Murder On The Menu: A Romantic Comedy Culinary Cozy Mystery (A Celebrity Mystery) (18 page)

“Where to now?” Stella asks once we’re back in the car.

“While we’re out, let’s do the food shopping,” I say as I start Daisy up.

The village store is buzzing when we arrive, and I have to park right down the lane because it’s so busy.

“What’s going on here?” Stella asks, looking around as we step inside.

“No idea,” I reply, grabbing two baskets and thrusting one in Stella’s direction. “Let’s get shopping.”

When we reach the last aisle and join the queue, I spot Biscuit Woman again. She’s ahead of me, waiting to be served. Feeling a little guilty, I try to eavesdrop on Biscuit Woman’s gossip with the man next to her.

“I don’t suppose the truth will ever come out now,” she says in a hushed but disapproving tone. “He gets himself murdered and suddenly he’s a saint. Everyone going on about how he selflessly started up the campaign to save this place. Pah! He only latched on to it for the good publicity. He made life hell for the people who worked for him, but because he could put a decent, if fancy for my tastes, plate of expensive food on the table, well, it looks like all is forgiven.”

“I’d have been tempted to throttle the arrogant so and so myself, if she’d told me what was going on,” the man whisper-hisses back at Biscuit Woman. Is this man her husband by any chance?

“And that’s why neither of us did tell you what was going on,” the woman replies. “Besides,” she lowers her voice further, and I hold my breath and pretend to lean in closer to read a label on a can of soup on the shelf next to where she’s standing. She sees me and throws me a dirty look, so I reluctantly back off. Don’t tell me my attempts to discover who this woman’s daughter is are going to be thwarted yet again.

Thankfully the man is more accommodating. “Katya should still have told me what was going on.”

Katya? Biscuit Woman is Katya’s mum? And, from what she’s said, it sounds as though there
was
something going on between Katya and Armand – the question is, what? Was he harassing her or did she actually like him and want to be with him?

Five minutes later, Stella and I have reached the front of the queue. Brenda and George are serving and most people just had a handful of things to purchase, so it hasn’t taken too long.

“Lizzie, dear!” Brenda says when she spots me.

Hefting my baskets onto the counter, I say, “It’s busy in here today.”

“That’s what fame does for a business,” George says with a chuckle and a knowing nod.

Fame?  Have I missed something here?

Brenda correctly interprets my puzzled expression. “You haven’t seen it, have you?”

I don’t know what the ‘it’ she’s referring to is, but I’m thinking that, no, I haven’t seen it. She pulls a folded up newspaper from behind the counter and pushes it in my direction. “Of course, they’ve only picked up on our little save the store campaign because of the connection with Armand and his death, but, in our case, I suppose it’s a case of any publicity is good publicity.”

As George and Brenda bag up my purchases, I read the newspaper article with Stella leaning over my shoulder. But it isn’t the headline or the well-written article championing our efforts to save the store and encouraging others to lend their support, which holds my attention. The thing that makes me feel a little light-headed and dry of mouth is the byline on the lengthy article. Adam wrote it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“You know he’s doing it because of you.”

We’re approaching the yard up at Eskdale and I’m concentrating on safely navigating the dreaded and ever-expanding potholes. I don’t want to think about Adam attempting to win me back by taking our campaign and plastering it all over the national newspapers. Brenda had said the article had already generated lots of interest, that they’d been interviewed by local radio and TV and had floods of emails and phone calls from members of the public pledging time, money and support. All of which sounds as though it should benefit our cause and help in the fight to save the shop, but, as always, Adam’s motives will be less than pure.

Inside, we unload the shopping. David still isn’t back from his fishing trip with his future father-in-law.

“Maybe it would be a good idea to call him,” Stella surprises me by saying.

I flash her a bad-idea look. I know by
him
she means Adam. Everything feels as though it’s getting on top of me. Plus, I haven’t heard from Jack lately. Does that mean he’s being grumpy with me, that he hasn’t found out anything useful relating to the case, or that he has found something out but doesn’t want to tell me?

“You can’t run from the past forever,” Stella says, fixing me with a stern glare. “And I’m only saying this because I care. You know that, don’t you?”

I nod, sigh and flop into a chair. “I know. I’m sorry, it’s just…” I search for the right words, something eloquent, but all I can think of is, “hard, it’s still difficult.”

She sits on the opposite chair and holds my hand. “I know, sweetie, but sometimes to be able to move forward properly you first have to deal with what’s behind you.”

A phone rings and startles me for a second, I’m so lost in the past, and then I realise it’s the landline for the farmhouse. When I return to the kitchen a few minutes later, I flop back into a chair. “That was Peter, the assistant manager at the Veggies, on the phone. He said my waitressing services are not required tonight after all.”

“Oh?” Stella leans forward, elbows on the table. “That’s odd. I thought they were fully booked. You’d think it would be a case of all hands on deck.”

