by Nell Hampton
“I was thinking something sooner, like tomorrow night.”
“I have to be at work by five-thirty AM,” I said. “The last time I went out I came back to a ruined kitchen and was up for thirty-six hours straight.”
“Do I hear you saying that sleep and work are more important than a nice drink with a handsome fellow?”
That really made me blush. “You make me sound like an old woman. I’m not even thirty.”
“No, I know old women who socialize more than you,” he teased. “Don’t be talking bad about older women.”
“Fine,” I said. “Tomorrow night.”
“Great, I’ll pick you up at ten. That way you’ll be done with your job. The duke and duchess eat at eight, right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good,” he brushed a kiss by my ear. “See you then.”
“Wait,” I said as he turned away. “What am I supposed to wear?”
He winked at me. “Something I’ve never seen you in would be a good start.”
“Right.” I opened the kitchen door. “Time to figure out what someone wears on a date.”
Chapter 10
“I think I know who this is,” Penny said as she waved the tabloid page around. It was after ten PM. She found me finishing prepping the kitchen for breakfast in the morning.
“Who?” I put on a kettle to boil. There was never a time when Penny didn’t want a cup of tea. I had made chocolate biscuits earlier.
“It’s Elizabeth Branch.” Penny sat down at the table. I placed a small plate of cookies in front of her. “She fits the photo anyway. She’s our age with dark hair and pale skin. She works in Princess Anne’s administration.”
“Should we go ask her about this?” I asked.
“You mean not let security figure it out?”
“Security isn’t interested in this angle on the story.”
“Then yes, I think we should go ask her,” Penny said. “How about tomorrow night?”
“Can’t,” I said and poured her a cup of tea. I made chamomile for me. My nerves were jumping at the thought of my date tomorrow, and the last thing I needed was to add caffeine to the mix. I would never get to sleep.
“Why not? I’m sure you have the menu for the rest of the week made out.”
“I’m busy tomorrow evening.”
“Fine, let’s go see her before dinner,” Penny suggested. “I think she lives off the palace grounds. That means we need to catch her before she leaves work for the day anyway.”
“Or we could invite her out for a drink at a nearby pub,” I suggested. “Just not tomorrow.”
“Why not?”
“I’m busy.” I sat down and stuffed a cookie into my mouth while Penny’s expression perked up.
“What are you busy doing?” She grinned. “I think I want to know.”
“I’ll tell you after,” I said. “Have a cookie.”
She studied me for a moment. “Fine, I guess we all need to have our secrets.”
“I tell you what, I can pop over to the admin building tomorrow after breakfast and see if Beth is in.”
“Wait, you know Beth?” She seemed surprised that I might know someone.
“My driver from the other night told me his sister was Beth Branch. I assume that Beth is short for Elizabeth.”
“I think that’s a safe assumption,” Penny said. “Your driver from the other night?”
“Yes, the one who picked me up the night we went out and brought me back to the palace. He told me his sister was Beth Branch and to say hi if I saw her.”
“So what are you going to do? Go see her and say, hi, you don’t know me but I met your brother. Did you kill Wentworth Uleman?”
I laughed. “That does sound rather awkward. What excuse can we use to ask her questions?”
“There’s a big staff meeting at the administration building once a week.”
“I don’t go because…”
“You’re not part of the palace administration. But Mrs. Worth is, and she has been delegating the meeting to me.”
“And are we safe to assume that Beth Branch’s boss is also delegating her to go to the meeting?”
“Yes,” Penny said. “It’s tomorrow at two PM. Do you want to come?”
“How are you going to sneak me in?”
“These things are usually a lecture hall filled with staff standing in the aisles taking notes for their bosses. No one pays attention to who goes and who doesn’t.”
“Fine, I’m there,” I said. I sipped my tea and debated asking her if I could go through her closet to see if she had any appropriate date wear. Then I remembered her closet and decided I’d just have to figure out what to wear on my own.
“What?”
“Thanks for dressing me up the other night,” I said. “It was crazy.”
“And fun.” She popped a cookie in her mouth. “You have to admit it was fun.”
“Yes, it was fun,” I admitted. “I would have never done it without you.”
“Good, so here’s a list of five guys who asked me for your number.” She held out a piece of note paper.
“What? What guys?”
“Five guys from the other night. They tried to give you their numbers but you didn’t take them so they gave them to me.”
“Oh, I don’t remember anyone trying to give me his number.”
“So it’ll be a surprise when you see them again.” Penny put the new numbers into my phone. “That will be fun. Let’s see if we can’t get you on some first dates. Men here love Americans. They think you all are fearless.”
“I don’t think I need any numbers,” I protested, trying to get my phone back.
Penny kept my phone out of my reach until she finished inputting the numbers and texting the guys.
I grabbed my phone. “I can’t believe you texted them.”
“Talk to them if they text back,” Penny urged. “You need to get out more.”
I bit my tongue. I was not going to tell her about drinks with Jasper-not yet. Not when I wasn’t sure of where it would go. I tried changing the subject. “Have you heard from Evie?”
