Cherringham - Episode 28-30 E-Book

Matthew Costello

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Cherringham: Crime Series Compilations
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 422

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Jack's a retired ex-cop from New York, seeking the simple life in Cherringham. Sarah's a Web designer who's moved back to the village find herself. But their lives are anything but quiet as the two team up to solve Cherringham's criminal mysteries.

This compilation contains episodes 28 - 30.

A DINNER TO DIE FOR
When a new restaurant with a starred American chef opens in Cherringham, it seems the Spotted Pig has a worthy rival. But a series of disturbing incidents turns that rivalry into something dangerous - perhaps even fatal. Jack and Sarah get involved and soon discover dark secrets about the new chef Anna ... Can they uncover what is really happening before both restaurants go belly-up?

THE DROWNED MAN
Accidents happen to Charley Clutterbuck. Always just scraping by, living on his ramshackle boat, not above the dodgy deal here and there ... So when his body is found floating down river, accidental drowning seems the logical conclusion. But Charley's pal Ray thinks it's murder. And when Jack and Sarah get involved ... they find themselves facing an unexpected danger as they uncover the strange truth.

THE GENTLEMAN VANISHES
Bernard Mandeville loves trains. Every Sunday, the elderly and frail Bernard, in perfect attire, purchases a ticket on the Great Cotswold's Steam Railway, takes a seat in First-Class and revels in a journey from the past. But on one particular Sunday, in the midst of that short trip, the impossible happens. Bernard vanishes without a trace ... The family reaches out to Sarah and Jack who must make their own remarkable journey on the rails ... to track down the vanished gentleman!

Co-authors Neil Richards (based in the UK) and Matthew Costello (based in the US), have been writing together since the mid 90's, creating content and working on projects for the BBC, Disney Channel, Sony, ABC, Eidos, and Nintendo to name but a few. Their transatlantic collaboration has underpinned scores of TV drama scripts, computer games, radio shows, and - most recently - the successful crime fiction series Cherringham.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

The authors

Main Characters

A Cosy Crime Series Compilation

Copyright

A Dinner to Die For

The Drowned Man

The Gentleman Vanishes

Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

“Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series” is a series made up of self-contained stories. The series is published in English as well as in German, and is only available in e-book form.

The authors

Matthew Costello (US-based) is the author of a number of successful novels, including Vacation (2011), Home (2014) and Beneath Still Waters (1989), which was adapted by Lionsgate as a major motion picture. He has written for The Disney Channel, BBC, SyFy and has also designed dozens of bestselling games including the critically acclaimed The 7th Guest, Doom 3, Rage and Pirates of the Caribbean.

Neil Richards has worked as a producer and writer in TV and film, creating scripts for BBC, Disney, and Channel 4, and earning numerous Bafta nominations along the way. He's also written script and story for over 20 video games including The Da Vinci Code and Starship Titanic, co-written with Douglas Adams, and consults around the world on digital storytelling.

His writing partnership with NYC-based Matt Costello goes back to the late 90's and the two have written many hours of TV together. Cherringham is their first crime fiction as co-writers.

Main Characters

Jack Brennan is a former NYPD homicide detective who lost his wife two years ago. Being retired, all he wants is peace and quiet. Which is what he hopes to find in the quiet town of Cherringham, UK. Living on a canal boat, he enjoys his solitude. But soon enough he discovers that something is missing — the challenge of solving crimes. Surprisingly, Cherringham can help him with that.

Sarah Edwards is a web designer who was living in London with her husband and two kids. Three years before the series starts, he ran off with his sexy American boss, and Sarah’s world fell apart. With her children she moved back to her home town, laid-back Cherringham. But the small town atmosphere is killing her all over again — nothing ever happens. At least, that’s what she thinks until Jack enters her life and changes it for good or worse …

Matthew CostelloNeil Richards

CHERRINGHAM

A COSY CRIME SERIESCOMPILATION

Episode 28—30

BASTEI ENTERTAINMENT

Digital original edition

Bastei Entertainment is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe AG

Copyright © 2019 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany

Written by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards

Edited by: Eleanor Abraham

Project management: Kathrin Kummer

Cover design: Jeannine Schmelzer

Cover illustrations: © stocker1970 / shutterstock; © Ihnatovich Maryia / shutterstock

eBook production: Jilzov Digital Publishing, Düsseldorf

ISBN 978-3-7325-6965-6

www.facebook.com/Cherringham

Matthew CostelloNeil Richards

CHERRINGHAM

A COSY CRIME SERIES

A Dinner to Die For

1. The New Season

Helen Edwards looked up as Julie placed a tiny plate with an ice-cream-cone-shaped thing on the table in front of her.

Helen knew – without even trying it – that it would be a totally delicious start to this special “tasting menu”; key to picking “plates” for the upcoming Cherringham Opera Society Charity Dinner.

Tonight, she dined with the society’s patron, Lady Repton.

Always an entertaining dinner partner.

For a woman with so much money, she had hardly any airs at all.

As the small plates alighted on the table, she took a sip of her Cotswolds Gin and tonic – the slice of grapefruit, a revelation.

Lady Repton, meanwhile, enjoyed a Manhattan, a drink unknown to Helen but – by reputation – pretty strong.

And Lady R’s sips… none too dainty.

Lady Repton had already agreed – once again – to serve as host for this year’s event, which would also include a live broadcast of “Turandot” all the way from the Metropolitan Opera house in New York.

“Well, Lucinda, what do you think of the amuse bouche?”

She watched as Lady Repton tasted the tiny cone, let it linger on her lips, then allowed herself a smile.

“Well, my dear. It certainly amuses me!”

