Kale to the Queen

by Nell Hampton

  “Neville is an enforcer for a bookie?”

  “Oh, don’t act like you didn’t know. All the palace staff knows. I’ve been here a week and I know.”

  “I didn’t know,” he said and pushed back from his desk. “I will have the man fired at once.”

  That shut me up. “Instead of firing him, why don’t you simply give him a raise so that he can quit his part-time gig?”

  “Because I have a budget,” he said. “Just like you, I have to take into account the cost of fresh foods, sometimes exotic, and always organic. If he can’t take care of his family on his salary, then he needs to find another line of work.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You already said it,” he replied. “I won’t have anyone in my kitchens who threatens people, especially widows and orphans. I’ll have you know Deems was a good chap and a bit of a friend of mine as well. Sure, we argued occasionally, but I liked the man well enough. If it’s true what you say about Neville threatening Meriam, then the man is gone. This discussion is over. Good night.”

  I headed for the test kitchen and stopped. “Chef Butterbottom?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why don’t you like me?”

  “Excuse me?”

  I turned to face him. “You haven’t had a nice word to say to me since I arrived.”

  His bluster calmed for a moment. “It’s just a bit of friendly competition. I’m not a fan of Americans.”

  “Yes, believe me, I got that.”

  “I don’t have to like you for either of us to do our jobs well, now do I?”

  “No, I suppose you don’t.”

  “Then why ask the question?”

  “Why indeed,” I said and turned back to the test kitchen.

  As I pushed the door open he said, “For the record, you’re not too bad for an American.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said and went into the test kitchen, grabbed my menus, then went back out through the office without saying another word to Butterbottom. Friendly competition indeed. That man could get me worked up quickly.

  At least he took my worries about Neville to heart. I had half wished it was Butterbottom who had killed Mr. Deems. That would not only clear Michael’s name but also remove the ornery man from my life. But it was clear he was off my suspect list given his friendship with Mr. Deems. Unlike Ian, Butterbottom was willing to fire a suspicious man working in his kitchen.

  All I had to do was hope that Neville didn’t learn that I was the one to turn him in. The last thing I needed was a large, angry man knocking down my door.

  * * *

  Two days later, we were finally back in the family’s kitchen. Although it was smaller than the main kitchen by a fourth, compared to the test kitchen there was so much space I finally felt like Phoebe and I could breathe a sigh of relief. There would be no more stepping on each other’s toes.

  I personally felt more in control. The maids had come as promised and cleaned out each cupboard, nook, and cranny. All the dishes were spotless and the pots and pans shone from a good scrubbing. The windows to the greenhouse were washed, and for the first time I noticed they were actually tinted green.

  Checking to ensure the door was bolted from my side, I noted that the greenhouse was also put back together. The long rows of beds were waist-high and the dirt was bare but softly wetted by sprinklers. I imagined that seeds were already nestled in the dark, loamy earth and would soon sprout new vegetables for my use.

  Not that I minded getting fresh deliveries each day from the grocer, but it would be nice to simply go into the greenhouse and pick the ripe vegetables and nip the herbs and greens.

  “What’s on the menu for today?” Phoebe asked as she arrived. She took a clean apron off the hook by the door and pulled it over her head, wrapping the strings around her waist twice and tying them tight.

  “We are going to start with eggs benedict, fruit slices, sweet breads, and Canadian bacon. Drinks are milk, tea, coffee, and freshly juiced oranges. For dinner we’ll make creamed chicken with morels and bacon. Jasper brought me a handful of the mushrooms this morning.”

  “Sounds fabulous,” she said.

  “You can start on the breads,” I said. “I’m working on the rest.”

  She got out a mixing bowl, along with flour, sugar, and yeast. She glanced at me as I stewed the sweet breads. “So are you and Jasper a thing now?”

  “What? Why would you ask that?”

  “The mushrooms.” She pointed toward the basket. “Morels take some hunting down.”

  “We’re friends,” I said as I gathered the ingredients for Hollandaise sauce.

  “More than friends from what I heard,” she said at a barely audible level.

  “What did you hear?” I put my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow.

  She shrugged. “The usual gossip. It seems that someone saw you kissing in the hallway. I thought you had a boyfriend at home. Not that I’m meddling.” She raised both hands in a weak protest of innocence.

  “Jasper took me to dinner,” I said. “That’s all. It was very innocent.” I tried not to think about the kiss that had ended my long-term relationship for good. Jasper hadn’t mentioned it since that night, and I was rather relieved. Pretending it didn’t happen was for the best.

  Phoebe let out an inelegant snort. “Nothing about Jasper Fedman is innocent. That man has women swooning at his feet wherever he goes.”

  I had a sudden picture of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast. It made me chuckle. “However true that might be, I’m not swooning.”

  My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out. It was Ian. Strange for him to call me. My heartbeat sped up. “I’ve got to take this. Keep an eye on the sweetbreads.” I pushed the button on my phone and pulled it toward my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Carrie Ann,” he said, his tone sincere. “Do you have a moment?”

