3 Service for Two (5 page)

“You think the murderer thought of a way of hiding the body, by putting it in the coffin?”

“Perhaps.”

“That was taking a rather large risk, wasn’t it? How would he know the coffin wouldn’t be opened?”

“I assume that’s why he waited until the coffin was in the vestry. There would be no reason to open it after that, unless there was a special request. Dr. McDuff had no immediate family, so it was unlikely anyone would make such a request.”

Baxter rubbed his brow with his thumb and forefinger. “It seems a very odd place to hide a body. Surely the murderer could have just buried it?”

“There’s always the risk of someone discovering it, whereas no one would think to look in a grave that is presumed to contain someone else. After all, if the boy hadn’t
fallen through the ice, Dr. McDuff’s body would not have been discovered, and our mysterious body would have received a proper burial, without anyone ever being the wiser.”

“But what about when the ice melted? Wouldn’t the doctor’s body have been discovered then?”

Cecily shook her head. “Our murderer had every reason to suppose it would not. Apparently the doctor’s body was weighted down with a branch. If it hadn’t snapped, Dr. McDuff would even now be lying at the bottom of the pond.”

Raising his eyebrows, Baxter said smoothly, “I must say, madam, you have a remarkable aptitude for working out some exceedingly intricate puzzles. Such a pity you are not a man. You would have made an excellent police constable.”

She stared up at him from under lowered brows, quite sure he was baiting her. No doubt to release his resentment of her smoking his cigar.

“Thank you, Baxter, but had I been a man, I would be in India, serving under Kitchener, and none of this affair would have mattered one wit to me.”

His hurt look suggested she might have misjudged him, and she softened her voice. “But I thank you for the compliment.”

“If I might say so, madam, Kitchener would have been fortunate to have you.”

Peace between them restored, she smiled at him. “Well,” she said, “I have to confess that our theory of the murderer using the doctor’s coffin to hide the body will not hold up to the light of day.”

“Indeed? And why is that?”

“Because the question remains,” Cecily said, brushing specks of ash from the polished surface of the table, “as to why the murderer went to all the trouble of putting his victim’s body in Dr. McDuff’s coffin, then taking the doctor’s body all the way out to Deep Willow Pond, when he could have simply taken his victim to the pond and thrown him in.”

“I must admit that occurred to me, too. It really doesn’t make such sense.”

“None at all.” Cecily rose to her feet. “But what I really
want to know is why a copy of our week’s menu was found in the vestry the very night that all this took place. Or indeed, why it was there at all.”

A wary expression crossed Baxter’s face. “What are you proposing to do, if I might ask?”

She managed to keep an innocent smile on her face. “Why, I’m simply going to ask Michel and Mrs. Chubb what they know about this matter of the menu, that’s all.”

“I hope that is all, madam. I might venture to remind you what happens when you get too involved in business that doesn’t concern you.”

“Baxter,” she said gently, “I never get involved in business that doesn’t concern me. But if someone from this hotel is involved in this matter, then I should say it does concern me, am I right?”

He looked more uncomfortable. “It is not my place to dictate your actions, but I have a certain duty to observe and I must ask you to refrain from interfering in police business. Inspector Cranshaw has made it very clear how he feels about the matter.”

“I know how the inspector feels,” Cecily said grimly. She could hardly forget the sting of the man’s tongue. She could also sympathize with Baxter’s concern, considering his promise to her dead husband. “Don’t worry, Baxter, all I’m going to do is talk to Mrs. Chubb and Michel. I am concerned about the menu, that’s all. I’ll be happy to leave the details of the young man’s murder in the capable hands of P.C. Northcott.”

Baxter’s grimace made clear his opinion of the constable’s hands, but he offered no further comment on the subject. Instead he opened the door as Cecily moved toward it, and stood back to let her pass.

“Don’t worry, Bax,” Cecily murmured as she swept by him. “If I decide to go hunting for the murderer, you’ll be the first to know.”

CHAPTER
5

Michel was in the kitchen when Cecily arrived there. She could hear him crashing around long before she reached the door. It was no wonder the pots and pans had dents in them, she thought as she walked into the warm, steam-clouded room. Michel seemed utterly incapable of cooking a meal without dropping something.

