by Lyndsey Cole
Annie could see the concern etched on Jason’s face. She felt bad that she’d left him at the dining room table for so long while she and Leona dawdled in the kitchen.
Connie leaned against the island, supporting herself, instead of crashing to the floor.
Roxy and Buddy barked and ran circles around the kitchen until the smoke alarm was silenced.
“Sorry. Everything’s under control.” Annie made a waving gesture with her hands, trying to shoo everyone out of the kitchen so they could clean up the burned-to-a-crisp mess. “We got distracted after Leona started to make more paninis and we had to look for one more ingredient. Just an oversight on the hot griddle. No problem.”
George frowned. “Maybe you need more cooking lessons before you burn this place down. Or maybe that’s your intent,” he said with disgust in his voice. “You can’t keep the lights on during a storm, a guest is murdered, and now,” he waved his arm around the smoky kitchen, “you try to burn this place down. Are you so desperate for the insurance money that you put all of our lives in danger?”
Leona’s jaw dropped at the insult. Annie pushed her toward the stove and away from George. “Jason, would you mind escorting our guests back to the table, please?”
Jason raised one eyebrow, gave Annie a slight nod, and held his arms out in an attempt to herd George, Sarah, and Connie out of the kitchen.
Connie fanned the smoke away from her face. “I’m all set with the panini I already enjoyed.” She glanced at the blackened bread in a pile next to the stove. “Could we move on to dessert? There is dessert, I hope.”
“Great idea,” Annie gushed. “Dessert will be out in a jiffy.”
George pulled Sarah’s arm and followed Connie out.
Jason lingered at the door. “What’s really going on?” he asked Annie. “Something distracted you to take your attention away from the stove?”
Annie pulled the paper from Leona’s grasp. “We found this along with the chef’s recipes for the weekend.”
Now it was Alex’s turn to raise an eyebrow in surprise. “His recipe plans for the weekend?”
“And this.” Annie shoved the paper under Jason’s eyes. “Read it.”
It only took Jason seconds to scan the paper. Twice. He handed it to Alex. “You better show this to Detective Crank, Annie. It certainly gives Chef Marcel a motive to kill Phil.”
“But who killed the chef?” Annie asked. “Do you think his killer stole the manuscript from his room?”
“Hold on a second,” Alex interrupted. “You’re jumping to conclusions here. There is more than one possibility.”
Leona, Annie, and Jason looked at Alex.
“First,” Alex raised his index finger, “maybe the chef didn’t even bring his manuscript. Second,” his middle finger joined his index finger, “maybe the chef did give the manuscript to Phil and the police have it. Or third, the chef didn’t give his manuscript to Phil but brought it here to the Blackbird and someone stole it like you suggested, Annie.”
“You could have stolen it,” Annie said. “You were upstairs while most of us were still down here in the living room before dinner. You could have slipped into the chef’s room and stolen the manuscript.”
“Why?” Alex asked with a tinge of anger in his voice. “What do I want with a rough draft of a cookbook?” He took a deep breath and continued, “This is the way I see it—figure out the scam that Phil mentioned, and that will lead us to his murderer; figure out who stole the manuscript to lead us to the chef’s killer.”
“So you suspect two killers?”
Alex nodded.
Annie deflated a bit. Alex had good points. Was it time to stop thinking about him as a suspect and start cooperating with him instead?
As if Alex could read her mind, he pulled Robin’s phone from his pocket and handed it to Annie. “Here. You should take charge of this. If there’s anything important, it’s on you to decide what to do with the information.”
Annie nodded her appreciation. She had forgotten about Alex having Robin’s phone and this simple gesture helped her make up her mind about him.
Leona stood off to one side shuffling through the recipe cards. She picked up the handwritten note found with them. Her eyes moved back and forth between the different documents. “Take a look at this and tell me what you guys think.” She handed everything to Annie.
Annie read the recipe cards and the note. She shrugged and was about to hand everything to Jason but jerked her hand back and held one of the recipe cards next to the note. Her heart pounded. “This is significant. It’s all the same handwriting.”
Jason and Alex leaned over her shoulder, took several seconds to study the writing, and nodded their agreement.
Leona said, “Either Chef Marcel wrote the note to himself for some crazy reason—”
“Or he was using Phil’s recipes,” Annie finished Leona’s sentence. “Wow. Is that the scam? Phil was the mastermind behind the cookbook and he demanded his cut from Chef Marcel?”
Annie pushed through the kitchen door into the dining room on a mission. She barely noticed what Connie’s chatter to George and Sarah was all about but she was glad the three weren’t just sitting in silence.
“Is dessert on the way?” Connie asked.
“Just about. Have another glass of wine while you wait, “Annie said as she breezed through to the living room. She searched through a pile of papers on one of the tables and found what she was looking for.
Back in the kitchen, she opened the workshop brochure to the section where the chef had written a note to Connie. Annie pointed to the words on the brochure and read them out loud, “Good luck with your éclairs. -Chef Marcel.”