  I walked out into the hallway for some measure of privacy. “Sure, what’s up?”

  “That’s a very odd statement,” he said. “It sounds like a cartoon. You know, with the rabbit.”

  “Bugs Bunny?” I asked.

  “Yes, it’s a strange saying, don’t you think?”

  “Why did you call, Ian?” There was an awkward silence for a moment.

  “I wanted to apologize for not telling you that John was planning to arrive.”

  “What?”

  “You were correct. I should have let you know he was going to be here.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Also, due to your recent single status, you need to know that the rules have changed.”

  “What rules?”

  “Males are no longer permitted in your wing, no exceptions. Any further visitors of any gender will be restricted to lobbies and visitor areas. If you have any overnight guests, you must find accommodations outside of the palace.”

  “It’s kind of odd that you make this rule after you allow my ex to surprise me.”

  The hallway I was in was narrow and dreary with dark wood floors and walls painted beige. It was built for a different time, when I supposed people were smaller. And it definitely wasn’t ideal for talking on cell phones. I felt as if my words echoed along the hall and into people’s rooms.

  I moved down the hallway to the door that led out to the parking area on the other side of the greenhouse. “Really, Ian, why change things now?”

  I waited for his reply as I stepped out into the early morning gray of spring.

  “I was wrong,” he said finally. “I admit that, and to prevent future misunderstandings, I am enforcing a rule that I should have kept to in the first place.”

  “I know,” I said. “But now everyone on staff will blame me for the crackdown on their private lives.”

  “I hardly think you are so important as to take the blame for a new policy put into place by security due to recent events.”

  “Fine,” I said, feeling insulted. “I get it. I’m not impor
tant and therefore have nothing to fear from gossips. That doesn’t mean they won’t know I was the last one to have a guest stay in my quarters overnight.”

  “Carrie Ann—”

  “Don’t use that scolding tone with me,” I said. “I’m not the one who screwed up. So I get it. No more guests. End of conversation.”

  There was a long silence.

  “I’ll be posting the new policy on the staff intranet.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Good,” he replied.

  I listened to him breathe for a moment. Then I said, “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” I hung up my phone. Feelings of anger and frustration filled me. I wanted to throw my phone against the brick wall beside me. I wanted to kick things. I wanted to let out the anger and grief that filled me. My tears flowed freely. I leaned against the brick and looked up, doing my best to get ahold of myself.

  That’s when I noticed Mrs. Perkins going into a door on the other side of the greenhouse. I didn’t realize that there was anything over there. Seeking distraction from my feelings, I walked over to see a covered walkway between the greenhouse and the neighboring portion of the palace building.

  What did that door go to? I walked over and tried to open the door. It was locked. I tried to swipe my ID but nothing happened. Curious. I dashed away my tears and looked up to see that there were offices of some sort on the floor above the walkway. I didn’t have a good lay of the palace yet. I don’t know why I had assumed that the greenhouse ended with the parking lot.

  Turning around, I reentered the building through the hallway door that I had left from. I took a moment to blow my nose and wipe my face before entering my kitchen.

  “Is everything all right?” Phoebe asked.

  “Yes, fine,” I said and set about making my eggs benedict.

  “I’m going to pretend that I believe you,” Phoebe said as she kneaded bread dough. “It is nice to be back in a real kitchen. Don’t you think?”

  I could tell she was trying to distract me, so I went along with her. “It will be better once the greenhouse is lush again,” I said. “Jasper agreed to grow the herbs on my list as well as those on the duchess’s list.”

  “Nothing better than fresh,” Phoebe said.

  The kitchen door opened and Miss Jones came in pushing our serving trolleys. “I thought you might need these.” She paused and studied me. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I snapped.

  “Whoa, I didn’t mean any offense.”

  “None taken,” I said and sighed. The breakfast was ready. “Load up the tray and deliver it, quickly,” I instructed them both. “We want to show our gratitude for having our space back.”

  “Yes, Chef,” they both said, and soon they were out the door with the proper dishes well-covered for transport to the family’s dining room.

  I looked out into the greenhouse. It was quite large really, about ten feet by fifteen feet. I suppose I’d never noticed the walkway on the other side because I’d always been busy looking at the veggies. Or the handsome gardener, if I was going to be honest about it.

  I sent a text to Penny: What offices are on the other side of the greenhouse? And who has access to them?

  I waited for her answer. Hopefully she could give me some insight. It seemed that whoever killed Mr. Deems that night might have come from that part of the palace. It was the only way I could think of that would bypass my kitchen. It would give the killer the element of surprise.

  With the parking area so close, it might have been just as easy for someone like the bookie to slip into the greenhouse, kill Mr. Deems, and slip out. Except, of course, no one out of the ordinary could get through the locked doors. Plus, the parking areas all had cameras. Surely Ian would have said something if he’d caught someone suspicious on camera that night. I chewed on my bottom lip and started to make the tea cakes for the children for later that afternoon.

  I was still convinced that whoever killed my assistant was a regular at the palace. If not Neville, then who—and why?