“I think they are fully booked,” I grumble. “But I guess they don’t want the waitress who might have killed her boss serving people their food. Perhaps I’ll make them lose their appetite.”

“People don’t think you killed him,” she retorts. “It’s just your overactive imagination at work again.”

“People do think I killed him, Stella! The police suspect me. People look at me funny, you know, like they don’t want to be around me.” I push to my feet. “Will you be all right on your own for a little while? I need to go and find Jack and update him on the garden stuff and Katya.”

“I’m not staying here and letting you go off alone.” She shoots me a don’t-argue-with-me look. “I’m coming with you!”

Emma is out in the yard when I park Daisy up. She waves and waddles – there is no other word for it – towards me.

“Hi!” she says with a warm smile, leaning against Daisy for a breather. “I’ll be so glad when this little one arrives. I feel like a tank at the moment, I’m so huge. Frazer, bless him, tells me I look gorgeous.”

“You do look gorgeous,” I say. “The picture of pregnancy bloom.”

She laughs. “I was just about to head inside and put my feet up. Want to join me in a cup of tea and slice of cake? It seems to be all I do these days. Eat cake, drink tea. Oh, and go to the bathroom every five minutes!” She claps a hand to her mouth and adds, “Sorry! That was too much information!”

I get out of the car and make to follow Emma, trying to avoid as much of the cow muck as possible. Stella open the passenger-side door of Daisy and stares at the yard which borders the old stone farmhouse on three sides, a look of dismay on her face. “I can’t walk across there in these.”

I look at Stella’s feet. She’s wearing boots, and they look pretty practical compared to Stella’s usual footwear choices.

“They’re designer and scarily expensive,” she explains.

Emma stops and looks back to see why we’re not following her inside. Spotting Stella she holds up a hand and shouts across the yard to us. “Wait! I’ll get you some wellington boots!”

She reappears moments later, proffering a pair of battered green boots. “Here, put these on. They might be a bit too big but you should be OK.”

Stella slips back into Daisy and does a quick shoe shuffle.

“Can you bring your boots inside with you?” Emma asks.

Stella and I exchange curious glances and head into the farmhouse.

“Oooh, can I see them?” Emma asks, pouncing on the boots in Stella’s hands as soon as she’s stepped foot into the farmhouse’s kitchen. “These are new season, right?”

As Emma runs fingers reverentially over the soft leather of the boots, I can’t stop myself from asking, “You’re into designer stuff?”

Emma nods enthusiastically, a gleeful expression on her face. “Absolutely! I know. I know. The whole Earth Mother and farmer’s wife thing doesn’t go with the fashion scene and shoes so expensive they cost more than hiring a combine harvester, but, oh, I can dream. I get some of the magazines and I sit and get all wistful for an hour, then it’s back to my real world.”

I blush. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that because you live on a farm and are a mother then you shouldn’t know the latest designer news and stuff.”

Emma waves one hand, the other still holding one of Stella’s boots close to her ample bosom. “Don’t worry about it, lovie. It’s fine. Frazer keeps saying one day he’s going to buy me a fancy designer dress for my birthday and whisk me off to a place like the Veggies for a delicious meal. And I believe him; one day he’ll do just that and I’m happy to wait, no matter if it’s for my seventieth birthday!”

“You know, I have plenty of pairs of boots if you want to keep those,” Stella offers charitably as she struggles to pull off the loaned wellington boots.

“Oh no!” Emma responds, moving to help Stella out of the boots. “Thanks for saying so, but really, I couldn’t accept.”

Trying to help Stella stay upright as Emma yanks off the muddy wellington boots I realise my manners have gone completely and I haven’t even introduced them. “Sorry, Emma, this is Stella, a very good friend from London. She’s originally from Cumbria though. She’s up here to visit her parents and to tell them her good news. Stella, this is Emma, a brilliant neighbour who can juggle children, babies, working on the farm and making amazing cakes and lots more besides.”

“I hasten to add the juggling of the children and babies part of that introduction should not be taken literally,” Emma says with a mischievous giggle. “So, come and sit yourselves down. I’ll even cut you slices of one of my cakes!”

Once we’re settled and sorted with food and drink, Emma asks, “So, what’s your good news, Stella? I love gossip!”

Almost shyly, Stella shows Emma her sparkly new engagement ring. “I’m getting married.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant news! Congratulations. When’s the big day?”

Stella stares lovingly at her ring. “We haven’t decided for definite. Sometime next July is as far as we’ve got. There’s so much to think about.”

“That’s all part of the fun of getting married,” Emma replies and then sighs wistfully. “I loved all that side of things. I had various folders, all different colours. One for the menus and reception stuff, another for flowers, one for what everyone would be wearing, even down to and including Frazer’s mother! He used to tease me about being so obsessive with the planning and details but thankfully he’s so laid back he was happy to go along with anything I wanted! How’s your chap on that front?”

