Lord of the Pies

by Nell Hampton

She let out a heart wrenching sob. Two officers pulled her away and let the coroner zip up the black body bag. Evie fell to her knees and covered her face with her hands. She was clearly distraught.

  Rachel followed Evie through the door and stood with her arms around her waist looking horrified at the scene.

  “How did these two women get in here?” DCI Garrote called to his staff. “Please keep people out of my crime scene.”

  “Can I go now?” I asked.

  “Yes, but I expect you to be free for more questions at a later date.”

  “Yes, sir.” I slipped away from the chaos. So both of Chef Wright’s mistresses were saddened by his passing. I wondered briefly if his wife would be as well. The guy was a bit slimy, but that didn’t mean he should have ended up dead.

  I walked quickly through the crowd and back across the parking lot to my kitchen. A glance at the clock told me it was six-thirty. Agnes had done an excellent job of cleaning up and prepping for breakfast.

  I fixed myself a cup of tea, hoping to ease the churning of my stomach. I could see the commotion going on at the Orangery. I wondered if Chef Wright was murdered or if his passing was just a bizarre accident. I was betting on murder.

  I put on an apron, washed up, and started baking. It’s what I did when I was upset, and Chef Wright’s death truly upset me. He had died just next to a room full of people working. No one noticed.

  I sighed and rubbed my forehead. I didn’t want that to happen to me. I concentrated on making sweet Danish dough with all its layers of butter. After making the Danishes, I put then in the fridge to wait to be baked up in the morning. Next, I made a big batch of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. After that I made brownies. If only I kept baking, then none of this would have happened.

  The door to my kitchen swung open, startling me out of my thoughts. “Oh, my goodness,” Penny said as she rushed in. “I heard you found Chef Wright. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” I started to make more cookies. I could freeze those to be served later. My grandmother always had a million different cookies in the freezer. She would take out a few of each kind and let them thaw, then serve them on giant platters with hot cocoa and coffee. I worked on autopilot, creaming butter and sugar.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said again and sat down. “We were just talking to him.”

  “I know.”

  “Where did you find him? I heard he was with a woman. But I also heard he was found in a cupboard.”

  “We found him in the walk-in freezer,” I said. “Where did you hear about the woman and the cupboard?”

  “Oh gosh, rumors are rampant right now. That’s why I thought I’d come down and get the scoop from the source.”

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a text from Nigel Bloom. How did he get my number? It read: “Heard you found Chef Wright dead. Can I have an exclusive?”

  I sighed.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s that tabloid reporter looking for an exclusive. I have no idea how he got my number.” I put my phone away. Best not to address it until the palace gave a statement to the press as a whole.

  “Maybe he knows someone at the phone company? Or maybe he paid someone to find it. Either way, you can’t tell him before you tell me. What was it like? Where did you find him? Why was it you who found him? Just how many cookies are you baking?”

  I shook my head at her. “I bake when I’m upset. It comforts me.”

  “Where’s Agnes?”

  “She had a family thing tonight. I’m afraid this whole thing might have ruined her night.”

  “Why?” Penny held the door open for me. I pushed the cart through.

  “They blocked everyone coming in and out of the palace area. I’ve been watching security slowly letting people leave. I hope she got out in time to attend her granddaughter’s school program. I should have stayed in my kitchen and away from the Orangery,” I said. “Now everyone is going to think I’m either a murderer or simply bad luck.”

  “Yikes.” Penny leaned against the counter. “What happened? Did he get trapped inside? Did he freeze to death or was it poison again?”

  “They don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know. Listen, I have to finish making this before I ruin all this dough.”

  “I’ll come back later,” she said as she straightened. “I’ll bring something stronger to drink than tea.”

  I raised a corner of my mouth in a half-smile. “I don’t think they make anything strong enough for what I’ve seen today.”

  “Are you going to talk to the tabloid reporter?”

  “What? No, I’m in enough trouble. I don’t know how the duchess is going to take all of this.”

  “All the deaths?”

  “All of the dead people I find,” I said.

  “Well, it’s only been two, right?” she pointed out. “I mean you didn’t find Wentworth and Butterbottom wasn’t killed. That means you only found Mr. Deems and now Chef Wright. She can’t hold that against you. Can she?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Even if she doesn’t, there are others who will worry about the future kings of England.”

  Chapter 21

  The next morning, I was called into Ian’s office. They put me in the conference room. I studied the small space with the two-way mirror and wondered when they were going to name it after me.

  “Thanks for coming in,” Ian said as he entered with a file folder.

  “I didn’t think I had a choice,” I said, tilting my head. “Is the duchess going to fire me?”

  “Why?” He seemed surprised by the question.

  “There seems to be a lot of death around me. If I had small children, I would take them somewhere far away.”

  Ian sat down across from me.

  “Especially future kings of England,” I said and felt defeated.

  “Did you sleep last night?” He asked.

  “Is it the five-pound bags under my eyes that gave it away? Look, just rip the Band-Aid off. Tell me that I’m being let go and…”

  “I’m not the one who lets people go,” he said. “That would be Mrs. Worth’s job. Has she called you in yet?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Then don’t make a problem where there isn’t one.”

