Lord of the Pies

by Nell Hampton

  “You would not!” I said. I hated to be blackmailed. And this was blackmail.

  “I’m a tabloid journalist,” Nigel said. “I go with whatever story I can get my hands on.”

  “Fine, I’m working until nine PM.”

  “Great, I’ll meet you at Nags Head Pub at nine-thirty.”

  “All right,” I said. “Do I need to bring a lawyer?”

  “What do you need a solicitor for? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “Not particularly,” I said.

  He laughed. “Oh, come on, it’s not personal you know. It’s just business.”

  “Right,” I muttered. “See you then.”

  Chapter 22

  I arrived at the Nag’s Head Pub at nine-fifteen PM. It didn’t take long to find Nigel. He sat near the windows on the right. “Hello, Nigel,” I said as I approached.

  “Hello, Chef.” He stood to shake my hand. “I hope it’s all right that I ordered you a pint.”

  I shook his hand then broke off and took a seat. “I’m tired, Nigel,” I said. “What can I do to make this quick.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I had to threaten blackmail to get you to talk to me. I wouldn’t really do it, you know.”

  “I don’t know that,” I said. “It’s why I’m here. I don’t want anyone—let alone Fake News—to suggest that I had anything to do with Chef Wright’s murder.”

  “So he was murdered,” Nigel said as he sat down. “I’m going to record this if that’s all right with you.”

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

  “Okay. I’ll take notes.” He pulled a small notepad out of his coat pocket and started writing. “Chef Wright was murdered. Do you know how he was killed?”

  “No,” I said. “CID isn’t disclosing that information.”

  “But you found the body. You saw him. What did you see?”

  “I saw a man who looked frozen. His skin was blue and his eyes closed.”

  “I heard you found him in the freezer. Is that correct? Was he sitting, standing, stuffed in a corner?”

  “Yes, I found him in the Orangery’s walk-in freezer. He was lying on the floor. I didn’t see any blood. There was no evidence that he’d been hurt other than he was blue and cold to the touch. We tried to warm him with towels while we waited for the ambulance techs to arrive.”

  “How long did it take for them to arrive?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “But when they came, they pronounced him dead. After that I was shuffled off. That’s all I know.” I put my elbows on the table. “It’s hardly worth blackmailing me for the interview.”

  “Yeah, so that was probably an overstatement on my part. Look, I needed an insider to interview.”

  “And you know me.”

  “Exactly.” He sat back. “You haven’t touched your pint.”

  “I’m not thirsty,” I said. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

  “Sure, I’d love to know if you have any idea who might have done it. Who killed Chef Wright? Was it one of his girlfriends? Or maybe his wife?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I won’t speculate, either, Nigel. Is there anything else you need from me? I need to get to bed. I get up pretty early to feed the family.”

  “Do you think that Chef Wright’s death is connected to Wentworth Uleman’s death? Or the poisoning of Chef Butterbottom?”

  “I can’t speculate,” I said, falling back on the words I’d heard so many times on procedural cop shows.

  “Do you think it’s a palace security issue? Or is there someone on the inside committing these heinous crimes?”

  “I have no idea.” I leaned forward. “You really should interview Chief Gordon or Detective Chief Inspector Garrote. They are more up to date with the investigation than I am.”

  “What was it like?”

  “What?”

  “Finding another dead body?”

  “It’s heartbreaking, and I hope I never have to find another one my entire life.”

  “Oh, that’s a great quote. Heartbreaking death of Chef Wright.”

  “Please don’t write that,” I said. “You make me sound like one of his women.”

  “Listen, I’m not trying to make you look bad…”

  “No, you’re trying to sell your tabloid.”

  “Yes,” he said with a rueful smile. “But I also want to help you out. Clearly you are in the middle of something you had nothing to do with.”

  “Thank you…”

  “I want to help. I have learned that all of the poisonings might be connected to Chef Wright.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you told me yourself that you left the pie for Chef Wright. Correct?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t explain Chef Butterbottom and his staff getting sick.”

  “What if I told you that I have a source who confirms that Butterbottom was poisoned by using water from a bottle that was meant for Chef Wright?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” Nigel said. “One of Butterbottom’s assistants was told to get bottled water. You know how unreasonable Butterbottom can be.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, when the assistant said he couldn’t find what Butterbottom wanted he was told to beg, borrow, and steal it if necessary.”

  “So he took it from Chef Wright’s station?”

  “He took it from Chef Wright’s station. “Butterbottom’s assistant used it to make tea and poisoned everyone at Butterbottom’s station.”

  “That means that Wentworth’s death might have been an accident.”

  “Yes,” Nigel confirmed.

  “The killer must have given up poisoning and simply done Chef Wright in themselves. But who? And how? I mean we found him in the walk-in freezer of a busy kitchen.”

  “Do you know if there is security footage of the inside of the kitchen?”

  “No,” I said with a frown. “No, I don’t think they have cameras inside the kitchen. There really isn’t any need.”

  “Who has access to the kitchen?”

  “The staff, of course.” I drummed my fingers on my chin. “I was able to get in fairly easily.”

