by Nell Hampton
Garrote was the Criminal Investigative Department Detective Chief Inspector who worked on the murder case of Frank Deems. Something bad had to have happened for the CID to be involved.
“I know, I thought you might want to check it out with me.”
“Are you going to the Orangery?” I asked.
“Of course,” Penny said. “Quick, get dressed. Let’s go down together and see what’s going on.”
“Come in,” I said, waving her inside. “I’ll be just a few minutes.”
I hurried off to my bedroom and quickly dressed for work, pulling my wayward hair into a tight ponytail and grabbing a jacket. It was spring in London, and that meant it was still chilly outside in the early morning.
“Hurry,” Penny said through the door. “They aren’t going to let us close if we don’t get there soon.”
“I’ll be right out,” I said and shoved my arms into the jacket while Penny and I left my apartment. Penny lived in a small suite down the hall from me. Our hall was the servants’ quarters. The walls were painted a soft beige and the wooden flooring was well-worn.
We hurried down the hall, down the stairs, and out through the door just beyond my private kitchen. I could see the flashing lights of the police cars in the distance. People came out of the palace to see what was going on. Most had not stopped to get dressed like I did. But I was glad not to have rushed out in a night gown, robe, and slippers.
We approached the crowd to get a good look. All of the lights were on at the Orangery. The building wasn’t usually open to the public until ten AM. Security and police came and went. They all had looks of concern on their faces.
“What’s going on?” Penny asked a bystander.
“Someone said there was a murder in the Orangery,” the man in a robe and pajama pants said. His hair stood straight up on the left side of his head while the right side was smashed down.
“A murder?” Penny nudged me. “Who? How?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged.
I caught a glimpse of Ian Gordon. I pushed through to the edge of the crowd. There the security forces held back the growing crowd. “Ian? What’s going on?”
“Chef Cole, what are you and Miss Nethercott doing out here?”
“We saw the lights,” I said. “We heard there was a murder. Is it true?”
“Billings,” Ian said to a tall, thin man in a security uniform beside him. “Disperse the crowd.”
“Ian?”
“Go inside, Chef,” his expression was grim. “Someone will let you know if your presence is needed.”
“But—”
“You can’t help, Carrie Ann,” he said. “Go inside.” Ian turned his back on me and spoke to another security officer. Together he and Officer Billings began to break up the crowd.
“All right, folks, go on back to your rooms,” Officer Billings said.
“Was there a murder?” This time it was Mrs. Worth, the head of the duke and duchess’s household, who asked the question. Mrs. Worth was a formidable woman. Thin and very proper, she looked completely ready for her day. She wore a gray sweater set, a black skirt that hit her midcalf and a black quilted coat. Her hair was a perfect gray shoulder-length bob.
I had known Mrs. Worth only a short time, but I had never seen a hair out of place on the woman. Even at five-fifteen AM, she was immaculately turned out. Unlike the rest of the crowd, it was as if she sprang out of bed fully dressed for the day.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but Chief Gordon did not give me the liberty to discuss the details.” Officer Billings ducked his head. “Please tell your staff to go back inside. We will share any information as soon as we can.”
“Tell Chief Gordon that I expect to hear from him before I see anything on the telly.”
“I will, ma’am.” The officer held up his hands. “Now everyone, go inside.”
“Well,” Penny said to me as we walked back across the parking lot. “If it is murder, at least this time you are off the hook.”
“Thank goodness for that,” I said. “I had enough of that adventure last time.”
If you decide to investigate this one, let me know,” Penny winked at me. “I love all the insider details.”
“Please,” I said. “It’s not going to happen. I have work to do that is more important. Which reminds me, I’d better dial Agnes. I don’t think they are going to let anyone inside the Palace gates this morning.”
“Let’s hope if there was a murder that neither of us knows the suspect,” Penny said rather morbidly.
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” I said. The last thing we needed was another disruption to the household.
Chapter 5
I was right. They didn’t let anyone onto the Palace grounds. That meant I was on my own for the family’s breakfast, lunch, and tea. I kind of liked working by myself. It was hectic, but I could move in my own rhythm.
All the bustle kept me glancing out the window to see what was going on over at the Orangery. Security swarmed the place. I watched as an ambulance came and went. That meant that someone had gotten hurt. I sent up a little prayer that it wasn’t serious. Although from the fuss, I suspected the rumor of murder might be true.
Penny came into the kitchen after tea. She was showered and dressed in a soft knit top and navy blue capris with navy blue flats.
“You look well rested,” I teased.
“Sunday is my day off,” she said, snagging a ginger cookie off the cooling rack. “Do you have any tea made?”
“I’ll put the kettle on,” I said.
“Have you been working all day?”
“All day,” I said.
“Shoot, I was hoping you might have gotten the scoop about what was going on at the Orangery. I know you have a special relationship with Ian Gordon.”
“What? No, no there’s nothing going on between Ian and me. He doesn’t have relationships with people who work at the palace. You said so yourself.”
