Read Online Death of a Chef (Capucine Culinary Mystery) by Alexander Campion - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alexander Campion
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the year after that. He was quite the star. He got the best grades in his class.”
“Then what?” Capucine asked.
“He got an internship at the Troisgros restaurant in Roanne. That must have been the prize job. He stayed there four years and moved as sous-chef to a one-star restaurant in Le Perreux-sur-Marne called Les Pieds dans L’Eau. A year later the owner of the place fired the chef and put Brault in charge of the kitchen.”
“How old was he at this point?” Capucine asked.
“Twenty-two. A real whiz kid. After four years he quit the place in Le Perreux and bought the restaurant in Sèvres. We have a lot of stuff on that transaction. He put twenty thousand euros down on the table, and a bank gave him a mortgage for the rest. Five years later, he bought the small building across the street and began converting it into a hotel. The purchase was done with a short-term loan by an operation called Athénée Investments. I looked them up. It’s a financial holding company with only two shareholders, Monsieur and Madame Brissac-Vanté. Thierry Brissac-Vanté is listed as gérant —manager.”
“Good work. According to the sous-chef, this Brissac-Vanté’s acting like he’s the new owner of both the hotel and the restaurant. He’s going to be my next stop,” Capucine said. “David, what did you find out about Brault’s family?”
“His father, the baron, has been broke as far back as our records go. His bank file goes on and on—heavy mortgage on the château to pay for upkeep, mortgage payments frequently in arrears, multiple threats of foreclosure, declined requests for loans, a good number of fines for bounced checks. The story is obvious. He inherited a small château but didn’t have the money to keep it up. If you read between the lines, he didn’t have enough money to buy groceries, either.
“Then, one day, he got his big break. But that didn’t pan out. A development company made an offer to buy his château. They wanted to build retirement homes on the land and use the château as the center of attraction with a restaurant and game rooms and stuff like that. Brault got a few thousand euros in cash, which the bank immediately snapped up to cover his delinquent loans. The contract gave the baron a share of the profits once the development company had sold enough houses to get past its break-even point.”
David slowly cut a piece of salmon and chewed it carefully, letting the dramatic tension of his story build.
“ Allez, allez, ” Isabelle barked.
“The development company built the homes and then went bankrupt. They didn’t come close to selling enough houses to cover their costs. The baron never got a sou.”
“He was out on the street?” Capucine asked.
“No. The one smart thing he did was to hang on to the gatehouse and keep it out of the deal. But judging from the property taxes, it must be tiny.”
“Siblings?” Capucine asked. She trusted police records more than the social register.
“A brother. Antonin. Five years older than Jean-Louis. A long arrest record for minor stuff—fights in cafés, disturbing the peace, things like that. The gendarmes would haul him in, give him a dressing-down, and release him without a booking. Then, four years ago, he went on the lam. His last job was in a garage near Bandol. He either quit or got fired—the job termination form was never filed—and disappeared. Not on La Cadière’s or any other civil register, no bank accounts or Carte Bleue bank cards. Sounds like he’s hiding out somewhere, living off odd jobs he does for cash. My guess is that he finally did something serious and figures the gendarmes are after him.”
“Did you speak to the father on the phone?” Capucine asked.
“That’s what I was just doing. Waste of time. He wasn’t entirely lucid. Also, between the blaring TV and the loose false teeth, he was almost impossible to understand. He did say he had no idea where Antonin was. It didn’t seem to bother
“Then what?” Capucine asked.
“He got an internship at the Troisgros restaurant in Roanne. That must have been the prize job. He stayed there four years and moved as sous-chef to a one-star restaurant in Le Perreux-sur-Marne called Les Pieds dans L’Eau. A year later the owner of the place fired the chef and put Brault in charge of the kitchen.”
“How old was he at this point?” Capucine asked.
“Twenty-two. A real whiz kid. After four years he quit the place in Le Perreux and bought the restaurant in Sèvres. We have a lot of stuff on that transaction. He put twenty thousand euros down on the table, and a bank gave him a mortgage for the rest. Five years later, he bought the small building across the street and began converting it into a hotel. The purchase was done with a short-term loan by an operation called Athénée Investments. I looked them up. It’s a financial holding company with only two shareholders, Monsieur and Madame Brissac-Vanté. Thierry Brissac-Vanté is listed as gérant —manager.”
“Good work. According to the sous-chef, this Brissac-Vanté’s acting like he’s the new owner of both the hotel and the restaurant. He’s going to be my next stop,” Capucine said. “David, what did you find out about Brault’s family?”
“His father, the baron, has been broke as far back as our records go. His bank file goes on and on—heavy mortgage on the château to pay for upkeep, mortgage payments frequently in arrears, multiple threats of foreclosure, declined requests for loans, a good number of fines for bounced checks. The story is obvious. He inherited a small château but didn’t have the money to keep it up. If you read between the lines, he didn’t have enough money to buy groceries, either.
“Then, one day, he got his big break. But that didn’t pan out. A development company made an offer to buy his château. They wanted to build retirement homes on the land and use the château as the center of attraction with a restaurant and game rooms and stuff like that. Brault got a few thousand euros in cash, which the bank immediately snapped up to cover his delinquent loans. The contract gave the baron a share of the profits once the development company had sold enough houses to get past its break-even point.”
David slowly cut a piece of salmon and chewed it carefully, letting the dramatic tension of his story build.
“ Allez, allez, ” Isabelle barked.
“The development company built the homes and then went bankrupt. They didn’t come close to selling enough houses to cover their costs. The baron never got a sou.”
“He was out on the street?” Capucine asked.
“No. The one smart thing he did was to hang on to the gatehouse and keep it out of the deal. But judging from the property taxes, it must be tiny.”
“Siblings?” Capucine asked. She trusted police records more than the social register.
“A brother. Antonin. Five years older than Jean-Louis. A long arrest record for minor stuff—fights in cafés, disturbing the peace, things like that. The gendarmes would haul him in, give him a dressing-down, and release him without a booking. Then, four years ago, he went on the lam. His last job was in a garage near Bandol. He either quit or got fired—the job termination form was never filed—and disappeared. Not on La Cadière’s or any other civil register, no bank accounts or Carte Bleue bank cards. Sounds like he’s hiding out somewhere, living off odd jobs he does for cash. My guess is that he finally did something serious and figures the gendarmes are after him.”
“Did you speak to the father on the phone?” Capucine asked.
“That’s what I was just doing. Waste of time. He wasn’t entirely lucid. Also, between the blaring TV and the loose false teeth, he was almost impossible to understand. He did say he had no idea where Antonin was. It didn’t seem to bother
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