Recipe for Murder (8 page)

N
ANCY STOOD IN
numb horror by Paul Slesak's desk. Her mind was racing, but she couldn't think of one excuse for being in the office.

The door swung silently inward, and there stood Jacques Bonet.

Nancy's shoulders slumped in relief. “Jacques,” she said.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked.

“I was—well—” Nancy took a deep breath. “I was looking for Bess's wallet,” she improvised. “She left it in the classroom, and I told her I'd come back to look for it.”

Bonet's mouth curved. “An excuse to do a little spying?”

Nancy blushed. “Actually I'd hoped to run into Chef Slesak,” she lied. “I wanted to ask him some questions.”

Jacques consulted his watch. “I'm looking for him too. I thought he was going to be working late tonight.”

Nancy's heart nearly stopped. What if Slesak had found her first? Was Ned still following him, or had he given up by now?

“Speaking of late, would you look at the time?” Nancy said in mock surprise. “I've got to get out of here.”

“How did you get
in
here? The security guard locks the doors at night.”

“Oh, I've been here awhile. Listen, I've got to get back, Jacques. I haven't had dinner yet, and I'm starved.”

“What a coincidence. I haven't eaten yet either.” Jacques regarded her thoughtfully. “Have dinner with me and I won't tell Paul I caught you in his office.”

“I think that's blackmail.”

He shrugged and smiled. “Whatever works. I still haven't had a chance to take you to Très Bon.”

Nancy wasn't sure what to do. Still, the evening might not be a total waste if she played her cards right. “Okay, give me twenty minutes to get ready,” she finally said.

“Done,” Jacques said, and they walked out to his expensive-looking sports car.

Ned was going to hit the roof, Nancy thought glumly to herself. How would she be able to explain this date to him?

As Nancy was finishing dressing, the connecting door to George and Bess's room opened.

“Nancy!” George said. “Where have you been? And where are you going?”

“Jacques caught me in Paul Slesak's office, and I had to lie my way out of it. He told me that if I had dinner with him, he wouldn't tell Slesak I'd been in his office.” Nancy sighed. “I just couldn't say no.”

George shook her head. “I don't like that guy. What about Ned?”

“Ned doesn't know. But I'll call his room.”

Nancy dialed swiftly, but there was no answer—and no time to find Ned. “I wish I knew where he was.”

“Probably looking for you,” George said darkly.

Nancy winced. “I asked him to follow Paul Slesak. You don't think he got into any trouble, do you?”

“Look, I saw Ned earlier for a second. He was fine, but he was worried about you. Go on your date. I'll handle it on this end. Just be careful, okay?”

Nancy kept looking for some sign of Ned as
she walked through the lobby, but he was nowhere. Jacques was waiting outside the door. He winked and waved when he saw Nancy, then held the car door for her as she climbed inside.

He didn't waste any time getting to the restaurant. The car sped like a bullet through the crowded city traffic.

Très Bon was an elegant restaurant done in mauve and gold. The sweeping crystal chandeliers were so huge they seemed to cover the ceiling. The maître d' led them to their table—an intimate place for two tucked into an alcove.

Jacques ordered for both of them. And Nancy tried her best to do justice to the food.

Well, she thought to herself, as long as I'm stuck here I might as well make the most of it. “When we were in Chef DuPres's office, you mentioned that this Washington dinner was kind of hush-hush,” she said tentatively.

“Did I?” Jacques's smile didn't quite match his eyes.

“You must have special clearance even to be the chef at a dinner such as that.”

Jacques regarded Nancy with faint amusement. “Why do I get the feeling you accepted my dinner invitation just to pump me for information?” he asked.

Nancy managed to hang onto her poise. “Sorry. Just a bad habit of mine, I guess.”

She was glad when the check was paid and the
valet was retrieving the car. But when she felt Jacques's fingers smooth lightly over her bare arm, she had to force herself not to jerk away.

When they arrived back at the hotel, Nancy said, “Thanks a lot for dinner,” and backed off as fast as she could toward the south wing.

At the elevator she heard a familiar voice call, “Hey.” A very sober Ned walked toward her.

“Don't be mad,” Nancy said before he could speak. “Please. I really didn't know how to get out of it.”

“What about a simple no?”

“Well, you'll be happy to know the evening was a total waste. I didn't learn anything new,” Nancy admitted.

“I did.”

The elevator doors whisked open at that moment, but neither Ned nor Nancy stepped inside. “What do you mean?” Nancy asked.

Ned grabbed her arm and led her outside to the moonlit night. “I followed Slesak. He met with another man, someone I've never seen before. But there was something really secretive about him. He kept looking around, as if he was afraid someone was watching him. He and Slesak climbed into a car together,” Ned added. “I ran back to my car and tore off after them, but I couldn't find them.”

“I wonder who he is,” Nancy murmured.

Ned exhaled heavily and draped his arm over Nancy's shoulders, giving her a hug. “Then I ran
into George, and she told me you were having dinner with Bonet.”

Nancy bit her lip. “Please don't be mad.”

“I'm not mad, but I was worried. Nancy, I think Bonet's dangerous.”

Nancy remembered the way Bonet had hustled her out of Paul Slesak's office. Had he wanted to make certain she wouldn't go back there? “Maybe he asked me to dinner just to keep an eye on me,” she said, thinking about the evening.

• • •

“And now we will have Ms. Drew demonstrate her chicken cordon bleu,” Jacques said the next day at the end of class.

Nancy was taken by surprise. Why was he choosing her? Her chicken wasn't anything special; in fact, it was a little dried out.

