3 Service for Two (9 page)

She gave him a hard look. “This is normally a very quiet, isolated village, Baxter. Does that not seem too many strange events in one weekend to be a coincidence?”

Clasping his hands behind him again, Baxter started rocking back and forth on his heels. “What I am going to
suggest, madam, is that if you believe in this theory, you should take it at once to the police. Preferably Inspector Cranshaw.”

“You know very well I cannot do that as long as there is a possibility that someone at this hotel is involved.” Cecily sighed and stared down at the newspaper. “You know as well as I do that Inspector Cranshaw is longing for an excuse to close us down. So far he has shut a blind eye to our less legal activities below stairs, because of the clientele who use the card rooms. But give him an official excuse, a legal reason to do so, and he will not hesitate to close us down.” She glanced up at James’s portrait. “I also made a promise to my husband as he lay dying,” she said quietly. “As you well know. I promised James I would never sell the Pennyfoot or allow it to slip out of the hands of the family. If we closed down, even for a short while, I couldn’t afford to keep it.”

For a long moment the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Then Baxter cleared his throat. “Madam, I sympathize with your predicament. At the same time I must caution you. If there is indeed some truth to your speculation, further investigation could put you in danger.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I have been in danger, Baxter.”

“Yes, madam. Believe me, I am only too aware of that. There is my promise to your husband, however, and I intend to stand by that at all costs.”

Cecily switched her gaze to him. “In that case, Baxter, I am afraid you will be risking the danger with me.”

“That,” Baxter said heavily, “is what I was afraid you would say.”

She gave him a bleak smile. “It really pains me to say this, but I have to take into consideration the facts as we know them so far. At the moment the blame would appear to be Michel’s, do you not agree?”

“Yes, madam. In view of the menu, I would have to agree.”

She shook her head. “I hate to think that Michel could be involved with a ring of jewel thieves. But I have to admit the possibility exists. I have to tell you though, Baxter, I find it extremely difficult to think him capable of murder.”

“He could be involved without having personally committed the crime, madam.”

Again she sighed. “That is true, but involvement can be just as destructive as the deed itself. If Michel has become mixed up in this kind of criminal activity, then I’m afraid he will not escape his lawful punishment. And neither, I fear, shall we.”

“Would you like me to have a word with him, madam? Not that I expect him to admit anything, of course.”

“No, I’ve already spoken to him about the menu, as you know. He has denied knowing anything about it.”

She tapped the paper again, knowing her next move and wondering how best to present it to Baxter. Looking up at him, she said carefully, “We do have one option open to us.”

He narrowed his eyes, and this time she could read the suspicion on his face. “And what is that, pray, madam?”

“As you know, Michel says very little about his private life. Out of all my staff here, he is the one I know least about.”

“Probably for very good reason,” Baxter muttered darkly.

“I do happen to know, however,” Cecily continued, “that he spends two nights out of the week in Wellercombe.” She paused as Baxter raised his eyebrows. “Sometimes gossip can come in very handy.”

He shook his head but refrained from making a comment.

“I imagine he spends the time with a lady friend … though that’s pure conjecture,” she added hastily as Baxter’s eyebrows shot even higher. “But I do know which nights he is gone. Tuesdays and Fridays.”

Baxter started rocking on his heels again. The clock struck the hour, its clear ringing tone echoing throughout the room. Cecily waited until the last chime faded away before adding, “Tonight is Tuesday.”

Baxter stopped rocking and ran a hand over his hair. “Madam, I do hope you are not about to suggest what I think you are about to suggest.”

“I do believe,” Cecily said deliberately, “that it would be a very good idea if we went over to Mrs. Kent’s boarding house, where Michel has a room, and search his belongings. Tonight would be the perfect time to do it.”

CHAPTER
9

“I am quite sure I am wasting my breath,” Baxter said, his fierce expression drawing his brows together, “but I have to object most strenuously to this kind of foolhardiness.”

“Piffle! You are always objecting to something, Baxter.” Cecily looked up at him with mock indignation. “I’m beginning to believe you don’t trust me to confront my own shadow.”