Stella fidgets in her seat and fingers the handle of her tea cup. “David’s not quite so easy going but we’ll get there.”

“I miss this,” Emma adds. “Sitting around with friends and enjoying a girly gossip. I don’t get many visitors up at the farm, and it’s difficult to get out much with the kids and all the jobs which need doing around here.”

“I could visit more often, or you could escape for ten minutes and come to Eskdale for a glass of wine and a chat,” I suggest, feeling guilty. I’d kind of assumed Emma’s life was too hectic for her to be interested in girly chats. Guess I shouldn’t go jumping to conclusions.

“Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t hinting. I know we’ve all got a lot going on.”

“Maybe once a month we could get together. Go for a meal or a drink?”

“That sounds like a heavenly prospect, but I’ll have to twist Frazer’s arm to babysit. We’ll definitely arrange something once I’ve recovered from the birth of this one though.” She pats her stomach and smiles. “I’m so happy Jack’s around at the moment to help Frazer out. Running this farm is exhausting.”

I see my opportunity and seize it gratefully. “Speaking of Jack, is he around?”

Emma shakes her head. “Sorry, no, he isn’t. He took the day off from farm duties. Said he was making a flying visit to London and he’d be back this evening. I suppose it’s probably something to do with this agency he works for. Maybe they’re lifting his suspension and need him to report for duty straight away on a case. I do hope not, we need him up here!”

My stomach goes into freefall. What if Emma’s right and that is the reason he’s dashed off to London? The thought of not having him around, investigating Armand’s death and ensuring the right person is charged with murder fills me with panic. Without his help I could end up… No, don’t even think about such things.

By nine o’clock that night I feel exhausted and just want to crawl into bed. I wonder if Jack is back from London yet. Should I give him a call? I still need to tell him about Katya. Does he have any updates for me on the investigation? If I’m honest with myself, I know the thought of Jack not being around fills me with dread for much more reason than him not being able to clear my name. I’ll miss him. I really like him, but getting involved would be a big mistake.

Definitely a mistake. Right?

“Anyone want anything else to eat or drink?” I ask, getting to my feet and stretching to wake myself up.

Stella and David, cuddled up together on the sofa, both shake their heads. In the kitchen I boil the kettle and pick up my phone with trembling hands, desperate to hear Jack’s news, just as there’s a knock at the back door.

“Who is it?” I ask, the cold from the quarry tiles reaching through my socks and chilling my feet.

“Jack.”

I slide the bolt back and open the wooden door.

“Can I come in?” he asks, looking a little awkward.

Stepping out of the way I usher him inside just as David appears in the hallway. He must have heard the door and is checking I’m OK. He lifts a hand in greeting at Jack. “Hey.”

Jack nods back. “Evening.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it, then,” David says, turning on his heels and heading back to the living room.

“I was just making a drink if you…”

“No, thanks anyway. Emma said you called at the farm earlier looking for me. Is everything all right?” he asks, getting straight to the point.

“I had some news about Katya.”

He frowns for a second, and I’m about to remind him who Katya is when he says, “She runs the kitchen garden, right?”

“Right. She called here at Eskdale this morning asking to buy some fresh produce for use in the Veggies tonight. She made some excuse about the kitchen garden suffering from a fungal disease and that was why she was short of things for the restaurant. It didn’t ring true, so Stella and I called round there. The place is an absolute mess. Katya is usually a perfectionist, so why is the garden in such a state of neglect?”

Jack stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks thoughtful. “If the place is that bad then she can’t have been getting veg from it for a little while. She must be swapping between asking different people for produce to buy, spinning each one the same story she told you. You’d have thought Armand would have been up there at some point though and spotted what’s going on.”

“I know. There’s more, too. Stella spotted a bouquet of flowers dumped on the top of the compost bin. There wasn’t any note with them. We wondered if perhaps the flowers had been from Armand. They were pretty worse for wear, so had probably been there a few days. Stella thought they might have been having a fling but I wondered if, well… you know what I wondered.”

He nods, a sober expression on his face. “You wondered if he’d been pestering her, wanting more than a manager and employee relationship.”

“Yes. And, when we were in the store getting food, I heard a woman talking to a man saying how the truth about Armand probably won’t come out now and how he made people’s lives hell, including their daughter. The man said he’d have murdered him himself if he’d known what was going on.”

“Let me guess, the people were Katya’s parents,” Jack says, his investigative antennae kicking in.

“Yes. I don’t think they really had anything to do with Armand’s death, but the whole thing makes me wonder if perhaps something was amiss with Armand and Katya and maybe
she
did have something to do with the murder. Whenever she bought fruit and veg to the restaurant kitchen she usually left them with one of the commis chefs. Armand liked the produce to be checked for quality and flavour but he didn’t insist it always had to be him who did the checking. Now I think back, Katya did keep out of his way in the kitchen but was that because they were involved and she didn’t want their behaviour towards each other to give the game away or because she hated him?”