A Cookbook Conspiracy (33 page)

“We still do,” Dalton said, and grinned when Savannah smacked his arm. “But to my
point, perhaps the general and Obedience worked out a plan for her to catch the attentions
of a gullible Yank. The British, after all, were far superior in the art of deception,
having been at it for centuries already.”

“Hey, we Yanks got pretty good at it, too,” I said stoutly. “Wasn’t Benjamin Franklin
considered some kind of master spy?”

“Indeed he was,” Dalton said, beaming at me as though I were a brilliant second grader.
“The war for American independence spawned a world of covert societies and secret
codes. Franklin was said to have an extensive network of agents and couriers and often
sent out false information to catch the moles and traitors within his own circle.”

“And don’t forget, he was a Freemason,” Derek said.

“They’re everywhere,” I murmured.

“Yes,” Dalton said. “The paranoid conspiracy theorists would have a field day with
this diary.”

“I still don’t know how you can decipher this thing.” I grabbed one of the loose copy
pages. “Some of those symbols look like something you’d see in an ancient cave drawing.”

“Interesting you should say that,” Dalton said, turning the page sideways and pointing
to the margin. “You see these wavy lines here and this curlicue pattern?”

I leaned over for a closer look. “Yes.”

“According to my best guess, it’s—”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Derek interrupted. “He never guesses.”

“True,” Dalton admitted. “I know for a fact that these symbols were derived from a
different alphabet than the rest. It was used by certain tribes of indigenous Americans
living in Massachusetts during the sixteenth and seventeenth century. Possibly Wampanoag
or Mohican.”

“Wow,” I said softly. “Kind of makes you wonder how all those disparate groups wound
up in a recipe book written by a British cook.”

“Someone clever and learned devised this code,” Derek said. “Obedience just followed
the rule book.”

“Exactly, but there’s more to see here.” Dalton scanned the scattered copy pages,
then picked up the one he’d been looking for. “Some of the symbols can be traced to
an old Jesuit manuscript. And some belong to the Freemasons, as was clear from the
beginning.”

“To you, maybe,” I muttered.

“This General Blakeslee was almost certainly a Freemason,” he continued. “Most of
the high-ranking British army personnel were. But so were Washington and Franklin
and many of the most prominent American politicians of the time.”

“So you really think there was a conspiracy between the British and the Americans
through their affiliation with the Freemasons?”

“No,” Dalton said, grinning. “But any conspiracy theorist worth his salt would think
so.”

I was almost afraid to ask the next question. “Does any of this have to do with our
murder investigation?”

“No,” Dalton said easily.

“Then why are you so happy?” Savannah asked.

“Because it’s all so fascinating, isn’t it?” He scooted forward in his chair, his
enthusiasm palpable. “It was these Illuminati symbols that caught Derek’s attention
first.”

“And those Masonic figures,” Derek added. “I knew it would grab his interest. I didn’t
want to explain too much to you until Dalton could verify the code.”

“You told me some of it,” I said. “I just didn’t know it would be so detailed.”

“Nor did I,” Dalton admitted. “American and British branches of the Freemasons. A
possible Illuminati connection. Jesuits. Aboriginal groups. It’s a fantastic find.”

“And it’s all in an old cookbook,” Savannah marveled.

“I told you it was important,” I murmured. I picked up the book and ran my hand across
the smooth, worn leather.

“Were you able to translate any of the codes?” Savannah asked.

“Yes,” Dalton said. “Would you like to hear some of it?”

“Heck, yes,” I said. “Why didn’t you say so?”

Dalton grinned. “I doubt there’s anything here that will help you, but it’s interesting.”
He reached for his notes and skimmed the pages until he found the one he was looking
for, then handed it to me. “Here’s what the coded message looks like.”

I stared at the page with its curlicues, stick figures, numbers, and odd squiggles.
“Okay.”

“And here’s the translation. ‘Smith’s army to cross Tanner Bridge eastward midnight
three days hence.’”

“Cool,” I said, and pointed at one of the symbols. “Do these arrows indicate the direction?”

“Yes,” Dalton said. “I proceeded on the assumption that the arrows conveyed the same
directions as those on a map, with north pointing to the top of the page and south
to the bottom.”