“You know very well what I mean, madam. You appear to have an aptitude for provoking a dangerous situation.”

He didn’t add the fact that she also had the temerity to drag him into danger with her, but she could see it written all over his face.

“Baxter,” she said gently, “I do not go out of my way to deliberately look for trouble. Somehow trouble always seems to find me.”

“So I have noticed, madam.”

“Yes, well, it is hardly my fault if the nefarious doings of others encroach on my doorstep, so to speak. I can hardly ignore them, now can I?”

“You could allow the police to take care of matters, which is the purpose, I do believe, for which they are employed.”

“Even if that means jeopardizing the hotel?”

She took his silence to mean he had no answer to that. “It would seem, Baxter,” she added, “that we are both cursed with having to answer to a promise made in good faith.”

His gray eyes seemed to warm a little as he looked at her. “I have never regretted that promise, madam.”

“Nor I, Bax,” she said smiling. “Nor I.”

He continued to look at her for a moment in silence, then said in a resigned voice, “Very well. I will accompany you to Michel’s residence. But I must insist that I be the one to search his room.”

“I was going to suggest that, in any case. I will keep Mrs. Kent talking while you go up to the room. Michel told me he has a room on the top floor, facing the bay. Apparently it’s the only one on that floor with that particular view, so you should have no trouble locating it.”

Baxter smoothed back his hair. “I suppose there is no possibility he would be there tonight?”

“According to Mrs. Chubb, he goes every week without fail on those two nights. But I’m sure we can verify that when we get there.”

“I don’t like this, madam. I don’t like it at all. It doesn’t seem right to search an employee’s room while he is away.”

“I don’t like it either, Baxter. I wish there were a better way to go about this.” Cecily glanced at the clock and rose to her feet. “I have questioned him, and he has denied any knowledge of the matter. Yet I can’t help feeling he has to be the connection somewhere. Believe me, I shall be very sorry if we discover he is involved in something so serious as murder.”

“Indeed, madam. It would not be easy to replace him. Chefs of his caliber are not easy to keep in this environment.”

“True, but I was also thinking about what such a discovery might do to the reputation of the hotel.”

Sighing, Baxter opened the door for her. “Then let us hope we find nothing incriminating in his room.”

“I’m not sure I like that either,” Cecily murmured, passing by him, “since that would put us at another dead end.”

She thought about that as the trap jogged along the Esplanade a short while later. Baxter had insisted on driving it himself, so that no one else would know their destination. Cecily had agreed it was a wise move. She would have agreed to almost anything, as long as he went along with her plan.

Peering through the narrow window of the canopy, she could see clearly the stars sparkling in the frosty sky. Her wool cape kept her shoulders warm, and she dug her gloved fingers further into the chinchilla muff to escape the chill wind from the sea.

She had very mixed feelings about the outcome of their mission. Although she knew little about Michel, she genuinely liked the capricious chef, and there was no doubt he contributed a great deal toward the hotel’s excellent reputation. She would miss him very much if, indeed, he was involved in the murder.

The steady clip-clop of the chestnut’s hooves echoed crisply along the empty street as they followed the lane up Parson’s Hill. Mrs. Kent’s boarding house was a little off the beaten track, which was probably why Michel liked it, Cecily reflected uneasily.

It had once been a sprawling farmhouse, and sat on its own in the midst of fields that had long been sold off for extra grazing land for the more successful farmers.

Mrs. Kent was a charming, soft-spoken woman, whose lined face and rough hands bore the stamp of a lifetime of hard work and worry. She had taken in boarders after her husband had become ill and they had been forced to sell the farmland and stock.

Geoffrey Kent was now an invalid—something wrong with his blood, so Cecily had heard—and spent his days in a rocking chair in front of the fire. Mrs. Kent’s sons had all left
home, with only one of them having followed in his father’s footsteps.

Jeremy Kent, the youngest son, now owned a large acreage on the other side of Putney Downs, one of the few successful farms left in the area. He was a constant visitor to the Pennyfoot, enjoying the privileges afforded the special guests who were allowed to use the card rooms below stairs.

