Chapter 11

I was late for the meeting. Hurrying to the administration offices, I checked my phone. Penny had texted. “Where are you?”

“Here,” I texted back as I arrived at the door. The small room looked like a lecture hall. It sloped down to the center dais and was packed with people sitting and standing. There was no room to go further inside. An older man droned on and on about things as the power point presentation flashed behind him.

“As you all should know, there was a murder on the premises a few days ago. Please remind your staff members that it is a terminable offense to talk to the tabloids. Anyone caught leaking information or selling pictures will be dealt with summarily.”

I spotted Penny sitting next to a neat brunette. She saw me at the same time. I waved at her. She patted an empty seat next to her. Great, I would have to elbow my way over there. Nice way to go unnoticed.

The older man continued on about the number of visitors in the gardens and on the tours and basic safety to keep the royal family’s privacy.

I shook my head at Penny. She frowned and waved harder causing several heads to turn. I did what any self-respecting woman would do. I ducked out into the hallway.

“Hello, Carrie Ann.”

I turned to see Ian walk up the hallway behind me. “Hi.”

“How are you? Any more troubles in the kitchen?”

I gave him a weak smile. “Things have been quieter.”

“Good. I’m glad.” His expression softened. “What brings you to this part of the building?”

“I’m meeting Penny to talk to someone.”

“Mind telling me why?”

“I think we identified the woman in the tabloid photo with Lord Heavington.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to make sure we were right before bothering you.”

“Let me guess, you think it’s Beth Branch.”

“Yes,” I straightened. “How did you know?”

“There is video of her meeting with Heavington at other times. CID is questioning Heavington. I’m here to pick up Beth and take her in for her side of the story.”

“Do you think Beth was selling secrets?”

“I certainly hope not. We take these things seriously here.” He paused. “How are you doing? I mean with everything going on?”

His gaze warmed me. “I’m fine,” I said with a short nod. “Just fine.”

The meeting must have ended because people started leaving the room. Ian and I waited outside the doors, watching the crowd. Penny and Beth didn’t come out. When the crowd thinned enough that you could go into the room, we went inside.

Penny was talking to Beth. She looked up. “Carrie Ann,” Penny called my name and waved me over. “Chef Cole this is Beth Branch. Beth, Chef Cole.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” I said and shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you as well,” Beth said. “You are pretty famous, you know.”

“How so?”

“For taking on Chef Butterbottom, of course,” she said with a small laugh. “That man scares everyone else at the palace.”

“I know,” I said. “I lost two assistants because of it.”

“Beth Branch,” Ian stepped in to the conversation. “I need you to come with me.”

“Okay,” she said quizzically. “Why?”

“It has to do with Lord Heavington,” I said, pulling out the tabloid picture. “Is this you?”

“Oh,” she said and her shoulders slumped.

“So it is you?” Penny asked.

“Yes,” she said. “But I didn’t kill anyone. It was a lark really.”

“A lark?”

“Heavington told me he’d give me a thousand dollars for every one of Butterbottom’s recipes I could sneak out of the kitchen.”

“You were selling recipes?”

“Yes,” she said, looking from one of us to the other. “Of course. Heavington was writing a Royal Palace recipe book. I thought everyone knew that. He got a million-dollar advance to write a recipe book based on the tables of the various royals he has dined with. The problem was that Heavington didn’t actually have any recipes.”

“So this is a picture of you passing a recipe on to Lord Heavington,” Ian said.

“Yes,” she said. “What did you think I was selling?”

“Something important enough to kill over,” Ian said. “Why don’t you come with me and we’ll sort it all out.”

“Right,” Beth said.

Beth and Ian walked out of the lecture hall. I turned to Penny. “We might have solved the murder. I mean she might not have murdered Wentworth over the picture, but if Heavington’s publisher had caught wind that he actually didn’t have any recipes…”

“A million dollars is a bit of a motive for murder.”

“Exactly,” I said. “The problem is that Heavington wasn’t in London at the time, and he can prove it.”

“Unless he paid for a hit man to do it,” Penny suggested. “After all, he was paying Beth to get him the recipes from Butterbottom. I bet he paid a lot of people to sneak him official recipes from all over.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “But how do we prove it?”

“By contacting Heavington’s admin, of course,” Penny said.

“Why?”

“Administrators know about everything,” she said with confidence.

“But he wouldn’t tell them he was hiring a hitman,” I said.

“No, but they would note any big budget item on his accounts.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, they have accountants who keep track of everything,” Penny said. “I bet he expensed the money he gave to Beth for the recipes. It wouldn’t surprise me to find that he had a reason for making a large withdrawal last week.”

“But isn’t poisoning someone with pie kind of unprofessional? I mean when you hire a hit man, don’t they usually use a gun or something swift and exacting? How would they have controlled who ate the pie? Do you think they forced him to eat the pie?”

“Ugh, those are all good points,” Penny said as we walked back to the duke and duchess’s apartments. “I suppose CID would have already thought of all that.”

“If not, then Ian will see that they do,” I said. “He seems to be on top of things like that.”

“The question is whether Heavington is a better suspect than you.”

“And what professional would he hire who can get inside the palace grounds and set me up as a killer?”

She opened the door to my kitchen. “It does seem all a little implausible.”

“Yes,” I said. “Thanks for introducing me to Beth. At least now we know she wasn’t selling state secrets.”

“Don’t tell Butterbottom that,” Penny said with a laugh. “I’m sure he thinks his recipes should be state secrets.”

“Speaking of Butterbottom,” I said, “guess who stopped by to ask me to participate in a charity cooking event this weekend?”

“No!”

“Yes,” I said with a grin. “I think the duchess put him up to it.”

“It certainly had to be someone higher up. He would have never come down himself.”

“And he came down himself, stood right in the doorway,” Agnes said, waving at the door we had just stepped through. “Didn’t so much as ask her to come as to tell her there was an opening, but she probably wouldn’t want to take it.”

“And did you take it?” Penny asked.

“Oh, I took it,” I said.

“What kind of competition?”

“It’s in Hyde Park this Saturday and it’s sponsored by one of the duke and duchess’s charities,” I said. “I got the approval to be a part of the competition and the budget to pay the entry fee. I’m going to be making pies!”

“Oh, no … not after you are under suspicion for poisoning a man with pie.”

“What? No,” I said. “This is perfect. I can prove that my pies are delicious and that I’m a good chef.”

“I don’t like it,” Penny said.

“Why not?”

“What if something happens to someone who eats your pie on national television? You will never work again.”

“Oh, please,” I said. “Nothing will happen. Trust me. None of the ingredients will leave my custody and I’ll taste the final pies before anyone else.”

“I don’t know,” She said with a shake of her head. “I don’t like it. It’s too coincidental that Butterbottom brought this competition to your attention.”

“I don’t think he had a choice,” I said.

“I still don’t like it.”

“Pish,” Agnes said. “I’ll be with her. It will be fine. She’s going to make my family’s secret pie.”

“Trust us, Penny,” I said. “I know you do. You eat my food all the time.”

“It’s good food,” she said with a sigh. “Listen, I have to go back to work and report on the meeting. I didn’t mean to put down what you’re doing.”

“I understand, you have concerns,” I said. “But it’s fine. Don’t forget to contact Heavington’s admin about his spending habits.”

“I won’t.” She snatched a cookie off the platter and ducked out of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, Chef,” Agnes said as she patted me on the back. “You’re going to win that pie competition. We have my secret recipe.”