“I texted her, but she hasn’t gotten back to me. I heard both women were suspended from work for a week.”
“Ouch,” I said. “I would hate to lose a week of work.”
“I agree,” Penny said. “All the more reason not to date someone from work.”
I tried not to cringe at the thought that I was making a huge mistake by having drinks with Jasper. I had to ask myself: If I really liked Ian, why did I say yes to going out for a drink with Jasper? Was it because I feared Ian rejecting me? I mean, Penny was the one who told me Ian didn’t date women from work. Since she is so plugged into the local gossip, I had to believe her. “Aren’t you curious how Evie found out about Rachel and Chef Wright?”
“Yes,” Penny said. “I’m hoping to see Evie tonight. I’ll get the entire scoop and share it with you.”
“I knew you would.”
*
Ten o’clock the next morning, Butterbottom was back. I watched him pull into the parking lot and get out of his car. Chef Butterbottom was a very big man with a bald head and beady eyes. He wore white chef pants and shirt and pulled a briefcase out of the vehicle.
A couple of his sous-chefs came running out of the backdoor of the palace to help him carry whatever equipment he had in the car. The whole thing was quite a scene as the Chef bellowed at and berated his workers.
I shook my head. How could I have not noticed old Butterbottom wasn’t around this last week? I wondered what he would say when he found out my kitchen was once again under suspicion.
At least I didn’t have to worry that I would get fired. Butterbottom hadn’t hired me, and right now I was very glad of that fact. Who was I kidding? The very British chef would have never let me get out of Chicago let alone come to work for the family. He’d told me so himself once.
Agnes chopped veggies for the lunch salads. I grilled chicken with
boiled potatoes and peas. Fresh rolls were in the oven baking.
There was a pounding at my kitchen door. I glanced at Agnes and she went to open the door—which was not ever locked when we were in the kitchen cooking. There was no need to knock.
“Chef Cole,” the deep voice of Butterbottom rang through my kitchen.
“Come in,” I said, checking my meal one last time before stepping away. “Hello, Chef. What brings you to my kitchen?”
“There is a charity bake-off in three days,” he said standing in my doorway. “One of the other chefs had to cancel. There is now an open spot. This is one of the duke and duchess’s charities.”
“Are you asking me to participate?” I raised my eyebrows.
“I’m letting you know there is an opening,” he said. “I’m sure you won’t want to compete as you aren’t as well-versed in English traditions.”
“What’s the competition?”
“It’s a classic British pie competition,” he said. “Something you likely won’t touch because you will most likely fail, but I am obliged to let you know of the opening.”
“Pie?”
“Three savory and two sweet,” he said. “Here is the information.” He handed me a flyer for the event. “That’s all. I’ve done what was asked of me.” He let the door slam closed behind him.
“Clearly he doesn’t know you are very good at pie-making,” Agnes said with a sniff. She came over and looked at the flyer. “The event will take place in Hyde Park and will be filmed for later broadcast on the BBC. Oh, now you have to do this. Once you win the competition people will understand why you are the duke and duchess’s private chef.”
“I’m not sure I want to trade off their names to create my own celebrity,” I muttered. I went over to my tiny desk and brought up the website.
“Didn’t you hear Butterbottom?” Agnes asked. “It benefits the duke and duchess’s charity.”
“I’ll send a note to Mrs. Worth to see if she will okay my entering.” I typed up a quick email and sent it. My thoughts were immediately on what type of pies to make. Clearly crust was a key. It would have to be flaky and light, but also substantial enough to hold a meat filling.
There was a one-thousand-pound entry fee that I would have to deal with. I studied the entry fee for a while until I got a ding that I had an email. I clicked over and saw that Mrs. Worth had procured the duchess’s approval that I be a part of the competition. Even better, the household would pay my entry fee.
“Yes!” I said. “I’m signing up.”
“Good for you,” Agnes said. “Now, would you consider making my Grammy Duricott’s secret pie recipe?”
“I’m not sure—”
“Oh, it’s good,” Agnes said with a nod. “People used to beg her for the recipe, but she made us all swear to keep it in the family.”
“And you would let me make it on television?”
Agnes winked. “Only if you mention Grammy.”
“It would be my pleasure to make your grandmother’s famous pie.”
“Good, it’s settled,” Agnes said. “You’re going to practice your pies, right?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll serve them to the duke and duchess for lunch.”
“Or you can make one and I’ll take it home. If my family approves, then you’re good to go.”
I laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”
Maybe if I won a pie contest on national television, it would wipe away the idea that my lemon pie might have killed someone. Of course, it could backfire. But I wasn’t going to think that way.
Chapter 11
I was late for the meeting. Hurrying to the administration offices, I checked my phone. Penny had texted. “Where are you?”
“Here,” I texted back as I arrived at the door. The small room looked like a lecture hall. It sloped down to the center dais and was packed with people sitting and standing. There was no room to go further inside. An older man droned on and on about things as the power point presentation flashed behind him.
