Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,25

a tray then left the tray on this table.” He indicated the table beside the door where a tray with a covered plate on it awaited collection.

“Did you see anyone in or near the kitchen who shouldn’t have been there?” I asked.

“Nope, but it’s busy in here. Anyone can walk in and out without being noticed.”

“You! Go!” shouted someone in a French accent.

I looked up to see the chef de cuisine striding towards us. “We just needed a word with Victor about Mrs. Warrick’s hot chocolate,” I assured him.

Harmony tugged on my arm. “We should go.”

“There was no poison in the chocolate!” the chef snapped. The other chefs looked up. The operatic one fell silent. The chatter, shouts and chopping ceased. The only sound came from the bubbling pots. “My kitchen does not have poison! I tell the policeman this, now I tell you, Miss Fock.”

“Fox,” I said with as much sweetness as I could muster as the head chef bore down on us.

“She’s Sir Ronald’s niece,” Harmony added.

He withdrew a knife from his belt and charged forward, pointing the blade at me. “I do not care if she is queen of England! She does not belong here! There is no poison in my kitchen!”

Harmony and I turned and fled. We raced up the stairs and didn’t stop until we reached the warren of service rooms on the ground floor.

Harmony fell back against the wall, puffing, her hand on her stomach. “That was close.”

“He wouldn’t really have stabbed us,” I assured her.

“He wouldn’t stab you, but I’m fair game. He stabbed one of the cooks once, when the poor fellow dropped a pot of sauce on the floor. Chef later claimed it was an accident, but the other cooks weren’t convinced.” She pushed off from the wall. “Anyway, we got some answers from Victor.”

“Not really. All we learned is that he saw no one out of place in the kitchen and didn’t think Jack put poison in Mrs. Warrick’s chocolate.”

“That’s answers, isn’t it? So what shall we do next?”

“If we truly want to know if Danny is telling the truth about seeing Mrs. Warrick alive when he delivered her chocolate, we ought to find out if she was at dinner first. One of the waiters will remember her.”

“If they don’t, she would have given her name and room number. Mr. Chapman the steward will have that information in his book. We could sneak into his office—”

“Harmony! We are not sneaking about the hotel. Besides, I’m not sure we should continue. You said yourself that Mr. Hobart doesn’t believe Danny did it. I’m sure his brother, the detective, will come to the same conclusion too, if he hasn’t already.”

“You want to stop investigating?” she asked with a pout in her voice.

“I think we ought to leave the detective work to Scotland Yard. I see no reason for them not to be thorough.”

“But do you want to stop?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. Harmony’s eyes were bright, eager. She was enjoying this endeavor. As was I. “We must stop,” I said. “We don’t want to get in the way of Inspector Hobart’s investigation.”

She crossed her arms. “I thought you were like me, that you wanted answers. I thought you wanted to do something.”

She was referring to wanting to help Danny, but I couldn’t help thinking about my suggestion to my uncle that I hoped to be of some use within the hotel. Even so, I saw no reason to continue with our separate investigation.

“Inspector Hobart will find the killer, Harmony. Don’t worry about Danny.”

She drummed her fingers on her arm and, for a moment, I thought she’d argue with me. Then she lowered her arms. “I suppose you’re right. I better return to work anyway before Mrs. Kettering catches me.”

She headed off to the service lift while I returned to the foyer. I spotted Mr. Hobart disappearing into the corridor that housed the offices and private chambers of the senior staff. He walked with Mr. Chapman, the steward, at his side. Now was as good a time as any to ask the manager if there were some small task I could do for him.

He opened the door to Mr. Armitage’s office and entered, Mr. Chapman at his heels. Beyond them I could just make out Mr. Armitage, Mrs. Kettering and the detective inspector, all crowded into the small space. Their Christmas luncheon had been as brief as ours, and they’d already returned to the hotel, if they’d even left. I felt