Kale to the Queen Read online

  “Can anyone confirm that?”

  I scowled at him. “I certainly hope not. Please tell me you don’t have cameras hidden in my room.”

  “We don’t. I know these questions sound ridiculous, but they are the same questions the inspector on the case will have.”

  My hands trembled, and the room started to spin. I looked at the tabletop in a poor attempt to make it stop.

  “Are you all right?” Ian asked.

  “I haven’t eaten, and I think it’s all catching up with me.” I looked up. “Do you have a piece of candy or some orange juice?”

  “Put your head between your knees,” he ordered and stood. “I’ll get you something.”

  I did as he said and concentrated on breathing. I heard him walk out and then come back into the room. He touched my shoulder.

  “Here, drink this.”

  I sat up slowly and took the glass of juice from him. I drank it, all the while feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland.

  “What are you laughing about?” he asked as he sat back down.

  “‘Drink this’—like Alice in Wonderland. Does that make you the Mad Hatter?”

  He studied me as if I had lost my mind. Maybe I had.

  “I’ve asked the main kitchen to make you a sandwich and tea. You should remember to eat,” he said.

  “Trust me, I’m not in the habit of forgetting to eat,” I said and finished off the juice. I put the glass down and pushed it toward him. “Now you can get my DNA as well.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” he said and picked up his pen. “What made you forget to eat today?”

  It was my turn to look at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I found a dead guy in my greenhouse and then had to rush into Chef Bumblebottom’s kitchen to create a meal in half the time allotted. And then I had to run through the palace to deliver it and return to the kitchen to be treated like a minion in Bumble’s little army. Seriously, Haregrove was cleaning the floor by hand. Who does that?”

  “It’s Chef Butterbottom,” he corrected me.

  “You say po-tay-to, I say po-tah-to,” I replied and waved his concern away with my hand. I noted that the shaking had subsided a bit. I thought I saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

  “Where were we? Right, you woke up at four AM . . .”

  “I showered, changed, and went in search of coffee. There wasn’t any in my room.”

  “I found you making coffee in the family’s kitchen at four forty-five AM. That was a pretty quick shower.”

  “I’m a chef, not a glamourpuss,” I replied to his unstated question. “I don’t need more than five minutes to get dressed and go.” It was something I learned at my internship. I loved my sleep. Since I preferred only basic makeup, I could be ready for work in fifteen minutes. That meant I could still be in bed while others were up blow drying their hair and primping. It’s also why my hair was long and pulled back. I didn’t have to do much but brush it into a low ponytail and be done.

  I was thankful my heart-shaped face was pretty on its own. At least, that’s what John would say. Right then I wished I were home with him—even if he had his nose in a new recipe.

  “You went straight from your room to the kitchen,” Ian continued.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see Mr. Deems?”

  “No. I didn’t expect to, as my assistants don’t start work until six AM. I went into the kitchen. It was dark, so I turned on the lights and made coffee. I was using the time to go over the duchess’s preferred list of dishes and foods to create the day’s menu. That’s what I was doing when you came in.”

  “Funny—that’s not what I saw.” His eyes twinkled. Oh, man, it was hard to resist a man with twinkly eyes. My thoughts went to John and how his eyes had once twinkled. It was part of why I had fallen in love with him.

  “Well, it was what I was doing.”

  “You didn’t see or hear anything suspicious?”

  “No. Well, except you. What were you doing up at four forty-five AM?”

  “My job,” he replied. “When did you find the body?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t check the time. It was before six because my assistants—well, as far as I knew, no one was there yet. I had just sketched out a daily menu. Breakfast was leek and greens pancetta frittata, fruit cups with yogurt, scones, and sausages. I went into the greenhouse to pick the greens for the dish—”

  “Why didn’t you wait for your assistants to do that?”

  I stared at him blankly for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m used to doing things for myself.”

  “I see. Go on.”

  “I picked some spinach and radicchio, then headed for the kale when I smelled something metallic—you know, like the blood meal that they sometimes use in gardens. I rounded the bed and stopped short. I have no idea what happened next. I think I dropped the greens I was holding when I saw Mr. Deems lying there. His eyes were open and there was a pool of blood under him. That’s where the smell came from, I think.”

  A security guy knocked and brought in a tray with a club sandwich and chips along with a fork, napkin, and another glass of water.

  “Dig in,” Ian ordered.

  “I’m not sure I can.” I swallowed hard, but my stomach grumbled. “I found a dead body. The memory is making me queasy.”

  “You are queasy because you haven’t eaten all day,” he countered. “Take a bite of the sandwich.”

  The last thing I wanted to do today was to get sick in front of a hunky security guy. Even if he thought I was some sort of homicidal maniac.

  “Take a bite.” He lifted up one triangle of the sandwich and pushed it in front of me.

  “Fine,” I said and took it from him, all the while sending him a narrow-eyed look. I took a bite. The sandwich gummed up in my mouth. I grabbed for the water and washed it down as best I could. “Done.”

  “Good.” He went back to his pad of legal paper and his pen. “Were you aware of anyone in the greenhouse when you found Mr. Deems?”

