by Nell Hampton
“No,” he said. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll see, we’ll be fine. I know I said I wanted a break, but once we’re back together in the United States, we’ll be fine.”
“I wish I could be as sure as you are,” I said and stared at my perfect ceiling.
“That’s why you have me, babe,” he replied. “To be sure for the both of us.”
A pang of guilt hit me. It felt as if the two of us drifting apart would be mostly my fault. I was the one who chose a job opportunity over my relationship. But then again, John hadn’t made much effort to change my mind. He was the one to suggest a break in the first place. Now he wanted me to quit my dream job and go to California. Either he really was confident we would make it on his dreams alone or he, too, had doubts that I was the one he wanted for life. Meanwhile all I wanted was for my dreams to be as important to him as his were. Maybe that was an unrealistic dream.
Chapter 13
The next afternoon, both of my interviewees were in my kitchen wearing chef jackets and black aprons. Phoebe Montgomery was short and blonde with a round face and a curvy figure. Her green eyes shone with intelligence and determination. Standing at the island next to her, George Rabe looked to be nearly six feet tall with swarthy skin and dark-black hair.
“I thought it was best to face your competition,” I said. “You have one hour to create your favorite British dish out of the available ingredients. I will be watching the way you cook and taking notes. You will be judged based on how you work around each other, the way you prep, the way you plate, and how you clean up. These are all tasks that will have to be done in the kitchen if you get this job. Your time starts now.”
They both chose to create a main dish. George made smoked haddock kedgeree with shredded leeks, creamed spinach, and quail eggs. Phoebe made a potato and sage torte with lamb and apricot ragout.
I was impressed by the choices. Both were more winter than spring dishes, but in early May we were still at a time when the weather could be cool enough for a savory winter dish.
I watched as they chopped and simmered and braised. The pair worked well together in the close quarters of the family kitchen. I could see where their skills were in need of coaching and made a comment or two.
“If you put the browned lamb in a fine colander, it will drain off the excess fat,” I pointed out to Phoebe as she struggled to drain the fat from the lamb for her ragout.
“Thank you, Chef,” she replied and reached for the fine sieve.
I watched George carefully. “If you wash the greens in one part vinegar to two parts water, it will ensure that all bacteria are safely cleaned off. This is important for spinach in particular, as the nooks and crannies in the leaves can harbor salmonella.”
“Thank you, Chef.” He pulled out a bowl and mixed vinegar in water and washed the greens in the mixture before draining and drying and then chopping them.
The hour flew by. At the end, I called time. They put their plated dishes in front of me.
“The presentation on both plates is good,” I said. “Mr. Rabe, your plate could use some touching up—see how the quail egg is leaning?”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Miss Montgomery, no matter how quickly we must work, we must always ensure the moisture is wiped from the outer edges of the plate.” I pointed to the dampness that sat on the flat white edge of the plate.
“Yes, Chef.”
I studied them both. The kitchen behind them was spotless and the dishwashers hummed. They had done everything I asked: prepped, cooked, plated, and cleaned up. All in an hour. George had sweat pooling on the edges of his hat. Phoebe had a cotton wrap on her head that was also damp from her exertion.
“I’m pleased with the way you left the kitchen,” I said.
“Thank you, Chef,” they both replied.
I picked up a fork and scooped up the potato torte and lamb ragout. It was flavorful with a good chew. The lamb was tender and mild in flavor.
I took a drink of water to cleanse my palate and then took a bite of the kedgeree. I understood why George chose it as his signature dish. The saffron accented the haddock perfectly. It was a tasty dish indeed.
I put down my fork and took another sip of water. “Please relax,” I said and pointed toward the empty chairs at the table. “Grab a fork and taste how good these dishes are.”
They glanced at each other, and then Phoebe grabbed two forks from the silverware drawer and two small plates from the open shelf. George pulled two glasses from the cupboard and brought over a pitcher of fresh ice water. They both sat down, and I put the dishes in the center of the table. We each had a small plate and split the meal.
“This is very good,” I said.
“Thank you, Chef,” they both said at once and grinned.
“I would like to hire you both in my kitchen,” I said. “Phoebe, I understand that you are talented at breads and pastries.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She scooped up a forkful of the lamb ragout.
“Why did you choose an entrée to make for me today?”
“I know Mr. Rabe is excellent at handling fish and meats,” she replied. “I wanted to prove that I could do the same.”
“I see.” I turned to George. “Meanwhile, you chose an entrée that I understand is your specialty.”
“You asked us to choose our best dish,” he said with a shrug. “This is mine.”
“The fish is excellent,” I said. “There is nothing worse than poorly cooked fish. Good job.”
“Thank you, Chef,” he said with a nod.
“I am going to recommend that they hire you both for my kitchen. Miss Montgomery, I need a pastry expert who can concentrate on rolls and dough. Mr. Rabe, I want someone who can step up on the entrée portion and ensure that the proteins are always well-cooked and the dishes are plated to the highest order. We are cooking for the future kings of England. Everything must be of the highest quality.”