“Me too,” said Helen, savouring the flavour too. “I can’t imagine how Sam makes the pastry so light!”

And at that moment, watching from the side, Julie – co-owner with her husband Sam, the chef – came bustling over.

“Enjoy that, ladies?”

Helen smiled – she and her husband Michael were regulars at the Spotted Pig, even though it often required booking weeks in advance.

She knew Lady Repton was a frequent visitor too, though she had her own chef back at Repton Hall who was more than proficient.

She let Lady R go first.

“I did indeed, Julie. Goose-liver mousse I imagine? Capers… hint of… sherry perhaps?”

“Vin Santo,” Julie said.

Lady Repton beamed. “Yes, of course! That nutty, honey taste. And the flaky cone? So thin! Perfect.”

And Helen saw Julie beam. High praise indeed from Lady Repton, who was notoriously difficult to please.

“How was it for you, Helen?” said Julie.

“Oh, delightful. Can’t wait for the rest of the plates.”

Julie smiled and turned away to resume her duties, but Lady Repton reached out, a light touch to her arm.

“Julie – if it’s not too busy tonight, might Sam come out and discuss a few of the items as we progress?”

Julie smiled and nodded, but Helen saw a slight cloud cover her face.

Perhaps the idea of a special tasting menu, even for just two people was just a bit daunting for the small restaurant?

Though the Pig had certainly tackled such things before.

But Helen thought: Too much pressure tonight?

She knew Julie had told a few people she was pregnant. First baby! But babies mean expenses, and then there was obviously the question of who’d run front of house during those first months.

Julie left. Lady Repton turned to Helen.

“By the way, have you tried that new place, the Bayleaf?”

“Not yet. When Michael and I do go out for a proper meal, we always like to come here.”

Lady Repton nodded.

“I agree. But I wanted to try it. And you know,” she lowered her voice, “it was absolutely marvellous. The duck confit? World class.”

Helen saw her friend and the society’s patron look away. “I’m afraid, our friends here at the Spotted Pig have some serious competition on their hands!”

Helen nodded. Maybe that explained Julie’s seeming a bit tense?

“So,” Lady Repton said, “shall we discuss the dinner?”

Helen took a sip of her gin and tonic. “Absolutely.”

*

“All’s set for the live broadcast. Those tech people from Chipping Norton know their stuff. Sitting in our little ’theatre’ we’ll feel like we’re in the front row of the Met itself! Imagine: Puccini’s Turandot, live from New York – right there, at Repton Hall!”

Helen knew that people were indeed excited. Even her daughter Sarah, who was no great opera fan, was determined to attend, both for the experience and what promised to be a great dinner.

Sarah was bringing her American friend Jack who Helen was aware certainly did know his opera.

“We’re sold out, you know,” Helen said. “And with contributions part of the gala ticket…”

“Yes. And not to mention the added donations, the silent auction… well, our little Opera Society will be stronger than ever.”

Helen picked up her glass to clink, and Lady R followed suit.

“Cheers to that!”

But then Lady Repton shot up a finger.

“And that has given me an idea.”

Lucinda Repton leaned forward, as if about to pass secrets involving enemy troop movements.

“An idea…?”

Lady R nodded. “A rather daunting one.”

Helen kept her eyes on her, even as she spotted the server in the back hurrying over with two more small plates.

Helen waited as Lucinda Repton looked around.

“What if next year… instead of our regular schedule of seasonally themed selections,” she proceeded slowly, “what if, for one of the dates, perhaps in the summer, we actually mount… a full opera?”

A full opera.

Helen knew that had never been considered. With their small group, well, it was beyond their reach.

“Now, hear me out, Helen. I mean, with the chorus at its current, healthy size and all – we might just be up to it!”

A dozen reasons that screamed impossible popped into Helen’s mind.

“But, Lucinda, you know what it takes to mount an opera. The resources needed, the lead singers, the hours of rehearsal, costumes, scenery… And, as much as the idea seems wonderful, for our little Opera Society here to take it on – and to do it within, what, six months? – well…”

Lady Repton smiled.

“I know, but here’s my plan. We pick a one-act opera. Something within the limits of the stage at the Little Theatre, and also our musical resources. Something within the reach of our dear Cherringham Philharmonic.”

Though dubbed a “philharmonic”, Helen knew that the Cherringham orchestra – which, on occasion, mutated into a band – really more resembled an expanded chamber group, with a few brass instruments and a big bass drum thrown in.

Fortunately, it also featured some players of real talent.

Helen had a thought then.

“You mean, something like Pagliacci? Manageable size, and–”

“Precisely. That, or Cavalleria rusticana, or Puccini’s Gianni Schicchi. Very funny, that. But I think, for the drama, the music… yes, Pagliacci is spot on.”

Repton grabbed her now mostly finished Manhattan for another clink.

“We bring in a guest artist or two. Someone for the last week or two of rehearsals. Think of it! A real production, right here. We’d probably have to do a series of weekends. Everyone will want to come!”

Lady Repton grinned. ”What do you think?”

Helen grinned back. The idea – a little mad. But – just maybe – doable. “You know what? I think – well – I think it’s a splendid idea. And that opera? Perfect!”

And the lady whose financial resources could make such a thing happen, clapped her hands together gleefully.

“Fabulous,” Lady Repton said. “We can start laying the groundwork tonight, and–”

But then there was motion from the open kitchen: more plates arriving at the pass; Julie and another server gathering up the next round of “tastings”; and Sam, the chef, coming out, the star of the feast.

And Helen thought: This evening is going to get even better.

On that front though, she was about to be proved terribly wrong.

2. A last-minute Surprise

Helen looked down as the plates arrived – all visually arresting.

