Murder On The Menu: A Romantic Comedy Culinary Cozy Mystery (A Celebrity Mystery) (4 page)

Jack pulls away. “Right. I need a notepad and a pen, and then I need you to tell me all about your expired boss.”

I find the requested items and hand them to Jack, my hands shaking as I do so. He catches my fingers as he reaches for the pen and flashes me a smile. “It’s going to be OK.”

I nod and try to believe him. We take seats at opposite ends of the oak kitchen table.

“So, tell me everything you know about Armand,” he says, pen poised over the notepad. “I need to figure out who our other suspects are.”

Picking up on his words I gasp, “Other? So you’re including me on your suspects list?”

“I have to. I need to go through the details of who is in Armand’s life and what motives and opportunities they could have had for killing him off. Then I need to check alibis for each of those people. I’m assuming you have motive and, as you work with him, opportunity. As you’re so worried that you’re prepared to work with me, your unknown-quantity neighbour, without seeing any solid proof I work for a crime investigation agency, then I’m assuming you don’t have an alibi for the time of the murder.”

I shake my head and avert my eyes.

“So, come on then, tell me all about your relationship with your former boss.”

“I wasn’t in a relationship with him,” I immediately protest. “I’m sworn off relationships right now anyway, but even if I wasn’t… ewww.”

“From what I’ve seen of him on the TV, when he was in that big cookery competition a few years ago, he’s not a bad looking guy, so why would dating him be so awful?” Jack asks, his head tilted a little to one side again enquiringly.

“Well, he’s married for one thing, well, getting divorced. Plus, he’s a creep,” I reply and then feel guilt surge through me, right down to my in-need-of-a-serious-pedicure toes. “Sorry, I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead; that’s what my aunt always used to tell me.”

“Come across a lot of dead people did she, your aunt?” he quips, tapping his pen against the table so fast it’s almost a blur.

“Don’t make jokes!” I protest, fearing the wrath of Aunt Molly crashing down on me as well as the might of the Cumbrian police force.

“I’m not. I’m just checking your family doesn’t have a thing about stumbling across murder victims.” He stops tapping the pen and instead raises it in the air towards me, as though it’s a sword he’s seeking protection behind. “Perhaps you’ve lured me here to help you, with your sweet and innocent façade, when actually you
are
the murderer and I’m in danger of becoming your next victim.”

“Ha ha! Very funny!” I scowl at him.

“So, speaking of your aunt, Frazer told me you used to spend school holidays up here, staying at Eskdale and helping out your aunt and uncle. Shame I didn’t get to do the same, spending time at Wellbeck and helping out my grandfather, we might have met when we were kids if I had.”

“Did you want to be at the farm back then?”

He shrugs. “My dad was in the army…” he falters slightly, then gathers himself and continues. “Anyway, we all had a nomadic lifestyle because of that, so we were often living overseas and stuff and I didn’t get to visit Cumbria very often. Even as a kid Frazer always used to tell me that when he was grown up he wanted to put down roots before he started his own family. As things turned out, he inherited Wellbeck, which suited him just fine. It’s a great place to raise a family. I guess I inherited the adventure gene instead, always off and about somewhere, every day different.”

The curious part of me wonders what happened to Jack and Frazer’s father but I don’t want to ask him outright. He looks a little upset.

“Tell me more about why Armand is a creep,” he says, swiftly changing the subject. “What do the police think is your motive for killing him?

“Disgruntled employee, I suppose. I mean, basically he yells at everyone and nothing is ever right.” I wonder how much I should say to Jack about Armand’s behaviour towards the young female employees at the restaurant. “He had very high standards at the Veggies.”

Jack stops making notes and looks across at me, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Veggies?”

“That’s what the locals call the pub and restaurant.”

He nods, the penny dropping. “Ah, right.
Viande Et Deux Legumes.
Of course, meat and two vegetables in French.”

“You speak French?”