  “No,” I put the sandwich back on the plate and prayed my stomach would settle. “I’ve had CPR training. They say the first thing to do when you find a person in distress is to call his name, shake him, and see if he responds.”

  “You shook him?”

  I nodded and chewed on my bottom lip. “On his shoulder. He was very cold to the touch. I felt for a pulse but there wasn’t one.”

  “I see.”

  “The next step is to search the airway to remove any blockages and then start CPR. But I made the decision not to do anything. His eyes were open and lifeless. He was dead.” Tears welled up in my eyes. I hadn’t realized that I was so worried that I could have somehow saved him, but chose not to do it. “He was dead, wasn’t he? I couldn’t have saved him. Could I have?”

  Ian put his hand on my hand. The heat from his skin warmed my cold fingers. “CPR would not have saved him.”

  Looking up, I met Ian’s eyes and saw comfort for a brief moment before his gaze hardened. He removed his hand. “What happened then?”

  “I realized that I don’t have any emergency training yet. I didn’t quite know what to do. Then I remembered there was a phone near the door of the kitchen. I went inside and called the emergency number listed on the phone.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes, I was still on the phone when you and your men came through.” I picked up one of the French fries—er, chips—and chewed on the end of it. This time the food tasted better. Maybe it was the salt or the heat of the fry that soothed my belly.

  “That’s it? You never saw another person?”

  “That’s it.” I grabbed another fry and chomped it down. “I don’t know why you suspect me of all people. I have no reason to kill Mr. Deems. I’m not even certain how he died.”

  “The inspector will be in soon.” Ian stood. “Eat. It’s going to be a very long day for you.”

  After he left, I picked the bacon out of the sandwich, then the tomato and lettuce. Really I was jus
t pushing the food around while I propped my cheek in my left hand. “This needs ketchup,” I said to the air. Sure, other chefs would be horrified at the thought of ketchup on what was once a beautiful plate of food, but ketchup was a comfort food I had grown up eating on my fries. And what I really needed right then was comfort.

  I reached into my pocket to get my phone and checked my messages. There was a text from John wishing me sweet dreams and letting me know he’d call today. Did John miss me already? Why did the idea surprise me? Was the better question whether or not I missed him?

  My best friend Lucy had e-mailed about her day and asked how I was doing in London. I worried my bottom lip and replied with a few bland words about being fine and settling in. What would my friends think if I got fired on my second day? Or worse, was thrown in jail for the rest of my life for murdering my assistant?

  I rubbed my forehead. The pain pills had kicked in, and there was now only a dull ache. I knew I was being overdramatic, but I tended to do that in serious situations.

  There was a mirror on the wall that must have been two-way. On my way in, I’d seen a small office behind the mirrored wall. It was furnished with a large desk, a single chair, and a set of three tall file cabinets. There was also a window behind the desk. I had the feeling this was not so much an interrogation room as a conference room. If I had to guess, the office must have belonged to Ian.

  When I looked down, I noticed that I had indeed devoured nearly the entire plate of fries. I sat up straight and dusted the salt off my fingers, wiped them clean with the napkin, and pushed the plate away. A glance at my watch told me it was nearly tea time.

  So much for my second day at work.

  There was a short knock at the door, and I turned to see a short man wearing a suit of fine brown wool, a crisp white shirt, and brown-and-white striped tie. He carried a briefcase and strode to the chair on the other side of the table from me. “Good day, Chef Cole. I am Inspector Garrote. I have a few questions for you.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Hello.”

  He opened his briefcase and pulled out a recorder and a legal-sized notepad. Then he stopped and looked up at me. His eyes were hidden behind thick horn-rimmed glasses. His hair was light brown and would most likely have been blond when he was younger. His nose was rounded and his jowls soft.

  “I understand you have spoken to Security Chief Ian Gordon,” he said.

  “Yes, he asked me questions.”

  “Good, good,” he said. “Then you won’t mind my asking the same.”

  “No, certainly not,” I replied, picking up his accent. It was weird. Like I said, I had moved around a lot as a kid, and that had fostered the annoying habit of taking on whatever accent the person speaking to me had. I read somewhere it was a survival instinct and an attempt to blend in quickly with the locals. But it didn’t work as an adult.

  “Are you mocking me, Chef Cole? Because there is nothing humorous about murder.”

  “No, sir.” I shook my head and tried my darnedest to be sincere.

  “Then I’ll begin.” He cleared his throat and asked me the exact same questions that Ian had asked, only in a different order. I suppose it was to ensure my story remained the same.

  It was indeed a long day. The sun had set before Ian let me go back to my part of the palace. I met Michael in the hallway, and we walked toward the elevator.

  “Did they keep you the entire day as well?”

  “Yes, Chef,” he said. He looked nearly as tired as I felt. I remembered that he had lost a coworker and perhaps a longtime friend today. There was so little I really knew about these men.

  I put my hand on his arm in a poor attempt to comfort him. “My condolences on your loss. Did you tell me that you and Mr. Deems were best friends?”

  He pushed the elevator button. “We’d worked together for twelve years. I am godfather to his two boys.”

  “How old are his boys?”