“As you all should know, there was a murder on the premises a few days ago. Please remind your staff members that it is a terminable offense to talk to the tabloids. Anyone caught leaking information or selling pictures will be dealt with summarily.”
I spotted Penny sitting next to a neat brunette. She saw me at the same time. I waved at her. She patted an empty seat next to her. Great, I would have to elbow my way over there. Nice way to go unnoticed.
The older man continued on about the number of visitors in the gardens and on the tours and basic safety to keep the royal family’s privacy.
I shook my head at Penny. She frowned and waved harder causing several heads to turn. I did what any self-respecting woman would do. I ducked out into the hallway.
“Hello, Carrie Ann.”
I turned to see Ian walk up the hallway behind me. “Hi.”
“How are you? Any more troubles in the kitchen?”
I gave him a weak smile. “Things have been quieter.”
“Good. I’m glad.” His expression softened. “What brings you to this part of the building?”
“I’m meeting Penny to talk to someone.”
“Mind telling me why?”
“I think we identified the woman in the tabloid photo with Lord Heavington.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I wanted to make sure we were right before bothering you.”
“Let me guess, you think it’s Beth Branch.”
“Yes,” I straightened. “How did you know?”
“There is video of her meeting with Heavington at other times. CID is questioning Heavington. I’m here to pick up Beth and take her in for her side of the story.”
“Do you think Beth was selling secrets?”
“I certainly hope not. We take these things seriously here.” He paused. “How are you doing? I mean with everything going on?”
His gaze warmed me. “I’m fine,” I said with a short nod. “Just fine.”
The meeting must have ended because people started leaving the room. Ian and I waited outside the doors, watching the crowd. Penny and Beth didn’t come out. When the crowd thinned enough that you could go into the room, we went inside.
Penny was talking to Beth. She looked up. “Carrie Ann,” Penny called my name and waved me over. “Chef Cole this is Beth Branch. Beth, Chef Cole.”
“Hi, nice to meet you,” I said and shook her hand.
“Nice to meet you as well,” Beth said. “You are pretty famous, you know.”
“How so?”
“For taking on Chef Butterbottom, of course,” she said with a small laugh. “That man scares everyone else at the palace.”
“I know,” I said. “I lost two assistants because of it.”
“Beth Branch,” Ian stepped in to the conversation. “I need you to come with me.”
“Okay,” she said quizzically. “Why?”
“It has to do with Lord Heavington,” I said, pulling out the tabloid picture. “Is this you?”
“Oh,” she said and her shoulders slumped.
“So it is you?” Penny asked.
“Yes,” she said. “But I didn’t kill anyone. It was a lark really.”
“A lark?”
“Heavington told me he’d give me a thousand dollars for every one of Butterbottom’s recipes I could sneak out of the kitchen.”
“You were selling recipes?”
“Yes,” she said, looking from one of us to the other. “Of course. Heavington was writing a Royal Palace recipe book. I thought everyone knew that. He got a million-dollar advance to write a recipe book based on the tables of the various royals he has dined with. The problem was that Heavington didn’t actually have any recipes.”
“So this is a picture of you passing a recipe on to Lord Heavington,” Ian said.
“Yes,” she said. “What did you think I was selling?”
“Something important enough to kill over,” Ian said. “Why don’t you
come with me and we’ll sort it all out.”
“Right,” Beth said.
Beth and Ian walked out of the lecture hall. I turned to Penny. “We might have solved the murder. I mean she might not have murdered Wentworth over the picture, but if Heavington’s publisher had caught wind that he actually didn’t have any recipes…”
“A million dollars is a bit of a motive for murder.”
“Exactly,” I said. “The problem is that Heavington wasn’t in London at the time, and he can prove it.”
“Unless he paid for a hit man to do it,” Penny suggested. “After all, he was paying Beth to get him the recipes from Butterbottom. I bet he paid a lot of people to sneak him official recipes from all over.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But how do we prove it?”
“By contacting Heavington’s admin, of course,” Penny said.
“Why?”
“Administrators know about everything,” she said with confidence.
“But he wouldn’t tell them he was hiring a hitman,” I said.
“No, but they would note any big budget item on his accounts.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, they have accountants who keep track of everything,” Penny said. “I bet he expensed the money he gave to Beth for the recipes. It wouldn’t surprise me to find that he had a reason for making a large withdrawal last week.”
“But isn’t poisoning someone with pie kind of unprofessional? I mean when you hire a hit man, don’t they usually use a gun or something swift and exacting? How would they have controlled who ate the pie? Do you think they forced him to eat the pie?”
“Ugh, those are all good points,” Penny said as we walked back to the duke and duchess’s apartments. “I suppose CID would have already thought of all that.”
“If not, then Ian will see that they do,” I said. “He seems to be on top of things like that.”
“The question is whether Heavington is a better suspect than you.”
“And what professional would he hire who can get inside the palace grounds and set me up as a killer?”
She opened the door to my kitchen. “It does seem all a little implausible.”
“Yes,” I said. “Thanks for introducing me to Beth. At least now we know she wasn’t selling state secrets.”