For Better or Hearse (10 page)

“If the videotape clears Georgia of the murder, I don't understand why we don't take it to the police.” Kate followed me through the Fairmont Hotel lobby, running to keep up.

After Joni had left and Leatrice went downstairs to get her magnifying glass so she could further inspect the video, Kate and I rushed down the back fire escape of my apartment building. Before Leatrice could notice we were gone, we'd hopped in my car and sped away. We knew she would have insisted on joining our search for dark-haired men in chef jackets, and it's hard to be inconspicuous with a little old lady in pink cowboy boots tagging along.

“For starters,” I said, “the police are sure that Georgia is the killer, so it's going to take a lot of convincing for them to admit they made a mistake and let her go.” I looked over my shoulder to make sure Kate kept up. “I also think we need to have more evidence about the actual murderer before we turn our information over.
Which is why we're back at the Fairmont. To narrow down the list of dark-haired suspects.”

“So you want us to build an entire case, and then hand it to the cops on a silver platter?”

I took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. “If that's the only way to be sure that Georgia is cleared of the murder, then yes.”

“I don't know about this, Annabelle.” Kate lowered her voice and closed the distance between us. “Do you think it's smart of us to poke around the hotel? What if the real killer doesn't want to be discovered?”

“We'll be discreet,” I assured her. “I promised Georgia that I would ask around the hotel. I'm sure her colleagues will want to help her.”

Kate shot me a sideways glance. “Except the one that wanted her fired and the one who framed her for murder.”

“Mr. Elliott isn't off my suspect list.” I reached the second floor landing and paused to catch my breath. “The charming general manager may not have a lot of hair, but if I remember correctly, it is dark.”

“So is Marcello's,” Kate reminded me. “Are there no Scandinavian chefs in the city?”

“Believe me, if Richard hadn't been working with him at the Dumbarton House at the time of the murder, Marcello would be at the top of my list. But unless human cloning has come a lot further than I think, it would have been impossible for Marcello to kill Henri. I still think that Marcello might know something about who
did
kill his archenemy, though.”

“Too bad he would never tell us.” Kate followed me past the executive offices and through the door that led to the back hallways. “After the way he reacted when
we mentioned Henri, I doubt he'd be willing to talk about the murder case again.”

“Luckily we don't have to talk to him to get the information we need.”

The halls in the back of the hotel were in stark contrast to the ones the guests saw. Painted cinder-block walls and utilitarian tile floors were a far cry from the hotel's trademark gleaming marble and polished glass. I stopped in front of the door to the employee cafeteria and motioned with a jerk of my head. “We have more than enough people right here who can lead us to the killer.”

“Good thinking, Annie.” Kate patted me on the shoulder. “If anyone is gossiping about the murder, this is the place we'll hear it.”

I walked inside the employee cafeteria, which had recently been painted red. We were met by the buffet line, which reminded me of elementary school, with the rectangular metal pans of steaming food lined up behind glass hoods. We passed the hot food offerings and made our way down to the beverage station. The ice dispenser made a grinding noise but produced no ice, so we filled our tall paper cups with lukewarm Diet Coke. Nothing like a nice warm soda.

Once we had our drinks, I motioned for Kate to follow me into the sitting area filled with square tables and wooden chairs. A TV mounted on the wall played
Oprah
, and a cluster of women in housekeeping uniforms watched intently. A tall man I recognized as one of the security staff sat in a corner reading a newspaper. He glanced over his paper as we chose a table by the window that overlooked the roof of the Colonnade.

Kate slid her chair closer to me. “How are we going
to get any information out of these people? No one is talking.”

“I guess we wait until
Oprah
is over.” I peeked at my watch. We had twenty minutes before the talk show queen released her siren's hold on the room.

“Do you ladies work in the hotel?” A deep voice startled me, and I jumped, spilling a bit of my soda on the table. No great loss. The security officer stood over me in his dark suit.

“Not exactly,” I started to explain. “We're event planners, and we have an event in the hotel.” Technically not for another two months, but not a complete lie, either.

He cleared his throat. “You can't be in the employee cafeteria if you're not an employee.”

“Darcy O'Connell told us it would be okay for us to come here for a drink while we're working,” Kate explained. Again, technically true. Darcy had said that during our last job at the Fairmont, but she probably hadn't intended for us to stop by randomly and hang out.

The officer narrowed his eyes at us and pulled out a walkie-talkie. “I'm going to have to confirm this with Miss O'Connell.” He walked out of earshot and spoke low into the device.

“Don't worry, Annie.” Kate took a sip of tepid soda and made a face. “Darcy will cover for us.”