  “They are eight and ten years old. I’m going to check on his wife, Meriam. She’ll need some help getting through the next few days. Security Chief Gordon told me they won’t release the body until a complete autopsy is done. It could be a week before a funeral can be scheduled.”

  “Please send along my condolences.” We stepped into the elevator. “Did you leave with Mr. Deems last night? I know you told me you live fairly close to each other.”

  “I made the tube, but Frank turned back. He said he left something in the kitchen.”

  “But I didn’t see him return to the kitchen,” I said. “I was there late having tea with Penny.”

  “Maybe he stopped at a pub for a pint,” Michael said. “Frank was known to do that from time to time.”

  “Was he a heavy drinker? I know so very little about you both,” I said.

  “It’s quite expected,” he said and patted my shoulder. “You haven’t been here long enough to know anyone well. It truly is too bad. I think you would have really liked Frank. Despite his flaws—and we all have them—he was a good egg.”

  “Who would have wanted to kill him?”

  “That’s what the inspector and Chief Gordon are going to find out.”

  The elevator doors opened. There was a security guard at the entrance.

  “May I see your badge, please?” he asked. We showed him our identification and he scanned it in his handheld device. “Thank you.”

  I turned to Michael. “Go to Mrs. Deems. I’m sure this nice security officer can help me find the kitchen.”

  “Thank you, Chef,” he said. “Chief Gordon tells me that the palace has been cleared and the family will return by luncheon tomorrow. I will be in the kitchen by nine AM.”

  “Good, I’ll see you then.” I watched as he turned left and hurried down the corridor and out of sight. I turned to the security officer. He was a rather fit man with a square jaw, blue eyes, and blond hair. His name badge said “Jones.” “Well, then, Officer Jones, is it too late to get my orientation completed and my real identification badge?”

  “I’ll check,” he said, his voice a comfortable baritone. He spoke into the walkie-talkie that sat on his shoulder. The person on the other end came back with an affirmative. “Mrs. Worth would like you to meet her in the HR offices along with Chief Gordon and the minister of orientation. Follow me.”

  I patted my pocket to reassure myself that I still had my phone. When this day was done, I was going to call John. I needed a friendly voice in the midst of all this chaos. Maybe, just maybe, he’d realize he needed me and would come rescue me from this madness. But deep in my heart, I knew I couldn’t count on it.

  Chapter 6

  “I was a bit disappointed in the way that you handled Chef Butterbottom today,” Mrs. Worth said. It sounded as if she was more than disappointed; her tone said she was clearly annoyed. “I expected better from you.”

  It was late. I had finished orientation and was waiting for my official badge to be laminated. Mrs. Worth sat behind a desk, and I stood in front of it with my hands behind my back. “Finding Mr. Deems’s body threw me off my game. I’ll try to do better next time.”

  “See that you do.” She scanned papers in front of her, not bothering to look at me. It was a tactic to let me know I was less important than whatever work she had to do at eight PM at night. “For the next month, the family kitchen greenhouse will be off limits. I’ve set the gardeners on it. They will have to remove all the beds, do a thorough washing, and then regrow everything again.” She made it sound as if it were my fault.

  I bit my bottom lip to keep from pointing out that she was wrong.

  She paused for a moment and then went on. “You will shop for your fresh produce at the approved markets on this list.” She handed me a piece of paper. “They open at five AM, so you will have an hour to pick out your day’s ingredients.”

  I took the paper.

  “As you may know, the family has been allowed to return. They will be back in time for luncheon tomorrow. I expect you to send a daily and weekly menu to
me via my e-mail before midnight tonight so that I can have it approved.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She finally looked up. She folded her hands on top of the papers, studying me. “I would suggest that we never have another day like today. Am I clear?”

  “Very clear.”

  “Good,” she said and pushed her chair back. “I see Miss Smithson has your identification card ready.”

  I turned to see the pretty blonde assistant to the minister of orientation come into the room with my badge in hand.

  “Be sure to keep it on your person whenever you are in the palace—outside of your room, of course,” Mrs. Worth continued. “When you leave the palace, keep it with you in a safe place. We are not happy if it gets stolen. Are we, Chief Gordon?”

  “No, ma’am, we are not,” Ian Gordon said from his station just outside her door.

  “Now, Chef Cole, you must be tired. Chief Gordon will see you back to your rooms. I suggest you get some rest. The family will return in the morning, and I only expect the best from you. Do you have your employee handbook?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said and held up the book with the emergency information and a map of the corridors along with the rules of the palace. “I plan on studying it thoroughly.”

  “Good. Have a good evening.” She looked down at her papers. “You are dismissed.”

  I turned and left the room, clutching my rule book and my new identification badge. Ian turned and kept pace with me. It was pretty clear I was being closely watched.

  “How was your day?” I quipped.

  “Unusual,” he answered and showed me to another elevator. “Miss Nethercott had a staff dinner plated and sent to your room.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank her.”

  “Didn’t she go to the safe place with the family?”

  “She did.” We entered the elevator and he pushed the button to floor two.

  “Then how did she think of my dinner?”

  “She texted me, asking how you were.”