In spite of the hardships she had endured, Eliza Kent always wore a smile, and seemed most surprised and pleased by Cecily and Baxter’s unannounced visit. Normally Cecily would have sent a calling card, but there had been no time for that. She explained away their presence by having Baxter present Mrs. Kent with two large turkeys, killed fresh that day.

“Mrs. Chubb made a mistake in the order, and I thought perhaps you could use them,” she said as the other woman expressed her appreciation for such a generous gift. “Michel has mentioned how much you enjoy turkey.”

Mrs. Kent ushered them both into the drawing room, where flames from a large coal fire danced and leapt up the cavernous chimney. “Father’s asleep in the parlor,” she explained, “and he’s inclined to snore.”

“This is very comfortable,” Cecily said graciously, lowering herself onto a faded velvet couch. “I don’t want to intrude, so I won’t stay long. I would have had Michel bring the turkeys, had he not been going into town tonight.”

Actually, she thought uneasily, Mrs. Chubb might have a small problem in the morning explaining to Michel where part of tomorrow’s dinner had disappeared to.

“Ah, yes, ma’am, such a dear man. He always spends two nights a week in town. Visiting his mother, I believe.”

Cecily would have been most surprised had Mrs. Kent believed any such thing. Michel could be very charming, even solicitous at times, but she had a great deal of trouble envisioning him spending two nights a week with his mother.

She suspected that Mrs. Kent’s apparent affection for the man stemmed from a more material source. It was no secret that many surplus supplies from the kitchen invariably disappeared with Michel at the end of the day, no doubt in
exchange for his rent. Since he ate the majority of his meals at the hotel, his living expenses were practically nil. A very convenient arrangement.

Mrs. Kent had, however, confirmed that Michel was not on the premises. Cecily looked across the room to where Baxter stood by the door and wiggled her eyebrows at him. She received a barely perceptible nod in return.

“You will at least stay long enough to have some cocoa, ma’am, or perhaps a nightcap? I have some very nice Bristol Cream sherry.”

“That sounds lovely,” Cecily said, wishing she could enjoy a cigar with it.

The other woman smiled and nodded, then glanced across the room. “Mr. Baxter?”

“Er … no, thank you, Mrs. Kent.” Baxter eased his collar with his forefinger. “As a matter of fact, I thought I heard a strange noise in one of the wheels of the trap. I think I had best take a look at it before we make the return journey.”

Cecily sent him a look of approval, while Mrs. Kent tutted in concern. “Oh my, yes, we don’t want a wheel coming off. There’s a lamp hanging on a nail by the back door if you need one.”

“Thank you.” Baxter glanced at Cecily, looking a little desperate, and he backed rather clumsily out of the door before closing it.

“Well, now, ma’am, let me get you that sherry.” Mrs. Kent bustled over to the sideboard and, bending low, opened the door and withdrew the fat decanter.

“How is Jeremy?” Cecily inquired as she took the small glass from her hostess. “The farm still doing well, I hope?” She wondered if his mother knew how much of his time he spent gambling away his profits in the basement of the Pennyfoot Hotel.

“I don’t see too much of him, to tell the truth, ma’am. Betsy brings the little ones over to see me now and again, but I don’t think even she sees much of Jeremy. That’s the problem with being a farmer’s wife, though of course Jeremy doesn’t do much hard labor now that he’s hired all that help.”

Jeremy Kent was practically a gentleman farmer now, Cecily reflected privately. It was a shame he didn’t take better care of his mother, since he could well afford to, by all accounts.

She made an effort to keep her attention on Mrs. Kent as she launched into some hair-raising anecdotes about the escapades of her various grandchildren, a lively lot if the stories were to be believed.

A large portion of Cecily’s mind, however, dwelt on Baxter, and what he might well be discovering at that very moment in Michel’s room.

Baxter, meanwhile, was feeling most uncomfortable. He understood the necessity for the search but absolutely abhorred rifling through another man’s personal belongings. Invasion of privacy didn’t even begin to cover it.

