Murder On The Menu: A Romantic Comedy Culinary Cozy Mystery (A Celebrity Mystery) (21 page)

“My, my, my, you two are persistent, aren’t you?” she continues, walking towards us and scooping up some of the photos out of our reach. “You do keep sticking your noises in where they’re not wanted. This is private property. You have no right to be here.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about your sister?” I blurt out.

“That’s personal,” she scowls, stiffening. “How did you find out?”

“I saw the photos and thought they looked different and…” I stop, realising I’m digging the proverbial hole for myself here. If she asks me how they were different and I say there was no chemistry between her and Armand but there was with him and her sister, then she’s not going to take very kindly to it, is she? She already hates me. Jack’s hand is now tightly gripping mine and I’m not sure if it’s as a warning to shut up or as encouragement to continue but either way it’s reassuring and comforting, having him beside me. I couldn’t have tackled any of this investigation without him.

“You spotted the scar Bethany had,” she says. “You figured out it wasn’t me in the photos, didn’t you?”

“We know Armand was dating your sister,” Jack says, still squeezing my hand tightly. “And after she died, you married him. That’s a bit… odd, don’t you think?”

If he’s trying to goad her into snapping and saying things, admitting to stuff, then I figure he’s definitely going the right way about it. Anger flares in her eyes. “We comforted each other, grieved together, grew to love each other. How dare you imply it was odd?”

“I’d say marrying the guy you blame for your sister’s death is odd, wouldn’t you?” Jack continues.

I hope and pray the wire we rigged up is recording all of this. She looks close to losing it and, if she does, we want her confession on tape.

“Of course I didn’t blame him!” she shouts, clutching the photos tightly to her chest, anguish in her eyes. “Armand blamed himself enough without me adding to his burden.”

“Why did he blame himself?” I force my dry mouth to form the words.

“Because he knew the woman who was going to drive had drunk too much and he should have stopped her, taken the keys off of her. The guys were going to get some food and the girls said they were going off to some beach bar. They were all going to meet up there later. Armand never forgave himself.” Tears are streaming down her cheeks now and she’s gripping the photos so tightly they’re getting all scrunched up.

“Why was Armand killed on the exact same date as your sister died in that crash? Just four years afterwards. That cannot be a coincidence,” Jack pushes on for a confession. “You married Armand to keep him close so you knew where your enemy was. Then you plotted his death to both avenge and commemorate your sister’s death. Didn’t you?”

“NO!” she screams at us. “I could never do that! Maybe I shouldn’t have married him. I wasn’t sure if I did love him or if it was more about having somebody who understood how traumatised I was. We helped each other.”

“So why were you separated? Getting a divorce?” Jack demands, and I can see he’s desperate to push her over the edge. “Is that why you killed him? Because he wanted to leave you and you couldn’t face having him walk away from you to start a new life with somebody else? A new life funded by your money and your business acumen.”

“NO! NO! NO!” Bryony gulps back sobs and releases her tight grip on the photos only to have them fall to the floor at her feet.

“Tell us the truth!” Jack yells. “If you don’t, then an innocent women could go to prison for his murder! Is that what you want? Can you cope with that on your conscience as well as killing your husband?”

“I didn’t…” she gulps and wipes at her eyes. “I didn’t kill him.”

Jack finally releases my hand and strides towards Bryony. “Then who did?”

“I don’t know!” she wails, stepping back from him, in the direction of the sofa, but losing her footing on the photos in the process and crashing to the floor. In a split second Jack is by her side, pushing aside the photos and helping her onto the sofa where she dissolves in a heart-breaking flood of tears. He flashes a concerned look at me. What have we done? Have we got this all wrong? If so, who
is
the killer? We don’t have any more suspects…

“What the hell is all the shouting and screaming about?”

I turn on my heels to see Carl Silvers standing in the doorway. He shoots an angry look at Jack. “You again! I’ve already told you to stop bothering us. I’m going to call the police and have them arrest you for assault and harassment.”

Jack walks back from the sofa, hands raised in a gesture of appeasement.

I’m about to blurt out there’s no need for him to call the police because they should already be on their way here to interview Bryony again, when I catch Jack flashing me a warning look. Can he read my mind? Almost imperceptibly he shakes his head and I clamp my mouth closed, heeding his warning to stay quiet. What is he up to now? Does he have a plan?

“We were about to leave anyway,” Jack says, backing off, hands still in the air. “Sorry, this was a total misunderstanding.”

He gestures for me to head for the door and I don’t need any further encouragement. I just want to get out of here. We made a huge mistake. Bryony is distraught, and Carl is about to file charges against us.

“Get out before I kick you down the stairs myself!” Carl blazes.

Jack slowly exits the room, walking backwards, with me tucked behind him. Pulling the door to behind us, we reach the landing, and I don’t know whether to cry with tears of relief that we’re safe or tears of frustration that we got this so wrong, upset Bryony, and, oh yes, there’s still the little matter of my impending arrest.

“Go downstairs,” Jack whispers in my ear.

I look at him questioningly but he just gestures to the stairs. “Go! Walk as loudly as possible.”

