Free Chef Maurice and the Wrath of Grapes (Chef Maurice Culinary Mysteries Book 2) by J.A. Lang

thing, that bit of wire goes right outside the window of one of the parlour rooms on the west side.”
    “So it could have been cut by someone inside the house? Leaning out of the window?” said PC Lucy, her eyes on Gilles, who looked back at her impassively.
    “Looks like it, miss.”
    PC Lucy shut her notebook and sighed. “I’ll need to talk to each of the guests.” She glared at Chef Maurice and Arthur. “In private . And if I catch you two listening at the door, I’ll be making use of the cells tonight, I swear.”
    Chef Maurice stood up and bowed solemnly.
    “We would not dream of it, mademoiselle .”
    Not when, he thought, he had much more fruitful plans for his evening. Though no one had voiced the thought out loud, the lack of footprints outside the broken window could only mean one thing.
    The storeroom had only been a diversion, a clever trick that might have very well worked, if it hadn’t been for the snow.
    But now they knew that no one had entered, and no one had left.
    Which meant the real killer was someone who had been in the house all along.

    “Good of you to listen to Lucy for once,” said Arthur to Chef Maurice, as they shut the study door behind them. PC Alistair had disappeared off into the house, and Gilles had been dispatched to summon the first interviewee. “You do rather upset her sometimes.”
    “ Mon ami , I have only the most high respect for Mademoiselle Lucy and her work.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Yes. I am certain she will conduct the interviews with the most professional correctness. But the talking, this can be done anytime. The rooms, however . . . ”
    Arthur followed Chef Maurice as he hastened up the main staircase. A heavy door led to a landing of sorts, with a window at one end facing the front of the house. The only light source now was the dim glow of an ornate porcelain table lamp.
    Sir William had once given Arthur the grand tour of the Hall. His own master bedroom, though the tour had not extended quite so far as to see inside, was the door at the far end of the corridor, flanked on one side by a large mahogany bookcase, laden with tomes spanning centuries, languages and genres, presumably thus placed to save insomniac guests from having to venture downstairs to the main library. There was also a small cut glass decanter of what smelled like brandy and some square glasses.
    Sir William had been a most genial host, indeed.
    The other doors all led to the various guest rooms.
    They located PC Alistair across the hallway, in the suite occupied by Bertie and Ariane.
    “Does PC Gavistone know you’re up here, sir?”
    Chef Maurice drew himself up importantly. “I informed Mademoiselle Lucy that we were most ready to aid her in this investigation as much as possible.”
    While PC Alistair considered this statement, Chef Maurice took the chance to duck past him into the room and subject its contents to a thoroughly good staring, hands on hips.
    This stage completed, he looked over at PC Alistair. “So where do we begin?”
    There were two travel suitcases leaned up against the wall, neither of which contained anything of much interest, save for a rather large amount of silk and lace in Ariane’s that turned PC Alistair’s ears a bashful shade of pink.
    They migrated into the en-suite bathroom, where his-and-hers toiletries were lined up either side of the double sink like two opposing armies. A peek into a capacious satin-lined vanity case revealed that Ariane shared the usual hypochondriac tendencies of many of her countrymen, and travelled with a vast array of painkillers, anti-nausea tablets, sleeping pills, stomach pastilles, flu remedies, and all the other items necessary to set up a fully operating pharmacy wherever your travels took you.
    Over at the writing desk, Chef Maurice unrolled a large architectural drawing. “ Très impressionant. ”
    “Is it a plan of Bourne Hall?” said PC Alistair. He had been expounding his theories on the existence of a