“Right.” She got two teacups and saucers and put loose leaf tea in the teapot. Penny had become my closest friend since moving to London and taking this job. She was in my kitchen nearly every day and knew where everything was kept.
“You know more people here than I do. What have you heard about what happened? I saw an ambulance so I know someone was hurt.”
Penny sat down at the table and I poured hot water into the teapot to steep. “Well, word has it that there was indeed a murder in the Orangery. I guess Chef Wright was in early to work on some paperwork and discovered a waiter named Wentworth Uleman face down in a lemon pie.”
I swallowed hard. “Wentworth Uleman? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure, why?”
“Because he’s the man who has been stalking me,” I said.
“What?”
“I caught him peering in the window a second time and when I confronted him he ran away. So yesterday when I saw him waiting tables in the Orangery…”
“Oh, no, you confronted him again.”
“Yes, and Ian Gordon told me that he could confirm it was Wentworth in the video of the man peering into my window.”
“What was he doing?” Penny asked. She poured herself a cup of tea. “It’s not like you sleep in here or anything.”
“I have no idea, but when I saw him the second night it sure looked as if he had a camera on him.”
“He was filming you?”
“I hope not,” I said. “I’m not exactly documentary material.”
“And now he’s dead.”
“Allegedly dead,” I said as I poured milk in my cup and then added the tea. “Aren’t there twenty waiters and waitresses working at the Orangery? It could be any one of them.”
“Except Evie Green told me that Chef Wright told her he was certain it was Wentworth by the man’s ears. Then when security got there, they lifted his head out of the pie and positively identified him.”
“Yikes,” I said, making a face. I took a sip of tea to calm my nerves. I had left a lem
on pie on the counter for Chef Wright and his staff. Was it my pie that Wentworth was eating when he died?
“I thought Evie worked in Princess Anne’s household. How does she know Chef Wright?”
“Well, now that’s an interesting thing. Remember I said that Evie had a new man in her life?”
“No!”
“Yes, Chef Wright.”
“I thought you said her new man was married,” I said and tried not to shiver at the memory of him kissing my hand.
“Yes, Chef Wright’s married.”
“Oh, that’s right, he wore a wedding ring. Funny, but he doesn’t act married.”
“And he has two kids, but that doesn’t stop Evie from seeing him.” Penny rolled her eyes. “The girl has no sense. She insists that he only has eyes for her.”
“She’s wrong,” I said. “I swear he made a pass at me yesterday. What a smarmy guy.”
“Don’t tell Evie that or she’ll say you were the one who went after her guy.”
“He’s married.”
“She doesn’t care.”
“Wow, that’s messed up.”
“There’s no telling Evie Green something she doesn’t want to hear.”
There was a knock on my kitchen door and Ian strode inside. “Chef Cole, do you have a moment?”
Penny shot me an I-told-you-so look. “I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.” She patted Ian on the shoulder on the way out. “Be easy on her. She’s clueless.”
“What did she mean by that?” Ian asked as he stepped down into the kitchen.
“I have no idea,” I fibbed. “What can I do for you, Chief? Do you want a ginger snap? Some tea? I understand you’ve had a busy day.”
“No, thank you,” he said. “I need to speak with you. Officially.”
“Oh.” I stood. “Do I need to go to your office?” The last time he had to speak to me officially I was being investigated for a murder. Then he hauled me off to the security office for a day.
“I’m sure things will be fine right here,” he said.
“Okay,” I wrapped my arms around my waist. “What do you need to know?”
“Did you leave a lemon pie in the Orangery kitchen?”
“Yes,” I said. “I had an extra and left it in Chef Wright’s kitchen for him and his staff as a thank you for allowing me to use his space for the bridal shower.”
“And did it look like this pie?” He held out his phone and there was a picture of a ruined pie. It looked half eaten, but as if someone had tried to eat it without any utensils—or even hands.
“It might have,” I said. “It’s hard to tell by the state of the pie, but it does look like my pie pan.”
“It is your pie pan,” he said. “The bottom was inscribed with the duke and duchess’s initials.”
All of my dishes had the insignia of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge on them somewhere. It was how we kept track of the family’s possessions.
“Okay,” I said. “What happened to the pie?”
“Chef Wright found Wentworth Uleman facedown in the pie at 4:55 this morning. The man was dead.”
I shuddered. “What? My pie? How awful! I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? To Wentworth, I mean.”
“He was poisoned.”
“Poisoned? By what? I know it wasn’t my pie.”
“It appears to be from your pie,” he said. “We’ve sent samples to the laboratory. Detective Chief Inspector Garrote will want to speak to you about the pie.”
“But I didn’t put any poison in the pie. Why would I do that? Chef Wright and his staff have been nothing but kind to me.”
“That’s what I’m here to determine.”
“Do you really think I might have done this?”
“No, I don’t think you would do this,” he said. “But something happened from the time you left the pie until the time Chef Wright found Wentworth. We have evidence that you confronted Wentworth twice.”
“He was looking in my window,” I said. “You know that I reported him.”
