by Liz Turner
Murder at the Menu Tasting
A Cozy Mystery in the Rockies
Liz Turner
Copyright 2016 by Cabo Publishing Group - All rights reserved.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No part of this publication or the information in it may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Liz Turner, Cabo Publishing Group.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Author
Chapter 1
There’s a kind of beauty Nature holds that words can’t describe, though the tourist guides of Larch Hot Springs tried really hard to.
Located just twenty kilometers upstream of Banff National Park and nestled beside the picturesque Bow River, Larch Hot Springs is a sleepy resort town whose skyline is dominated by the snowy peaks of the Canadian Rockies. The town, named for its hot springs that were once believed to have healing powers, looks out over a dense forest populated by elk and grizzly bears.
“Victoria! I’ve told you not to touch anything!” Her father hissed. “Put that down at once.”
“Dad. Relax. I’m just reading the tourism…”
“Well don’t.” Her father said. “This is the Larch Luminary, not the Larch Library.”
“Did you know this hotel was established in the 1890s when a Scottish Baron came over to Canada and decided to live his life here?” The teen asked, still peeking at the tourist guide.
“All I know is I’ve been summoned by Augustin Pelletier, multi-billionaire, and if we’re lucky and work hard, our catering business might just get the biggest deal of my life.” Her father said, then corrected. “Our life.”
He straightened his tie, and Victoria adopted the pose she’d perfected at 13 but still used even at 19. The pose of a teenager utterly embarrassed to be seen with someone like her father.
“Dad you’re oozing desperation. It’s not attractive.”
“You’d be oozing too if you knew the kind of money that’s at stake here. Besides, I only let you come with me because you promised you wouldn’t touch anything or talk to anyone.”
Victoria nodded, feeling a little guilty at her lie.
Her father put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a one-armed hug. “Wish me luck, honey.”
She kissed him on his cheek, and briefly put her head on his shoulder. “You’re an amazing chef and an amazing manager dad. You’ll get the contract, don’t worry.”
“Mr. Gerard Armstrong?” A nervous looking man with an impeccable suit approached her father. He led him away, leaving Victoria alone to admire the hotel’s lavish interiors.
On one side, a giant marble staircase swept in an elegant curve, its giant banisters lit up with mock candles. Marble dominated the entrance hall, as did faded tapestries, though there was one knightly armor standing politely to the side.
Outside, the snow lashed down, covering the world in a thick blanket of blinding white. Inside, the wood and marble combined to create warmth and a feeling of being home.
Did anyone ever feel at home in a place like this? Victoria wondered. A man like her father, who’d once been poor enough to live on beans and bread for a year, naturally he’d feel nervous about being here. Victoria, though, just felt a vague aggression against the men and women, sitting so casually in clothes costly enough to buy her a new car.
Still, she was here for a reason. Making sure her father had disappeared into the upper lounge, she took out a book from her purse. The key was confidence, she told herself. She had to be confident and no one would notice what she’d done. She had twenty minutes.
Walking quickly, she moved toward the elevators that stood hidden in a little alcove and rode up to the seventh floor. Once there, she began knocking on every room, systematically.
Five doors later, she was telling herself exactly how stupid her plan had been, when a dark, messy haired man yanked open the door and scowled. “What?”
Michael Pelletier. Victoria felt her heart flutter. He was just as handsome in person as in the picture on her book’s dust jacket, except instead of a suit, he was dressed in a black T-shirt and gray sweat pants. For a minute, she could only gape.
Michael adjusted his body, blocking her view as a woman darted across the room behind him.
“Hey now,” Michael said. “If you’re from room service, I didn’t order it. If you’re from my grandfather, tell him I’m still not talking to him.” He gave a glance behind him and began to shut the door on her. Victoria quickly adjusted herself so that she’d jammed her body into the door post.
“Mr. Michael, I’m sorry for barging in like this, but I’m not from room service or your grandfather. You see I’m a big admirer, and I found out you were living here so…”
Michael’s eyes, so sleepy and annoyed, looked a bit more relaxed. “Not room service, a fan,” he called out behind him.
“You have a few,” Victoria said. “I know your books weren’t well reviewed by the critics but I…” she shook her head. “I’m so fascinated by your words, by the entire world you created in End of Order. You’re only four years older than me and it’s incredible that your mind could create the kind of things you did. I’d be so honored if you signed my book for me.” She’d rehearsed this little speech, hoping that he’d look impressed, but the words came out rushed and stilted. Still, she held out the book hopefully.
“Fine. You want me to sign your book, I’ll sign your book.” Michael said, grabbing it from her hand, and putting out his other hand for a pen. He clicked it open when she handed him one and then asked. “Who shall I make it out to?”
“Victoria Armstrong,” She said. “Um, you could call me your biggest fan.”
“Victoria. Armstrong.” He wrote rapidly, enunciating each word. “Let’s hope you don’t barge into my room again. Best, Michael.” He looked up, and asked, “Victoria? Is that after the queen?”