“So much for being low-key,” I muttered. “The whole hotel knows we're here now.”

“If we really wanted to blend in, we should have swiped a couple of housekeeping uniforms.” Kate pointed a thumb toward the cluster of women in blue uniforms with white aprons.

I rolled my eyes. “This is not an episode of
I Love Lucy
. Do you really think the two of us would pass as
maids, anyway? We're about twenty years younger than those women. And when is the last time you cleaned something?” Not that I was one to talk.

Kate made a face at me. “I can clean. I just choose not to most of the time.”

“I'll bet you don't even own a toilet brush.”

She gave me a horrified look. “Toilets use brushes?”

Before I could even begin to explain, my cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my purse and recognized the number on the caller ID.

“Hi, Nadine,” I said as I flipped the phone open. “What's up?”

“I'm worried about my dress,” she said in a shaky voice.

“What about it?” I kept my own voice calm. “Did something happen?”

“No, but the girls at the salon are concerned about the cathedral-length train getting crumpled when it's transported to my hotel suite. Can we get a stretch limo so the train doesn't have to be folded?”

I heard the unmistakable sound of smoke being exhaled. “You want me to get a limo for the dress?”

“Yes, the longest one they have. I'm going to pay one of the girls from the salon to ride with it.”

God forbid the dress gets lonely on the ride across town.

I ignored Kate's muffled giggling. “No problem, Nadine.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Nadine said. “Can you make sure the limo is black? Since my dress is technically ivory, I think a bright white limo would clash with it.”

I paused to steady my voice and keep from laughing. “You think a white limo will clash with the dress?”

Kate clamped her hand over her mouth and shook with silent laughter.

“Don't you?” The bride sounded shocked that I would question her.

“A black limo is no problem, Nadine. Call me if you think of anything else.” I flipped the phone shut.

Kate wiped tears from her cheeks. “Ow. My sides hurt.”

“It could be worse.” I grinned. “At least she didn't insist on a police escort for the dress.”

The security officer returned to our table, looking deflated. “Miss O'Connell gave you the okay to be here.” He forced a smile before he turned away. “Have a nice day, ladies.”

“We're lucky that Darcy is so cool,” Kate said.

I bit the edge of my lip. “I'm sure she's wondering what we're up to.”

“It's no big deal. She's on our side, remember? Didn't you see how stressed she was trying to keep up with Georgia's workload and her own? Darcy wants Georgia back more than anyone.”

I looked past Kate and saw Darcy's face in the cafeteria doorway. She waved for us to come outside and then disappeared from view. I pulled Kate by the sleeve out of the cafeteria. Once in the hallway, I spotted Darcy behind a stack of plastic glass racks.

“What are you doing there?” I asked.

“Me?” she snapped, stepping from behind the racks. Her white blouse was half untucked from her black skirt and her hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in days. She'd gone from naughty librarian to demon-possessed librarian. “What are you doing here? Don't tell me you're actually here for a tasty snack in the employee cafeteria?”

“What happened to you?” Kate stared at Darcy.

“I pulled an all-nighter trying to catch up on work.” Darcy rubbed her hands over her bloodshot eyes. “Sorry if I'm a little grumpy, but I'm exhausted. I can't take much more of this.”

“Sorry if we took you away from something,” I said. “We thought we might overhear something in the employee cafeteria that could help us prove Georgia's innocence.”

“Really?” Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Did you have any luck?”

Kate shook her head. “We hoped to find some of the kitchen staff or chefs, but they aren't in there.”

“The sous chefs are downstairs getting ready for a party in the ballroom,” Darcy explained. “Most of the kitchen staff is probably there as well. Any reason why you want to talk to them?”

I looked at Kate, who nudged me to continue. “We found some evidence that shows that the actual killer had dark hair and wore a chef's jacket.”

Darcy's mouth gaped open. “That's amazing. What kind of evidence?”

“The videographer shot part of the murder from the courtyard without even realizing it,” Kate said. “We just watched the tape.”

“Did you get a really clear look at the killer?” Darcy's eyes widened with excitement.

“It's fuzzy,” I confessed. “We can't make out who did it, but we do know he had dark hair.”

“If you're looking for dark-haired chefs, then you should talk to the two sous chefs and the pastry chef first,” Darcy whispered. “All of them worked directly under Henri, all of them have dark hair, and all of them hated their boss. Emilio and Gunter should be working
on the buffets in the ballroom foyer, and Jean may be setting up the dessert display already.”

