The Case of the Artful Crime

  “I don’t even keep this stuff in my kitchen,” he said. “It’s wasabi. It’s used exclusively in Japanese cooking, and I don’t offer any Japanese dishes at the Arizona House. Someone must have snuck the wasabi in and added it after I prepared the fish.”

  “But it is edible,” Nancy said.

  “Yes, but it’s so hot that most people eat just the tiniest dab at a time. This poor gentleman got a mouthful when he ate his fish.”

  “I’m sure it was extremely unpleasant,” Dr. Hordell said. She turned to the man. “Keep sipping water. Eventually the burning will pass.”

  “Unpleasant! It was much more than unpleasant!” the red-faced man boomed, mopping his brow with a linen napkin. His enunciation reminded Nancy of an actor’s perfect speech.

  “Wasabi is powerful stuff,” Shawn agreed. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, sir.”

  Just then, Bess rushed over. “What happened? Oh, Mr. Brackett, are you okay?”

  The man’s eyes darted back and forth. “What did you call me?”

  Bess blushed. “Sorry. I know you want to keep your true identity a secret. But I know you’re Harold Brackett. The food here is really the greatest. It’s just that lately everything is going wrong. We think someone is deliberately trying to mess things up for the restaurant. You can’t believe what this person is doing—wrecking the plumbing, tearing the reservation book. I’ll bet that same person did this to your food and—”

  “Bess,” Nancy warned. She didn’t think Shawn wanted this bad news made public.

  “Oh, um . . . ” Bess stammered. “I just wanted Mr. Brackett to understand why—” Suddenly a glimmer of doubt flashed in her eyes. “You are Harold Brackett, aren’t you?”

  The man shrugged. “I suppose, since you found me out, there’s no sense denying it.”

  Bess looked at Nancy triumphantly.

  Carson cleared his throat. “If no one needs me, I’ll return to my lunch,” he excused himself.

  “So will I,” said the doctor. “Just keep drinking cold fluids and you should be fine,” she added as she returned to her table.

  “Mr. Brackett, I am deeply sorry about this,” Shawn apologized once again. “You can’t imagine how sorry. Please give us a second chance—on the house. I promise you this terrible prank won’t be repeated. I’ll serve your meal personally.”

  The crimson flush was fading from Brackett’s olive complexion. “I suppose I might,” he agreed, taking a sip of water. “Let’s just say I like to give new businesses the benefit of the doubt. This is a charming place you have here. Who did your decor?”

  “I did,” Shawn told him proudly. “With help from Loreen, our head waitress. She’s the one who served you.”

  Brackett grimaced. “Yes. I believe that was the name tag worn by the woman who delivered the fish of death.”

  Nancy noticed the red-headed waitress serving another table. For a moment Loreen looked back toward Harold Brackett’s table curiously, then returned quickly to her work.

  Loreen, thought Nancy, registering her first possible suspect. Could Loreen be the one sabotaging the restaurant? She had handled the fish after Shawn had prepared it. But what could be her motive?

  Looking at her watch, Nancy realized that her father’s lunch hour was nearly over. She excused herself and rejoined him at the table. “Sorry, Dad,” she said as she took her seat. “I thought this would be a nice quiet lunch.”

  “I don’t know, Nancy,” her father said good-naturedly. “You’re like a magnet for excitement. If you don’t find it, then it finds you.”

  “At least you can’t say my life is boring,” Nancy answered with a laugh.

  “No, I would never say that,” Carson agreed wryly. “Shawn seems to be a nice enough guy,” he went on. “I hope he can make a go of this place. The last owner couldn’t seem to make it work.”

  “What last owner?” Nancy asked. “Have you been here before?”

  Her father nodded. “Many years ago. At that time, it was a popular French restaurant called Chez Jacques. The food and service declined for some reason, unfortunately. Then Le St. Tropez opened, and everyone began eating there instead.” He glanced around the dining room. “I didn’t realize that this building was still here. I wonder when it changed hands.”

  “That’s something I should find out from Shawn,” Nancy said, taking a quick peek under her fish for any signs of wasabi.

  After dropping her father back at his office, Nancy spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about the case. Whoever the culprit was, he or she was fairly bold. Spreading the hot wasabi on that fish had to have been done quickly and in a moment when no one was looking.

