Lord of the Pies

by Nell Hampton

  “Fine,” I said and took a sip. We hit a bump and the sip became a swig. I swallowed hard and it burned all the way down my throat and into my stomach, but it soothed the uncomfortable knot that had formed there.

  Yes, I had lived in Chicago, but I was a food nerd. I spent my entire life practicing recipes and going to visit kitchens and restaurants. I wasn’t exactly the clubbing type.

  “First stop is The Ministry of Sound,” Ethan hollered back over the top of the blaring music. I handed the bottle off to one of the other girls. We crossed the River Thames and pulled up next to a club where people stood in line.

  “Come on,” Penny said, taking my hand as we poured out of the vehicle. I could hear the pounding music on the street outside.

  “There’s a line,” I pointed to the people who curved around the corner.

  “No worries, Veronica has us in,” Penny said as she pushed me toward the bouncer.

  He looked us over. “Veronica, you have a bigger group tonight. Who’s the new girl?”

  “She’s the duke—”

  “An American,” I interrupted. “Penny promised me a taste of London nightlife.”

  “Well, we can’t keep you waiting now, can we?” He winked at me, leered at my legs a moment, and then waved us all in.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell him who you were,” Penny complained as we entered the pounding, crowded club. A man at the main entrance stamped the back of our hands and Penny pulled me inside. “You should use that bit of a celebrity we talked about, you know. That counts for something.”

  “I don’t want to get fired for trading off the duke and duchess’s name,” I said.

  “You won’t get fired,” she said, shaking her head. “Look there’s Prince Harry. Come on, let’s get a drink and see who else is here.”

  The club became a blur of bodies. It seemed the women were all dressed like me, so I didn’t feel out of place at all. Even with my short, tight dress, sky-high heels, and wildly teased hair. The men on the other hand almost universally were dressed in T-shirts and jeans. A few of the richer guys wore button down shirts, but jeans all the same. It was strange. Almost as if the women dressed up for each other.

  From the Ministry of Sound, we went to Fabric and then to XOYO and when Penny and the girls headed toward yet another over-crowded, pounding music dance floor, I called a driver to come get me. Luckily, I had an app on my phone that allowed me to get a personal driver. The girls waited for my car to arrive then I kissed and hugged everyone and promised to go out with them again sometime, then Ethan opened the car door and I slipped inside.

  Inside the car was quiet, and I closed my eyes and rested my head against the back seat. “So we’re going to Kensington Palace,” the driver said. “Do you live there?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But I’m not a royal or anyone you can brag about. I just work there.”

  “No worries,” he said with a shrug. “My sister works there. I thought you might know her.”

  “I might, but it’s a big place, and I’m new,” I said. My head swirled from overstimulation of sight and sound and three martinis, not to mention that slug of vodka in the car.

  “She works as an assistant to the foreign department. She helps guide visiting dignitaries from place to place. Makes sure they don’t get lost, that kind of thing. She can speak seven different languages.”

  “Sounds like you are pretty proud of her,” I said. “What’s her name?”

  “Beth Branch,” he said. “I’m David Branch.”

  “Nice to meet you David,” I said and leaned forward. “Thanks for driving me.”

  “You’re welcome.” He stopped at the security gate at the back. “Say hi to my sister if you see her.”

  “I will,” I said and got out of the car as gracefully as I could.

  I took off the painful shoes and walked barefoot through the security gates and up into the apartments. A quick glance at my cellphone told me it was three AM and I didn’t have much time before I had to be back in my kitchen.

  “You look like you had a good time,” Ian said when I opened the door to the entrance hall.

  “I did,” I said. “What are you doing up? Are you spying on me?”

  “No,” he said. “There was call about a disturbance near the kitchen.”

  “My kitchen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “You can’t go barefoot.”

  “Fine,” I put on the red heels. “I’m ready.”

  He gave me a look that sent me blushing.