What? I don’t have the energy to argue, so I do as instructed, clattering noisily down the stairs, while he remains on the landing, next to the partly-closed door. When I reach the bottom, I look back up and realise he’s eavesdropping on Carl and Bryony. I hold my breath, hoping he’ll hear something which we can use in our renewed search for the killer. What seems like an eternity later, but in reality is probably only a couple of minutes, Jack starts down the stairs. As he does so, the door opens behind him and Carl appears, brandishing a knife.

“Jack!” I squeal.

As Carl launches himself and his knife at Jack, Jack turns just in time to duck out of the way. I’m frozen to the spot as the two of them tussle on the stairs. What do I do?

“Help!” I yell as loudly as I can. Even if all of the customers in the bar have left now there should still be members of staff around. “Help!”

Jack ducks away from Carl, who lunges at him again, waving the knife at his chest. Fear grabs hold of me so tight I can hear my racing heartbeat thrashing in my ears. I think I’m in danger of hyperventilating. I can’t. Don’t think about that, think about Jack and the crazy chef wielding a knife at him. What do I
do
? While one part of me wants to dive into the fray to try and help Jack, another part knows that would be a stupid thing to do on so many levels. What could I do other than get in the way, distract Jack and cause even more problems for him? Marla rushes into the corridor from the bar, sees what is going on and screams at the top of her voice.

“Call the police!” I scream back at her.

She stumbles back through the door and moments later two of the young guys from the kitchen appear. “What the hell?” William shouts. “What’s going on?”

Neither man attempts to wade in and split them up, but thankfully Jack gets the better of Carl in some Ninja-like manoeuvre and pins him against the wall on one side of the stairs. Carl drops the knife, and it clatters its way to the bottom step.

“OK! OK! It…It was me. I did it! I killed Armand! He deserved it. He was right to blame himself over Bethany’s death,” he says, his face twisted in anguish. “He destroyed not one woman’s life, but two. Bryony never recovered from her sister’s death. She’s had counselling and is on medication. I hate seeing the woman I love suffering like that, even after all these years. I killed Armand on that date because I saw the pain Bryony was going through as the anniversary of her sister’s death approached. I wanted revenge for her and I took it.”

The door from the bar bursts open and Mark appears in the hallway. Instantly he takes charge, bundling Carl into handcuffs, slipping the knife into one of those evidence bag things.

“Wow,” I gasp. “That was fast!”

“I was patrolling in the village, heard the commotion and came in to see what was going on,” Mark explains. “I reckon this place has seen more than enough trouble lately, don’t you?”

My thoughts whiz back to Mark telling me about Armand being stabbed when I turned up for work at the Veggies. It seems ages ago now. I nod in agreement and he turns away to speak into his radio, presumably summoning more police to escort Carl away.

As Jack sags onto the bottom step of the stairs, I flop down next to him and pull him into a fierce hug.

“Are you OK?” I lean away and run my hands up his arms, chest and back, across the stubble of his jaw, looking for any cuts. Miraculously there aren’t any.

“I’m fine,” he says, pulling me back into a hug just as his phone rings. I ease away once more to give him space to answer it. “She is? Right. Can I do anything to help? Right. Me? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Nothing to worry about here. Keep me informed? Thanks. Good luck!”

I tried not to listen but as I’m only centimetres away from him, it was impossible not to. “Was that about Emma? Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. That was Frazer. They’re on the way to the hospital. Emma’s OK but she’s started having the baby.”

“Will they get there in time?” I ask anxiously.

He nods. “Should do. They reckon it’ll be a good few hours yet until the latest member of the Mathis clan puts in an appearance.”

Another policeman appears in the hallway. “Mr. Mathis? We need you to accompany us to the police station.” He shoots a questioning look at me. “Aren’t you Miss Carter? You’re involved in this too. We’ll need…”

Jack stands up. “She had nothing to do with any of this. It was all me. She just happened to hear the commotion and came into the hallway to see what was going on,” Jack lies.

I know he’s trying to protect me and I’m grateful, truly I am, but I can’t let the man who has kept me out of jail lie for me. “I was involved,” I interrupt, getting to my feet. “I’ll come to the station too.”

I don’t look at Jack as we’re escorted outside to the waiting police cars but I can feel his irritated glare burning into my back. Whether he likes it or not, I refuse to lie about this. We’re put into different cars and are whisked off to tell our sides of the story. Hopefully, in a few hours, Jack and I will both get to walk away from this whole mess without being charged.

Fingers crossed.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Jack and I don’t see each other until
much
more
than a few hours later. When I’m finally released from questioning, I ask at reception if Jack has been let out yet. The man on the desk checks his records and says Mr Mathis is still in one of the interview rooms. I take a seat in the waiting area and sip at a drink from the vending machine which doesn’t taste remotely like the coffee it’s supposed to be. Eventually, Jack wanders through the doors, and his face lights up when he sees me, causing a lovely flicker of warmth on my cheeks.

“Everything OK?” we ask each other at the same time and then burst out laughing.

“They released me,” I say, delighted to be able to say the words. I honestly feared the worse… but now I’m a free woman. Yay!