  At the moment, Loreen was the most likely suspect. She’d had the opportunity. But did she have a motive? Nancy decided to find out more about Loreen that evening.

  By five o’clock Nancy was driving back to the Arizona House in her blue Mustang. She wore a pair of tapered black pants, as Shawn had requested, and a deep blue T-shirt.

  The Arizona House was on the outskirts of River Heights in an extremely wealthy area. In this part of town, mansions were set far back from the winding country roads. The restaurant itself was at the end of a narrow, wooded road.

  Once again Nancy pulled into the lot and went in the front door. This time the restaurant had an entirely different atmosphere. It was cool and quiet. The only sound was the clinking of glass and silverware as the tables were set for dinner in the empty dining room.

  “Nancy!” Shawn greeted her, stepping out from the lounge. “I was just getting these things from the storeroom for you.” He handed her three cellophane bags. In them were the fringed denim shirt, the bandanna, and the apron worn by the Arizona House waiters. “You can put these on in the ladies room downstairs,” he said, directing Nancy to a set of narrow steps to the right of the coat-room.

  She had just finished dressing when Loreen walked into the large, well-lit room. Surprise filled the redhead’s face. Her expression quickly changed to a look of unmistakable irritation. “Who hired you?” she asked.

  “Shawn did. This afternoon,” Nancy replied.

  “Why wasn’t I informed?” The waitress frowned.

  “I really don’t know,” Nancy said as sweetly as she could manage.

  Loreen’s green eyes narrowed as she gave Nancy the once-over. “Weren’t you here at lunch today?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Nancy said, nodding. “I mentioned that I was looking for a job, and Shawn hired me on the spot. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

  “Real nice,” Loreen replied sarcastically. “That Shawn is one super-duper guy. I think I’ll go talk to Mr. Wonderful about you right now,” she added as she slammed the door.

  Nancy was about to follow her when she bumped into Bess. “What did you say to her?” Bess asked. “She was breathing fire.”

  “She’s not too happy I was hired,” Nancy replied.

  “I guess not. She usually hires and fires the waiting staff,” Bess said with a shrug. “Loreen’s sort of the manager around here.”

  “I’d better go upstairs and see what’s happening,” Nancy said, slipping through the door. At the top of the stairs, Nancy looked around for Loreen, but the head waitress was gone.

  “Okay, Nancy,” Shawn said, looking up from the reservation book. “Ready for the grand tour?”

  “Did you talk to Loreen?” Nancy asked.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Shawn said. “Sometimes she forgets who’s the boss around here. I told her that I’d decided to train an extra waitress in case we need help serving the upcoming summer crowd. Everybody on the staff wants some time off over the next few months.”

  “Did that explanation cool her down?” Nancy asked.

  “She went off in a huff,” Shawn said, “but she’ll get over it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell her the truth?” Nancy asked.

  An uncomfortable look came over Shawn’s face. “The fewer people who know why you’re here, the better,” he sai
d.

  Nancy had to agree with that. “Do you think Loreen could be the one causing the trouble?” she pressed.

  “I don’t want to think so,” Shawn said. “But I suppose anything is possible.”

  “Does she have a reason to wish you harm?”

  “No,” Shawn said decisively. “Absolutely not.”

  Nancy followed Shawn through the restaurant as he introduced her to the waiting staff and the busboys and girls. In the lounge, they ran into Roy, the bartender. Nancy smiled as she was introduced to the older man with the pleasant expression, receding hairline, and pot belly.

  Now that the restaurant was calmer, Nancy had time to look it over carefully. As she trailed Shawn across the dining room, her attention again was drawn to the oil paintings on the wall. “How did you select these paintings?” she asked Shawn, still thinking that the artwork seemed strangely out of place.

  “I bought them from a friend,” Shawn answered shortly.

  Just then, Bess joined Nancy and Shawn. “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “Fine,” Nancy replied. “I’ve seen everything but the kitchen.”

  “Bess, why don’t you show Nancy the kitchen area?” Shawn suggested. “I have a million things to do right now.”

  “No problem,” Bess said. “Come on, Nancy.”