Lady Repton looked up at Sam.

“Sam, can you sit a bit – tell us about these amazing plates?”

Helen saw him fire a look at Julie. Julie’s expression said, “Go on. Sit!”

He pulled up a chair.

A quick smile. “Sure. Not too busy tonight, being a Monday and all. So, um, you have there…”

He pointed at one plate with small circles of meat dotted with what looked like jam.

“… our wild boar roulades: marinated, pan-seared then covered with a seasonal currant ’jam’ I call it.”

Lady R needed no further invite to cut a slice, and pop it into her mouth.

“Oh… divine. The savoury… the sweet… together! You can bring me more plates of that!”

And at last Sam laughed.

Helen took a bite and – yes – truly great. “This should be on the regular menu.”

“Oh, it will be. As soon as it’s ’premiered’ at the gala dinner.”

Then she saw Sam turn, look towards the other side of the restaurant. The move – quick, nervous.

His gaze locked on the frizzy-haired waitress, her hair streaked with purple.

He shook his head.

It seemed like he might storm over there to have – Helen guessed – some unpleasant words with the server.

Julie fired out a hand to her husband’s arm.

And only then did Sam turn back, force a smile, and resume his tour of the plates.

“This one here, lasagnette al basilico.”

“Pasta?” Helen asked, thinking that the small square might not fit a gourmet tasting menu.

Another genuine smile from Sam this time. “Taste it.”

And, this time, Helen was first to attack the dish. The pasta – super delicate, near crepe-like. The layer of pesto mixed with just a spot of cheese, blending with a delicate sauce on top.

And once she tasted…

She didn’t know what he’d done to transform the dish into the amazing tastes it delivered – but it was simply one of the best things she had ever eaten.

“Wow,” Helen said – a word she rarely uttered.

Lady Repton was also digging in to the small dish. Four cuts and it was gone, and Lady Repton’s face looked genuinely disappointed.

“Now that… is something.”

Helen saw Sam and Julie both smile at their reactions.

She and Michael liked this couple. Sam always working so hard in the kitchen. And Julie’s presence in the dining room: sunny, efficient, so warm; making the Spotted Pig such a special place.

Sam was about to describe the third plate – what appeared to be little eggs sitting in a small creamy puddle – but he turned to the server and shot up from his chair.

They watched as Sam went to the young girl.

“Izzy – a word?” he said and disappeared into the kitchen with her.

Julie, looking embarrassed, hurried over to clear the plates.

An attempt at a distraction, thought Helen.

“Been a bit bumpy recently,” said Julie in explanation. “New server. And Sam… what with the baby coming and everything… all a bit tense.”

But Helen, seeing Sam confront the girl – who must have committed some kind of front-of-the-room faux pas – had to wonder, Is that all?

Sam was so passionate about his cooking. But was there something else making him so stressed?

A few moments later he came out, again forcing a smile.

“Sorry. Good staff always need, um, training.”

“I know exactly what you mean, Sam,” Lady Repton said, breaking the ice.

“So that last plate…”

“They look like little eggs,” Helen said.

And now Sam grinned. The Spotted Pig wasn’t known for overly fussy food but she imagined with the Opera Society dinner, he had decided to set the bar high.

“Baby quenelles, sitting in a classic sauce Nantua.”

Lady Repton had already speared one mini-quenelle with the tiny fork provided.

“Mmm… I must say, each of these plates, is better than the last. Absolutely delicious.”

And Sam, having achieved his goal of wowing Lady R, stood up.

Julie gave him a quick pat on the back and Sam grinned. “Now, I’d better get back to–”

But then a breeze slid in from the chilly night outside, cutting off his words.

The door to the Pig flew open.

*

Sam stood, frozen, as everyone in the room turned to see the heavy curtains, designed to keep the chilly January air out, now blowing in as if a violent storm had suddenly hit the village.

Or, at least, the restaurant.

A woman in bright chef’s whites stormed through the curtains.

At first, Helen thought the woman must be one of Sam’s line cooks; perhaps an assistant sent out to pick up urgent ingredients.

She held in her hand a square wooden box. Something that fruit or vegetables might be shipped in.

But one look at Sam’s face showed that this woman was not from his kitchen.

His smile now replaced with a deep, dark scowl.

The woman didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked around.

Then she stared at Helen’s table with its appetising plates.

And took a step closer…

“Baby quenelles? Looks delicious,” the woman said, nodding to Helen, then all around.

Her accent… American.

“Lightly poached, the Nantua sauce reduced to a demi-glace. Yes, delicious. Oh, and–”

She turned to another table. A couple frozen at their meal – knives and forks mid-air.

“And you there… the filet? Hint of cognac. Rainbow peppercorns, of course. Not too much cream.”

She stopped and looked over the room.

“Exactly how I used to prepare them, eh, Sam?”

Sam – who had remained frozen, finally took a step closer to the woman in her chef’s outfit.

Helen started to put the pieces together. She looked at Lady Repton, her face tight with concern.

And Helen thought: this woman must be that new chef, at the Bayleaf.

Helen saw Julie give her husband a look – a mix of concern and, what? Confusion?

Sam kept his voice low.

But in a restaurant so small, every word could be heard.

“Anna… what the hell–?”

Helen thought if the other chef had been male, Sam – with his fists clenched – might have thrown a punch.

The other chef – this Anna – didn’t blink.

Instead, she looked around the room again.

“Bad enough you stole my recipes… after everything…” The woman made no effort to keep her voice low. “But that wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

She now smiled. Like someone about to reveal a nasty surprise.

“No. You, or one of your… underlings… had to do your best to make sure my restaurant fails. Is that it, hmm?”

