Recipe for Murder (7 page)

“Knowing how Bonet feels about you, he'll
probably send out the National Guard,” Ned grumbled, but he split off from Nancy anyway.

Nancy was walking along, trying to decide how to gain more of Claude DuPres's confidence, when a headline from a newspaper vending machine caught her eye: C
OOKING
S
CHOOL
A
CCIDENT
W
ARRANTS
I
NVESTIGATION.

Quickly Nancy deposited a quarter and pulled out the top copy. She scanned the story. The article was full of innuendo, but no real facts. “Sources close to the school's head chef, Claude DuPres, suggest that DuPres may be an ineffectual manager,” Nancy read. “Chef DuPres has also been accused of misappropriating funds needed to maintain the school and upgrade security . . .”

Nancy blinked. Hadn't she just heard nearly those exact words somewhere? She turned back to the article.

“The board of directors is calling an emergency meeting to determine whether or not Chef DuPres should resign.”

Poor Claude DuPres, Nancy thought as she headed up to his office. It seemed so unfair.

Outside DuPres's office Nancy ran headlong into a group of reporters. They rushed up to her, notebooks in hand.

“Are you a member of DuPres's staff?” one asked her.

“No,” Nancy murmured, taken aback. She knocked on the door, but wasn't surprised when
there was no answer. She couldn't blame DuPres. The reporters were out for blood!

Ignoring them, she twisted the knob. When it turned in her hand, she had to hide her surprise.

DuPres was at his desk—on the telephone. When he saw Nancy, he nearly leapt from his chair. “I will have to call you back,” he said coldly.

Nancy caught a glimpse of the same newspaper article she'd just read spread across his desk.

“Get out! Get out of here!” DuPres thundered after slamming down his phone. “You are responsible for this!” He bunched the newspaper in his fists and threw it across the room at her.

“What are you talking about? I couldn't have—”

“Get out!” DuPres slammed back his chair and strode over to her. His face was so red she was afraid he was going to burst a blood vessel.

“You!” he shouted, shaking his finger threateningly in front of her nose. “I want you off the premises and out of my school! If you do not leave this minute, I will throw you out myself!”

N
ANCY WAS DUMBFOUNDED.
“I—I—” she began.

“The press is hounding me. My career is finished! And it is your fault. Your meddling has ruined me!” DuPres shouted.

“But the story in the newspaper has nothing to do with me,” Nancy managed to say. “I couldn't know those things about the board of directors.”

“Then who was the source?
Who?”

Nancy shook her head. The pastry chef's name was on the tip of Nancy's tongue. It would be so easy to shift the blame to Slesak. But Claude
DuPres was so outraged that she decided against bringing up his name. “Maybe you need to look closer to home,” she said instead. “Someone obviously knows a great deal about you and is using it to his advantage.”

DuPres's jaw tightened. “This has ruined me!”

Nancy opened her mouth to ask more, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door. Before either of them could move, Jacques Bonet squeezed past the reporters and let himself inside.

“Jacques!” Claude greeted him in obvious relief.

“What's going on?” Jacques asked.

“Ask her,” Claude said, pointing dramatically at Nancy. “She is meddling in my affairs.”

Nancy's heart sank. He was too overwrought to listen to reason. “Chef DuPres feels I am somehow responsible for the newspaper article,” she explained.

“What newspaper article?”

“You have not seen it?” DuPres gestured toward the floor where the crumpled newspaper lay. “There! See for yourself!”

Bonet picked up the newspaper and smoothed it out, his expression darkening as he read through the article. “Who can have done this?” he demanded, shaking the paper in his fist.

DuPres didn't answer, but his gaze was directed at Nancy.

“Nancy?” Jacques asked, surprised. “How
could Nancy have anything to do with this?”

Claude tossed up his hands. “She is asking questions all the time.”

“Claude, there's no way Nancy could have spread these rumors even if she had a reason to.”

For the first time Chef DuPres seemed to calm down. Nancy darted a grateful glance in Jacques's direction. It was clear Claude valued what the younger man said, and she was glad he was there to defend her.

“Who, then? Who would do this to me?” DuPres asked, bewildered. A moment later he answered his own question. “Paul Slesak! He has been after my position since he came here!”

He lapsed into an angry silence. Nancy broke it by asking whether he knew where her sunglasses were. DuPres handed them to her. Now he looked almost apologetic.

“Do you still want me to leave the school?” Nancy asked.

DuPres waved dismissively. “No, no. I am sorry. It cannot be your fault.” He sighed. “But I am no longer doing the Washington dinner.”

“What?”
Jacques seemed to have turned to stone. “But it's only a few days away.”

“It is true. They say I am a security risk. I am to be replaced.”

“I don't believe it,” Jacques muttered.

“Do not worry. They will keep you on. They need you.”

“It's not me I'm worried about,” Jacques retorted. “It's you. This is so unfair!”

“What is this Washington dinner?” Nancy asked.

Both men turned to her, blinking. She realized they'd forgotten she was listening. “Claude and I were to be head chefs at an important dinner for foreign dignitaries in Washington,” Jacques said reluctantly. “It isn't for public record.”

“And you've been replaced because of the newspaper article?” Nancy asked DuPres.

He narrowed his eyes at the younger chef and said, “I will make sure you are put in charge, Jacques. You are the most qualified.”

Jacques clasped his friend's hand and said, “Let me know what I can do to help.” Then he held the door for Nancy. “Time for class,” he said.