“Thanks, Darcy.” I gave her arm a squeeze. “I know Georgia would be happy to know that she still has friends in the hotel.”

Darcy nodded. “Georgia was a great boss, and I never knew how hard she worked until now. If I can do anything else to help, please let me know.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I guess we're going to go find some chefs.”

Darcy took a few steps down the hall and called over her shoulder, “Don't let them intimidate you. They're like most chefs. Their bark is worse than their bite.” She began to hum as she disappeared around a corner.

Kate gulped. “If one of these chefs killed Henri, I'm afraid we have more to be worried about than his bark.”

“This is a disgrace!” The distinctive disdain of the French accent carried from where Jean St. Jean stood examining a table of desserts on the other side of the ballroom. “
Mon dieu!
Who put the tartlets on a mirrored tile?”

Kate took a baby step back out into the hallway before I caught her by the arm and pulled her into the room. The large ballroom was filled with rows of tables draped in white cotton cloths, and matching napkins stood in fan folds on the white base plates. Each table had the same low glass bowl of red and gold flowers. This party definitely had the feel of a corporate event.

I dragged Kate behind me as I weaved my way through the maze of tables to where Jean stood muttering to himself at the dessert display. He wore a pristine white jacket over dark billowy pants and a tall chef's hat perched on his brown wavy hair.

He jumped when he heard us behind him. “Who are you?”

“Just party planners,” I responded, hoping he would assume that I meant we were the party planners for this event. Not a lie, I reasoned to myself. An omission.

“Of course.” He gave a curt nod of his head. “I am Jean St. Jean, the pastry chef for the Fairmont Hotel. I was merely inspecting the work of my subordinates before the party begins.”

“We've heard wonderful things about your work.” I nudged Kate. “Haven't we?”

“Absolutely.” Kate bobbed her head eagerly. “The Fairmont is known for having some of the best chefs in the city.”

Jean St. Jean gave a smug smile. “It is nice to be recognized for one's excellence.” Boy, this guy was full of himself.

“Such a shame that you lost the real culinary genius in the hotel, though.” I shook my head and didn't take my eyes off St. Jean.

His smile disappeared and his eyes flashed with anger. “They're saying that Henri was the genius? Idiots.”

“Well, he was the head chef, wasn't he?” Kate asked in an innocent voice.

“Not because of culinary skill, I assure you,” the pastry chef fumed. “The man didn't have as much talent in his entire body as I do in my little finger. The only ideas he ever had were ones he stole from others.”

“Did he steal your ideas?” I pressed.

“He stole from everyone. If any one of his chefs had an idea, Henri claimed it as his own and took the glory.” St. Jean slammed his hand down on the dessert display, and the rows of tiny truffles began to roll around.

This guy had some impulse control issues.

“So he wasn't very popular among the other chefs?” I caught a truffle as it headed for the edge of the table.

St. Jean laughed derisively. “We don't miss him, if that's what you mean to ask.”

“Were you here the day of the murder?” I said, knowing full well that he had been.

“Of course.” He turned his attention back to the dessert table. “I created the wedding cake. Such a pity the guests never saw it. It was quite a masterpiece.”

I vaguely remembered the four-tiered stacked cake ornamented with the red Chinese symbol for double happiness on each layer. I knew it had been set up on the baby grand piano in the alcove, but I couldn't recall if I had seen it before or after I found the body.

“So you were in the Colonnade around the time of the murder?” I watched as he realigned the truffles.

The chef stopped what he was doing and looked up at me. “I set up the cake during the cocktail hour, but Henri was nowhere to be seen when I left the room.”

“Are you sure?” Kate folded her arms over her chest.

“I think I would have noticed him.” His face flushed. “Why so many questions?”

“Just curious,” I said. “Did you see anyone else in the room when you were there?”

“Gunter and Emilio came in to check the stations as I left. We were all in and out of the room setting up the wedding. Nothing unusual about that.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who did you say you were again?”

“Nobody important.” I backed away. “We'll let you get back to your work.”

“You might want to rethink the mirror tiles, though,” Kate added as she followed me. Jean St. Jean scowled and stalked off through the back kitchen doors of the ballroom.

“Well, that was interesting,” I said. “He wasn't shy about hating Henri.”

“Did you believe his alibi?”

I shrugged. “I wouldn't put the murder past him, but let's see if anyone corroborates his story.”

“So one down, two to go.” Kate navigated through the sea of tables toward the doors.

I pressed my lips together. “We'd better find Gunter and Emilio before our French friend warns them. He seemed suspicious of our questions.”

“Maybe you should let me lead the next interrogation. I have more experience charming things out of men.”