Sam shook his head.

Lady Repton reached over and touched Helen’s wrist.

“You think we should do something?”

Good question, Helen thought.

But what exactly would that something be?

Sam – with his reputation and good name being challenged – raised his voice.

“I don’t know what the hell you are talking about. Get the–”

He caught himself.

His patrons watching, none eating save a tall man who dined alone, open notepad beside him, who was able both to watch the spectacle and still tuck into the meal.

“I’m talking about, of course, the steps you might resort to… to make sure there was only one real restaurant in Cherringham.”

And slowly… the female chef opened the wooden box. The wood creaked.

But with the box held flat by her outstretched arm, no one could see what it contained.

Until…

She reached in and pulled out – by its long, ropy tail – a massive grey rat.

“Plant this in my restaurant, Sam? Are you that afraid? That desperate?”

All eyes were on the – fortunately – dead rodent.

“Nothing like vermin to shut a place down, isn’t that right?” she said.

Now – for sure – no one, even if they still had cutlery in their hand, touched their rapidly cooling meals.

For a different, and rather powerful aroma, had filled the small dining room.

“You’re crazy,” Sam said.

Another step, and Julie had to come forward and take his arm.

Helen thought that, female intruder or not, Sam – whose muscular arms were well suited to breaking down a side of beef or a whole hog – might easily throw a punch anyway.

But now the climax of this show was about to commence.

“Here,” the woman said, making the rat swing by its tail. “A little side dish for your lovely diners.”

And with another swing…

… the rat went flying.

Not towards Sam.

Who, Helen guessed, could have easily dodged the rodent in mid-air.

No.

With a thump and wheeze, the rat landed in the middle of Helen’s table, right between her and Lady Repton.

Dead eyes open, and surrounded by what had once been some fantastically appetising plates.

Now – clearly – not to be eaten or touched at all.

Helen sprang up from the table, as did Lady R.

Then, like a storm passing, leaving so much destruction in its wake, the chef – Anna – violently yanked the heavy curtains aside.

The outside door banged open.

And she was gone.

Show over.

3. A Kitchen Confidential

Jack pulled his Barbour jacket tight.

It was sunny out, but the wind cutting across the meadow made it seem like winter was not at all ready to release its grip.

Riley, for his part, didn’t seem to mind, as he raced back with the pink rubber ball – slimy in the dog’s mouth – eager to play fetch all morning.

The springer pretended to want to keep the ball, biting down as Jack took hold. Then it popped out – game on. The dog raced back a few steps, eyes on Jack, ready to bolt for the throw.

And Jack had to admit that this – cold or not – was great fun.

Jack gave the ball his best overhand throw.

And it was one of those moments that took him back to stickball games on the streets of Flatbush, where the pink rubber ball would go flying.

The distance it travelled measured in how many sewers it passed.

Today – after each throw – Jack felt a bit of a pinch in his shoulder. After all these years, not as easy to send the ball careening into space.

He watched Riley – who had no problems running at a crazed speed – the ball landing before the dog could get close.

In seconds though, he recovered the ball, bolted back.

Yeah, Jack thought, not a bad way to spend an English morning.

When his phone chirped.

Usually he’d leave it plugged in, charging, back at his boat.

Sometimes it was good to be out without a phone.

Out of touch…

He slid it out, pressed “accept”, noting the name.

Sarah Edwards.

“Sarah. Morning. At your office already?”

“Hi, Jack – no, um, not yet. Look, something happened last night. At the Spotted Pig. Bit of a scene, and my mum – she’s right here – saw it all.”

“Scene? Something bad with Sam, Julie?”

“Think it’s best if Mum tells you herself. Can you pop over?”

Jack paused a second. He really liked Sarah’s parents, Helen and Michael. Two people who had welcomed him from the beginning.

As had Sam and Julie at the restaurant.

This sounded like they could use some help.

“Absolutely. You get the kettle on. I’ll bring the cookies.”

Sarah laughed. “You have the essentials covered. Jack – it may be nothing to worry about, no big deal, and all that. But, well… Mum’s worried.”

“Hear you. There in twenty.”

“Great. See you soon.”

Riley finally arrived at Jack’s feet, gloopy ball in mouth. “Gotta go back, boy. Maybe more fun later?”

Jack started back to his boat, The Grey Goose, Riley hesitated just a moment before, somewhat reluctantly, following his owner back.

As they walked back, the breeze kicked in stronger.

Bit more of a chill, he thought.

Winter hanging on.

*

Jack parked his Austin-Healey Sprite in the lane outside Sarah’s cottage. No room in the little gravel drive. He could see Sarah’s Rav-4, and her mother’s little cherry-red Micra.

And another car he didn’t recognise.

Interesting, he thought, as he slipped through the gate, and rang the doorbell.

Sarah – quick to open the door – dressed for the office.

“Jack – great to see you.”

A quick kiss to both cheeks. Jack was used to the European way now. He followed her down the hallway and through into the big kitchen, the warm heart of her old cottage, with its French windows looking down the garden to the river.

He took in the guests sitting at the pine table: Helen, sipping coffee; and the surprise visitor, Julie from the Spotted Pig.

“Helen!” Sam greeted her with a kiss. “And Julie – didn’t expect to see you,” he said, shaking her hand. He nodded at Julie’s round tummy. “You’re looking wonderful – how many months?”

“Three more to go,” said Julie, patting the bump proudly.

“You and Sam are going to make a great mum and dad,” said Jack. “Lucky kid sure is going to eat well!”

He watched her smile. “You’re very sweet, Jack.”

But Jack saw that smile fade quickly, as she turned and looked at Sarah.