“No. My father is just very fond of Australia.” She said. “Michael, I just wanted to say that I’m… your book changed my life, see. I always wanted to be a writer but until I read your book I didn’t put pen to paper. Now, thanks to you, I’ve just finished my first story and…”
From behind Michael, an irritated voice called out. “Michael get rid of her. I need to go.”
“Also…” Victoria said, her voice trembling. “I was hoping you’d look at it and maybe give me some advice.”
She held it out to him, hopefully, and saw his jaw clench.
“Get out,” He said.
“But…”
“I almost took you seriously when you said you were a fan,” He said angrily. “All you really want is for me to help you publish your precious book. Well, I got news for you, it’s probably crap. Wait…” He grabbed the loose pages she had, and read from one at random, “…she said, with bated breath, that no one else could hold her heart in his hands the way he did.” He gave a cruel laugh. “Sorry. Not probably. Definitely. Definitely crap. Now get out before I call the cops and the hotel security on you. You don’t look like you belong anyway.”
He shoved her out, and she could see in his eyes that he had already forgotten her as he turned towards the woman who had called him inside. He slammed the door behind him, leaving Victoria standing in a cold hotel hallway with tears in her eyes and a bunc
h of papers in her hand.
Chapter 2
Victoria snuck back down to her father, hoping dearly that he wouldn’t notice how upset she was. Whenever she’d imagined meeting her hero author, and she’d imagined it a lot, it had always involved dreams of engaging in a conversation about love, life, philosophy, the meaning of it all.
Instead, he’d been downright cruel. “Probably Crap. Not Probably. Definitely. Definitely Crap.” She felt her fists clench. He hadn’t even read her book. He just quoted one line from one page and dismissed her as nobody. Truth was, she was nobody. She could hate him right now, and he’d never notice. Nor would his charmed life be affected in any way.
In her rush to head back to her father, she bumped into a weak looking man who angrily pushed back at her. Immediately ignoring her, he went back to the phone.
“.. just once more.” He was saying.
“Not without payment.” The voice at the other end said.
Was it her imagination or did this man look exactly like Michael? Almost an older version? Eyes filling with tears, Victoria fled.
Victoria’s father was waiting, and even from a distance, she knew he’d gotten the contract. He looked delighted. He was so delighted he didn’t even notice she’d been gone, or the hurried, guilty way in which she spoke to him.
“Augustin Pelletier is here for the wedding of his grandson Tyler.” Her father said. “Their caterer, some fancy chef from New York, just had an accident on the ski slopes. So now, there’s no one else and they’re asking me to cater last minute! Mr. Pelletier asked me to organize a menu tasting for him by tomorrow! Can you imagine? What luck, Victoria! If I become a regular caterer at the Luminary, and I might if Mr. Pelletier says the right word to the right man, imagine how much we’d…”
“He’s not a nice man,” Victoria said angrily. “Mr. Pelletier. I read about him in the papers. He deals in coal and he’s ruining the environment. I heard his grandson Tyler wants to go into solar energy but his grandfather’s set on keeping the business all about coal. It’s sick, how he has no concern for the environment.”
“What?” Her father looked genuinely confused.
“He’s a horrible man. You shouldn’t work for him.” She said.
“Victoria. Honestly. Sometimes I forget you’re 19 already. You certainly don’t act a day above 10. Who cares how he earned his money? As long as he gives me some of it!” Her father was still in a jubilant mood as they drove back home. The snow made it hard to see, and the car was creeping along, with giant flakes whispering down as they fell on it. “Dang snow! At this rate, we’ll be lucky not to be snowed in this weekend.”
“I don’t like it,” She said, crossing her hands on her chest, thinking of Michael, and his no doubt egotistical grandfather.
“The weather? Never mind that.” Her father said. “You’ll help, won’t you? I’ll need at least three waiters tomorrow, and Courtney is ill.”
“How many people will be there?” Victoria asked.
“Fourteen plates in all.” Her father said. “Mr. Pelletier, his son Philip, Philip’s wife Cassidy, Mr. Pelletier’s younger son Gustave, and Gustave’s wife Amanda. Plus his three grandchildren, the groom Tyler, that writer Michael and his granddaughter Nona. There’s five more from the bride’s family: the bride, her parents, and her two sisters. It’s going to be a regular feast.”
“That’s thirteen,” Victoria said, counting them on her fingers. “Bad luck, isn’t it? They say the first to get up from the table will die.”
“Oh, there you go being silly again.” Her father smiled. “No, there are fourteen plates. Mr. Pelletier always keeps one extra plate in memory of his late wife. Romantic, isn’t it? He must really have loved her.”
“Or he’s trying to pretend like he did,” Victoria said.
“What is wrong?” Her father asked, finally noticing her bad mood. “You were so happy this morning and now you’re determined to dislike the man.”
“It’s not that,” Victoria said. “It’s just… all that wealth. These people, they’re stuck up people with no regard for anything that isn’t made of money. I thought, I thought maybe…” She choked off.