  “Comforting,” I muttered.

  “Chef Cole, Carrie Ann, I’m going to ask you some of the same questions DCI Garrote will ask. We both have different reasons for our investigations and a need to know.”

  I put my elbows on the small conference table and rested my chin in my hands. “Why are your investigations different?”

  “I need to look into the security and safety of the palace grounds. DCI Garrote is looking for a killer.”

  “Do you think it’s only one killer? Was Chef Wright poisoned? Do you think it’s all related?”

  “You are full of questions,” he said, his gorgeous eyes emotionless. “I can’t answer during an ongoing investigation.”

  “I see. Do you think DCI Garrote will answer my questions?”

  “That’s up to him.”

  “What do you need to know, Chief?”

  Ian wasn’t acting like my friend any more. I wondered if it was because of my walking in on him kissing Lana. Or was there something about the investigation that was bothering him?

  “Chef Cole—”

  “Please, you know you can call me Carrie Ann, even officially.”

  “Chef Cole, please tell me why you were at the Orangery after teatime last night.”

  “Like I told you yesterday, I went to look for Chef Wright. I had an idea of how the pie that killed Wentworth could have been poisoned—not by me.”

  “How?”

  I explained about the meringue. “The poison could still be on any of his mixing bowls and things CID may not have thought to look at because everyone assumed I had made the pie in my kitchen. I thought I should warn him and his staff.”

  “Why not call me or DCI Garrote?”

 
I sent him a short smile. “You and the good inspector need more evidence and less supposition. You taught me that.”

  “I see. And why did you go into the freezer?”

  “I asked Sandy where Chef Wright was. She thought he was with one of his mistresses, but he’d been gone awhile. I asked her where the last time she saw him was.”

  “The freezer.” He took notes.

  “Yes,” I said. “We went over to the freezer, opened it up, and found him on the floor. The rest you know.”

  “Have you spoken to Sandy before?”

  “No, not as far as I can remember. We just met yesterday. I don’t think she was one of the assistants he had taken with him to the competition. I don’t even know her last name.”

  “Sandy Earnest,” he said. “She wasn’t at the competition because she was charged with running the Orangery in Chef Wright’s absence that day.”

  “Speaking of the competition, how is Chef Butterbottom?”

  “He’s fine. He starts back at work today.”

  “Oh, good,” I said. “Do you think his poisoning was somehow connected?”

  “That’s for the Inspector to discover,” he said. “It didn’t happen on the palace grounds.”

  “But the Orangery is on palace grounds, and you are looking into that. It would seem that the answer is inside Chef Wright’s kitchen. The only link I have to Chef Wright’s death is that I found the body.”

  “Indeed.” He sat back. “All the video corroborates your story. You were nowhere near the Orangery at the estimated time of death window.”

  I sat back with some relief. “Right.”

  “It’s still curious that you insisted on seeing him. He might have gone missing for another few hours or even overnight had you not pushed Chef Earnest into looking for him.”

  “Did you know that Sandy was with Chef Wright when he found Wentworth? Did you know that Wentworth wasn’t found face first in my pie, but that happened after Chef Wright shook him?”

  “I’m aware of the details.”

  “Well, it would have been nice for you to share them with me.”

  “Some details are best not shared,” he said. “Chef Cole, it’s our job to investigate. It’s best if you stay out of it. The fewer details you know the better for you.”

  “That’s not true.” I felt crushed. My voice trembled and my eyes welled. “I can’t go on working thinking that you believe I killed Wentworth.”

  He covered my hand with his. “You’re just one of many people we’re looking into.”

  “Oh. Good.” I wiped my eyes. “Do you think that Wentworth and Chef Wright were killed by the same person?”

  “Right now, there is no proof that the same person is responsible for both murders,” he said. “Chef Wright wasn’t poisoned.”

  “Oh,” I sniffed and sat back. “I guess that’s good? Or is it bad? Are there two killers?” I felt a shiver run down my back.

  “I can’t share any details.”

  “You need to check the bowls and utensils in Chef Wright’s kitchen,” I said. “If I’m correct and someone removed my meringue and recovered the pie with poison meringue, they could have left evidence in the kitchen.”

  “DCI Garrote and I will look into it,” he said and for the first time his gaze looked sincere. “I need you to stay here. DCI Garrote is here to ask you some questions.”

  “Okay.”

  He stood, and when he reached the door, he turned to look at me. “I didn’t think for one moment you did this, Carrie Ann.” He left.

  I felt some relief. It was nice to know that someone besides me was looking for Wentworth’s killer.

  My time with Detective Chief Inspector Garrote ran over lunch. I answered all his questions. Most of them were questions I’d already answered. I guess they needed me to answer again to see if my story remained the same. It did, because why lie?

  On my way back to my kitchen I ran into Chef Earnest on her way up for questioning. “Are you doing okay?”

  “I guess I’m fine,” she said. She wore black slacks and a white top just like I did. Her thin blonde hair was pulled back, showing off her round face and baby blue eyes. “It’s so strange, though. Everyone is looking to me to take up the slack now that Chef Wright is gone.” She shrugged. “I’ve been doing it for years. It’s just now everyone acknowledges it.”