“Julie rang just after I called you,” said Sarah. “I said to come over.”

“Wanted to apologise to Helen in person,” said Julie. “About last night. Such a terrible thing. Unforgiveable.”

“Afraid I’m at a disadvantage,” said Jack, looking from Julie to Helen.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you up to speed,” said Sarah, gratefully accepting a packet of biscuits, and tipping Huffington’s best onto a plate. Three hands descended in unison on the treats, always delicious, baked that morning.

“Lucky I brought a large pack,” said Jack, smiling.

“Mum – why don’t you tell Jack exactly what happened, while I put a fresh pot of coffee on.”

Jack listened while Helen told him the full story of her tasting menu at the Pig with Lady Repton, and the unexpected entrance of a rat in the middle act.

*

Sarah sat at the table, sipping her coffee, and watching Jack as her mother finished the tale. He’d listened carefully, nodding, not asking questions.

Julie had chipped in a couple of times with her view of events.

“Obviously, after that, neither of us really felt like staying for pudding,” said Helen, “so we went home.”

“Nobody paid a penny – we made sure of that,” said Julie. “People were very understanding, but we couldn’t possibly charge them.”

“Must have cost you quite a sum,” said Jack.

“Twenty covers,” said Julie.

Yikes, Sarah thought. She did the maths quickly. That had to be at least a thousand pounds. Maybe more…

“But the reputational damage?” said Julie. “Well – can’t put a price on that.”

“So, Jack,” said Helen. “I had the thought. I mean, what can we do to help? What can you do?”

“Me?”

“You and Sarah, of course!” said Helen. “You investigate things, don’t you? Solve murders and whatnot. Surely you two can bring this dreadful woman to justice!”

Sarah caught Jack’s eye and tried not to smile.

In her mother’s world, the righteous always won the battle and a few good men (and one woman) were all it took to restore peace and the natural order to Cherringham.

“Well,” said Jack, “um, I guess first of all I should be asking Julie, do you also want us to do something?”

Sarah saw Julie shrug. “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean… I don’t think I want anyone to do anything. I just want this to stop. It’s driving me crazy.”

She took a breath.

“And with the baby coming… Sam is so stressed.” She took a breath. “He can have a temper, you know.”

Jack laughed. “I have heard him deliver some, er, rather sharp instructions to kitchen staff from time to time.”

Sarah leaned forward. “So, Julie, last night wasn’t the first time something like this has happened?”

Julie seemed suddenly hesitant.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you about it. This is Sam’s thing. He wants to handle it. In fact – he said I mustn’t even think about it. Got to just carry on, keep going, think of the baby, family first, all that stuff. You know?”

Sarah nodded, then looked to Jack again.

This doesn’t sound good, she thought. Maybe we really should be helping.

“Well,” said Jack. “That’s Sam’s prerogative, of course. Yours too. But you know, Julie, I don’t see any harm in you telling us what’s been going on. Know what I mean? Just the bare facts. Me and Sarah – we can then drop by the Pig, have a chat with Sam, see if he feels he could do with a little help.”

Jack looked around at everyone. “Maybe it can all be easily sorted?”

The way Jack said those words… Sarah almost thought that was possible.

Maybe it could all calm down.

But her instincts pointed in a different direction.

Sarah saw her mother reach across, put her hand on Julie’s.

“What’s the harm in that, Julie? I know Sarah and Jack won’t do anything that you or Sam wouldn’t be happy with.”

Julie seemed to think about this, then took a deep breath.

“Okay, well,” she said. “The bare facts, as you say. It all started back in September. You know that’s when the Bayleaf opened?”

“I do,” said Jack. “Saw the ad in the local paper.

“At first I thought it would be good for everybody,” said Julie. “Another restaurant serving good food – has to put you on your mettle. I said as much to Sam.”

“But?” said Sarah, seeing Julie pause.

“But Sam – well – he was a bit funny about it. Not what I expected.”

“How do you mean?” said Jack.

“Well, he got quite… emotional. Said I should ignore the place. Told me to forget about it. Said it wouldn’t last. Said he knew the chef from way back – and she wouldn’t cut it. Didn’t have a kind word for her.”

“Doesn’t sound like the Sam I know,” said Jack.

“Exactly,” said Julie. “I thought maybe with the baby coming – us needing a new house, more stress, you know – I thought he was just overreacting. We’ve also got a new girl in the kitchen and he’s not finding that easy either. But then… after a few months, stuff started to happen.”

“Stuff?” said Jack.

“The woman, this Anna Garcia, the chef, she started having a go at us.”

“How?” said Sarah.

“Phone calls – in the middle of the night. Waking us up. Accusing us of things.”

“What kind of things?”

“First – she said we were posting bad reviews on social media. Trashing her food, the new restaurant, her staff. Said she had proof it was us.”

“And did she?” said Jack.

“No, of course not. We challenged her but she just said we were clever, hiding our tracks. Then she said we were hacking into her online bookings.”

“Changing them, you mean?”

“Cancelling reservations. Making false ones. Giving the impression she was fully booked when she wasn’t.

“And did she say why she thought you and Sam were doing this?”

“She said we wanted to destroy her. Close the Bayleaf. But that’s not true! I want her to succeed – that has to be good for us too!”

Sarah saw Jack lean in closer across the table.

Something’s bothering him, she thought.

“Did she say anything else, Julie?” said Jack. “Anything that might explain why she’s doing this?”

Julie seemed to weigh up her answer.

“One time – when I answered the phone – she said she couldn’t understand why I was with Sam. Why I trusted him. I asked her what the hell she meant, but she just ended the call.”

Jack nodded. “So, she and Sam know each other?”