“Me too,” Jack says as he switches his phone on and goes through his messages. “Unfortunately my wire didn’t work in the flat and when I hung around to try to listen to them outside of the flat, I couldn’t hear a word they said.”

“But Carl confessed, so it’s all right anyway, isn’t it?” I reason.

“Yeah, should be.”

“Any news?” I ask as he continues checking his messages, wanting to know how Emma is doing.

“Yeah,” he says, still listening as he speaks. “Yeah. Emma is fine and so is the baby. It’s a girl. No name as yet but mother and daughter are doing well.”

“Oh,” I sigh with relief. “That’s brilliant news. I’m so pleased for them.”

Jack slips an arm around my shoulders. “Yeah, me too. I’ll give Frazer a call as soon as we get out of this place.”

The man on the desk shouts across to us. “I can arrange for transport if you want.”

“Call us a taxi?” Jack asks, and the man nods. We opt to wait outside.

Jack continues scrolling through his phone, then looks up at me. “You OK to wait here for a second? I’ve just got a few calls to make. Something else came up I need to check out.”

I nod. “Of course.”

Jack walks a few feet away from me, turns his back and starts talking into his phone. I wonder if the something he referred to is anything I should be worried about. Is it agency stuff? Does he have to rush off on a case?

The taxi turns up ten minutes later and we climb into the backseat. Silence wraps around us as the car whisks us home. Well, back to Eskdale, which is home for me, if not for Jack.

“I can’t stay long,” he says as I unlock the front door and invite him inside. “I’ve got to get up to the farm and take on Frazer’s jobs while he’s at the hospital.”

“Can I give you a hand with anything?” I check as I fill the kettle and switch it on, desperately in need of a decent coffee, not the wishy-washy mess from the vending machine.

“No need. I can manage,” he replies, rubbing at his face and leaning against the counter top.

“I know you can, but I’d like to help.” I move to stand next to him. “I owe you so much for helping me clear my name. I dread to think what would have happened if…”

My words are silenced by Jack leaning in and gently kissing me. Reaching up, I wrap my arms around his neck, and before I know it he’s lifting me up so I’m perched on the edge of the counter top. The kiss builds and the kettle switches off, the drinks forgotten. For once I can relax and enjoy the delicious moment. I’m not going to be charged with murder. I’m free. Then, my pesky worrisome brain pops up with another problem. Jack will be leaving soon. Back to working for the agency probably.

I gently ease away from his kiss. “What will happen with your job at the agency? Are you in big trouble for getting involved in this case?”

“I’ve been summoned to see my boss at the agency tomorrow.”

I stroke a hand down his arm. “I’m so sorry. Do you want me to come and vouch for you? I can say it was all my fault. That I was in such a state I made you help me.”

A smile crooks his mouth. “No. Thanks anyway. I can handle it.” He steps away from me, and instantly I want to be back in his arms, but instead I slither down onto my feet from the worktop and go to make the coffee.

“I thought you didn’t go anywhere near London these days anyway,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.

“I would to help you out. It’s the least I can do,” I reply, pouring hot water into two mugs.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened in London that drove you away?” he asks, surprising me and making me spill hot water all over the worktop. “After all, it’s the least you can do,” he adds, throwing some of my own words back at me.

I mop up the water and chuck the cloth in the sink. He’s right. I do owe him. Big time. I turn to face him. “I’ll tell you, but on one condition. You have to tell me why you were suspended from your job with this Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency place. Deal?”

“Deal.”

I hand him a mug and take a seat at the table. He sits opposite and spreads his hands before him on the oak surface. “I’m ready.”

I’m not. “You go first.”

“All right,” he shrugs, “but there’s not much to tell. Well, not much I’m allowed to say, thanks to secrecy agreements and stuff with the agency. I was working on a case for an actress. She’d been receiving death threats. We’d agreed a plan of action for the investigation. I uncovered some information which suggested we were completely on the wrong track. So, I decided to revise things without checking back with the agency that it was OK to do so. Things got a little dicey, hence the black eyes and cuts and bruises, but I did catch the guy who was making the threats and stopped him just before he was about to go one step further and live up to his threat.”

“And you got suspended for that? But you caught the bad guy and saved her life!”

“Yeah but I didn’t play by the rules, and the wife of the would-be killer threatened to sue me and the agency for injuring her husband in the process of the arrest. The agency had to suspend me, pending an investigation, and to try to avoid a lawsuit.”

“Wow, that’s tough. Would they rather you’d stuck to the rules, not tracked this guy down and the actress could have ended up murdered?”

“Things in my line of work often get complicated. I’m not the first agent to receive a warning or be suspended pending an enquiry, and I’m sure I won’t be the last one. Now, your turn...”

My phone buzzes into life and I check who is calling. It’s not a recognised number though, just a mobile. I frown.

“Something wrong?” Jack asks.

I ignore my paranoia. The case is closed. I’m a free woman. Nothing in the world to fear anymore. “No, nothing at all,” I reply as I answer the call.

As I hear the voice on the other end, I realise my first instincts were right. I never should have taken this call.