Dressed for Death in Burgundy--A French Village Mystery by Susan C. Shea

Author:Susan C. Shea
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

CHAPTER 16

Katherine rarely bothered to put on her watch, but she had this morning right after her bath and now she checked it every ten minutes. The train wasn’t due until four but she was dressed and had cooked her own recipe, a combination of a traditional French Bourguignon and the simpler stew she normally threw together—the difference being a shockingly expensive amount of mushrooms and half of a fifteen-euro bottle of red wine that was only possible because she put it on the magic credit card. It was bubbling quietly in the oven. The dogs, sensing something was up, or possibly only smelling the beef, were prowling, bumping up against her, staring at her through the tangle of their bangs. The yellow cat, in contrast, was sound asleep in her chair, close to the heater, and had been since breakfast.

There had been frost on the grass when Katherine first got up, but it was gone now except in the shadiest part of the garden, where it clung to the withered hollyhock stalks that Katherine had neglected to chop down before the rain began. She wondered if she should go out and start the car, to make sure it would be ready for the twenty-minute drive to the train station, but dismissed that as anxiety rather than prudence. She stood staring out the window at the mess that was a winter garden, wondering if all gardeners had the bouts of depression that she did in December and January. By the middle of February, she would have begun to plan for the season ahead and there might be days when she had the energy to do the garden cleanup, rake the decomposing pear tree leaves that blanketed the ground between the house and the gate, cut the roses back, and daydream about the lilacs in the corner. The lilacs would surely do better this year. After all, she had been talking to them earnestly for many months, promising them more sun and attention.

When the phone rang, she jumped. When she jumped, the dogs began to bark. As she hurried to get to the little table that held the phone, she banged into the cat’s perch and it raised its head long enough to give her a slit-eyed look of irritation.

“Hello? Madame Lacrois? Yes, this is me.” The woman’s voice filled her ear with what seemed at first torrents of words, but slowly organized themselves into sentences that Katherine understood, more or less. “Ah, I see. You want to know if I’d like to ride with you to Beaune tomorrow? To hear Father … I’m afraid I—”

The voice rode over her attempt to explain for another few minutes. She grasped that Josephine would be meeting her gentleman Catholic friend for lunch, since he lived in Beaune and never came up to this little outpost of rural civilization, and Katherine was invited. When Madame stopped, Katherine began again, in French and slowly, to be sure she was saying what she intended. “You are very kind, but I’m afraid I can’t.

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