“Sam said he worked in the same kitchen as her, years ago, in New York.”

“Sam worked in the States? Manhattan?” said Jack.

Julie nodded. “He doesn’t talk about it,” said Julie. “I think… it wasn’t a very good time for him.”

Sarah caught Jack’s eye again, then turned back to Julie.

“But he says he hardly knew her – even then.”

“She asked why you trust Sam,” said Sarah, wondering if her next question might be going too far. “Did you ask Sam what she might have meant?”

Another nod. This was hard for Julie.

We’re getting into some dark areas here, Sarah thought. Julie – clearly uncomfortable. “He said he had no idea.”

Sarah, though, did have a pretty good idea – but not one she was going to share with Julie.

Instinct again. Were Sam and this Anna Garcia once an item?

“So why does he think she’s doing this?” she said.

“He says she’s got issues. Always did. Even back then. He says she had a reputation for losing it. Going crazy. And he thinks the Pig just happens to be the nearest target.”

“Hmm,” said Jack. “That could very well be true. But I guess we won’t ever know, unless…”

Sarah watched him sit back, his face giving nothing away.

“What are you thinking, Jack?”

“Look. I don’t want to go messing in your or Sam’s business, Julie,” he said. “But if there’s a misunderstanding here, Sarah and I could have a chat with this… Anna Garcia… listen to her, maybe put her mind at rest. What do you think?”

Sarah saw Julie nod slowly. Her mother looked relieved.

“Excellent idea, Jack,” said Helen. “I mean – what harm can it do?”

“Anything to stop the damned calls,” said Julie. “Course – I’ll have to tell Sam.”

“Of course,” said Sarah. “We don’t want to do anything that both of you wouldn’t want.”

“It’s clearly some sort of terrible misunderstanding,” said Helen. “But I just know Jack and Sarah will be able to sort it all out in no time.”

Sarah looked across at Jack then back at her mother.

“No pressure then, Mum,” she said, smiling.

“Only the teeniest bit of pressure, darling,” said Helen, grinning back. “We want all this nastiness out of the way before the big Charity Dinner – don’t we, Julie?”

“God! Tell me about it,” said Julie, rolling her eyes, then laughing.

“Remind me,” said Jack, “just when is that dinner?”

“Next week, Jack,” said Sarah.

“Terrific,” he said. “Opera and food from the Spotted Pig, all in one go. Does it get any better?”

But as soon as Jack said those words, Sarah wondered…

Could there be more storm clouds ahead before that great event?

4. Table for One

Jack pulled his coat tight against the bitter wind and walked up Cherringham Bridge Road into the centre of the village.

This time of year – on a dark January evening – few tourists visited Cherringham and most locals with any sense were tucked up at home in front of the wood-burner, or supping ale in one of the village pubs.

He looked in at the Spotted Pig as he passed – just a handful of diners. He could see Julie behind the bar and, for a second, wished he were heading in there now to show support – and maybe put away one of their terrific rib-eyes.

But no. Tonight was a working dinner. In every sense of those words.

He carried on up the High Street, then into the village square, past Sarah’s office, the village hall, Huffington’s Tea Rooms, The Angel pub, the little police station. He was now almost at the high edge of the village – just terraced houses in Cotswold stone huddled together against the winter night.

All these places now so familiar to Jack, almost as familiar as the stores and houses in his old neighbourhood back in Brooklyn.

And now he reached the Bayleaf.

Set back from the street, converted from what he now remembered was an old workshop. Ivy-covered, French lantern over the door, soft light and shadows, welcoming looking.

Shame Sarah wasn’t able to come along tonight, he thought.

But she had a meeting up at the school to discuss her son Daniel’s university options with one of his teachers – so Jack had drawn the short straw.

So far, it wasn’t looking like a bad draw.

He pushed the door open.

Hmm, warm smells, warm atmosphere.

Jack shut the door behind him, took in the place: bare flagstones, painted beams, exposed stone walls. A little area with deep sofas, open fire burning, a mirrored bar stacked high with bottles, proper bar stools, Coltrane playing softly.

Very cool.

Beyond, a glimpse of the dining area: just a half-dozen tables, a couple of customers, low-key, the space well-lit, inviting. And past that, what looked like an opening into the kitchen, figures in white bustling.

And immediately – the sign of any good, sound, restaurant – a young woman approaching from out back, smiling, ready to take his coat.

“Isn’t it dreadful out there?” she said. “Let me take that – Mr Brennan is it? Table for one?”

“Jack Brennan, yes, thank you,” said Jack handing over his coat. “Now the question is – the bar – or by the fire?”

“Oh, has to be the fire on a night like this,” said the woman, smiling. “And what will you have to drink?”

“Vodka martini, straight up, with a twist.”

“Belvedere okay?”

Could this place get any better?

“My current favourite.”

“Oh, me too! It’s on its way – and I’ll bring you a menu.”

“Perfect.”

*

Sarah unlocked her front door, flicked on the light and went straight through to the kitchen. Behind her, she heard Daniel shut the door then head straight for the stairs and his bedroom.

Not my finest hour, she thought, walking over to the fridge, taking out an already open bottle of pinot grigio and pouring herself a large glass.

What should have been a run-of-the-mill pep talk with Daniel’s form tutor about his “disappointing” attitude towards the summer’s A-level exams, had turned into a full-on argument about her son’s future.

“University’s stupid,” Daniel had said at the end. “You just end up with loads of debt and three wasted years!”

Sarah and Mr Parker had tried to change Daniel’s mind but he’d dug his heels in.

And in the car on the way home Sarah had used the “trapped” space to give him the same lecture she’d given Chloe two years ago when her daughter had also started to wobble at the last minute before her exams.