The mass of reporters had dwindled to only a few. Jacques easily deflected them as he and Nancy headed down the stairs.

“Thanks for sticking up for me,” she told him.

He shrugged. “Claude would have realized you couldn't have been the source soon enough. He just gets excited sometimes. Who do
you
think the source is?”

“I don't have any proof, but I'd bet on Paul Slesak.”

“Slesak! Why?”

Nancy still wasn't sure she should tell him all
she knew. “It's just that DuPres and Slesak seem to be at each other's throats,” she said.

“And you think that in itself would cause Slesak to make those damaging comments?”

“Yes. If he wanted the school for himself.”

“Do you have any other theories?”

Nancy shook her head. She'd said more than she had intended to already. “All I've got on my mind today is cooking,” she said brightly.

But cooking was definitely
not
what was on Nancy's mind that day. She wanted to concentrate all her energy on the mystery, and the hours she had to spend in class made her impatient.

When class ended Nancy and the others headed for the pool. Nancy swam several laps, working off some of her frustration as she considered her next move. Finally she pulled herself out of the water and flopped down on a lounge chair to tell the others what had happened in DuPres's office that morning.

“Hmmm. Did you notice how distracted Jacques seemed in class today?” Ned pointed out. “I wonder if it had anything to do with that Washington dinner thing?”

“Maybe.” Nancy wrinkled her nose. “Although—aside from the fact that he was mad about the way DuPres was being treated—he didn't seem particularly displeased about taking over.”

“All this talk about dinner is making me
hungry,” Bess said. “What does everybody want to do about food?”

“Let's get some sandwiches from the coffee shop and eat outside,” Nancy said.

“Best idea I've heard all day,” Bess muttered.

• • •

Later that night as Nancy lay in bed, she struggled to come up with some answers. She felt as if her brain were locked up tight. I'm missing something important, she thought unhappily.

The next morning Nancy had to drag herself out of bed. Yawning, she padded to the bathroom to stare at her bleary-eyed reflection. “What should I do first?” she asked herself.

Paul Slesak, she thought. How should she begin investigating him? Suddenly it occurred to her that she hadn't been paying enough attention to one thing—Slesak's paranoia over his recipes. A feeling of excitement spread through her. His recipes! Of course. There had to be some reason he was so protective of them! She'd have to take a look at those recipes herself.

• • •

“What have you got cooking?” Ned asked when class was almost over that day.

Nancy was washing out her pan. “What do you mean?”

“In your
head,
Nancy. Not in your skillet.”

Glancing around, Nancy leaned closer to Ned. “Remember how Slesak reacted when he found
his recipes were missing? Well, I'm going to have a look at those recipes myself right after class.”

“Not without me, you're not.”

“I'd rather go alone,” Nancy said. “It would look less suspicious if I got caught.”

“I don't know . . .”

“Besides”—Nancy's eyes twinkled—“too many cooks spoil the broth. What I need you to do is follow Slesak. That way you can warn me if he starts getting too close.”

“I still don't like it.”

“Trust me,” Nancy said, and Ned grudgingly gave in.

As soon as class was over, Nancy and Ned walked toward Paul Slesak's office. They saw the pastry chef just locking up, and hid out of sight until Slesak pushed through the exit doors.

“I'm on my way,” Ned said, sauntering after him. “Be careful.”

“Careful's my middle name,” Nancy whispered after him, then tucked herself into a recessed doorway to wait until the halls had emptied. She didn't expect to hang around more than a few minutes, but when she kept hearing voices from inside the classrooms, she realized that some of the students were staying late to finish projects.

“Great,” she muttered.

Finally the rooms were clear and the halls were empty. Nancy threw a glance outside. Night had
fallen, and the hallways were slightly darkened, only every other light left on. The halls were utterly quiet.

Creeping to Paul Slesak's office door, she pulled her lock-picking set out of her purse. She slipped the pick inside the lock, her pulse accelerating. If she got caught now . . .

Was that a noise? Nancy glanced around. Not a whisper of air moved. Rapidly she twisted the pick in the lock. With a soft click the lock suddenly released, and the door swung inward.

Slesak's desk was in the center of the room. Nancy didn't waste any time. With painstaking care she worked the lock on the top drawer, glancing up every few seconds to make certain no one was coming. Finally the lock turned and Nancy pulled out the drawer. It was empty.

Feeling time race by, Nancy set about unlocking the next drawer. Her palms were wet, and she had to stop and wipe them on her jeans. Then the tumblers turned, and she slid the drawer open.

Inside was the white folder.

“Hallelujah!” Nancy murmured under her breath. Flicking on her penlight, she skimmed through the file.

Pastry recipe followed pastry recipe, from Bavarian creams to double-chocolate tortes. Everything looked delicious—but nothing looked unusual.

So what was the big deal?

Wishing she'd brought her pocket camera to
take pictures, Nancy slipped the recipes back in the folder, then laid them in the desk drawer. Gently she closed the drawer.

Slesak might just be secretive about his special recipes. Or paranoid. Or both. Nancy glanced at her watch again. She had to get out of there. Yet something about the recipes bothered her. What?

Suddenly Nancy heard soft footsteps outside the door. Frozen, she held her breath. Go on by, she pleaded silently. Just go right on by.

The door opened, and a man's hand reached inside to flip on the light. The room became bright. Nancy stood stock-still.

She was caught!