Cooking Class Mysteries - 04 - Dying for Dinner by Miranda Bliss

Author:Miranda Bliss
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780425226100
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2008-12-02T06:00:00+00:00

I ARRIVED AT TRES BONNE CUISINE A LITTLE WHILE later, and because it was late and most of the nearby storefronts were retail space, the block was pretty quiet. Some of the bars and restaurants in the area were still hopping, but they were farther up the street, and thanks to the distance and the fact that a steady, misty rain had started to fall, local partyers had opted for closer parking spaces. Rather than having to go around back to the lot, I had the luxury of pulling my car up to a rare open parking place right outside the front door of the shop.

In fact, the only other car around was a dark sedan parked three spaces farther up the street.

For the record, I do not have the gourmet-shop worker's equivalent of spider-sense. But I'm no dummy, either. When Eve and I drove to Fredericksburg, I'd noticed a dark sedan mirroring our moves. A car that got off at the same exit we did and followed us to Bill Boxley's house.

Was it the same car?

I squinted for a closer look and cursed my lack of sense (spider or otherwise) for not noting the sedan's license plates back in Fredericksburg. It might be the same car, I decided.

Or it might not.

Just to be safe, I kept my eye on it as I unlocked the front door of the shop. I didn't see a driver and there was no one else out on the sidewalk. No one I could see, anyway.

Not one to take chances, I locked the door behind me, disarmed the security system, and flicked the switch that turned on the light above the front counter cash register area.

Had I been thinking less about everything we'd discussed back at Bellywasher's and what it could mean in regard to Monsieur's disappearance and Greg's murder, I might have noticed that something wasn't right. As it was, it was late, I was in a hurry, and my brain was so busy spinning through the Norman Applebaum is-he-or-isn't-he scenario that it wasn't until I unlocked the cash register and took out the two twenties I would exchange for singles at the bank the next morning that I saw that our display of gourmet dried soup mixes was in disarray.

Yes, I am organized. Some say a little too much so.

Yes, I am a stickler for order.

No, I'm not obsessive. At least I don't think I am.

That's not why I noticed the mess.

This wasn't just a soup mix out of place here and there. The dried mixes had been completely removed from the shelf and dropped on the floor.

I was one hundred percent certain Raymond wouldn't leave such a mess. He simply wasn't the type.

Was I worried? Not really. After all, the front door was locked when I arrived. And our security company hadn't called to say there'd been an alarm. Maybe that's why I approached the problem--and the shelf where the soup mixes had been last time I saw them--logically.

When I did, I

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