Funny – that time it had worked. Chloe had listened and moved on.

But this time – Daniel had just told her what do to with her advice.

Ouch.

Two kids. Same parents. Yet so different.

And now, with no father in the house to back her up, or play soft cop to her hard cop, she knew an evening of silence lay ahead. Maybe even an evening and a day.

Daniel could be tough that way.

And though she knew some strategies to change that, she was in no mood to set them in motion yet.

She picked up her wine and walked through to her office. Shut the door behind her.

Breathed in, as she took in her own space – her refuge.

Cherringham CSI – wasn’t that what Jack called the room?

A long desk. Whiteboard. Two computer terminals and screens – and her laptop.

Shelves filled with law books from her abandoned Open University degree.

Hmm, she thought, as she sat at the desk. Abandoned degree course…

Maybe not something I should mention right now to Daniel.

She tapped the keyboard – the screen lit up.

“Anna Garcia chef” she typed into a search engine, and waited for the results to load.

*

Jack sat back in the deep Chesterfield thinking treasonous thoughts. Up until now he thought the Spotted Pig made the best martini in the Cotswolds, but his world just turned upside down.

This martini – served Hemingway style in a deep tumbler, just like the ones he’d loved in Harry’s Bar in Venice all those years ago – had the strength of a real martini back in Manhattan.

And so cold it made the back of your throat shout for joy.

Wonder how Sarah’s getting on, he thought. She’d love this.

He heard a soft female voice behind him – not the local voice of the young woman who took his coat, but an American voice. “Taste of home, hmm?”

He looked up.

A woman stood – in chef’s whites – smiling down. Dark hair, dark eyes. Backlit by the bar.

“For a second there, I was back in the Campbell Apartments. Already wondering if I should order another,” he said.

“Dangerous. We don’t mix our martinis here like the Brits do…”

Jack laughed. “In thimbles.”

“Exactly. Think you can handle two?”

Jack looked at the woman’s wry expression, then noticed the word “Anna”, in piped italic swirl on her top.

So this is the evil chef. Hmm…Well, she doesn’t look evil…

“Think maybe I’ll listen to the professional advice – Anna? You’re the chef here, no?”

“That’s right.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m also thinking – if the martini’s this good, what’s the wine list going to be like?”

“Growing. But having said that, it’s pretty solid.”

“Thought it would be.”

“Let me know when you’re ready to order,” said Anna, nodding to the menu on the table. “Meanwhile – how about a little something to whet your appetite?”

“Sure,” said Jack. “Everyone get this personal service from the chef?”

“Not everyone. But we’re pretty empty tonight. And when I heard the accent… Brooklyn maybe, hmm?”

“You got it.”

“Cop?”

“Ex. Wow – that obvious?”

She laughed.

“To me. Guess I had a few run-ins with New York cops in my time – social and professional.”

“I’m intrigued. You’ll have to tell me more.”

“Later maybe. I have work to do.”

“Good kitchen runs itself – don’t they say that?”

“Oh, that isn’t true,” said Anna. “Not when there’s only three of you doing service.”

She smiled at him.

“Hope you enjoy the meal.”

“I bet I will,” said Jack.

And he watched her all the way back to the kitchen, then picked up the menu.

Thinking…

Did I just flirt with her? Or did she just flirt with me?

Something Jack hadn’t thought in a very long time.

*

Sarah sat back and looked at her open search screens, and then made another note on the yellow lawyer’s pad she always used when on a case.

The search – not quite what she’d expected.

She’d started with the Bayleaf’s opening back in September. She’d expected lots of online ads, articles in local papers, Cotswold News – maybe even some early reviews in the nationals.

But there’d been hardly anything. Clearly no PR spend at all.

But why? That wasn’t the way to open a restaurant – especially in September when people are just beginning to think about making Christmas bookings.

She did find a possible explanation: an interview with the owner Karl Desmond, in which he said he was going for a “soft launch”.

“I always find it takes a few months for a restaurant to bed in, find its style, its flavours, its local clientele. Come the spring – that’s when we’ll really launch. And the people of the Cotswolds will see we are taking fine dining to a higher level.”

Confident stuff – and backed up at first by the social media reviews. She scrolled back through the first posts – plenty of three-, four- and even five-star notices.

People liked it, that was clear.

But then, by November – in amongst the five stars – were ones and even zeros. Very few had given it an average rating.

Suspicious pattern, thought Sarah.

She knew plenty about online advertising – and this kind of spread smacked of deliberate manipulation. She made a note to check out the identities and posting record of the bad reviewers.

Maybe there was some truth in Anna Garcia’s allegation that someone was fixing the reviews.

She went back and did a search for “Karl Desmond”. Not much historically, but recent social pages of the Cotswolds glossies had photos of Karl Desmond – and his wife, Lisbet – at various charity dinners.

Sarah studied the pictures.

Karl – jovial, short, bespectacled, in his fifties perhaps. On his arm, his wife Lisbet – taller, younger, looking good in a little black dress and pearls.

The classic happy and wealthy couple.

Onto business directories…

Nothing locally, but quite a few directorships showing for restaurants in the north, mostly around Sheffield. A couple in smart parts of the city centre. A quick street-view search on some of the addresses – reasonable-looking places and certainly not backstreet dives.

But not much evidence of Mr Desmond’s expertise in fine dining. None of the restaurants the kind of place hunting for a Michelin star.

But who knew. The guy clearly had fingers in many pies. And plenty of assets in those companies. Perhaps profits made… ready to be invested?

Back to Anna Garcia.

And now Sarah was surprised.

