Recipe for Murder (10 page)

Nancy checked her watch. “It's after nine. We're going to have to break into the school.”

“You sure this is such a good idea?” Bess asked.

“I'd rather be at the school when no one's there. I'm going to go upstairs to change and get my camera. Ned, I'll meet you back here in ten minutes. Then we'll all rendezvous at midnight. If anyone fails to show, we'll know he or she's in trouble. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Bess answered first. “And if midnight comes, and someone's not back?”

“Then we'll have to assume they've been caught,” Nancy said soberly.

• • •

“What time is it?” Ned asked half an hour later as they stood outside the school doors.

Nancy checked the illuminated dial on her wristwatch. “Just after ten. If we don't get in soon, we might as well forget it. We'll never get back in two hours.”

They moved stealthily around the grounds, keeping close to the walls and being careful to stay out of sight of the floodlights. Testing windows and doors, they circled the entire building. There was no way in.

Nancy heaved a sigh, her gaze searching the building. “I can't see how—” She broke off. “Look! There's an open window on the second floor.” She gauged the distance. “Huh-uh, we'll never be able to reach it.”

Ned considered it carefully. “Well, I could boost you up, and you could open the door for me.

“Good. Let's just hope this place isn't wired with alarms.”

Glancing around, Nancy kicked off her shoes, then accepted a leg up from Ned. She pushed against the pane, then grabbed the edge of the sill and hooked her elbows inside. With a boost from Ned she managed to haul herself over the sill and
tumble with a clatter onto one of the classroom counters.

“Nancy!” Ned whispered from down below. “Are you okay?”

She stuck her head back outside and signaled in the direction of the door. Ned took off at a sprint.

Climbing down from the counter, Nancy moved as noiselessly as possible to the door. It opened with a soft creak—but to her it sounded like a screech. Looking both ways, she hurried barefoot to the stairs.

On the first floor she checked again. Ned was waiting outside the door. With an effort Nancy reached the upper dead bolt. Then she pulled back the bottom one. Pressing on the bar, she let Ned inside. No alarms sounded.

“Okay, here we go,” Nancy said. She turned on her penlight.

They didn't speak as they found their way to Jacques's office. The door was locked, but Nancy easily picked her way inside.

“Lock the door behind us,” she instructed Ned. “Just in case someone should come.”

The office was sparsely decorated. Obviously Jacques didn't use it much. A can of paint and a roller stood in one corner. The scent of fresh paint still lingered in the air.

“There's hardly anywhere to look,” Nancy said. “Let's search the desk.”

The drawers were all unlocked. A brief examination
revealed that there was nothing worth locking up inside.

Nancy's eyes swept over the bare office. Why had she thought there would be anything there? “But he should have
something
here,” she murmured to herself. “His own recipes, for instance. His own personal supplies.”

“He must have them in his hotel room. He wouldn't leave them in the classroom.”

Ned walked over to the bookcase. It was built in, but only a few shelves held books. The rest were empty. Ned picked up one of the books and fanned through the pages. “Nothing here.”

Nancy walked up to him, checking the books' titles. They were all cooking manuals. One had been written by Claude DuPres.

“Why can't we find out anything about Jacques?” she asked. “Other than his association with Chef DuPres, Jacques's background is a mystery.”

“Will the real Jacques Bonet stand up?” Ned joked as he put the book back.

Nancy was eyeing the bookcase. “Ned, look,” she said excitedly, pointing to one of the shelves. “The back panel is painted a slightly different color.”

Nancy touched the panel. The paint still felt slightly sticky, as if it were new. “There's something here!” she whispered. “This panel's not like the others.”

Searching with her hand, she felt all around
the shelf. All of a sudden the back panel slid sideways. It happened so quickly that Nancy blinked, hardly able to believe her luck.

“Is there anything inside?” Ned asked.

“I think so. Wait a minute.” Nancy reached in and carefully withdrew a manila envelope. She opened the flap and slid out the contents of the envelope. Several papers fluttered to the ground. Nancy picked them up and scanned them quickly.

“They're recipes!” Nancy said in a rush. “The pastry recipes I saw in Chef Slesak's office!”

Ned exhaled. “And that means—”

“I know.” Nancy met his gaze. “It means Jacques Bonet is a thief.”

Q
UICK
! L
ET
'
S TAKE
some pictures,” Nancy said. “There's got to be a reason Jacques took these from Slesak.”

Nancy pulled out her miniature camera and snapped photo after photo.

When she was finished she slipped the recipes back in the envelope and stashed it back in the bookcase. By the time she checked her watch again, she realized she had almost used up her two hours.

As they hurried down the corridor to the door, Ned asked, “What about the dead bolts?”

Nancy couldn't wait to get out of the building, but she knew it would be a lot more prudent to wipe out any trace of their break-in. “I'll let you out, relock the dead bolts, then meet you at the window.”

“Aye, aye.”

Carefully Nancy entered the room she had broken into. She looked out the window and saw Ned in the shadows below. She climbed out the window, hanging precariously as she waited to feel Ned's hands on her heels.

“Who's there?” It was Paul Slesak! His voice echoed through the still night.

Ned's hands grasped Nancy's heels, and he gave her a quick jerk. She tumbled downward, clutching at air, but Ned caught her before she hit the ground.

Footsteps sounded on the concrete. “You there!” Slesak's voice rang out. “Stop!”

There was no way to escape. Slesak and a man Nancy didn't recognize suddenly appeared directly in front of them.

“So it's you, Ms. Drew. What are you doing here?” Slesak said stonily.