“Oui, bien sur.
Special agents need to be fluent in at least two languages. Anyway, we’ve established that, in typical chef fashion, he was a perfectionist and volatile.”

I nod. “That’s right. We had a new guy, Colin, start from catering college, and on every shift he worked he ended up crying in the stockroom or the catering fridge. Poor guy was so embarrassed he’d been reduced to tears by Armand.”

“Embarrassed enough to stab his boss with a knife at the end of his shift?” Jack asks.

I shoot him a no-way look. “Colin wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“So, who else do you know who works at the Veggies who might bear a grudge enough to murder the boss?”

“I don’t,” I reply with a shrug of frustration. If we can’t figure out who killed Armand then… I shudder again.

“Cold?” Jack asks, watching me carefully from across the table. “It might be early autumn but a Cumbrian sunny day in September is probably nearer to a wintery London day in temperature. Not fully acclimatised to being up here yet?”

“I’m just feeling a bit shivery.” I wrap my arms around myself. “It must be the shock of it all. I still can’t believe Armand is dead.”

He reaches a hand across to me and rests it on top of my own. “I know, sorry. I’d suggest you hit something stronger than coffee but…”

I look up, see his expression, and finish his sentence for him. “But the police might turn up at my door at any moment and ask me to accompany them down to the local station for further interrogation.”

“Armand is slap bang in the middle of an awkward divorce, isn’t he?” Jack asks, changing the subject. “His wife is Bryony Seville. Quite the businesswoman by all accounts.”

Wow. This guy knows his stuff about B-list celebrities. A tiny part of me is impressed. “Yes, he’d been keen to keep it out of the papers though. I think it’s in case it gets to the name calling and dishing the dirt stage between them and he doesn’t want that to affect business at the restaurant. Makes sense. So, how did you know about it?”

“I work for the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency, remember? Well, usually I do,” he amends. “So I have to know my celebs from A to Z, just in case.”

I nod and take in his assured gaze. There’s definitely something about this guy. He does ooze a James Bond-style confidence, despite his protests to the contrary.

“So,” he continues. “Does the ex-wife-to-be have anything to gain from getting someone to kill off her estranged husband?”

“You think she might have hired an assassin?” I gasp. I thought things like that only happened in movies about the mafia.

“Could have done. Has he ever mentioned anything about who owns what with regards to the Veggies? Does she own half? Does she want to try and take it all away from him?”

“I don’t know. He never mentioned her, not to me anyway. I have heard him ranting and raving on his phone quite often this last week or so. He was all red in the face and waving his arms about so I guess somebody was making him even angrier than usual. It might have had something to do with the pending divorce.”

Jack looks thoughtful for a moment. “Could be relevant, even if it wasn’t his wife he was talking to. You can’t remember when any of these times were, can you? If you can then I could call in some favours and access his mobile phone records, find out who he was talking to.”

I frown in concentration. “I remember the most recent one, it was on Tuesday. I remember because my feet were aching like mad and I was glad my shift was almost over. It must have been getting on for three in the afternoon. I usually work in the evenings but do extra shifts at lunch here and there as a favour for colleagues and, of course, for the extra money as well. On that day I was covering a shift for Andrea.”

“OK.” He nods encouragingly. “Last Tuesday. Three in the afternoon. Got it. I’ll see what I can do about tracing who he was on the phone with. Now, I think we need to plan what you’re going to say to the police when they interview you again.”

“That’s highly likely, isn’t it?” I ask, hoping he’ll say it’s nothing to worry about and reassure me that I’m not at the top of their suspects list.

He nods. “Yeah, sorry, afraid so. Look, let’s get realistic. I think you need to be careful, shall we say, choosy, what you tell them.”

I shoot him a look of concern. “You mean you want me to lie to the police?”

“Not lie, as such,” he edges. “Just be selective. Don’t give them any more reasons to think you stabbed your boss. Keep your answers to a minimum and don’t let them rile you or try to get you to ramble on. That’s when you might say stuff you really shouldn’t.”