“I spoke to him a second time about that. I told Wentworth we caught him on tape and notified his boss of his bizarre behavior. Chef Wright assured me he escorted the man off the palace grounds that night.”
“See, there was no need for me to poison the man,” I pointed out. “I trusted you and Chef Wright to do your job.”
“But, as of now, you are the only person with motive to kill the man.”
I stood. “I’m sorry? Did I hear you correctly?”
“You heard me,” he said. “We have complaints from you about Wentworth. Two times you have been caught confronting the man, once on camera and once in front of witnesses.”
“I wanted him to stop peering in my window,” I said. “I didn’t know him well enough to want him dead.”
“Well, now that’s where things get a bit … strange.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Wentworth had a camera on him when we found him. He had pictures of you.”
“Doing what? Cooking?”
“Getting close to Chef Wright.”
“Excuse me?”
“There are pictures of Chef Wright kissing your hand and standing what can be perceived as intimately close. There is some idea that perhaps Wentworth tried to blackmail you or Chef Wright.”
“Why? I barely knew the man.”
“We have pictures of you and him that appear to be intimate. Chef Wright is married. That means there are grounds to blackmail you.”
“The man seemed to like to getting in my personal space,” I said. “But trust me, we weren’t having any kind of relationship.”
“That’s what I need you to tell the inspector,” Ian said.
“I will, because it’s the truth. What else did Wentworth have photos of? Chef Wright seems pretty loose with women. How do you know that Chef Wright didn’t kill Wentworth?
“We don’t,” Ian admitted. “But I can’t and I won’t discuss the investigation with you. For now, we need to relieve you of your duties to the family until we can rule you out as the killer.”
“What?”
“We can’t have a person who could have poisoned a man to his death serving food to the duke and duchess and their children.”
“But—”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your quarters.”
“But the family has to eat dinner.”
“Mrs. Worth has been informed of the problem.”
“Who is going to cook for them?”
“Chef Butterbottom has been assigned to the family until further notice.”
“Great.” I flung my hands in the air. Chef Butterbottom was the head Chef for Kensington Palace and cooked for all the public functions. He was also my archenemy. He was sure I was ruining the children’s palate with my American recipes.
“I need you to come with me,” Ian said gently.
“But I have food in the oven and need to put away the other ingredients I have out.”
“Chef Butterbottom will handle dinner.”
“What happens to the meal that is in the oven and my chopped vegetables?”
“The Crime Scene guys will be going over everything with a fine-tooth comb to ensure there isn’t any poison in your kitchen.”
“This is ridiculous,” I said as I walked toward the door. “Why is it that whenever anything happens the first suspect is the American?”
“It’s not personal,” Ian said, holding the kitchen door open. A woman and a man stood in the hallway wearing jumpsuits and holding black equipment bags. They had CID badges on their collars. Ian escorted me out and the pair into my kitchen.
I sighed long and hard.
“Come on,” he said and took a hold of my elbow. “Let’s get you back to your room. Think of it as a tiny vacation.”
“For how long?”
“Only until we gather more evidence,” he said.
“You said it wasn’t personal,” I said. “Why does it feel personal? You
know Butterbottom will be so happy to see me out.”
“You aren’t out,” he said firmly as he escorted me up the stairs and down the hall to my room. “You’re just on pause. We have to be careful.”
“I am careful,” I said as I unlocked my apartment door.
“Where were you last night between midnight and four AM.?”
“Okay, see, that’s personal,” I said. “But for your information, I finished up in the Orangery around ten PM. I was back in my kitchen and sitting with you until eleven.”
“When did you leave your kitchen?”
“I think around midnight,” I said. The hall cameras should confirm that I went straight to my room and, believe it or not, went to bed.”
“We’ll review the tapes and the key card records,” he said. “With any luck, you’ll be back to work by Tuesday.”
“Lucky for you tomorrow is my day off,” I muttered.
He leaned against my doorjamb, filling my doorframe. “I am taking this seriously. I think you should too.”
“Wait,” I said and clung to my door. “If Wentworth had pictures of me, who else did he have pictures of?”
“CID is combing his apartment now to answer that question,” he said. “Please, Carrie Ann, take this time to put your feet up. Go out and enjoy London in the spring. Leave the investigating to the professionals. Okay?”
“Good evening, Ian,” I said. “Please get me my kitchen back by Tuesday, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
I closed the door and turned to my quiet apartment. Great, kicked out of my kitchen yet again. I had gambled my entire life on this move to London. So far it was off to a rocky start.
Chapter 6
“So here’s what I was able to find out.” Penny sat on the couch in my living area and leaned toward me. “You weren’t the only one Wentworth was filming.”
“I certainly hope not,” I said with a sigh. We munched on hamburgers and French fries that we had delivered from one of the local pubs. “I don’t know why Wentworth turned his camera on me. It’s not like I knew him or even worked with him.”
“My theory is that he was looking for someone, anyone to film.”
“Why?”
“There may be evidence that he was trying to sell pictures to the tabloids.”