“That writing doesn’t match with the others,” Leona stated the obvious. “See how the chef’s letters on this brochure are printed in all caps. All his letters are vertical and written with a heavy hand. The recipes are written in a neat flowing cursive style. They couldn’t be any more different from each other.”
Annie summed up her thoughts. “I think the chef conned Phil into giving him recipes for this weekend’s workshop, stuffed them in the envelope with the demand letter, added something to the coffee that killed him, then hoped to figure out a way to cancel the workshop. The snowstorm and power outage were the perfect excuses for him . . . if he hadn’t gotten murdered.”
“That’s all well and good,” Jason said, “but who killed the chef?”
Annie’s mouth puckered in frustration. “We’re right back where we started. Jason, go check on the guests and tell Connie dessert is on the way.”
He nodded and left.
Alex fidgeted. “Can I help with something?”
Annie made a quick decision and this time she was one hundred percent sure when she decided to put her trust with Alex. “Yes, go up to Robin’s room and take a look around before she gets back. Don’t move anything, just look.”
“Are you sure?” Leona asked. “If he gets caught in a guest’s room, it won’t look good for my reputation.”
“Good point. I’ll do it.” Annie handed Alex the dessert plates and forks. “Alex can help you serve dessert.”
Leona’s face relaxed. “Get a stack of fresh towels from the upstairs linen closet just in case Robin returns. It won’t look so suspicious if you’re in her room exchanging her towels.”
“What are you looking for, Annie?” Alex asked as he paused at the door leading into the dining room.
“I don’t know, but she’s not here and it will satisfy my curiosity to take a quick look around.” Annie waved the phone in front of Alex. “I need to put this in her room, too.” She turned her attention to her aunt. “Don’t worry, Leona, Robin will never know I was in there.”
As Alex pushed through the door with the dessert plates, contented sounds of conversation floated into the kitchen. “Yes, here comes dessert,” Connie screeched.
“Well, I’ve got the plates and forks but I’ll be right back with dessert,” Alex replied.
Annie climbed the back stairs, two at a time, and grabbed a stack of towels from the linen closet. Leona had them color coded by room but Annie didn’t bother to try to remember if Robin had the blue towels or the green ones. It would all get sorted out in the wash. She chuckled at her own silly joke which helped ease the nervous tension for her task.
The door into Robin’s room was locked but Annie had a master key and made quick work of unlocking the door and slipping inside. She flipped on the light and was pleased to see that the shades were down which might help hide the fact that she was inside if Robin returned from the police station soon. She gathered up the dirty towels and hung fresh ones as she examined the room.
The bed was neatly made, a pair of slippers waited on the small rug next to the bed, and the antique desk had a stack of papers under a notebook with several black pens carefully lined up on top. No computer was in sight. Robin was neat and tidy and well organized, Annie observed. Robin’s small suitcase was closed and sitting on top of a chair. Annie paused as she considered whether she dared to open it. She decided not to.
She tossed Robin’s phone on the bed thinking that looked like an obvious place where she might have forgotten it.
As Annie stood in the center of the room with everything seeming to be exactly where it should be, Robin’s words from Saturday surfaced from her memory. Hadn’t Robin said she knew who killed the chef? It could have just been a boastful statement to shock Annie, or maybe she did know something.
Annie’s focus returned to the desk. Robin mentioned that she spent time writing down her ideas when she went to her room. She could peek at the notebook. Annie took a step toward the desk, and then another. She hesitated. Before she could stop her hands they picked up the notebook, sending the pens rolling to the floor.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Robin’s voice sent a jolt of panic straight to Annie’s heart. She must have come straight upstairs when she returned without anyone seeing her.
How did Annie not hear Robin approaching? Was she so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the muffled footsteps? “I brought you clean towels and, you know, I’m such a klutz sometimes. I bumped into the desk, the pens rolled off, and I caught your notebook before it slid off, too.” Annie’s excuse came out easily and it even sounded reasonable to her own ears.
“Yeah, well, you can leave now.” Robin snatched the notebook from Annie’s hand. When she bent down to scoop up the pens, Annie glanced at the papers that had been hidden by the notebook. Recipes? She reached for the papers. Robin’s hand caught Annie by the wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Annie shook Robin’s hand off and glared at the younger woman. “You have Chef Marcel’s manuscript?”
“It’s not what you think,” Robin said, her voice coming out barely above a whisper.
28
Annie crossed her arms and spoke through gritted teeth. “What do I think, Robin? Reading minds is a talent of yours?”
A smug grin spread across Robin’s face. “You think I killed the chef and stole his manuscript. At least, that’s what the obvious clues would suggest . . . but that’s not what happened.” She smirked.
“Okay. Tell me your version.” Annie wasn’t buying any of Robin’s theories. For now. She was too smug, too cavalier, and much too cocky for her own good.
Robin crossed her arms to match Annie’s stance and stared right back at her. “Maybe the chef gave me his manuscript . . . for safe keeping . . . because he identified with me as a fellow writer and,” she paused for dramatic effect, “he suspected that someone wanted to steal it.”