He’s right, I’m going to have to try to be careful about what I say in case some things end up getting misinterpreted. And I
definitely
do not want to end up in jail. Plus, who would look after Eskdale Top? And my parents would be distraught. My ex-boyfriend Adam would probably love it though. He’s a journalist and would be up to Cumbria like a shot, thinking he could use me to get the inside scoop on the story for the paper he works for.

“So, do we have any other likely suspects?” Jack asks, breaking into my thoughts.

I shake my head without really thinking. My mind all over the place. “Not that spring to mind.”

“Come on, there must be some,” he encourages. “All we have at the moment is you, his wife Bryony, and Colin, the new recruit at the Veggies who wouldn’t hurt a fly and spends all his time sobbing in the walk-in fridge. Plus, possibly whoever he was ranting and raving with on that phone call you mentioned. There’s got to be somebody else.”

“I honestly don’t know. I can’t think of anyone at the moment,” I reply with a heavy sigh, feeling beyond frustrated. Then I remember the shadowy figure in the car park at the Veggies. How could I have forgotten? I clear my throat. “I don’t know if this is relevant or not but I’ve just remembered, when I was leaving on the night Armand was stabbed, I saw a figure running across the car park.”

Jack nods encouragingly. “Anything you can remember about their clothing? Height? Build?”

“It was dark,” I reply, desperately trying to recall the scene.

“The slightest thing might turn out to be relevant, Lizzie. Just take a second and try to picture the scene.”

“I think it was a man. Though, I suppose it could have been either, really. The person was of slim build. Wearing jeans and a top with the hood up. That’s all I saw, sorry.”

“Right. If you remember anything else, let me know as soon as possible.”

“Oh! What about that TV show he was on? A volatile guy like Armand must have made some enemies there, surely?”

He scribbles a note. “I’ll check it out.”

I nod. “Right. So, what happens now?”

“I need to get into the Veggies to have a look around,” he says, all matter-of-fact. “You work there, so you must know how to get in, right?”

I nod, feeling hot and cold at the thought of stepping foot back in that kitchen. My place of work. The place where Armand was stabbed to death. “There’s a key pad and you have to input the code.”

“OK, good.” He reaches for his pen. “Tell me the code. I want to go over there tonight.”

“But won’t they have police guarding the place? It is a crime scene, after all.
And
the person who was killed is a celebrity. They won’t just leave the place for anybody to wander around, surely? I don’t think they were even letting them open up for business today.”

“Who’s in charge when Armand isn’t around?” Jack asks suddenly, and I can see his mind whirring, planning something.

“Peter Drummond. He’s the assistant manager.”

“What do you know about him?”

I shrug. “Nothing. He’s a workaholic. Has a good professional reputation. Armand gets involved in a lot of promotional publicity stuff, so has to be away from the Veggies at least one day each week. Everyone heaves a sigh of relief when Pete’s in charge. He has high standards but he doesn’t bawl everyone out. Pete isn’t hands-on with the cooking side of things. He prefers to oversee the kitchen, not get involved himself.”

“Does he fall under the category of what you’d call a decent guy? Happily married?” Jack questions. “Family?”

“I don’t know. He never talks about anything personal. He doesn’t wear a wedding ring but that doesn’t mean anything. Many men don’t. Do you think he’s a suspect too?”

“He’s on the list, let’s put it that way.”

“So, what about this visiting the restaurant tonight? If it’s still all cordoned off then you won’t be able to just waltz up to the staff entrance and enter the code.”

He closes his notepad and gets to his feet. “I’ll think of something.”

“Can I come with you?” I surprise myself by asking.

Jack, obviously equally as surprised, shoots me a questioning look. “And why would you want to do that?”

“I know where everything is,” I reason. “I could help save you time while you’re looking for whatever it is you’re looking for, you know clue-type things.”