Chafer - Fear in February

FEAR IN FEBRUARY

ACalendar Mystery

CAMILLACHAFER

Fear inFebruary

Copyright: Camilla Chafer

Published: February 2018

ISBN:978-1-909577-17-6

The rightof Camilla Chafer to be identified as author of this Work has beenasserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of theCopyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Allrights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means,electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwisetransmitted without written permission from the publisher. You mustnot circulate this book in any format.

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Contents

Fear in February

AllyMcKellar loves owning and running her own restaurant, Belle Rose.After working in a busy New York restaurant, managing her ownkitchen is like a breath of fresh air. Even better, its rapidlybecoming the local favorite place to go in the quaint, mountaintown of Calendar. But if people knew about Allys recent past, hercustomers might not be so keen to sample her deliciousdishes.

When thelocal newspapers food critic makes a reservation to try out hernew menu, Ally knows shes got to nail every course to ensure goodpublicity. Theres only one problem: the critic dies during thesecond course and everything points towards food poisoning.Suddenly, Allys success as an entrepreneur is in jeopardy whileher past is hastily dredged up, threatening to destroy the new lifeshe has recently managed to create.

With thehelp of Jack Harper, her handsome sous chef with a questionablepast of his own, Ally must discover the real killer or risk losingnot only Belle Rose, but her desire for a happy new life aswell.

Chapter One

"AllyMcKellar, you are going to make this restaurant a success, even ifit kills you!" I looked up at the new sign that Nate, my handyman,had just installed at the front of the restaurant andsmiled.

The signwas a huge improvement on the simple, stenciled lettering that wastemporarily posted for Belle Rose when I opened the restaurant afew months ago. After tedious months of doodling and research, Ifinally settled on the branding; and when Nate showed me thebeautiful, town-council approved font, intertwined with yellowroses, I knew it was the right one in an instant. Now my restaurantlooked just as much at home on Main Street as the rest of theattractive shops and businesses. The new billboard was artfullysuspended above the doors, in subtle shades that were also approvedby the town council. They worked hard to maintain our pretty townscurb appeal, especially when it came to the stores and businessesthat framed Main Street and the town square.

BelleRose might have been clinging to the edges of the popular touristshopping and quaint eateries, but it didn't escape the Calendartreatment. With a new coat of dark green paint on every externalwall, and tasteful, yellow roses etched into the windows, I feltlike it belonged. Not only did my restaurant finally fit in thetown, but so did I. I took a deep breath and smiled again. Thatsense of belonging had been a long time coming. "Belle Rose isgoing to be the best restaurant in the whole county, maybe even thestate," I said, trying not to laugh at my audacity and fancifulhopes.

"That'sright," said a deep voice behind me.

Ijumped. I was so busy feeling proud, I failed to realize I hadcompany, but I'd know the voice anywhere. Most of my working hoursover the past few months were spent conversing with its owner. Iturned around, smiling at Jack Harper, my assistant chef, who stooda few feet away. He wore a thick, padded jacket, perfect for thecold February weather. In a matter of minutes, it would beexchanged for his chef whites. He ran a hand over his short, darkbrown hair and his green eyes roved from me to the restaurant."Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, looking up at thesign and giving it an approving nod. "Why are you talking toyourself?"

"Peptalk," I told him, suddenly realizing how cold it was. I eyed hisjacket enviously and wished I'd thought ahead long enough to wrapup in my own thick coat. In my haste to see the sign go up afterthe long-anticipated end of a snowy then rainy January, in favor ofa simply cold February, I neglected to throw it on. Now I waspaying for the oversight with shivers and goosebumps that traveleddown my arms under my thin, cotton t-shirt. I tugged my sleevelesscardigan a little tighter and tried not to hop from one foot to theother in the vain pursuit of not becoming a humanicicle.

"Ally,shouldn't you be doing that in front of an audience?" Jack smiled,then winked mischievously.

"Nope,it was just a pep talk for me. You're here a bit early."

"Ithought I'd get started on the cold desserts; then I can help youwith whatever else you need doing."

I smiled, pleased at his thoughtfulness and dependability. Iencouraged an all hands on deck policy in my kitchen. If something needed to bedone, I expected everyone to pitch in and help if they could. Onething I'd grown to hate about my previous career was my boss'sinsistence on establishing a hierarchy. Everyone was required toknow their station in the kitchen and to stick to it exclusively.All that resulted in was backbiting and sarcastic verbal swipes inthe kitchen. I believed in a policy of working together to createthe best food we could. "Thank you," I said.

I knewhiring Jack was a good choice and this was just the latestconfirmation. He was the last sous chef I selected when I decidedto open my own place. I'd only been back in my hometown, Calendar,a pretty, little town nestled near the base of a mountain range, afew weeks when I noticed the restaurant was up for sale. I justabout emptied my entire bank account for the down payment on thesmall business. Its previous incarnation was as a pizza place runby an Italian couple that decided to retire after two decades.Thankfully, they were happy to throw in the simple furnishings andthe kitchen equipment. All I needed to do was refreshen the paintinside and out, put up a new sign, order crisp, new linens and getto work on a killer menu. After climbing my way up the ladder tobecome head chef at a New York kitchen, running my own place wascertainly a change of pace. On one hand, it was great to make allthe necessary decisions; and on the other, terrifying to think thatall the responsibility lay with me. Plus, I had to sacrifice my ownsalary now in order to help keep the cash flow positive. However,the restaurant came with a small apartment above it so my livingcosts were significantly lower than they were at my fancy apartmentback in New York. The previous owners used the space as little morethan a storage room. With some hard work, and lots of help from myfamily, I successfully turned it into a comfortable, if small,home.

"Ibetter get to work," said Jack, nodding toward the front door. Overwinter, when the weather became particularly bad, he parked aroundback and used the kitchen entrance. I figured he must have walkedtoday. "I'll leave you to talk to yourself."

"I am not talk..." I trailed off, noticing his cheeky winkbefore he headed into the restaurant, laughing to himself. "Fine.I will talk tomyself," I said, the irony not lost that now I really was doing that. Istepped back, taking in every aspect of the new frontage and noddedmy approval again. The restaurant finally had the ambience Iwanted: special, pretty, inviting, but not so pompous orostentatious that the locals would assume it was too expensive toeat in.

"Thislooks great, Nate," I told the handyman as he headed towards me.Finding Nate Minoso was a singularly lucky moment. His cardmiraculously slid underneath the door just as I finished decidinghow I wanted my restaurant to appear. I called him the same day fora quote and we agreed on a date for him to start after he had agood look at the building. "You finished up so fasttoo."