Annie choked on a laugh. “Maybe, but you’re giving yourself an awful lot of credit with that line.” She picked up the manuscript. “I agree with you that someone killed the chef over this pile of papers, but do I think that’s you? I’m not sure. But since Jared already confessed to being in the chef’s room, I would put him above you as the top suspect. By the way, how was your visit to the police station with Detective Crank?” Annie felt a tremor run through her body just from the thought of sitting in a small room with the detective.
“Piece of cake. She thinks she’s all toughness and intimidation, especially after she separated us to ask her questions. I suppose she expected me to fall apart into a quivering mass of Jell-O but I gave her what she wanted and she let her guard down. I’d even go as far as to say she turned on her charm to make me think we were some kind of buddies.”
“Charm?” Annie almost choked. “I’d never put charm and Detective Crank in the same sentence. What exactly did you tell her?” Robin’s confidence level only seemed to have risen after her time with Christy.
“The truth. I have nothing to hide. I gave her my timeline of Jared’s movements and told her what he told me, including how he peed himself when he was hiding under the chef’s bed.”
“You’re kidding! How could you embarrass him like that? He’s your friend.”
Robin shrugged. “I think she might have already figured it out. Have you checked under the bed for urine? Besides, I wanted the detective to have some sympathy for Jared. Don’t you think that if someone is so scared they pee themselves, they probably aren’t brave enough to be a killer? I think it shows Jared to be exactly who he is—a big wuss.”
Annie had to admit that Robin had a good point. Sort of. She’d found him quaking in the bathtub in Robin’s room right after she and Leona discovered the chef’s body. He certainly didn’t look or act like a murderer then. “That’s all interesting but it doesn’t explain how this,” Annie slapped the thick manuscript on the desk, “ended up here.”
“Jared stole it,” Robin said with a quick shrug of her shoulders. “He said it was under the chef’s bed when he was hiding there. He assumed it had to be worth something.”
“Let me get this straight. Jared went into the chef’s room, heard him coming, hid under the bed, peed himself, but still focused enough to steal the chef’s manuscript.”
“I never said he was particularly smart. Jared told me he was bored and was going to poke around, see if he could find anything interesting. He never expected to be a witness to a murder.” Robin picked up the manuscript and tapped all the pages on the desk to line them up before she set it back down in the exact middle of the desk.
Annie pulled on Robin’s arm, forcing her to turn around and face her. “He witnessed the murder and it has taken the two of you this long to come forward with this information? After two people are dead? What were you waiting for, a third body to turn up in a closet or something like that?”
Robin moved her suitcase to the floor and relaxed into the chair with her legs crossed. “My choice of words wasn’t the best. Jared didn’t exactly witness the murder since he was under the bed and the dust ruffle hid him from being seen or from him actually seeing anything. But he was in the room when he heard someone come in, the chef gasped, then made a gurgling choking noise before it all went quiet. It’s not too much of a leap to assume it was the murderer in the room. Jared also heard that person shuffling around like they were looking for something, or at least that was Jared’s conclusion based on the noises he heard. Once he heard the door open and close again he rolled out from under the bed and saw the chef with his tongue out and eyes bulging. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to stifle a scream before he managed to make it back to my room. Honestly, I never saw anyone with less color in their face.”
“Who, Jared or Chef Marcel?”
Robin chuckled. “Nice try with that subtle trap, but I never saw the chef when he was dead.”
“So, what are you going to do with the chef’s manuscript?” Annie asked.
“I haven’t decided yet. I’m not even sure if the detective knows about i
t. If I tell her that Jared stole the manuscript, she will see it as a motive for him and I don’t want to give her any more ammunition against him. Once I figure out who did kill the chef, that’s when I’ll turn it over.”
“I recall that you already told me you knew who killed him.”
“I lied.” Robin stood without showing any embarrassment about that particular behavior. She picked her phone up off the bed and slipped it into her pocket. “Time for you to leave. You’ve already wasted too much of my time.”
If Robin so easily admitted to that one lie, what else was she lying about? Annie thought it was a well thought-out story that Robin presented to her but was it truth or part of Robin’s fictional imagination? As soon as she was allowed back in the chef’s room, she planned to check under the bed for that bit of evidence from Jared but she certainly wouldn’t tell Leona what might be there on the floor. Not yet, at least.
Annie returned to the dining room and slid onto the chair next to Jason. He gave her one of his where-have-you-been looks but she just patted his thigh. This wasn’t the time or place to share what she’d learned from Robin. “Any cake left?”
“Oh, Annie, Leona’s cherry buried cake is to die for.” Connie’s voice rose an octave on the word ‘die.’ “To die from eating too much chocolate couldn’t be such a bad way to go, right?” She didn’t wait for a response but looked at the tray which only had a few cake crumbs left on it. “I’d love another piece so Annie doesn’t have to eat all by herself.”
Leona rolled her eyes as she stood. “I’ll bring in more dessert. And coffee?”
“Oh, yes, you read my mind,” Connie giggled. “I need something to wake up my brain after all that wine I drank.”
Alex followed Leona into the kitchen, leaving Annie and Jason to carry the conversation with the guests.
“Robin is back from the police station,” Annie said. She carefully watched everyone’s reactions.