  “They’re just shoes.” I pulled at my skirt. “You go first.” I turned him around and pushed him forward.

  Lucky for me, he complied. We got to the kitchen and it was all locked up. He waved me forward and I opened it with my key. Reaching in, I turned on the light. The kitchen was a mess. It looked as if someone had come in and thrown a tantrum. Pots and pans were everywhere, drawers opened and dishes strewn about.

  “Oh no.” I sat down hard at the kitchen table. The seat was filled with flour from a bag that someone had emptied as if looking for something hidden inside. The white powder fluffed up around me and covered me in a fine layer.

  “What the heck?” Ian pulled out his flashlight. “Don’t move.”

  “I won’t.” I waved flour away from in front of my face. As I looked around at the mess, I realized I was not going to get any sleep tonight. I had to have this cleaned up and ready for the family’s breakfast.

  “It looks like they came in through the window,” he said, examining the broken glass and crushed screen. “Although I don’t know how. It was locked and secured with an alarm. I know the team didn’t leave it open, and it’s pretty crudely broken. They didn’t seem to care that we have a video camera on the corner of the building.”

  “It’s clear that whoever did this was either a vandal or looking for something. I don’t know what they thought they would find since the CID has already been through the kitchen with a fine-toothed comb.”

  “I suspect it was vandalism,” he said, studying me. “Someone may blame you for Wentworth’s murder and this could have been revenge.”

  “Like a mad teenager’s revenge.” I stood up. I had waited while Ian looked over every nook and cranny of the kitchen.

  “It’s clear,” he said. “I don’t see anything dangerous. Quite a bit of debris, though.”

  “I need to get to my room and change so I can clean this up before breakfast.”

  “I’ll send a crew to come down and board up the window.”

  He studied me again for a moment. “Do you want me to walk you to your room?”

  I studied him back. Maybe it was the exhaustion from being out at the clubs, or maybe it was the remains of the drinks, but I thought there was a moment where something brave and wonderful flashed between us. He took a step toward me.

  “Sorry, boss,” Officer Billings stuck his head in the kitchen, breaking the moment and possibly saving me from months of embarrassment. “Don’t mean to interrupt, but there’s another disturbance at the Orangery.”

  “Right,” he said. “See that Chef Cole gets to her room safely.” He strode out and I let out a slow breath.

  “Chef?”

  “I’m okay,” I said with a short smile. “Good actually. Do they need you?”

  “I’m here to see to your safety.”

  “I’ll be fine to get to my room,” I assured him. “Can you see that the kitchen stays secure?”

  “Will do.”

  I left the kitchen, took my shoes off and hurried to my room. I closed the door and leaned against it. “This close to disaster,” I muttered. “Ugh.”

  Thankfully I didn’t have the time to think about things too closely. I dragged myself to the bathroom. Time to shower and get dressed in my work uniform.

  Chapter 8

  “How did you make breakfast in this mess?” Agnes asked me when she arrived at six AM.

  I had managed to clean up the half
of the kitchen with the stove, sink, and fridge. The back of the kitchen was still wrecked from the breakin. The lights were on because the window was boarded over.

  “I only had time to clean up half,” I said briskly. “Grab an apron and let’s clean up the cupboards.”

  “I meant no disrespect. If the rest of the kitchen looks like this now, I can only imagine the amount of work you did.”

  “Thanks, Agnes,” I said. “Welcome back.”

  “I’m glad to be back, Chef,” she said as she hung up her jacket. “Who took care of the family while we were off?”

  “Chef Butterbottom made their dinner,” I said. “I heard his pastry chef, Geoff Theilman, made their desserts.”

  “Huh,” she said with a slight snort. “I bet he was over the moon about that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I heard that Geoff let the entire staff know that he thought he should have catered the bridal shower, not you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because he’s the main kitchen’s pastry chef. He’s been grousing to the entire staff that an American chef should not have catered something so personal as a bridal shower thrown by the duchess.”