  “Did they mention if anyone unusual was in the kitchen that day?”

  “I didn’t hear anything like that,” I said. “But I can find out. Surely someone noticed people coming and going. I doubt a staff member would risk trying to poison Chef Wright. I mean, we all know how chaotic a kitchen can get.”

  “You don’t think a member of his staff is responsible?”

  “I highly doubt it.” I drank a bit from the pint he had ordered for me. “Still…”

  “What?”

  I explained to Nigel about the meringue theory. “It means that the killer has to know something about cooking.”

  “At least how to make meringue that would fool a chef.”

  “Unless it didn’t have to fool a chef,” I said with a sigh. “People around here seem to believe that my cooking is second rate. The killer might have thought they could pass off bad presentation as mine.”

  “Which means they don’t necessarily have to know how to do anything more than make rudimentary meringue.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It could be anyone in Chef Wright’s circle.” I drew my eyebrows together. “Except maybe his wife. I have never met her. I don’t recall anyone talking about her. I would think that a visit from her would be noticed by the staff.”

  “Especially since he had so many lovers on the palace grounds.”

  “I don’t get that,” I said. “I mean, the man was slimy. Not exactly lover material. I don’t know what Rachel and Evie saw in him.”

  “Who are Rachel and Evie?”

  I sat up straight. “I’ve said too much. Thank you for the drink and for not making up stories about me for your tabloid.”

  “Thank you for the interesting conversation,” Nigel said and sent me a small two finger salute. “Until next time, chérie.”

  “No of
fense, but I hope there’s not a next time.”

  He grinned. “No offense taken.” He drank down the rest of my beer, then grabbed his own. “Cheers.”

  I left the pub in a thoughtful mood. What if someone had been out to kill Chef Wright all along? They finally succeeded. But who was it? How did they do it?

  It probably wasn’t the safest idea to walk from the pub back to the palace alone. But there was a cool, soft rain, and I was lost in my thoughts. There wasn’t really a tube connection for the half a mile or so. I could have taken a car, I suppose, but I was glad for the walk.

  I was about two blocks from the pub when I noticed the footsteps behind me. The streets were clear because it was late and raining. Trust me, no one walked in the rain unless they were a crazy American.

  Shrugging deeper into my trench, I shoved my hands in my pockets and hurried along. The footsteps behind me seemed to match mine. I stopped and looked around. I didn’t see anyone. But I suppose it would be easy to duck into a doorway. Maybe if I cut through the park I would be able to tell if someone really followed me or if I was being paranoid after everything that had been going on lately.

  I hurried across the street and into the park. The large, still, mangled trees—twisted by the bombings from World War II—threw eerie shadows my way. The sound of footsteps echoed behind me, and I ducked into a brick building, which housed locked toilets. The footsteps stopped.

  No one walked passed me. I bit my bottom lip and pulled out my phone.

  “Hey, girl,” Penny’s familiar voice said. “Where are you? I came to your kitchen for tea and a biscuit and you weren’t there.”

  “I had an appointment to see Nigel,” I said.

  “The tabloid reporter?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m walking home now from the Nag’s Head Pub, and I thought I heard someone following me.”

  “Oh, that’s not good,” Penny said. “I just looked outside. It’s raining. Are you crazy? Why didn’t you take a car?”

  “I like the rain,” I said.

  “Except that a murderer is out and about killing random palace chefs,” Penny said. “Stay where you are. I’ll come get you.”

  “No, that’s silly,” I said. “I’m not far.”

  “Where is not far?”

  “I ducked into the rest area in the park.”

  “Are you seriously trying to get murdered?” Penny sounded genuinely scolding.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “That’s why you called me.”

  “Yes, see, I called you. I’m not stupid.”

  “What am I supposed to do if something happens while you’re on the phone with me? I might as well be a million miles away.”

  “Now you’re being dramatic,” I said. “I’m stepping back out to head home.”

  “Chef Cole?”

  I gasped at the sound of my name and turned nearly dropping my phone. “How do you know my name?”

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said. “I’m Deputy Inspector Packman. I know you from your pictures in the tabloids.”

  “I’m on the phone with my friend,” I said. “Penny, this man says he’s Deputy Inspector Packman. He says he knows my name because of the tabloids.”

  “Oh my gosh!” Penny said. “I told you to wait for me. Take his picture.”

  I lifted my phone and took a flashing photo of the man. It was blurry and uncertain. “Stay away from me.”

  “Chef Cole,” he raised his hands, “I’m going to reach inside my coat and get my ID.”

  “Sure you are.” I took two steps back. “I’ve got people on the way. So if I were you, I’d get lost.”

  “Here is my ID.” He held out a wallet with a badge on it.

  “Are you the one who was following me?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I saw you talking to that tabloid reporter.”

  “So?”

  “I am investigating the man for fraud and possible homicide.”

  “Wait, what? You’re following Nigel?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you about your relationship with the man.”

  “Then call the palace in the morning and make an appointment,” I said. “Don’t scare the pants off me and my friends by following me late at night.”

  “Right,” he said. He wore a black overcoat and his hair was dark. I’d gauge him to be in his early thirties.