“I think it might have gotten a little overdone,” she said apologetically, walking to the front of the room.

“Let me see. Put it on the counter here.” Jacques indicated a space on the work island.

He stepped back, bumping the wrought-iron pot rack, which swung lazily from side to side. Nancy glanced up at it. She didn't remember the hook from which it hung being so exposed before.

Carefully setting her dish on the counter, Nancy said, “I really think mine's overcooked.”

The wrought-iron rack above her head was still swaying a little, and it made her nervous. Glancing
up, she said, “Is this thing safe? I don't remember it—”

She never finished her sentence. There was a sudden, terrible screech from above.

Nancy's heart seemed to stop beating. With a last wrench the rack tore loose from the ceiling and plummeted straight for her head!

N
ANCY DIVED OUT
of the way, hitting the floor just as the heavy rack crashed against the counter. Tiles splintered, and pans flew everywhere. Somebody screamed. Then a huge iron skillet slammed into Nancy's arm, numbing it from shoulder to elbow.

“Nancy!” Ned's voice was full of horror. He bent over her, his hands trembling when they touched her.

Jacques Bonet was also kneeling beside her. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

“Nancy, don't move,” Ned said. “I'll call an ambulance.”

“No, I—think I'm okay.” Nancy's voice was shaky. She cleared her throat, testing every muscle-as she slowly sat up. Only her arm throbbed. “Really. I'm okay.”

Nancy tested her arm. “It's not broken,” she said with relief. “But I'm going to have one doozy of a bruise.”

“I am canceling class for the rest of the day,” Jacques said. Then he turned to Nancy. “Could I talk to you a moment?” His face was dark and set.

“Sure.”

As soon as the last student had passed through the door, Jacques said, “Nancy, I haven't been totally honest with you. I think I know why these accidents have been happening.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if he was reluctant to speak his mind. Finally he sighed and said, “I think the accidents are Claude's fault.”

Nancy blinked. “Claude's fault? How can that be?”

“I didn't want to believe it. I still don't. But it's the only thing that makes sense.”

“It doesn't make sense to me,” Ned put in.

Bonet ignored him. “Claude's reputation as a chef has been declining in recent years. He's slowly losing his edge. To be truthful, I've
been covering for his mistakes whenever I could.”

There was silence for a moment. “But why would Claude sabotage his own school?” Nancy asked.

“To satisfy a wounded ego?” Jacques suggested.

“I can't believe that. He was horrified at the bad publicity. He even blamed me,” Nancy reminded him.

Jacques expression was pained. “He's blamed me for things beyond my control as well. He hinted that I had engineered the loss of the Washington dinner.”

“Oh, no.”

“If these accidents don't stop, someone else will either be hurt or killed. What do you suggest we do, Nancy?” Jacques asked.

Nancy shook her head. She couldn't really believe what Jacques was saying. Claude DuPres was still a world-renowned chef. Although he was excitable, he hardly seemed like an egomaniac—certainly not in the way Jacques described him. But who knew DuPres better than Jacques? No one.

“Paul Slesak still has a stronger motive,” Nancy argued. “If the accidents at the school make the board of directors lose faith in Claude DuPres, it paves the way for Slesak to take over.”

“Claude would never stand for it,” Jacques said. “And Paul knows that.”

The coldness of Jacques's tone led Nancy to believe he was no fan of Paul Slesak's, either. “None of this makes sense,” she said with a sigh. “And none of it seems a strong enough motive for murder.”

“Who's talking about murder?” Jacques demanded.

Ned took a step forward to stand right next to Nancy. “Nancy and I don't believe Trent Richards's death was an accident. We think someone killed him.”

“You obviously haven't read today's paper then,” Jacques retorted. “The coroner's office says he slipped, hit his head, and then froze to death. It was definitely an accident. The police don't suspect foul play. Why should you?”

“We don't know
what
the police suspect yet.” Nancy was doing her best to remain patient. “The coroner's report was just a preliminary.”

Jacques shook his head.
“Why
would anyone want Trent Richards dead?”

“That,” Nancy answered grimly, “is what this mystery is all about.”

She and Ned left Bonet in the classroom and headed back to the hotel, where Nancy spent a frustrating afternoon trying to learn more from the police department about Trent Richards's death. At four-thirty she announced to Ned, “I've gone about this all wrong. The person I really need to face is Paul Slesak.”

“Oh, no.” Ned was adamant. “Not without me.”

Nancy smiled. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

• • •

When they looked in Slesak's classroom and office, the pastry chef wasn't around. “Where could he be?” Nancy asked Ned.

“Maybe he left for the day.”

“It's a little early for him to end his class, isn't it? I guess I'll just camp outside his door and wait.”

“Until tomorrow?”

“No, silly, but for a few hours anyway. If he hasn't come back by, say, six-thirty, I'll leave.”

“I'll keep you company,” Ned said.

While they waited, Ned asked, “So what do you think of Bonet's theories about DuPres?”

“I don't know. They seem farfetched, don't they?”

Ned agreed. “But why would Bonet finger his friend if he really didn't believe it?”

“Beats me.”

When the school had all but emptied, Nancy said, “I don't think Slesak's coming back. But before we leave, let's have a look around the school.”

Downstairs Ned put his finger to his lips at the sound of voices. “They're not coming from the freezer, are they?”

Nancy shook her head. “No, I think they're in
the butchering room across from it. And one of them sounds like Slesak!”

They ran down the hall and stopped in front of the butchering room. Through the small window in the door they could see both Slesak and DuPres.