I nodded.

“And I also looked up Tanner Bridge,” he said with a clever grin.

“That was so smart,” Savannah said.

I laughed. “Read some more.”

“All right.” He handed me the corresponding pages as he read the decoded messages.

“Gunpowder shipment arriving from Britain fortnight Portsmouth harbor.”

“Commander Howell being held at field camp outside Wooster.”

“Soldiers planning to burn Worthington residence.”

“That’s terrible,” Savannah said. “I’m glad Obedience was spying for our side.”

“How many more pages were you able to complete?” I asked.

“Another five or six,” Dalton said, “but I plan to take the pages back with me to
work on. I’m hoping that Obedience reveals the name of her contact eventually. I imagine
it’s a highly placed American officer with connections to the Freemasons.”

“Or it could be a fellow cook in that American officer’s home.”

“Indeed,” Dalton said, his eyes twinkling. “Although a cook might not have access
to such a code. It’s all a puzzle.”

I sighed. “I’m bummed that there’s no real motive that could incriminate Baxter’s
and Monty’s killer, but I still believe there has to be a connection somewhere.”

Derek leaned over and squeezed my shoulder. “We’ll find out tonight.”

As if on cue, his cell phone rang. We all watched as he listened to the caller for
two full minutes while voicing the occasional “Hmm,” or “I see.”

Meanwhile, Dalton, Savannah, and I waited impatiently.

“Thanks, Nathan,” Derek said finally, and ended the call.

“Was that your office?” Savannah asked.

“No, it was the police.” He glanced at Savannah. “They’ve released Kevin.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said.

“Jeez, Savannah,” I said. “Remember how she attacked us with a knife?”

“That was totally lame,” Savannah said, waving my statement away. “I beat her back
with an egg whisk.”

“I specifically remember a big-ass chef’s knife pointed right at me,” I insisted.

“Apparently, the police agree with Savannah,” Derek said.

“I’m so glad,” Savannah said. “I’m going to go call her now.”

I might’ve rolled my eyes a teensy bit as she skipped out of the room. Turning to
Derek, I said, “Tell me everything they told you.”

“Kevin insisted she was only after the cookbook. She found Peter in the bath and thought
he was dead. But before she could do anything, you and your sister arrived. So she
hid in the closet, thinking Peter’s killer had returned.”

“That’s weak.”

“I thought so, too. But the police also found a partial thumbprint on the bloody handle
of the meat pounder used to bludgeon Peter.”

It was gruesome but exciting. “Did they say who it belongs to?”

Derek scowled. “The print was too smeared with blood to be of any real use except
to eliminate Kevin as a suspect in Peter’s assault. The thumbprint was too large.
It belonged to a man.”

“Or a woman with large hands,” Dalton mused.

“Kevin has small hands,” I muttered. I was happy that Kevin was absolved of attacking
Peter, but it left us with a bunch of other questions. Staring at the copied pages
of the cookbook scattered before me, I asked, “Did Kevin say anything else about the
cookbook? Why does she want it so badly?”

Derek sipped his coffee for a moment. “It’s what we already knew. The book belongs
to her village museum and she wants to
get it back to them. She also claims there’s some relation between the book and the
fact that her father is being knighted for service to the queen. I’ll admit that Jaglom
sort of lost me there.”

“Google it,” Dalton suggested.

“Good idea,” I said, and sat down at the computer.

*   *   *

“T
his is absolutely the last time I’m coming to this place,” Kevin said by way of greeting
me at Baxter’s restaurant that night.

I glanced around, no longer charmed by the exotic decor or the amazing waterfall.
“Me, too. But you know how Savannah is. She’s so worried about everyone and wanted
to organize one last dinner in Monty’s honor. She’s determined to make sure you all
remain friends. Even though…”

Kevin breathed deeply. “Even though one of us is a murderer.”

“I’m sorry,” I said lamely, although everything was going perfectly well, according
to the plan Derek and I had dreamed up the night before with Dalton and Savannah’s
help.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Brooklyn,” Kevin said. “I’m so ashamed of myself for frightening
you. I was beside myself, honestly didn’t know what I was doing. I was shut inside
that stupid closet, worrying about Peter and wondering if you were his killer. Then
I heard you take the cookbook and it was too much. I hope you’ll forgive me someday.”

