the Bahamas with his new wife,” I said. “They seem to be having a grand time. He sent me a text and a picture of them on the beach.”

  “And your mom?”

  “She’s in Guatemala still teaching local women skills that allow them to make and sell things.”

  “Your folks always have something new and different going on,” he said. “You know, you’re a lot like them.”

  I gasped at the thought. “I am not,” I said. Growing up, I was always the responsible one. Meanwhile my father was always off with a new woman on one tropical island or another, and my mother was a hippie who didn’t believe in schedules or working for “the man.” She would sing or dance for tips. When she wasn’t doing that, she was making belts, leather goods, and chain mail for people to sell at Renaissance festivals.

  I was an only child and more of an afterthought in my parents’ lives. That’s why I was so attracted to John. He had ambition and that felt safe.

  “How is your family?” I asked.

  “Abby’s good,” he said. “The twins are nearly out of diapers. She and Tim are thinking about having another.”

  “Wow, that’s brave,” I said. The last time I had visited John’s sister’s house, the twins were like wild animals, running around and screaming bloody murder.

  John laughed. “Abby always loved a lot of energy and chaos.”

  “How’re your mom and dad?” Unlike mine, John’s parents were still together after forty years.

  “Mom’s got Dad helping her to create the garden of her dreams. They’re turning the backyard into a royal garden complete with raised beds, curving walkways, and little nooks for seating. She wants us to come for a dinner party in July. She’ll have the garden finished by then and wants to show it off. She even has a Chicago magazine interested in doing a shoot.”

  “Your mom has the most amazing green thumb,” I said. “Who’s doing the cooking?”

  “She’s hiring your friend Carol.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be a lot of fun,” I said. “Send her my thanks, but I won’t be able to come. I don’t get vacation until I’ve been here six months. Then I earn a full week. That’s why I was hoping you’d come out here. But now you have the California thing.” I paused. “Are we breaking up for good?”