Death of a Chef (Capucine Culinary Mystery) by Alexander Campion

I just bought new locks and forgot about it.”
    “I’m amazed you leave such valuable objects with so little protection.”
    “It’s more secure than you’d think. The doors to the building are locked at night, and there’s a night watchman with one of those portable time-clock devices to keep him patrolling all night long.”
    “And who has the keys to the building?”
    “All the stand holders do, of course, as well as the delivery companies. They usually make their pickups very early in the morning to beat the traffic.”
    “How does that work?”
    “We all have our own systems. Personally, I put a bright red sticky note on the piece to be picked up and also tie the bill of lading to the handle. That way the delivery people know where it goes and I get a signed receipt. The delivery people have the keys to my padlocks and are normally very scrupulous in locking up after they leave.”
    “We’re not sure where Chef Brault was killed. If it was here, do you think anyone might have heard the shot?”
    “I have no idea. I’ve never been here much after closing time. But when you think about it, the watchman’s circuit takes him to the far end of the building. You might not hear a shot that far away.”
    “Did you know Chef Brault? Had you ever been to his restaurant?”
    “Good Lord, no. I couldn’t begin to afford places like that. It’s true my pieces are valuable, but this is not a very profitable business. The holding costs for the inventory are enormous. When you work at the Puces, you trade a life of luxury for the privilege of spending your day surrounded by the things you love.”

CHAPTER 9
    “P rosper!” the shirt-sleeved maître d’ called out.
    “Someone to see you.”
    He used the familiar tu. Ouvrard was obviously still one of the boys, clearly not yet Chef Ouvrard to his staff.
    Capucine had arrived at the restaurant just as the cleaning crew was getting to work after the luncheon service. Standing in the foyer, which was identical to the one in the hotel with its satin drapes and expensive-looking faïence on Greek pillars, she could hear the vacuum cleaners at work in the dining room. Ouvrard arrived with a blend of diffidence and truculence. Playing to his vanity, Capucine stuck her hand out to be shaken.
    “Chef, it’s good of you to find the time to see me. I know how busy you must be.”
    “No problem. Let’s go to the office. It’ll be quieter there.” Capucine couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t his office yet.
    The small glass-walled room looked out onto the kitchen, which was being mopped down while the plongeurs attacked pots and pans in a deep, steamy stainless-steel sink. Capucine and Ouvrard sat on either side of a small marble-topped table strewn with papers. The only decoration in the tiny room was a tall cylindrical faïence vase containing a few tortured, twisting branches.
    Ouvrard noticed Capucine examining it.
    “Chef loved this thing. It’s apparently a very valuable piece. I should probably move it into the dining room, but I don’t like to tamper with his stuff.” He seemed to realize the incongruity of what he had just said, and gave a short laugh. “I’m in a funny spot. I’m a sous-chef with no chef to report to.”
    “That can’t be easy.”
    “For now it’s not a problem. I just do what sous-chefs do—cook the boss’s cuisine. Sous-chefs exist so the chef can take a day off without anyone noticing.” He paused. “We keep our three stars until the new Guide is published on the last day of February next year. But they’re not my stars. They’re Chef’s. Until February I have to carry on as if he was still here. So I’m trying to fit into his clogs and lead my life as if it was his.” He looked at Capucine with a quizzical smile and snorted. “Right down to fulfilling his obligations to his girlfriend.”
    “And when you’re free to do your own cooking, will it be very different from Chef Brault’s?”
    “Of course. Chef was