The fact that he usually consumed a large amount of brandy in order to “create” his famous dishes probably had a great deal to do with his lack of coordination. Since his reputation as a chef was renowned and envied by a great many hotel proprietors up and down the coast, Cecily was prepared to overlook the imbibing. And, to a certain extent, the noise.

She couldn’t help wincing, though, when an enamel jug flew off the edge of the stove, spraying milk everywhere.

“Sacre bleu!”
Michel muttered, casting a scathing glance at the jug as if it had thrown itself to the floor just to annoy him. Catching sight of Cecily, he straightened his tall white hat, more from habit than necessity.

“
Bon soir
, madame,” he murmured, “I ’ope you are well, yes?”

“Very well, thank you.” Cecily smiled at Gertie, who bobbed a clumsy curtsey as she headed toward the door with a loaded tray of soup tureens. The savory aroma wafting from them gave her hunger pangs.

“Lobster bisque tonight, madame,” Michel declared. He touched his fingers to his lips and flicked them away with a gesture that was pure Italian. The dark-eyed, excitable chef tended to get his nationalities mixed up sometimes. If he over-imbibed on the brandy, his French accent disappeared entirely, lapsing into a strong cockney.

It was Baxter’s contention that Michel’s assumed French guise was to conceal his identity, most likely from a jealous husband. Cecily preferred not to conjecture on the matter. Michel contributed a great deal toward the excellent name of the Pennyfoot.

Ever since the Prince of Wales had inherited the throne from his mother, the aristocracy had followed His Majesty’s lead in the indulgence of good food, and the richer and more exotic the better.

The hotels who catered to the wealthy were hard put to compete, endeavoring to create wild and wonderful dishes in the hopes of luring the members of Society away from their favorite restaurants. A chef of Michel’s caliber was an asset too precious to treat lightly, and by the same token, so also was the menu.

The menus were drawn up each week jointly by Baxter, Mrs. Chubb, and Michel, and they were then approved by Cecily. No one else had access to the list, since it was considered a valuable weapon in the constant battle of competition.

And yet, Cecily thought uneasily, someone must have laid hands on it somehow. It was unimaginable to consider Michel involved in something as serious as murder. And totally out of
the question for Mrs. Chubb. Somehow she would have to discover exactly how that menu ended up on the floor of St. Bartholomew’s vestry.

Alone in the kitchen with the volatile chef, Cecily carefully phrased her question. “Michel, I wonder if you’d mind giving me a moment, if you can spare it?”

The chef whirled around, gravy dripping from the wooden spoon in his hand. Another mess for Gertie to clean up, Cecily thought ruefully.

“I always ’ave ze time for Madame, of course,” Michel said, giving her a small bow from the waist. “What can I ’elp you with? I ’ope the food has been satisfactory, yes?” He nodded and smiled while he asked this, supremely confident in his talent.

“Excellent as always, Michel. But I did have a question on the menu, if we could discuss it?”

“Of course, madame. I am at your service,
toujours
.” He twirled around and reached up to the mantelpiece above the stove, where a row of Staffordshire china dogs sat with bored expressions. Carefully he withdrew a sheet of paper from underneath one of them and peered at it. “Is there something you wanted different?”

“No, everything is just perfect.” She met his puzzled gaze with a smile. “I was merely wondering if you had perhaps discussed the menu with anyone else.”

“I not
compris
, madame. I discuss this with M. Baxter and Mrs. Chubb—no? With anyone else? Certainly not!” His eyes flashed a warning at her. “I would not dream of such a thing, madame. Surely you would know that?”

She nodded hastily. “Of course, Michel, I’m quite sure you wouldn’t give away your delectable secrets. I just wondered if perhaps someone else might have had a look at the menu.”

“That is impossible.” He tucked the sheet of paper back underneath the dog. “I have it with me at all times, in my pocket. I leave it up there only while I am working. No one would see it except me, Michel himself.”

“And that is the only list we have?”

Michel paused, his dark mustache twitching as he pursed
his lips. “Is something not right, madame? We have a problem per’aps, with the menu?”

“I just want to make sure that no one else could copy your ideas,” Cecily said smoothly. “When one has the very best reputation in England for the excellence of the food served in the establishment, one has a strong desire to protect that resource.”