“Yes, Chef,” he said.
“People will be watching you both very closely,” I added. “It will not be due to anything you do, but it is due to the fact that I am an American and I recently discovered one of my last assistants dead in a pool of his own blood. Do either of you have a problem with that?”
“No, Chef,” they both said. But I swear I saw hesitation in Miss Montgomery’s gaze.
“Are you available to begin tomorrow?”
They both nodded.
“Perfect, I’ll take you to the human resources department where you can finish filling out paperwork. I expect you here tomorrow morning at six AM.”
I walked them out, wondering what had caused Phoebe’s hesitation. Was it because I was an American or because she would be working a few feet from a crime scene?
* * *
After I left my new employees to their orientation, I stopped by Ian’s office. “Hello?”
He sat at his desk working on his computer. Turning to look at me, he replied, “Chef Cole, what brings you to my door?”
“I was wondering about Mr. Haregrove,” I said. “Do you know how he’s doing?”
“Come in and have a seat.” Ian waved me inside.
I took a seat across from the big wooden desk where he worked. His office was orderly, and I imagined that discipline might have come from his military background. Penny had told me Ian had served in the Iraq War. “Mrs. Worth had me hire two new assistants. But I like Mr. Haregrove. I can’t imagine what he and his family are going through right now.”
“He has a preliminary hearing tomorrow,” Ian said. He folded his hands on his desk. “After that, he and his defense team will work to set up his trial date.”
“So it will be a while before he can work for me again.”
Ian lowered his head and looked at me. “Mr. Haregrove will never work in the palace again. There are too many important people who live here and depend on me for their safety.”
“But what if he’s innocent?” I said and leaned toward Ian. “Are you saying that an innocent
man can’t get his job back because he was once suspected of a crime he didn’t commit?”
“What makes you so sure he didn’t commit the crime?”
I sat back and tried not to sigh. “Instinct,” I finally said. “I’ve only known Mr. Haregrove a few days, but I’ve seen nothing sinister in his behavior at all. In fact, all he’s done is his best work with me and then taken care of his dead friend’s family.”
“You mean his mistress and her children,” Ian said.
“Is that the only motive?” I asked. “We both know people have affairs every day and don’t kill each other.”
“Why are you defending him?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know. A hunch maybe,” I admitted. It sounded lame even to my own ears, but I just knew he was innocent.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Ian’s piercing gaze brought a flush to my cheeks.
“The night of the wake, before you walked me home, I saw Mr. Haregrove speaking to two very threatening men in the alley behind the pub. He seemed scared. Hardly the behavior of a killer.”
“Maybe he had a reason to be scared.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe they were the killers and they are after Mr. Haregrove.”
“What?”
Ian chuckled. “You have the most amazing imagination. If they wanted Haregrove killed, they would have done it before he was being watched twenty-four-seven by police.”
I frowned. “I suppose you’re right. Unless the killers are connected to the police, they can’t get to him, can they?” I realized I was wringing my hands. “What if they have connections in the prison? What if Mr. Haregrove dies an innocent man?”
This time Ian’s laugh was deep. “Chef Cole,” he said, “you should have been a writer.”
I felt a bit foolish. “If I can prove Mr. Haregrove is innocent, would I be able to hire him back?” I moved to the edge of my seat. “Would you condemn an innocent man?”
It was Ian’s turn to frown. “Fine. If Haregrove is found innocent—and that means he had absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Deems’s death—then I would consider letting you rehire him.”
“Thank you.” I stood and smiled.
“But, Chef Cole, he must be innocent of everything. If he’s hiding anything, I will see that he doesn’t ever step foot in the palace again.”
“I understand.”
I left Ian’s office buoyed with hope. If I could prove Mr. Haregrove’s innocence, I could have him back. He could continue to support Mr. Deems’s family. And I would get to have one of the best meat men in England working for me. It seemed like a win-win situation.
Chapter 14
Dinner for the family was a light affair of chicken soup, fresh spring salad, cheesy bread bites, and roast beef with mushy peas and roasted potatoes. Dessert was tiny meringue cups with chocolate chips and fresh mint.
I was in the kitchen cleaning up when Penny stopped by to see me.
“There you are,” Penny said and flopped down in one of the chairs tucked next to the small table. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“It’s only been two days since the wake,” I pointed out and hit the start button on the stainless steel dishwasher. “Tea?”
“Yes, please,” she said. “Do you have any chocolate biscuits?”
“I do.” I put the tea kettle on to boil and rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out tea cups, spoons, a pair of small plates, and the black-and-white cookies I had baked today. It was late, close to ten PM. I’d spent some time trying a new cookie recipe. The black-and-white cookies looked good arranged on a white plate.
“I heard about Michael,” Penny said and shook her head. “He doesn’t seem the killer type if you ask me. But that’s typical. I mean, you’re always hearing stories about people living next door to killers. They say things like, ‘He seemed so quiet and nice.’”
