Death and Hard Cider by Barbara Hambly

Author:Barbara Hambly [Hambly, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2022-02-10T00:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

‘An’ here I thought you’s a musician, Ben.’ Andy brought around a chair to the worktable under the abat-vent, the deep overhang of the kitchen roof that provided shade in the summers – and at least a moderate chance of intercepting the river breeze – and protection against the oncoming afternoon rain. In an old-fashioned kitchen like Olympe’s, the fire was built up on the hearth first thing in the morning, so that the coals would be settled into the proper incandescence when it came time to cook dinner. To judge by the smells, and the bundle of wet newspaper and onion-tops at one end of the table, like Olympe, Andy had already prepped his vegetables. Neatly as a gambler shuffling a deck, the cook cut flour and butter together for a pastry casing; the kitchen behind him had an atmosphere like the Seventh Circle of Dante’s Hell, but much better-smelling. ‘You a friend of the police?’

‘The lieutenant,’ said January significantly, ‘is a friend of mine. I asked him, could I come along this afternoon. The police are accusing the mother of Michie Damien’s plaçée of killing Mamzelle—’

‘The girl what tried to kill herself?’ Andy’s face puckered in concern, and January nodded.

‘She’s a friend of mine, a dear friend. And of course since she was sitting up all night at Mamzelle Zandrine’s side, since she’d let the servants go to bed—’

‘Damn!’ The concern turned for a moment to disgust, and a dark anger. ‘They do say no good deed goes unpunished—’

‘The cook, and Mamzelle Zandrine’s maid, had been up all night the night before, when she took the poison. So when the police showed up—’

‘Double-damn.’ The big hands paused in the mealy mix of flour, then started again, unthinking as a machine. January reflected that like Gabriel, he could probably mix pastry in his sleep. ‘Like a girl’s mother would be anyplace else – an’ bless her, for not thinkin’ her cook an’ the maid can just go on like a steam engine, like some folks I could name. Bet the man thinks Mama left her girl lyin’, stuck a pistol in her pocket, an’ walked all the way down here, ’cause gettin’ revenge on a white girl’s way more important to her than carin’ for a black one …’

‘That’s pretty much what they do think.’ January drained the lemonade. ‘Anything here I can help you with? My nephew’s a sous-chef at Alcitoire’s,’ he added. ‘So I know which end of the knife to hold.’

Andy grinned. ‘That’s kind of you, thank you, Michie J. But nobody in this house touches pastry but me.’ And he waved him to the chair again. ‘An’ your friend’s the only black person accused, ain’t she?’

‘I’m sure they’d accuse her daughter too, if the poor girl wasn’t too weak to stand an’ still half-blind with the poison she drank, but yeah. Her sight’ll come back,’ he added, seeing the shocked expression on the other man’s face. ‘That can happen, when you drink most of a bottle of quinine.

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