Kate had a point. “Be my guest.” I held open the doors to the foyer. Two chefs in matching white jackets stood with their backs to us. Jackpot.

“Why must you insist on making the crudités display so Prussian?” one of the chefs said to the other, rolling his r's and laughing.

“You have no appreciation for the precision of cooking,” the other replied in a heavy accent that I placed somewhere between Germany and Eastern Europe. I could only assume this was Gunter. His dark hair was cropped close to his head, and his jacket looked like it had been starched until it could stand on its own.

“And you have no appreciation for its passion.”

I'd heard of Emilio's reputation for avidly pursuing passions in and out of the kitchen.

Kate cleared her throat, and both men looked over their shoulders at us. Emilio did a double take, and grinned at Kate like a wolf about to pounce.

“Perhaps these lovely women would give us their opinion.” The Latin chef's brown hair fell in curls around his face.

Gunter returned to his straight rows of vegetables with a measuring tape. “I must finish my work without delay.”

“We were admiring your artistry.” Kate approached a table set with various clay bowls of Spanish tapas and ran a finger languidly around one of the bowls. “I love a man who's passionate about his work.”

Emilio raised his eyebrows. “It takes a good eye to recognize culinary beauty. You must appreciate the art of food.”

“I appreciate a lot of things,” Kate purred. Man, she was pouring it on thick. I wondered if I should remind her to question them, not seduce them.

“Are you staying in the hotel?” Emilio leaned close to Kate. “Perhaps we could meet for drinks after I get off.”

“We're actually working, too.” Kate explained. “We're party planners.”

“So you work here often?” He ran his tongue along his bottom lip.

Kate nodded. “We'll be here more now that Chef Henri is gone.”

“Don't tell me he terrorized you.” Emilio took Kate's hand with a concerned look on his face. “That man had no shame.”

“He got what he deserved,” Gunter said over his shoulder.

“Were you here when he was murdered?” Kate asked Emilio in a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you see the body?”

“Of course we were here.” Emilio puffed out his chest.

Gunter turned around with a snap. “We checked the stations, and then left the room together before Chef Henri was murdered. Just like we told the police.”

“That's right.” Emilio bobbed his head in agreement. “We never saw the body.”

Kate rubbed her hands together. “How exciting to have been in the room only moments before a murder took place. Did you see anything suspicious? Maybe someone else went into the room after you?”

“The banquet captain, Reg, and the general manager were coming in the main entrance of the Colonnade as we left through the kitchen doors.” Emilio darted a glance at Gunter. “We didn't go back to the Colonnade, though, so we never saw when they left.”

Kate pressed a hand on Emilio's arm. “I'll bet the police were really interested in your story.”

“We were in the kitchens working at the time of the murder, so we couldn't tell them much.” Emilio shrugged.

“Was Jean with you, as well?” I tapped my foot on the carpet.

“We were all together.” Gunter's face wore no expression. “Excuse me. I must return to the kitchen.”

Kate watched the stiff chef walk away. “I hope we didn't upset him by talking about the murder. It's so fascinating that it happened right here in this very hotel.”

Emilio dismissed Gunter's behavior with a wave of his hand. “He's not much of a talker. His closest friend is that measuring tape.” He glanced at his watch, and his eyes widened. “You must forgive me, ladies. I also must get back to work.”

“Of course,” Kate said. “Nice meeting you.”

Emilio gave a parting leer. “I hope we meet again soon. Perhaps you can give me your number?”

“Sure.” Kate turned to me. “Do you have a pen?”

I dug in my bag for a pen and handed it to her.

Kate scrawled something on a page in her purse-size day planner and ripped it out. She folded it in half and tucked it into the pocket of the chef's jacket.

He patted the note and then gave Kate a seductive smile and me a cursory glance before darting through the banquet doors.

Kate sighed. “Sorry that wasn't more helpful. At least we found out that the banquet captain and the GM were in the room around the time of the murder, too.”

“Are you kidding? We found out a lot more than that. I think he's hiding something.”

“Me, too,” Kate said eagerly, and then a puzzled expression crossed her face. “Wait. Which one?”

I rolled my eyes. “Gunter, of course.”

“Why?” Kate asked. “He said almost nothing.”

“Exactly. His answers were too easy. Almost like he rehearsed them. I think he knows more about the murder than he's letting on.”

“Emilio seemed nice enough.”

“Are you sure it was a good idea to give him your number, though?” I asked as Kate handed me back my pen.

“Oh, don't worry. I didn't give him my number.” She shook her head seriously. “I gave him yours.”