  Bess led Nancy through a set of swinging doors into a large, spotless, industrial kitchen. “This is the only part of the restaurant that hasn’t been redone,” Bess confided. “It’s your basic restaurant kitchen.”

  Bess opened a drawer full of forks, knives, and spoons. “Here’s the silverware, if you need it.” She then pulled open the white doors of a freestanding wooden cabinet near the front kitchen door. “All the linens are in here. Napkins, tablecloths, aprons, that kind of stuff. The busboys and girls usually deal with all that, though.”

  Next, Nancy followed Bess to the middle of the kitchen. At the largest of three steel counters, a short, silver-haired man stood furiously pounding a ball of dough. “I’m about to introduce you to the world’s grouchiest human,” Bess whispered. “Prepare yourself.”

  Nancy grinned. “Go for it.”

  “Jack,” Bess called, her voice especially genial. “Meet Nancy. She’s a new waitress. This is chef Jack Henri.”

  Jack looked up quickly. For a moment, Nancy felt as though his piercing dark eyes were boring right into her. Then he grunted and returned to his work.

  “He’s not exactly Mr. Personality,” Bess whispered. “He makes great desserts, though.”

  At another counter stood a skinny, bespectacled young man of about twenty who was busy feeding carrot sticks into a food processor. Bess paused beside him. “This is Elliot Mifflin,” she said. “He’s a prep cook. Elliot, meet Nancy.”

  “Hi,” Elliot said.

  “Hi,” Nancy replied. “I see you’ve got that down to a science,” she added, nodding toward the slivered carrots.

  “That’s me, Mr. Slice and Dice,” he said with a nervous laugh.

  “Elliot!” Jack called gruffly, his rough voice bearing the trace of a French accent. “Get me maraschino cherries from the bar.”

  Immediately, the food processor stopped whirring. “Right away. Oh, I should have done that earlier,” Elliot mumbled as he wiped his hands on his apron and hurried out of the kitchen.

  “Doesn’t he remind you of the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland?” Nancy whispered as they moved away toward the back of the kitchen.

  Bess’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling her laughter. “He does,” she said, giggling.

  At the back of the kitchen, near the rear entrance, was a small alcove. On the wall hung a metal case with card-filled slots. “These are the time cards,” Bess told Nancy. “Shawn will make up a card for you. You punch this time clock when you come in for each shift and punch out when you leave. And you’re supposed to use the back door. The front entrance is for customers only.”

  Nancy was only half-listening. She’d suddenly become aware of a faint, disturbing odor in the air. “Bess, do you smell smoke?” she asked.

  “This is a kitchen,” Bess teased. But her expression turned serious as she sniffed the air. “You’re right. That doesn’t smell good at all.”

  “Jack!” Nancy called as the girls dashed out of the alcove. “Jack!”

  There was no reply.

  “Oh, no!” Bess shouted when they came to a halt in the middle of the kitchen. The tall linen closet had toppled onto its side—and it was a roaring blaze of flame!

  Immediately, Nancy reached for the red fire extinguisher on the wall. She took aim and squeezed the handle, but nothing came out. “This thing is empty,” she cried, tossing it aside. “Let’s get out of here!” Since the overturned cabinet completely blocked the door to the dining room, Nancy grabbed Bess’s arm and pulled her toward the rear exit.

  Bess ran ahead, lunging for the back door. She grabbed the handle and tugged, but the door wouldn’t budge. “Nancy!” she cried, panic filling her voice. “I can’t open it!”

  Nancy yanked at the door handle. “It’s locked.”

  “Oh, no!” Bess wailed. “We’re trapped!”

  3

  Hotter by the Minute

  Anxiously, Nancy glanced at the ceiling. “The sprinkler system should be on by now,” she observed.

  “Well, it’s not,” said Bess woefully.

  Looking back over her shoulder, Nancy saw that a six-foot-high wall of fire now stood between them and the dining room. It was spreading rapidly, the flames leaping over to a stack of boxes on a cart. Black smoke began to fill the room.

  “Help!” Bess cried, then covered her mouth as the smoke choked her suddenly, causing a coughing fit.

  Thinking fast, Nancy ran to one of the large industrial sinks. She turned on the cold water, grabbed the hand-held sprayer, and aimed it at the fire. But the spray wasn’t strong enough to subdue the flames.

