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Gestard did as he was told, glancing around the room, searching for clues from the others. Nothing but blank faces.

“Margaret,” said Holmes. “You seem to have forgotten the refreshments.”

“To be honest,” she replied, “we’re here for a different reason.” She picked up a controller and pointed it at the screen. “Chef Gestard, this is all for you.”

A video played. On the screen, a young woman sat in a chair, facing the camera. Hair swept back, very pretty. “Bonjour, Chef,” she said, her voice cool and even.

Marple saw Gestard stiffen in his chair.

“Remember me?” the woman continued. “Giselle Massoni. I was the server you groped in the walk-in at Le Verger ten years ago. You never apologized. I never forgot.”

Gestard whipped around in his chair. “What is this?”

“Consider her the amuse-bouche,” said Marple.

Gestard’s head swiveled back to the screen as another video appeared. Another young woman. “Hello, Chef. My name is Louisa Grant. I worked for À la Carte Catering in LA. You pinched my rear during an event at the Getty museum. I told you to stop. You didn’t. I reported you. Nothing happened.”

Gestard started to rise out of his chair. Poe was behind him now and pressed him back down. “I’m sure Margaret will tell us when the show is over.”

Another video. Another young woman. “You’ve probably forgotten me, Chef Gestard,” she said, her voice soft and halting. “I’m Ricki Pantano. I was the hostess at Pasjoli in Santa Monica. You grabbed me one night after service and kissed me on the mouth. I pushed you away. You said it was our secret. The next day, I told everybody I was quitting to go back to school. That was a lie. I quit because of you.”

Gestard made another attempt to get out of his chair. “I’m not sitting here for this.”

Poe increased the pressure on his shoulders, forcing him down into the cushion.

“I could go on all night,” said Marple. “As I’m sure you know. But for now, we’ll wrap up with this.” She clicked to the final video in her assembly. It had been taped in the kitchen at La Forêt that morning. Right in front of the prep table.

“Hello, Chef. In case it never registered, my name is Mandi. I just took your course with Margaret. You touched my right breast while I was peeling tomatoes. It wasn’t a mistake. You did it twice. I didn’t tell anybody until I told Margaret yesterday.” The camera zoomed out. “By the way, this is my final assignment. The Croquembouche. Nearly impossible, but I did it.”

On the prep table to her right was a spectacular pyramid of round pastry puffs, woven together with strands of golden caramel. A visual masterpiece. Mandi raised a skillet over her head and brought it down on the confection, crushing it to smithereens. “I’m sure it would have been delicious. Au revoir, Chef.”

The screen went black.

Gestard was clearly out of patience. He twisted away from Poe and jumped up, scowling. Without another word, he headed for the door.

Virginia blocked him. “It was you,” she said.

Gestard looked totally flummoxed. “What?”

“I’ve felt somebody staring at me for days. Like a premonition. In my bedroom. In the woods. In the driveway. Everywhere. It was a warning. I knew it the second you walked in.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Gestard stammered. “I’ve never seen you before tonight!”

“And yet,” said Virginia, “you felt comfortable enough to run your fingers up my thigh during dinner. You’re right. We’ve never met. You’ve never been here before. But trust me, I saw you coming.”

“Virginia has a special sense about people,” said Marple. “It rarely fails.”

Gestard yanked the door open, then turned on Desan, who was standing next to Virginia. “You’re behind this little performance. I know it! I gave you a chance, and you threw it away!”

Desan smiled bitterly. “Bonne nuit, Chef.”

As Marple watched, Gestard stamped across the main room toward the entryway. He grabbed his coat and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Desan walked over to Marple. There were tears in her eyes and her shoulders were trembling. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she whispered.

Marple wrapped her arms around her. “Don’t thank me yet. There’s more to this dish. But it needs to be served cold.”

CHAPTER 76