Her father looked sideways at her, wondering whether to stop the car. There were times when he wished his wife were still alive to help him understand his moody daughter better. “I met Mr. Pelletier myself, Victoria. He’s 82 years old, but he still quoted Tolstoy and Shakespeare to me like a schoolboy who’s good at his lessons. The man is sharp and full of life, and he’s a good man too. Don’t judge him just because he has money and we don’t. That’s just as bad as what you’re accusing him of doing.”
“Fine.” Victoria nodded. “I’ll help anyway, Dad.”
She had to agree with her father’s assessment when she met Augustin Pelletier the next day. Augustin probably didn’t notice her, he didn’t look at her any more than he would have looked at the art hanging on the wall. He just stomped with his cane right to the head of the table, almost as the clock struck 1:00 p.m.
Her father had described him as a gentleman, thoroughly polite, and completely respectful. Yet to Victoria, he seemed like he was bubbling with anger. At any rate, he was a man who contained more vitality in his frail 80-year-old body than most men in their twenties did! There was an electric trail that he left behind him, or maybe it was just the awe and fear in the faces of the others.
The others filed him after him like an army marching in, two and three together at a time. Victoria saw Michael Pelletier sit beside a blonde girl from the bride’s family, the bride’s younger sister. His hair was slicked back, his face smooth, and he looked comfortable in his gray three-piece suit, smiling and flirting with her. Victoria clenched her fists.
Tyler Pelletier, the groom, was seated next to Augustin. A long-boned, sharp-featured man; just the picture of a successful banker or corporate executive. He was dressed casually, but expensively in a navy blue coat, a pinstriped blue shirt, and khakis. He looked like a model right out of a fashion magazine, except that he had a cravat instead of a tie at his neck. His blond hair was slicked back, and his face looked freshly shaven and soft.
Next to him sat his fiancé, Dominique Tremblay, looking remarkably elegant in a soft pink dress with a white silk scarf tied in a French style around her neck.
The guests had already finished their pre-lunch drink of champagne upstairs at the indoor gardens, and it was now time for the menu tasting that would help them decide if the wedding catering should be flown in or kept local.
This was massively important to her father, and with a little prayer on her lips, Victoria stepped forward, perfectly in sync with the other two waiters. They began to serve everyone the first dish of the menu tasting.
It was one of her father’s proudest creations, a selection of three canapes. A puff pastry with a mint cream cheese center, a cracker topped with wild salmon and cilantro, and a garlic aioli topped the bread with near transparent slivers of ham. Each tiny appetizer had been plated with utmost care, the toppings looking almost painted on.
There were murmurs of approval around the room as the guests began to eat. Victoria wandered around the room, hearing the little whispers as the patrons spoke.
In one corner, Philip, the older son, sat with his wife. “In the end, he will be convinced.” He was saying softly.
“I’m not so sure.” His wife said. “You know your father is no risk taker. He hates new technology.”
Next to them, Gustav and Amanda, the second son and his wife, were smiling at each other, and nodding over the food. “The second lot will reach us next week.” Gustav was telling her. “I talked to him yesterday.”
The bride, Dominique, who was dressed in a beautiful golden dress with diamonds at her ears and neck, had seemed especially tense at what the new chef would do, now relaxed, a look of utter happiness spreading over her face. “Good isn’t it?” she asked Tyler.
Tyler didn’t answer. He was staring at his grandfather, who had suddenly begun to
clutch at his throat.
Chapter 3
For one, horrible second, the room was frozen. Every conversation dropped midway, every hand stopped in mid-air. There was only the sound of gasping as Augustin clutched at his throat and burbled. He gesticulated wildly to the others, then fell sideways off his chair with a sickening crack.
“Quickly!” It was Michael Pelletier who reacted first, shooting out of his chair and kneeling beside his grandfather, “Get a doctor! Now!”
Most of the guests fled from the room, almost in a stampede, while the others crowded around the old man, and tried to resuscitate him.
Victoria, to her own surprise, did neither. There was a crowd tending to him, and another crowd rushing to get him to a doctor. Her mind had already rushed two steps ahead. It was focused on preventing her father’s ruin.
If it were her father’s food that had made the gentleman choke, he would be ruined! Ruined forever, even if it were no fault of his own. She moved over to Mr. Pelletier’s plate and saw to her relief that it was untouched. Some instinct, that she would later thank, made her whip out her phone and photograph the plate.
Michael, who after his initial reaction, had been pushed aside by the others who crowded over Augustin. He saw the flash of her camera and came down on her.
“You! You’re the brat who was trying to get me to read a book the other day. What’s your game? I’m not about to let you sell my grandfather’s pictures to the press!” He gripped her hand, and some of the commotions ceased as the others turned to look at her.
“I… I was only…” Victoria stuttered, wondering how to explain, but Michael had already grabbed her phone and was looking at her pictures. On seeing that she had only photographed the plates, he tossed the phone back to her in disgust and went back to his grandfather.
Victoria looked around and saw one woman. Augustin’s son Philip’s wife Cassidy was still seated at the table. Tyler had walked up to her now, and they were both speaking in low whispers.