  Throwing down the sprayer, Nancy splashed herself with water. “Come on, Bess. Get wet.” As Bess joined her, still coughing, Nancy found two cloth napkins and soaked them. “Hold this over your mouth and nose,” she gasped, handing Bess a napkin. “And get down on the floor, below most of the smoke.”

  As Nancy and Bess crouched, Nancy’s eyes swept the kitchen, looking for another way out. She spotted two long, rectangular windows near the ceiling. They would be hard to reach. But maybe she could throw something up to break the glass. That would give her and Bess more air, but it might also fan the flames.

  Suddenly Nancy no longer needed to make that decision. The kitchen door swung open with a bang. Shawn was in the lead, followed by Lee, the maître d’, and one of the waitresses. Each of them aimed a fire extinguisher at the wall of fire.

  When the flames blocking the door died down, Shawn kicked aside the charred, collapsed cabinet. While the waitress and Lee continued spraying the flames, Shawn ran to Nancy and Bess. Bess grabbed his arm, then doubled over in another coughing fit.

  “We need to get you two out of here fast,” he told the girls.

  Nancy took two steps forward, but then staggered to the side. Her head spun, and a queasiness was gathering in the pit of her stomach.

  “Sit,” Shawn directed, helping Nancy to the floor. “I’ll be right back.” He swept the still-coughing Bess from the kitchen. A moment later, he returned for Nancy.

  Nancy felt Shawn’s strong arm around her shoulder. “The smoke gets you before the flames do,” he explained, guiding her out of the kitchen.

  As Shawn led her into the dining room, Nancy noticed that a handful of employees had gathered outside the door. She recognized the head waitress, Loreen, and the bartender, Roy, in the group.

  “The fire department is on its way,” Loreen reported to Shawn. Her green eyes flashed on Nancy, who was still leaning heavily on Shawn’s shoulder.

  “I see it took you all of a half hour to get into trouble,” Loreen jeered as Nancy collapsed into a chair beside Bess.

  “Knock it off, L
oreen,” Shawn snapped. “Why don’t you go out to the parking lot and wait for the fire trucks? We’ll need to direct them to the kitchen.”

  Loreen glared at him before she headed off.

  “I’d better see how they’re doing in there,” Shawn said as he turned back toward the kitchen. A brunette waitress, who introduced herself as Anne Marie, offered Bess and Nancy water and cool cloths.

  “What happened?” came Jack’s gruff, French-accented voice. He was walking into the dining room from the front hall. Elliot was right behind him.

  “There was a fire in the kitchen,” Nancy told him wearily.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Elliot fretted. “I hope I didn’t leave a burner on or something.”

  “No,” Bess said, wiping black soot from her cheeks. “It was the linen cabinet.”

  “Do you or Jack smoke?” Nancy asked Elliot. “The fire could have been started by a stray cigarette.”

  Jack looked insulted. “There is no smoking permitted in my kitchen,” he replied.

  My kitchen, Nancy noted, wondering about his possessive attitude. “Where did you go?” she asked him. “We thought you were still in the kitchen.”

  The dessert chef arched his eyebrows disdainfully. “Not that it is any of your affair, but I went to see what was taking Elliot so long.”

  “There were no cherries at the bar, so I had to go downstairs to the storeroom,” Elliot explained. “I couldn’t find them, so Jack had to come down and help me look.” Sheepishly, he held up a jar of bright red cherries. “I found them.”

  Nancy smiled, then shifted her attention back to the fire. “Is anything else stored in that closet, any kinds of chemical solvent that might have ignited like that?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Elliot replied.

  “Absolutely not,” Jack said.

  Slowly, Nancy pulled herself up from the chair. Sirens sounded in the distance. The fire department should be able to figure out what happened, Nancy told herself as she walked back toward the kitchen. She stood in the doorway and observed the damage. The kitchen floor was awash with a sudsy foam, the walls were charred, and smoke hung in the air like an evil dark cloud. Alone in the middle of the kitchen stood Shawn, holding a linen napkin over his nose and mouth. He walked over to the stove and flicked on the exhaust fans to clear the smoke, then surveyed the area with an expression of complete despair.