Mollified, Michel gave the end of his mustache a twirl. “I am most ’appy that my work satisfies you, madame. I do my best.”

“And your best is excellent, Michel. Thank you, and keep up the good work.” Leaving him preening, Cecily headed for the door in search of Mrs. Chubb. How she could have thought for a moment that Michel would divulge his most prized recipes was beyond her.

Out in the hallway, she almost collided with Gertie, who had her head down as if battling a sixty-mile-an-hour gale. Looking at the housemaid’s flushed face, Cecily exclaimed, “Is something wrong?”

Gertie pulled up, breathing hard. “I’m sorry, mum, I didn’t see you there. I had something else on me mind.”

“Yes, I can see that. Do you want to tell me about it? Not anything to do with the wedding, I hope?”

“Oh no, mum, everything is going perfect. Mrs. Chubb is nearly finished with the gown, and I found a pair of white satin shoes in the High Street to go with it, and Ethel is going to do me hair in the morning….” Gertie sent a furtive glance over her shoulder. “I would like to ask you a question though, mum.”

“Very well.” Cecily waited, wondering what was coming. One never knew with Gertie if her problems were catastrophic or if she just made them seem that way.

“It’s a question concerning working women, mum,” Gertie said in a hushed voice. “Do you think women can do a good job in the home if they are working, too? Only part-time, mind.”

“Ah,” Cecily said, nodding her head. “You are having some trouble convincing Ian that you can manage a job and your home, is that it?”

Gertie looked sheepish and plucked at her apron. Her cap, as usual, sat at an untidy angle on her dark hair. In all the years she’d worked at the Pennyfoot, the housemaid had never managed to learn how to pin her cap in the proper manner so that it wouldn’t slip.

“He thinks I’ll be too tired to do the housework proper,” Gertie said with a heave of her shoulders. “I told him as how I could do both, but he’s so bloody stubborn. I don’t know as if I want to marry him if he won’t let me do what I want. I mean, it’s not hurting him any, is it? At least he could give me a bleeding chance.”

“Gertie!” Mrs. Chubb’s voice of wrath floated down the hallway.

“Ooh, blimey, here it comes,” Gertie said, hitching up her skirt, ready to flee.

“I don’t want to interfere,” Cecily said quickly, “but you have every right to work if you want to. Just let me know if you decide to leave, as I shall have to replace you.”

Gertie looked stricken. “No, mum, don’t do that. I’ll break it off with Ian first before I leave me job, honest I will.”

“I don’t think you should do anything quite that drastic,” Cecily began, but she was interrupted by Mrs. Chubb’s stout body huffing and puffing down the hallway toward her. Shadowed by the dim light of the gas lamps, her white apron flapping around her ankles, she looked a little like a galleon in full sail.

“Gertie, my girl, what have I told you about bothering madam with your petty little problems? Get in that kitchen this instant! The soup dishes will be coming in any second. Ethel’s collecting them now.”

“I’m going,” Gertie muttered. “Don’t know why I want to stay here, all this nagging all day long—” She disappeared through the door into the kitchen, and it swung to behind her.

“Sorry about that, mum.” The housekeeper smoothed her hands down her apron. “I can talk to that girl till I’m blue in the face …”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Chubb. As a matter of fact, I’d like a word with you, if you have a moment?”

“Of course, mum.”

“It’s about this week’s menu. I was wondering if you talked to anyone about it.”

The blank look on the housekeeper’s face convinced Cecily at once.

“Menu?” Mrs. Chubb shook her head in bewilderment. “I haven’t set eyes on it since Saturday, when we worked it all out. Michel’s got it, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, he has,” Cecily said, feeling decidedly relieved. “Please don’t worry, Mrs. Chubb, I was just wondering, that’s all.”

“I wouldn’t tell no one about the menu, mum. No one ever asks me about it.”

“That’s all right, then. Now I must let you get on—”

“If you don’t mind me asking, mum,” the housekeeper said tentatively, “what was happening up at the church this afternoon? I keep hearing the gossip about a body in the pond and another one in the coffin, but I can’t make head nor tail of it all.”

She might have known it would only be a matter of time, Cecily thought, wondering just how much she should tell the woman. Deciding that everyone would know sooner or later, she related the day’s events to Mrs. Chubb.