He couldn’t help thinking how he would feel were someone to inspect his possessions in this manner. But then he was unlikely to behave in a way that would result in such a situation.

Pulling open yet another drawer, he shook his head. Of course, where Cecily Sinclair was concerned, just about anything could happen. He’d be extremely fortunate not to end up in jail eventually if he continued to allow her to lead him astray like this.

Compressing his lips, he sifted through a pile of undershirts. His fingers touched something smooth and firm, and bending closer, he withdrew it. The flame rippled in the lamp as he swung it up to take a better look.

It was a photograph, faded all around the edges and worn from much handling. Baxter’s eyes widened as he looked at it. The young woman posing for the camera was apparently lacking in self-respect. Totally without shame. She was also totally without clothes. And, Baxter couldn’t help noticing, she was extremely well-endowed.

He stared at the picture for several long seconds, wondering if Michel had been the photographer. And envying him. Then, with a quick shake of his head, he returned the photograph to the drawer. He was there to find incriminating evidence. Whoever the young lady was, and whatever she
was doing, he seriously doubted that she had anything to do with the murder. Certainly not in the photograph, in any case.

And even if she did, he assured himself, he could not possibly bring himself to show such a piece of filth to Cecily Sinclair.

Nevertheless, the vision of that voluptuous body hovered uncomfortably in his mind for some time after that.

Downstairs in the drawing room, Cecily was beginning to feel decidedly fidgety. What on earth was taking Baxter so long? Even Mrs. Kent seemed to have run out of conversation, and after having said she couldn’t stay long, Cecily felt uncomfortable prolonging the visit any further.

She stared at the toe of her boot peeking out from under the hem of her gabardine skirt and tried to think of another subject to discuss. It was to her very great relief when she heard the light tap on the door.

She could tell nothing from Baxter’s expression when he announced that the wheel was sound. “Just needs a spot of oil, madam,” he said as she sprang to her feet.

She noticed he was a little flushed, and felt a pang of anxiety. Whatever he had found had apparently disturbed him. Anxious now to discover just what had put that spot of color in his cheeks, she hastily donned her cape and bade Mrs. Kent farewell.

Outside, the wind gusted from the sea with a chill that stung her ears. It buffeted her hat, and she grasped the brim as she paused by the trap.

“Tell me what you found,” she said, looking up at Baxter, who had the most peculiar expression on his face. He seemed to have trouble meeting her gaze.

“Nothing, madam. I found absolutely nothing that could incriminate Michel in any way.”

She stared at him suspiciously. “Are you certain? I would hope you would tell me the truth, Baxter.”

“I would not keep something like this from you, madam. I can assure you, if there had been the slightest indication … but there was not.”

“Well, something has you flummoxed, I can tell. What is it?”

To her intense frustration, he refused to look at her. “If you insist, I am just a little put out by this unfortunate experience. I am not accustomed to rummaging through someone’s personal possessions. I found it distasteful in the extreme. Particularly since I came across nothing that would cast suspicion on him.”

He pulled the door of the trap open for her and waited with an air of someone who had reached the limit of his tolerance.

Tight-lipped, Cecily climbed into the trap and plopped herself down hard on the seat. Drat the man. Why did he always have to make her feel guilty for doing what she truly believed was necessary?

She fretted all the way back to the hotel, torn between wanting to believe in Michel’s innocence and suspecting Baxter of keeping something back from her that could incriminate the chef.

The trap finally halted in front of the hotel steps, and Baxter waited for her to alight, then marched with her up to the main doors. After retrieving the outside key from its hiding place, he unlocked the door for her and stood back.

“I’d like a word with you in the library, after you’ve taken care of the horse and trap,” she said evenly.

“If you will permit me, madam, I have a pressing engagement. I would like to take the trap into the village.”

She stared at him, taken aback by his uncharacteristic behavior. There was not a thing she could do about it. The rest of the evening was his to do with as he pleased, and he had, after all, given up some of his free time in order to help her.