Recipe for Murder (5 page)

“As long as you're not interested in him, I can take it,” Ned said.

Jacques left them alone for most of the rest of class, and Nancy and Ned put together a cheese soufflé they could be proud of.

“If this thing deflates I'm giving up cooking and going back to chess,” Ned said, watching the soufflé as if he expected it to disintegrate before his eyes.

“You've scared it,” Nancy said. “It wouldn't dare deflate now.”

Jacques walked over to them. “Well done!” he said heartily. “Some of the others are still finishing up, but I'm running out of supplies. There is a slab of bacon on a shelf inside the freezer. Would you mind getting it, Ned? The freezer's on the first floor. Go down the stairs, turn right, then go to the end of the corridor. You can't miss it.”

Ned shot a dark look at Jacques, but he headed for the door anyway. “I'll call if I get lost,” he said over his shoulder.

Nancy watched Ned go out the door. Then she turned to find Jacques smiling at her. “I thought Trent Richards was coming back,” she said nervously.

“I'm not really sure what Trent's doing,” Jacques answered. “I asked Paul this morning, but he hasn't heard from him.”

“That's funny.”

“Yes. It is.” Jacques regarded her steadily.
“Nancy, I get the feeling you think Trent's disappearance is odd.”

“Well, as a matter of fact—”

Nancy never got to finish her sentence. The door to the room burst open and Ned walked in, white faced. His breathing was ragged and fast, his chest heaving. Quickly Nancy stepped forward.

“Ned?” she asked, afraid. “What's wrong?”

“It's Richards,” Ned gasped. “I've found him.”

“Found him? What do you mean,
found
him?”

“He's in the freezer.” Ned drew a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “He's dead, Nancy. He's dead.”

W
HAT
?” J
ACQUES DEMANDED
, but Nancy was already bolting for the door.

Nancy raced down the stairs and charged around the corner. Her heart was pounding, but she had to see for herself.

The walk-in freezer was just where Jacques had said it would be. For a second Nancy hesitated at the door. Then she twisted the knob and stepped inside.

Sure enough, Trent Richards's body was lying on the floor, stashed behind some crates. Nancy
had barely gotten a glance at him before Ned's arms closed around her and pulled her back outside.

An instant later Jacques Bonet appeared. “I have called the police,” he said soberly. “This is one accident too many.”

A crowd had already gathered by the time the police arrived. Ned had to describe over and over again how he'd found the body.

Nancy watched quietly as Richards's body was removed from the premises. Then she walked up to the nearest officer and asked, “What was the cause of death? Freezing?”

The officer in charge frowned at Nancy. “We'll have to wait for the coroner's report,” he said. “All I can tell you is that there was a blow to his head, but we're listing his death as an accident.”

“But there is a chance it wasn't an accident?” Nancy asked.

“Is there some reason you suspect foul play, miss?” the officer asked.

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact there is. A couple of nights ago I heard Trent Richards threaten someone. He wanted a ‘bigger piece of the pie.' ”

“But you didn't see his face?”

“No.”

“You're sure it was a threat?”

“What else could it be?”

He snapped his notebook shut. “Now, don't take offense. But Richards was a chef. This ‘piece
of the pie' comment—could it have anything to do with cooking?”

Nancy tried not to be insulted. He doesn't know you're a detective, she reminded herself. “It was a threat,” she said firmly. “He said, ‘Or I'll put you out of the way for good.' ”

The policeman shrugged. “Well, we'll look into it.”

“Claude DuPres, the head of the DuPres cooking school, was threatened too. He thought someone was after him.”

“He told you that?” the man asked swiftly.

“He murmured it just after his heart attack. He pleaded for help.”

The officer looked thoughtful. He glanced quickly at her name tag and said, “Thank you, Ms. Drew,” as he walked out. “I'll have to have a talk with Chef DuPres.”

• • •

The next morning before class Nancy concluded that the only way to attack the mystery
was
to confront Claude DuPres. She felt certain he was the key, somehow. It was just a matter of being able to see him—and see him alone.

When she arrived for class, Nancy had barely scooted into her place beside Ned when he said, “Did you hear? Chef DuPres's out of the hospital. He's even back at school today—against his doctor's orders.”

“Is that right?” Nancy asked excitedly.

“That's what everybody's been saying,” Ned said. “I guess cooking's his life.”

“Great. This is my chance to finally talk to him at lunch today.”

“Maybe I should come with you.”

Nancy shook her head. “No. Meet Bess and George and tell them what I'm doing. I'll be okay.”

“That's what they all say,” Ned muttered. But when lunchtime came he went to meet George and Bess as she headed for Chef DuPres's office.

The office was on the second floor of the adjacent building. Nancy hurried up the stairs, shoving her sunglasses to the top of her head. She checked her watch and made a face. She wasn't going to have much time to talk to him.

“Entrez!”
Claude DuPres called when Nancy rapped at the door.

Nancy stuck her head inside the door. “Chef DuPres? My name's Nancy Drew. I met you on the first day of this class session, as we were all walking into the auditorium.”