  “I understand he wasn’t poisoned,” I said. “I’m glad that means no one else is in danger.”

  “That we know of,” she frowned. “CID was just in the kitchen pulling bowls and utensils off the shelves. Do you know what they were looking for?”

  “I think they’re checking for traces of cyanide,” I said. “I told them about the meringue theory.”

  “What meringue theory?”

  “I think the killer could have scooped the meringue off my pie and replaced it with poison meringue.”

  “You think the killer used our utensils?”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll only keep something if they find traces of poison on it.”

  “I’m not worried about getting it back. Not if they find cyanide on it.”

  “They are only looking for trace amounts.” I put my hand on her arm to soothe her rising fear. “Trace is a good thing. It means they’re closer to finding the killer.”

  “Who has cyanide anyway? Any idea how they got it? I mean, I don’t think you can just buy it on the street. Can you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Chef Earnest,” Kathi called. “They are waiting for you in the conference room.”

  “Got to go,” she said.

  “Contact me if you need anything,” I said.

  “Same.” She walked back to the conference room.

  I was glad that someone had taken my theory of the meringue seriously. It was also nice to know that I wasn’t considered the only suspect. Heading back to my kitchen I had to wonder: Who were the other suspects? Clearly they hadn’t told me everything if they knew that Wentworth wasn’t found with his face in my pie like the tabloids suggested.

  Speaking of tabloids, I should get ahold of Nigel. He might know something that could help me. It didn’t matter so much if the police cleared my name if the tabloids continued to make me look like a killer. I needed to do some PR.

  I got back in time to find Agnes doing the lunch dishes. “Well, they certainly held you awhile,” she said as she scrubbed a pot. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I guess I’m less of a suspect than they let on.”

  “Well, that’s certainly good news. What do they know about the dead man you discovered yesterday? I hear they have closed the Orangery for the day.”

  “They aren’t telling me anything about Chef Wright. Except that he didn’t die of poisoning” I put on an apron. I grabbed ingredients to make petit fours for the family’s tea. I had at least six different cookies baked the night before and ready for tea, but I liked to offer something other than cookies.

  “That changes things, then,” Agnes said. “Not the same killer?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I suppose it could be the same killer. They just found a different means to kill Chef Wright. They may not have been as successful as they wanted with poisoning. I mean, they may have wanted to kill Chef Wright all along and instead got Wentworth.”

  “So you think they were trying to kill Chef Wright when they poisoned Chef Butterbottom and his assistants?”

  “Maybe,” I said as I mixed the cakes. I was making chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla cakes to make Neapolitan petit fours. “I suppose it could also be different killers with different motives.”

  “You found the body.” She picked up a towel to dry the dishes. “Did you see a gunshot wound?”

  “No.”

  “Was his head bashed in?”

  I shook my head and poured the chocolate cake into the long, thin jelly roll pan. “I didn’t see any wounds to his head. In fact, I didn’t see any signs of blood loss. But he was rea
lly blue. We thought he might just have hypothermia. So I placed towels on him to help slowly warm him until the ambulance techs arrived.”

  “But he was dead,” she said.

  “Yes.” I put the pan into the oven and set the timer. “They think he was dead at least an hour before we found him. I guess it was hard to tell because the freezer slowed down the postmortem process.”

  “Yikes,” Agnes said. “To think they had a dead man among all the food in the freezer. I don’t think they can use any of that to feed the public now. I mean, yuck. Right?”

  “Right,” I said with a sigh. I hadn’t thought about all the frozen foods and juices that were stored in the walk-in freezer. But I imagine they would have to clean the freezer out and start over like I did with my kitchen garden once Mr. Deems body was taken out.

  I poured strawberry cake into a second jelly roll pan and placed it in the oven. “I wonder how you die with no marks on your body if you aren’t poisoned?”

  “Maybe there were marks you didn’t see,” Agnes pointed out. “Did you move him?”

  “No. I didn’t want to hurt him or contaminate the scene.”

  “Well, then he might have been shot or hit over the head or stabbed in the ribs or something.”

  “But wouldn’t there have been blood?”

  “You were in a freezer, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe it was cold enough to stop the flow.”

  I winced. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “Well, see, there you go. It most likely was something like that. Did you ask the Detective Chief Inspector how Chef died?”

  “Gosh, no, I doubt he would tell me. I mean there are things about Wentworth’s death they didn’t tell me. As far as Detective Chief Inspector Garrote and Security Chief Gordon are concerned, I don’t have a need to know such details.”

  My phone rang. It was Nigel. I sighed and answered. “This is Chef Cole.”

  “Chef Cole,” Nigel’s voice was strong. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. I’m working.”

  “I understand,” he said. “I heard you found Chef Wright’s body in the Orangery. I’d love to have your take on the story.”

  “There’s not much to say,” I hedged.

  “I suppose I can always run with the story of a lover’s spat killing the man. I might mention your name and use the pictures of you and Chef Wright that Wentworth sold me.”