“Michael didn’t do it,” I said with certainty as I placed everything on the small table. “I’m a good judge of people, and he really isn’t the killer type.”
“But he’s on house arrest as we speak.”
“I think he’s protecting someone.” I put the creamer and sugar bowl on the table.
“That’s an interesting idea,” Penny said. “Who do you think he’s protecting?”
“I don’t know, but I plan on finding out.”
“Really? Why?”
“Why what?” I asked, startled by the question.
“Why on earth would you bother investigating a murder?”
The tea kettle whistled, cutting through my thoughts. I pulled it from the burner and went through the motions of making tea. “Did you know that Ian won’t let Michael come back to work here? The only way is if he is proven innocent, which I fully intend to ensure happens.”
“That does make sense,” Penny said. “They have to be extremely picky about who works around the family. They can’t have an accused killer in the palace.”
I brought the pot of tea to the table and sat down. “What if I can’t prove he’s innocent?” I asked. “It hardly seems fair. Poor Michael lost his best friend and his career all in one fell swoop—pardon my pun.”
“That’s a risk he took when he decided to protect whoever he’s protecting,” Penny said as she poured the tea.
“There’s no justice in it.” I frowned. “Who will hire him if he has no references for the last five years? He might as well have died with Frank.”
“I hadn’t quite thought it through that way,” Penny said and snagged two of the black-and-white cookies. “It does seem unfair.”
“I got Ian to agree to consider rehiring Michael if I could prove his innocence before he went to trial.”
“Well, that’s awfully kind of you,” Penny said. “When are you going to have time to do that? Don’t you have a family to feed?”
“I hired two new assistants,” I said. “They start tomorrow.”
“That’s something good,” Penny said. “Who are they? Are they cute?”
“You are always thinking of your love life,” I teased her and then sipped my tea. It was a floral herbal tea due to the late hour. I needed to get some sleep if I was going to be back in the kitchen before my new crew came in at six AM.
“Well, at least I have a love life.” She eyed me. “How’s that boyfriend of yours? Are you two still on a break or have you convinced him to come for a visit so that I can meet him?”
“He’s getting great reviews, and now I guess some venture capitalist wants to back him in his own restaurant.”
“He’s talking to you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s great news.”
“But there’s no time for a quick visit.”
“Sad.” Penny shook her head. “I know you hoped he would miss you enough to get on a plane.”
“I’m sure we will be fine,” I said, although I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince her or myself. “For two people on a break, we talk almost every day, so it’s really more like a long-distance relationship. Besides, we can video chat, too.”
“Video is not the same as skin-to-skin contact,” Penny said. “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have regular hugs and kisses.”
“It really is temporary,” I replied. “John will fly out as soon as he can get away.”
She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “I think you really want to date other people.”
“What? No.”
“Yes.” She wagged her finger at me. “No one certain of a relationship moves to a different country for a year. Since he wants to be on a break, you should look around. We do have some prime specimens in England.”
“John hasn’t mentioned wanting to see other people,” I said. “I’m busy with this job and now with helping Michael. I don’t have time to worry about dating.” It’s one of the things I did like about having John as my boyfriend; I didn’t have to worry about dating and all the complications that came with it. As for physical
contact, well, as soon as I hit my six months of employment, I could take a vacation and fly out to see John.
“So back to my earlier question,” Penny said. “Did you hire anyone cute?”
“I hired a woman named Phoebe Montgomery. She’s cute, I suppose.”
“Oh.” Penny slumped her shoulders. “I was hoping for the male variety.”
“I also hired George Rabe,” I said with a sly smile. “I knew what you meant. He seems like a nice guy.”
“You are mean,” she teased me back. “When can I meet this Rabe person?”
“He starts work in the morning.” I got up and put my cup in the sink. “I’m terrible at matchmaking, so please don’t expect much from me when it comes to meeting cute guys.”
“That’s right.” She stood and snagged the last cookie off the plate. “You’re practically a nun, long-distance dating a rising star of a chef who only notices you when he needs someone to stroke his ego.”
“John isn’t that bad.”
“He let you move to London without a single protest, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” I said and cleared the rest of the table. “But that’s because he respects my wish to advance my career.”
“I call rubbish on that,” Penny said. “Any guy who’s in love won’t like it when his girl goes away for a weekend, let alone a whole year.”
“Maybe in England,” I retorted. “In America, a guy who loves his girl gives her the freedom to do what makes her happy.”
“Still rubbish,” she said as we stepped out of the kitchen. “Haven’t you ever been madly, passionately in love with someone? You know, the kind of love where you hurt every minute you are apart from them?”
“You mean have I ever stalked anyone? The answer is no.”
She bumped me with her hip. “You are such a kidder. I still say you haven’t loved until you’ve been in a crushing relationship where you can’t keep your hands off each other.”