The chef's face was still ashen. He beckoned her feebly over to his desk. “I remember you, Ms. Drew. It was right before my—heart attack. You are the detective.”

“How are you feeling?” Nancy asked.

“Much better. Though my doctor would like to chain me to my bed.” His smile was wry.

“Do you remember what you said when you first came to?”

He froze, then shook his head.

“You said someone was after you. You asked for help.”

DuPres averted his eyes. “You must have misunderstood.”

“I couldn't have misunderstood. I was right there.” Nancy stared at him. Why was he covering up?

“Ms. Drew, I was not myself that day. I may have said many things.”

Nancy slowly sank into the chair across from his desk. She was certain DuPres remembered what he'd said. But how could she get him to open up?

She looked around the room for a minute, trying to think of what to say next. On the wall behind his desk were many pictures of the famed chef with famous people. To the far right hung a picture of half a dozen solemn-faced men, seated around a long table.

Claude DuPres's eyes followed her gaze, and his expression tightened. “There you see the real owners of the Claude DuPres International Cooking School,” he said with a trace of irony. “I am more the—how do you say?—the up-front person?”

“You're the spokesman?” Nancy was startled. She had assumed the school belonged solely to him. “You mean you're not the owner?”

“I own a small percentage of the school, and I am on the board of directors.” He shrugged. “I
am paid for the use of my name and for my support of the school.”

Nancy wondered if the board of directors would choose Paul Slesak to run the school if anything should happen to Claude DuPres. But would that be reason enough for Slesak to want DuPres out of the way? She couldn't ask that.

Choosing another tack, Nancy said, “I'm sure you've heard about Trent Richards.”

DuPres's face grew sad. “A terrible, terrible accident. I cannot believe it could happen here.”

“What if it wasn't an accident? What if someone tampered with the freezer door handle and locked Chef Richards in on purpose?” Nancy asked.

“What?
What are you saying?”

Quickly Nancy related the series of events that had taken place, ending with Trent's threats to that unknown person.

“You are making this up!” the chef said angrily.

“Why would I? I don't think Chef Richards's death was an accident, and I don't think the oven's catching fire was an accident either.”

DuPres shook his head, his hands nervously shuffling the papers in front of him. “It has nothing to do with me.”

Nancy was sure he was hiding something. “What could Chef Richards have been involved in?” she asked, watching him closely. “Why would he be threatening someone?”

“He was not a popular chef,” DuPres admitted reluctantly. “He was too interested in climbing to the top. Success was everything. He made that very clear.”

“And he resented having to work for it,” Nancy suggested, remembering Trent's attitude in class.

“Yes. He wanted too much, too soon.” DuPres shrugged. “He was young.”

“But that doesn't explain why he would—” Nancy started to say.

“Maybe you should forget these theories. Chef Richards's death was an unfortunate accident. That is all.”

“And what about you?” she asked. “You said, ‘They are after me.' Could ‘they' have really been Trent Richards?”

“No!”

“Then who? Paul Slesak?”

He shook his head, his lips tight.

“Jacques Bonet?” Nancy suggested.

Claude DuPres shook his head rapidly. “You do not know what you are saying.”

“I'm sorry. Chef DuPres,” Nancy answered. “Please don't excite yourself.”

“Excite myself? You accuse my friend Jacques—the one man I trust—when I know that it can only be—” He broke off, his eyes widening.

Nancy stood up and leaned over his desk, her sunglasses tipping from her crown. “It can only be who, Chef DuPres? Who?”

She held her breath, watching his face slowly drain of color. “I really do not know,” he finally admitted. “I have only guesses. But, yes, Ms. Drew, someone has been threatening me.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

“No.” He shook his head. “But I do know one thing: if Trent Richards was murdered, the murderer made a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Nancy asked, puzzled.

Claude DuPres drew a shaky breath. “Yes, a mistake. A very costly one. You see, the murderer was really after
me.”

N
ANCY STARED AT
him. “The murderer's after you?” she repeated. “How can you be sure?”

“Because there have been attempts on my life before! That was no heart attack I had. I was—”

Suddenly the door to his office burst open, and Paul Slesak stalked inside. “What kind of security do you have here?” he demanded. “Accident after accident! None of them should have happened!”

DuPres's cheeks flushed. “I agree with you. Since I was not here when the accidents occurred, I was hardly in a position to—”

“That is no excuse.” Slesak swept his arguments away with a dramatic gesture. “Trent's death could have been avoided if there had been adequate maintenance and security. Which reminds me: someone has gone through my private recipes! Someone is trying to steal them. There is no security around this place! And if so much as one of my recipes is missing, I'll hold you personally responsible!”

“Get out of my office!” DuPres shouted, leaping to his feet. “You are no longer in charge. And I suggest you remember that!”

Slesak's look was murderous. He turned on his heel and stalked out, slamming the door until it shook in its casing.

Slesak was so angry he hadn't seemed to notice Nancy. Either that, or he had ignored her.