After all, knowing how the grapevine worked, it was the quickest way to inform the entire staff, and it would save her answering questions later.

The housekeeper appeared shocked by the news. “Oh, lord luvaduck, the poor doctor. Fancy him being stuck all night under that ice….” She shivered. “Not that he could feel it, mind. What a shock for that poor boy who found him, though.”

“Yes,” Cecily agreed. “It must have been dreadful for him. Perhaps I should call on his parents, just to make sure he’s all right.”

“I think that would be very nice, mum,” Mrs. Chubb said, beaming. “I know they would appreciate it.”

“Yes,” Cecily murmured. “That’s what I’ll do.” And just maybe, she added silently, Bernie Briggett might be able to give her a clue as to how and why Dr. McDuff’s body
happened to end up in the dark depths of Deep Willow Pond, while a strange young man rested in the doctor’s coffin.

“I hear they got a doctor from Wellercombe to take poor Dr. McDuff’s place,” Mrs. Chubb said, obviously fishing for more information.

“Just a temporary measure for now, I understand. Until they find a permanent replacement.”

“I suppose we’ll end up with one of those earnest young blokes fresh out of college.” Mrs. Chubb sighed. “We’ll be blooming experiments, that’s what. I hope I don’t take ill. I don’t want no young pup practicing on me.”

Cecily laughed. “Look on the bright side, Mrs. Chubb. We’ll have the benefit of the very latest in modern medicine with a brand new graduate to take care of us.”

The housekeeper refused to be consoled. “Won’t be the same as poor old Dr. McDuff, indeed it won’t. He knew the ailments of every family in this village, from the elderly to the babies. How is a new doctor going to learn all that? That’s what I want to know.”

“The same way Dr. McDuff did, I imagine, by treating them.”

“Yes, well,” Mrs. Chubb muttered darkly, “the villagers won’t take kindly to a newcomer, you mark my words. I wouldn’t want to be in no new doctor’s shoes coming into Badgers End, that I wouldn’t.”

“I’m afraid the villagers will have to learn to live with it,” Cecily said, beginning to feel sorry for the fledgling doctor. “I’m sure they would rather deal with an unfamiliar doctor than no doctor at all.”

Mrs. Chubb sighed heavily. “It was a sad, sad day for all of us when poor old Dr. McDuff passed away. And to have this happen to him, dumped in an icy pond like that … doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?” She lifted her chin, her jaw jutting dangerously. “I’d like to get my hands on who done it, that I would. I’d teach him a lesson or two.”

“I’m sure the police will find out who is responsible,” Cecily said, hoping her faith was justified.

“Well, I should certainly hope so. Wouldn’t want the likes of that one running around free. Must be someone really
barmy to mess around with coffins and dead bodies like that. Reminds me of them vampires, it does.”

“Heavens, let us hope not.” Cecily shuddered with a sudden chill.

“Perhaps we should ask Madeline to look into it. She knows about them things.”

“I’m quite sure that whoever is responsible is human, at least in form if not in mind,” Cecily said firmly, anxious to dispel any rumor that could cause panic. Luckily at that moment Ethel appeared, loaded down with a tray of dirty dishes, and Mrs. Chubb’s attention was successfully diverted.

Leaving the two of them to get on with their chores, Cecily headed back to Baxter’s office. She found him sorting through a pile of bills, his forehead creased in a ferocious scowl.

He stood as she entered, reaching for his jacket that hung over the back of his chair. Struggling into it, he said more accusingly than apologetic, “I wasn’t expecting you, madam.”

“That’s all right, Baxter, I wasn’t expecting to be here myself. I hope I’m not interrupting something of importance?”

“Not at all, madam, unless you consider the decision on which of our bills is the most pressing to be of importance.”

“I would imagine they are all pressing,” Cecily said wryly. “I have approached Martin Campbell for a loan, but he has been no help at all.” She shook her head. “He is a most obnoxious man. If he were not the manager of the bank that holds the mortgage on this hotel, I would never speak to him again. His attitude is deplorable. One might think he would actually be pleased to see me lose the Pennyfoot.”

“Oh, surely not. He is most likely concerned that you not acquire more debts that you can handle.”