  “Well, I had no idea he even existed, let alone was upset that I did my job.”

  “And a good job,” Agnes said. “I heard the reviews were crazy.”

  “There were reviews?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Agnes laughed as she grabbed a J-cloth to get the flour off the table and chairs. “The social media for the shower was awesome.”

  “Social media?”

  “Twitter, Facebook, Instagram,” Agnes said. “The ladies took pictures and shared all the goodness.”

  I leaned back against the counter. “The ladies social mediaed the shower?”

  “You bet,” she said and got out her phone. “See?” She showed me a Twitter stream called #duchessthrowsshower.

  There were pictures of the decorations, the Orangery, the ladies, and, yes, even pictures of the pies. The food pictures were all positive, and it made me smile.

  “Wait, is that a picture of the lemon pie?” I asked as she scrolled by one shot of two ladies in front of the dessert bar. The deadly pie was on a tall pie plate behind them. It was covered with a crystal pie cover.

  “Did you make two lemon pies?”

  “Only one,” I said with a shake of my head. “When the shower was over it was still untouched, so I left it for Chef Wright and his staff to show my appreciation.”

  “But I thought they ate lemon pie,” Agnes scrolled through several pictures. “See? Here’s a lovely piece with sky-high meringue.”

  “Wait, yes, that is my pie. There’s two pieces missing out of it.” I frowned. “How was there a whole lemon pie left? I thought it was in one of our pie plates. It looked like my pie. Well, I assumed it was mine since mine were the only pies in the kitchen when I arrived.”

  “Do you think someone slipped a poison pie in with yours?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, if people got sick they would certainly say that on their social media.”

  “And everyone would get the impression that I’m a terrible cook,” I said. “If that’s the case, we’re lucky no one else ate that pie.”

  “Did you count all the pie plates when you got back?”

  “No,” I said. “Why would I? Mine were the only pies served. I didn’t think I needed to check the inventory.”

  “You should count them,” she said.

  “I’ll do it after lunch service. I have to assume one is missing because CID identified the pie as being in a pie pan from my kitchen.”

  Lunch for the family consisted of several courses, to teach the children about official dining. We kept it simple with stuffed mushroom appetizers, potato and chive soup, roasted chicken, and rice pilaf, then pudding for dessert. Well, in England dessert was pudding so they had pudding for pudding. The thought made me smile.

  By the time Agnes got back from taking lunch up to the family, I had done a quick inventory of my pie pans. Two seemed to be missing. I hadn’t done an inventory of my kitchen since I first started. The pie pans could have gone missing at any time. I didn’t usually keep the kitchen locked while we were coming and going throughout the day. Did someone pinch one of my pans and make a poisonous pie in it?

  The thought seemed crazy. Technically there should be only one pan missing. Presumably the one that the police still had in evidence. Darn.

  The missing pie plate made me paranoid. Someone had destroyed my kitchen. What if the same someone had been taking a dish here or there to frame me for more poisonings?

  I pondered the absurdity of that notion while I continued working.

  “You look worried,” Agnes said as she brought back the used lunch service.

  “I’ve got two pie plates missing,” I said. “One is most likely in police custody. That leaves one unaccounted for.”

  “That’s not good,” Agnes said.

  “I agree.” I surveyed my cupboards. “I’m going to have to inventory the entire kitchen to make sure nothing else is missing.”

  “That’s a big job.”

  “We’ll get it done. But first, we need to work on tea.”

  Teatime came and I placed scones and macaroons on plates along with tiny cucumber sandwiches and ham salad sandwiches. Agnes took up the tea and I wiped the last of the flour out of the corner of the pantry. The kitchen was officially back to spotless, and I was officially running on zero sleep. I would have to do an inventory of my kitchenware another time when I had a clearer mind.

  “Did you have a good time last night?” Penny had popped into the kitchen to chat. Agnes, who worked only through teatime, had left for the day.