  Chapter 27

  It was well after dinner and Phoebe had gone home before Penny answered my text.

  The administration offices are across from the greenhouse, she wrote. You’ve been there. You should know.

  I texted back: I take the second floor hallway, and so I walk through the breezeway. I had no idea the greenhouse was under that. I’m still trying to figure out where everything is.

  Ask Ian for a map of the place, she wrote back. It will help.

  After I wrote her back Thanks, but I have a map. I simply didn’t put it together, I put my phone down and poured myself a cup of tea. This was my favorite time of night in the kitchen. It was dark out, so the greenhouse was a black blur of shadow. A soft light crept in through the window above the sink that looked out onto the parking area. The kitchen was thoroughly cleaned and smelled of the ginger cake I’d made for dessert.

  A small slice of the cake and a cup of tea would ease me into the end of day. The door to the greenhouse was still bolted. I was safe from any would-be killers.

  I had menus pulled up on my tablet and was Googling recipes when my mind wandered to John. I needed to lay to rest any lingering feelings for him. We were going in two very different directions.

  There was a small hope in my heart that I would stay with the family much longer than my one-year contract. But I had to get through my first ninety days without another incident.

  “You’re in the kitchen late.”

  I was startled by Mrs. Perkins’s arrival.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” I said with a nervous laugh. “I’m going to have to put a squeak in the door or something.”

  She was wearing a smock over her usual sweater set. It was thick and white like a butcher’s smock. She had a strange look in her eyes, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  “Do you need some food for Meriam and the boys?” I asked and stood slowly so as not to upset her. “I have some extra creamed chicken, and Phoebe made dinner rolls. I can put them in Tupperware for you to take home.”

  “Because of you, Meriam found out about Frank’s gambling problem. My poor girl has been devastated yet again. She’s taken to her bed. She won’t eat. She won’t drink.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “But she had to know that she and her boys were being threatened.”

  “She didn’t have to know anything. I was taking care of things. I was taking care of my baby.” She raised her right hand and showed me the butcher knife she held. “I refuse to let anything or anybody hurt my baby girl.”

  I held up my hands and took two steps so that the table was between us. Everything suddenly fell into place. “You killed Frank, didn’t you?”

  “I could not stand by and watch him devastate her further.” She shook her head. “He owed so much money. Too much money. I begged him to stop. I gave him money to pay off his debt and stop gambling.”

  “But he was an addict and couldn’t stop, could he?” I said and slowly reached into my pocket. I hit the send button on my phone twice. It would dial the last person I spoke to—in this case, Ian Gordon. There was no chance he’d pick up after the way our conversation ended, but his voicemail would. The sound might be garbled from the phone being in my pocket, but if Ian didn’t pick up and anything happened to me, the voicemail recording should tell the authorities the who and why.

  “Instead of paying off the debt, he used it try to win more and put himself even farther behind,” she snarled.

  “That’s when you decided something had to be done.”

  “He was putting the entire family at risk,” she said. “I came here that night to tell him he had to get his stuff and get out of my daughter’s house.”

  “You fought with Frank, didn’t you, Mrs. Perkins?” I said. “You didn’t mean to kill him.”

  “He laughed at me. Laughed! Then he told me that I was the intruder in his home. If anyone was
to leave, it would be me!”

  “That must have hurt,” I said. “I know how you gave up everything and moved in with Meriam and the boys to take care of them through this health crisis.”

  “He underestimated me if he thought I would let him push my baby girl into an early grave. He had life insurance on her. He was gambling that the cancer would take her, and he could pay off his bills with her insurance. But Meriam is a fighter.”

  “He was desperate,” I said.

  “He should have done what I asked. He should have packed up and left immediately. None of this would have happened if he had just done what I asked.”

  She looked distracted by the thought, and I took that moment to grab a cast-iron skillet from the pot hanger over the stove top. “Put the knife down, Mrs. Perkins,” I said in my best demanding-chef voice. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Oh, no dear,” she said, her attention suddenly and terrifyingly back on me. “I won’t. You see, I’ve nothing left to lose. You devastated my baby. She may die. I can’t let you live knowing what you’ve done.”

  “But I didn’t do anything!” I said and kept the skillet raised. It was heavy enough to deflect the knife, and I could use it to knock her sideways if I had to. “All I did was tell her to take care of herself and the boys.”

  “You asked her about the gambling.”

  “She said it was Michael who had the problem, and I let her believe that.”

  “You asked her if she was certain,” Mrs. Perkins said and took a menacing step toward me. “That was enough. My Meriam is no dummy. She didn’t have to look far to find out how much Michael owed. Now she hasn’t eaten all day and is worrying about the finances. You must pay for what you did.”

  “Mrs. Perkins,” I said. “Put the knife down. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

  “I’m not worried about being hurt,” she said and lunged toward me.

  I swiped the skillet through the air and caught her wrist, knocking the knife to the floor. The crazy woman was between me and the door. Behind me was the greenhouse, but the door was bolted. There was no easy escape.