Nancy couldn't think of anything to say. “I was-—we were—taking a walk.”

“Here?” His eyes swept the flower beds and he noticed her bare feet.

“Well, it's silly, really,” she said, stalling. “I'm even embarrassed to admit it.” She giggled and looked shyly at Ned. “We were just chasing each
other. My sandals are slip-ons, and they came off.”

“That's right. We were just fooling around,” Ned said sheepishly. “We didn't think anyone would mind.”

Slesak looked as if he didn't know what to think. His companion, a heavyset man with a blank expression, said nothing.

“Good grief, it's after midnight!” Nancy exclaimed.

“After midnight!” Ned repeated. “Bess and George will kill us. We were supposed to meet them.”

“We'd better get back. Bye, Mr. Slesak!” Quickly Nancy slipped into her sandals. She grabbed Ned's arm, and the two of them rushed away.

“Think they believed us?” Nancy panted.

“Not for a minute,” Ned answered soberly. “But we threw them off balance for a while. Nancy, that guy with Slesak is the one he was talking to yesterday. Could he have been the one who took the elevator sign?”

“Maybe. I didn't see him clearly enough. But in any case let's get back to the hotel now!”

Bess and George were waiting for them in the main lobby. “What happened?” Bess asked. “We were getting worried.”

“I'll tell you later,” Nancy said. With a quick
kiss goodbye to Ned, she and the cousins went to the elevator.

“We couldn't get into Bonet's room,” George said. “He was in there all night, talking on the telephone. We knocked once, and Bess asked him to join us in the rec room, but we could tell he wasn't interested.”

Nancy told them about the pictures once they were inside her room. “Thank goodness it's Saturday tomorrow,” she said. “No classes. As soon as the stores open I'm going to find a one-hour film processing place. I've got to figure out what these recipes are all about. And I've got to do it soon.”

• • •

The mall was already crowded by the time Nancy, Ned, Bess, and George arrived.

“It usually only takes an hour,” the processor at the quick-photo shop assured them. “But the machine broke down. I'm sorry.”

“When will the pictures be ready?” Nancy asked.

“Probably late afternoon or early evening.”

Nancy wanted to scream with frustration, but she managed a weak smile. “Okay,” she said.

“Well, let's kill some time by eating,” Ned said. “As I recall, you promised me Chinese food last night.”

“All right, let's find a Chinese restaurant,” Nancy said.

“Brown sauce with just a touch of chili oil,” George pronounced an hour later, biting into the first dish of chicken and peanuts. “A little on the mild side for my taste.”

“Are you kidding?” Bess fanned herself with her napkin.

“Bess,” Nancy asked, “what do you think of Paul Slesak as a chef in general?”

“I don't know.” Bess shrugged. “He seems to know what he's doing. Although I've learned not to ask too many questions.”

“Why's that?”

“It always seems as though he's got bigger fish to fry,” Bess went on. “I get the feeling he's just putting up with us.”

“Like Trent Richards,” Nancy said. “It sure seems as if the Claude DuPres International Cooking School is filled with chefs who want something more.”

“They're all egomaniacs,” Ned agreed.

“Except Jacques Bonet,” Bess said.

Ned snorted.
“Especially
Jacques Bonet.”

“No, Bess is right,” Nancy said. “Jacques doesn't seem to be climbing the ladder to success. He's already made it.”

“So why did he steal the recipes?” George asked.

They all looked at one another. “That,” Nancy said determinedly, “is what I'm going to find out.”

When they returned to the mall they checked
with the film processor. He told them it would still be a while, so they shopped.

It was nearly six o'clock before the pictures were finally ready. Unwilling to examine them in such a public place, Nancy waited until they were back at the hotel. Then she, Ned, Bess, and George met in Ned's room. They fanned the photos out on the floor and pored over them.

“They're just recipes,” Bess declared disappointedly after they'd looked at them.

“It sure looks that way,” Ned agreed.

“But they're written to feed an army.” George lifted her palms in surrender. “You figure it out. I sure can't.”

Ned lay on his back on the floor, holding a photo above his head. “Chocolate cake for seven hundred and fifty,” he said wryly. “What a lot of butter.”

“Let me see that again.” Bess snatched the photo out of his grasp. “That's funny. The proportions are all wrong,” she said after a minute.

“What do you mean?” Nancy reached for the photograph, and Bess placed it in her outstretched hand.

“That's not how you make chocolate cake. We made it in class. There are ingredients here that don't fit in. Ned's right—there is too much butter.”

A feeling of excitement swept over Nancy.
“Twenty-nine pounds of salt,” she murmured. “And only seven pounds of sugar. You don't suppose it's some kind of code, do you?”

“Code?” Ned took another look at the recipe over her shoulder. “What kind of code? Why would a pastry chef need a code?”

“Maybe Slesak's not just a pastry chef.”

Bess, George, and Ned stared at Nancy as if she'd lost her mind. “Well, think about it,” she said. “We already know that Claude DuPres thinks Slesak's a poor excuse for a chef.”

“Well, what does that make him?” Bess asked.

“I'm not sure. But what if he's got some kind of information here that's really important? Maybe something stolen or classified.”

“Why would he have it at a cooking school?” Ned asked skeptically. “And what do you suppose Jacques Bonet wanted with the recipes?”

“That's what—” Nancy started to say. “Someone's here!” She moved like lightning. “Quick. Grab the photos and hide them.”

But before they could move, Ned's door swung inward so violently the wall shook.

“Hey!” Ned said angrily. “How did you—” He stopped short, his eyes staring down the nose of a blue snub-nosed revolver.