A ton of reviews from her early career in New York. Lots of “new kid on the block” articles – many saying what a breath of fresh air it was to see a young female chef at the pass. Praise for her adventurous style, reinvigorating some tired brands.

And then the big splash when she got a Michelin star.

Anna Garcia, it seemed, was a rising star chef – back in 2005.

But then – nothing over the next few years – apart from a couple of restaurant openings in Washington and one in San Francisco. Some average reviews – but the rising star, it seemed, had risen only so far.

Too much too soon? Sarah wondered.

Had to be a common story in the world of high-end chefs.

No hint as to what happened or why. Just a career that… faded away.

Happens, thought Sarah. Back in the day, when she’d run her web business in London, she’d had some of the top-starred restaurants as clients. Many times she’d chatted late into the night with chefs and sous chefs, heard the horror stories, listened to the tales of hundred-hour weeks, low pay, stress, sometimes savage and unforgiving kitchens.

The restaurant business is a tough and cruel place.

Sarah noted that – in the end – some people can’t take any more. They just… burn out.

Was that what had happened to Anna Garcia? If so – why the sudden return to the kitchen?

And why Cherringham?

Why now?

5. Two Sides to Every Story

Jack put down his dessertspoon and savoured the flavour of the panna cotta.

So soft, with a hint of buttermilk that took him back to the childhood streets of Brooklyn and his Italian pals whose mamas knew how to cook the real thing.

And what was in that coulis – cloudberries? Or was it some mysterious local berry he’d just never eaten before?

Then the dessert wine – on Anna’s recommendation – a 2001 Monbazillac. Amazing. Golden orange, sweet, full-bodied. Not sticky like some dessert wines could be.

Wow. He had to admit, the dishes on this menu had – unexpectedly – knocked him out.

The bone marrow starter – with that cute spoon to dig out all the beefy goodness…

Lamb sweetbreads with pancetta and sprouts.

Brave choice that – but, again, an Anna recommendation – and was it ever good!

Delicious. Faultless. Just like the service.

How often was a meal life-changing? He realised his routine choices of steak or ribs, as good as they were, were crazy when food like this was on offer.

He looked around the restaurant. One couple finishing off their coffees. The other two tables long gone.

Back in New York people would be cramming the restaurant. They’d be turning bookings away. But tonight – he’d seen no more than a dozen people in here.

And through the window into the kitchen he’d seen Anna and her sous chef – a tall guy with red hair – occasionally look through into the dining area, clearly hoping for some late walk-ins.

What was going wrong?

He saw the kitchen door open and Anna came through, a carafe of coffee in one hand, two cups in the other. Behind her by the entrance, the woman who’d served him throughout the evening was now removing her apron, the evening service over.

And through the gap into the kitchen, Jack could see the sous chef and a young kid cleaning up and wiping down surfaces.

Anna put the coffee pot and cups down on the table, then nodded to the spare seat.

“May I?”

“Sure,” said Jack.

“I’m guessing you would have ordered a coffee?”

“You guessed right.”

He watched her pour two cups.

“We order the beans direct. Then there’s a place over in Chipping Norton grinds them for us.”

“The whole ’local’ thing runs right through the menu, hmm?”

“Why not? Everything I want to cook I can get within ten miles. Apart from the seafood.”

“Think I can forgive you that.”

“Why thank you, officer.”

“Detective,” said Jack, smiling.

She smiled back.

“I’m flattered you came, ate here, right across the menu, all on your own…” She paused. “But you’re not really here for the food, are you?”

Jack looked at her for a second. Anna was more than an amazing cook.

He shrugged.

“No.”

“Sorry. I asked around. You’re the local private eye.”

“Not a term I’d use. But I do investigate things. When people ask me.”

“People like Sam Walters?”

“People like him, yes. Not saying he did though.”

“So, that who you’re working for?”

“Not ’working’ for anyone.” Jack wasn’t happy that Anna was the one asking questions.

Tables turned.

“Sam’s wife and co-owner, Julie, is a friend. As is Sam. I heard about what happened last night at the Spotted Pig. Thought I’d check things out, see if I could help.”

“Help them.”

“Help you and them.”

“I don’t need help.”

Yeah, Jack thought. Maybe time to end this.

“Okay. That’s fine then. Good luck with your restaurant.”

He stared at her. She stared back. Those dark eyes. His words not shaking her.

Takes a lot to shake a New Yorker.

“All right,” she said. Bit of a smile then. “What if I do need help?”

“Do you?”

“You saw the restaurant tonight. Where is everyone? Someone’s killing my business. And I think it’s Sam Walters.”

“You got proof?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need proof. I know him. How he thinks. How he… ticks.”

“Really? I always thought Sam was one of the good guys. That not true?”

Anna took a breath, as if not sure she should continue. “I thought he was too. But then, one day, out of the blue, he walked out on me in New York. Left me hanging in every way. Then I end up here, find he’s built a reputation on my dishes. My menu.”

“Kinda hard to copyright recipes, no?”

“Jury’s out on that, Jack. Back in the city, a chef could get into trouble big time poaching someone else’s secrets. And a chef knows. All chefs know. You don’t steal credit from others.”

“That such a big deal? Thought all chefs borrow – that not true?”

A slight nod. “Some. Sure. That happens. And if it was only that, I could deal.”

“But it’s more?”

He waited while she poured another cup of coffee. Behind her, the couple paid their bill and he saw them leave. The waitress pulled down the blinds.

“Oh, it’s more all right,” said Anna, leaning in. “Sam Walters is destroying my business. Piece by piece. Day by day. And it’s killing me.”

Jack leaned over, took the coffee pot and poured himself another coffee.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.

Suddenly Jack had to wonder. Had he been reading Sam wrong?