  “I’m on my way to you,” Penny’s voice said over the phone. “I’m bringing reinforcements.”

  “People are coming for me,” I informed the DI. “I’d suggest you leave.”

  “I’d rather stay and see you get home safely,” he said.

  “Fine,” I said. “But stay back. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  I walked backwards toward the palace keeping my attention on the man.

  “You’re going to get hurt walking that way,” he said mildly.

  “I’m not turning my back on you.”

  “Trust me, if I were going to harm you, I would have done it when there were dark alleys to pull you down. What are you doing walking in this area by yourself anyway?”

  “I walked Chicago all the time,” I said. “London is hardly more crime ridden than that.”

  “I see.”

  “I am a grown woman and can take care of myself.”

  “Right.”

  I rolled my eyes at the lack of conviction in his tone. “Why do you want to talk to me anyway? I barely know Nigel. In fact, I wouldn’t have met with him at all if he didn’t threaten to blackmail me.”

  “He threatened you? How so?”

  “He said he might have to publish a story that I was a killer, if I didn’t tell him what I knew about finding Chef Wright.”

  “And you took him seriously?”

  “Yes, he writes for a tabloid. Who knows what they will say.”

  “But you trust him enough to go off on your own and meet with him, a supposed blackmailer.”

  “Look, believe what you want. Just stay away from me.”

  “Carrie Ann?”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Penny and Jasper rushing my way. “My friends are here. Please go away.”

  “Who the heck are you?” Jasper asked and put his arm around my shoulder. Jasper wore a sporty rain coat, jeans, and boots. “What are you doing scaring Carrie Ann?”

  “I’m Deputy Inspector Packman,” he pulled out his ID. Jasper took it and held up his cell phone flashlight to read the badge. “I’m investigating Nigel Bloom and saw Chef Cole speaking to him this evening.”

  “That gives you the right to follow her home?” Jasper asked.

  “I didn’t mean to scare her,” he said. “I’ll be in touch, Chef.” He turned and left Jasper, Penny, and me on the sidewalk in Hyde Park.

  “Well, that was interesting,” I said.

  “What are you thinking, walking home by yourself?” Jasper asked.

  I made a face at him and Penny. “I was thinking it was rainy. I needed time to think, and I doubted that anyone was out on the streets.”

  “Lesson learned.” Penny put her arm through mine and walked me toward the palace.

  “I called you right away,” I had to point out.

  “Who’s Nigel Bloom?” Jasper asked. “Do I have competition?”

  “No,” I said and laughed at the idea. “Nigel is a reporter for the tabloid Fake News. You were there when I met him, remember?”

  “Oh, right, that Nigel. What did he want?”

  “He heard I found Chef Wright’s dead body and demanded an interview.”

  “How can he demand an interview?” Jasper asked.

  “He threatened to make up an unfavorable story if I didn’t come and give him my version of events.”

  “You shouldn’t give in to threats,” Penny said. “You work at Kensington Palace now. People need to know you are incorruptible.”

  “I am incorruptible,” I said. “I was tired of people thinking I’ve come to London to kill peo
ple. It really didn’t take much of a threat to get me to come tell my story.”

  “You really need to be careful of who you talk to,” Jasper said.

  “Well, it’s definitely not going to be Nigel. Now that I know he is under investigation, I’m not going to talk to him anymore.”

  “Even if the headlines turn against you?” Penny asked.

  “Even then.” I hoped Nigel would keep me out of his headlines altogether.

  Chapter 23

  I laid in bed that night staring at the ceiling. Jasper and Penny were right. I should not have allowed Nigel’s threat to influence me. Ugh. There was only one way to get to the bottom of this, and that was to find the killer once and for all.

  But how?

  Something was bothering me. It was as if I should know who did it but the thought was just out of reach. Why should I know? That was the biggest question.

  The alarm went off at five AM, and my eyes felt filled with gravel from lack of sleep. I showered, put on my usual work clothes, and went down to the kitchen to work up the day’s menus.

  Feeling lost, I turned on the light and made a pot of hot water for my French roast coffee.

  It was embarrassing to have to call Penny and have her and Jasper come get me from the park. I made a vow to myself to take a taxi or a car from now on. That is, if there was a now on. There was an email in my palace inbox from Mrs. Worth. She wanted to see me in her office after breakfast. Great.

  Agnes showed up in time to pull out today’s breakfast rolls, scoop the oatmeal porridge into a serving bowl, and plate the sliced seasonal fruits. The duke was out this morning, and the duchess had asked for a simple breakfast for her and the children.

  “Whatever does Mrs. Worth want to see you for?” Agnes asked as she headed toward the door with the pushcart serving tray.

  “I guess I’ll find that out,” I said. “Lunch menu is on the board. Tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, and chocolate pudding for desert.”

  “Sounds good,” Agnes said with a smile. “Good luck with Mrs. Worth”

  “Thanks.” I hung up my apron and put on a clean chef’s coat before heading out of the kitchen, down the hall, and up the stairs. I could take the elevator but the walk helped soothe my nerves.