  “Sure.” I put on a kettle for my French press. I needed coffee if I was going to get a late supper up to the family. Luckily today’s supper was spring salad, fresh poached fish, and new potatoes. All easy to handle in my exhausted state.

  “That doesn’t sound very convincing,” Penny said as she snagged a macaroon from the cookie plate and settled into the kitchen table.

  “Tea?” I asked.

  “Sure, what else do you have with cookies?” She grinned at me.

  “Coffee, I need coffee.” I poured water into her cup with a tea bag and then used the rest to make my coffee.

  “You came home before us,” Penny said. “You should be more rested.”

  “What time did you get home?”

  “I think it was four-thirty this morning.”

  “Ouch,” I said. You couldn’t tell from looking at Penny that she hadn’t had a full eight hours of sleep. The woman either was a great makeup artist or nightlife looked good on her. She didn’t have a hair out of place or even a dark shadow under her eyes. Unlike me, I wore my lack of sleep as puffy eyes and a strange buzzing in my head. “Yes, well, at that time I was already in the kitchen.” I proceeded to tell her about what happened.

  “I heard them brief the duchess on the breakin,” Penny said. “Did they take anything?”

  “I’m not sure.” I frowned. “I haven’t had time to do a full inventory. But I did check my pie pans and there are two missing. One is with the police, but I don’t know where the other is.”

  “Did they take it last night?”

  “I don’t think so. The cabinet where I kept the bakeware was exactly as I left it. Meanwhile, everything else was a big mess. You should have seen it. It took hours to clean up.” I glanced around. “Ian said he thought it was a case of vandalism.”

  “Most likely,” Penny said. “I heard them brief the duchess that someone broke into the Orangery last night, too.”

  “I had heard there was some kind of incident there last night, but I don’t know the details. Was anything taken?”

  “Not that anyone can tell anyway. The kitchen was still off-limits except for CID.”

  “Weird,” I said. “Do you think the breakins have to do with Wentworth’s murder?”

  “Why wo
uld you ask that?” Penny dunked her tea bag in and out of her cup, then added sugar and milk.

  “Both the Orangery and my kitchen were broken into last night and both places were sites where CID investigated.”

  “Ah,” she said with a knowing nod.

  “What?”

  Penny sipped her tea. “Ah, I bet it was someone trying to get pictures for the tabloids.”

  “What?”

  “It’s on the news that CID was here and where they investigated. My guess is that the tabloids will pay a lot of money to anyone who can get pictures of the scene.”

  “Why break into my kitchen and trash it?” I paused as I realized what it meant. “If they have pictures showing my kitchen as unkempt…”

  “It would go with a story about how you poisoned someone with your pie.”

  “I didn’t poison anyone.”

  “Well, I know that and you know that,” Penny said. “But tabloids will pay a lot of money for the juiciest story.”

  “Please tell me you have never sold anything to the tabloids.”

  “Oh, no,” Penny said, her eyes widening. “I would be fired. I stay as far away from anyone having anything to do with the tabloids as I can. Are you kidding me?”

  “But you said—”

  “That I’ve heard the tabloids pay a lot,” Penny said, sitting back. “I’ve never done it, but I heard about other people—you know people like Wentworth—doing it. They say there’s money in it if you don’t get caught. I’m just saying that I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the cover story on the evening news.”

  “Darn it!” I reached for my smartphone and brought up my news feed to see what was trending. I didn’t see anything and sat down with a sigh of relief. “No news is good news.” I flipped my phone at Penny to show her.

  “Wrong news,” Penny said and turned her phone so that I could see a photo of my trashed kitchen on a gossip website. The article’s title mentioned me and said that it was my pie that poisoned Wentworth.

  “Darn.”

  “I’ll call the public relations department and see if they can’t get it taken down,” Penny said.

  “I’ll tell Ian,” I said and dialed Ian’s number on the kitchen phone. When Ian picked up I told him about the picture in the tabloids.