“How about today?” I said, spreading my arms and taking a step closer to her.

She let out a tiny whimper, then wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. “Thank
you,” she whispered.

When we finally broke apart, she smiled with teary relief. But I wasn’t about to let
her off too easily. I wanted some answers, especially after doing a little research
on her father earlier that afternoon.

I wound my arm through hers and ambled over to the bar, where flutes of champagne
were waiting. I took a sip, then said, “Tell me about the cookbook. And your father.”

Her mouth opened, then closed quickly. Disconcerted, she grabbed a glass of champagne
and took a healthy gulp. “I suppose I owe you that much.”

“I’d say so.” I hopped up on a barstool and said to her, “Have a seat.”

She sat, took another few sips of champagne—liquid courage?—and finally began. “Obedience
Green grew up in Gipping-on-Plym. That was two or three hundred years ago, of course,
but in England, it’s like yesterday. So we all loved her and claimed her as one of
our own, a fellow Gippinger.”

“Did she return to the village after the war?”

“Yes, indeed. With her Yankee husband in tow.”

“No way,” I said, downing my champagne and reaching for another glass. Hey, my throat
was dry.

“Oh, yes,” Kevin said. “Quite the defiant one, was our Obedience.”

“But wouldn’t he be considered an enemy of the British?”

“That part’s a bit murky. Nobody seems to know whether he was working for or against
our side.”

“What about Obedience’s job with the general? She had to quit working for him, didn’t
she?”

“She did,” Kevin said. “But they remained friends and she trained his cooks to prepare
all his favorite dishes. He especially loved her syllabub.”

“Did the king strip the general of his rank?”

“Heavens, no.” She looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. “Despite his humiliating
failure to crush the Americans and losing the king’s confidence as a result, General
Blakeslee returned a true war hero. After all,” she added with a smirk, “he’d managed
to survive among all those Yankee barbarians. Gippingers were
overjoyed by his return and held a festival in his honor. It continues to this day.
And Blakeslee House is still standing, as a matter of fact.”

“What happened to Obedience’s Yankee lover, now husband? I can’t believe he wasn’t
run out of town by an angry mob.”

“He arrived with too much money to be turned away.”

“What was his name?”

“Jeremiah Spencer.” Kevin sighed happily. “He’d become quite wealthy in America, trading
with the Indians. He spoke several languages, and when he arrived, he quickly bought
the nearest country house. He and General Blakeslee became lifelong friends.”

I frowned at her. “But Jeremiah was passing secret information behind Blakeslee’s
back. Don’t you think Jeremiah was the one who convinced Obedience to betray Blakeslee?”

“Actually, it was the conclusion of the local scholars that General Blakeslee used
Jeremiah. But in the end, it didn’t really matter. You see, Blakeslee was a rabid
partridge hunter and Jeremiah had the best hunting hounds in the region.”

I choked out a laugh. “Seriously? It only took a few hounds to win him over? Are you
kidding?”

She peered at me. “Have you ever been to England?”

“I’ve been to London and Oxford and Scotland,” I said.

“Ah, well,” she said with a chuckle, “come to Devon and you’ll see how the real English
live.”

I was glad Obedience had found true love. It probably caught her by surprise, too,
because she’d written something early on that indicated she might just eschew the
marriage thing.

Derek was watching me from across the room, so I waved at him to come and listen to
the rest of Kevin’s story.

“How lovely, you’ve brought champagne,” Kevin said, taking the fresh glass from Derek.
She took a sip, then looked at me. “Where was I?”

“I was about to ask you to fast-forward to when the cookbook was stolen.”

“Right.” Her shoulders sagged a little, but she recovered, straightened up, and shook
her hair back. Glancing around, she noticed more of us listening in, so in a clear
voice she said, “And thus begins our true tale of treachery and murder.”

She could have been an actress, because those words caused me to shiver with dread.
Savannah and Dalton closed in to hear the story.