Immaculate Reception: A Madeline Bean Catering Mystery by Jerrilyn Farmer

Author:Jerrilyn Farmer [Farmer, Jerrilyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Detective and Mystery Stories, Women Sleuths, Caterers and Catering, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780380795970
Google: CDwm5j-qsCMC
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2001-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

I looked up at the information at the top of the e-mail to check the time it had been sent. “1514.” That meant 3:14 in the afternoon, East Coast time, which translated to 12:14 here. It must have been sent before the old man became ill and died.

A noise registered just beneath my conscious perception. I held my breath and listened. Was it something outside? I looked at the clock. 5:35. I listened hard, but could hear nothing. I remained in that heightened state, every sensation sharpened, until the clock moved to 5:36, and then, slowly I relaxed.

When we met, Monsignor Picca had told me that the documents from his time in Rome were kept in boxes in his sister’s garage. Perhaps he had found something and wanted to show it to me.

I studied the e-mail. It gave his sister’s name and address.

When Xavier and I began our investigation into Brother Ugo’s note of confession, I believe we may have unknowingly kicked open a long closed door. It seemed impossible, but somehow our search in Los Angeles had upset the calm. Whom had we provoked?

What was that? A loud metallic sound, a scrape from down the hall, and, oh my God! I heard the front door open. Shocked, adrenaline rushing, I jumped up off my stool and dove for the wall. My hand flew to the light switch. Instantly, the kitchen was pitch black.

My heart was beating too loud. I eased the drawer open and reached for my eight-inch chef’s knife, familiar in my grip as an old friend’s hand.

A faint light flipped on down the hall, and then, footsteps.

Barefoot, I creeped silently toward the pantry. Clutching my knife, I slipped into the closet and closed myself inside. I heard the squeak of hinges as the pantry door shut behind me and my blood froze. Fingers clutching, I tried to stop the door from moving, stop the sound.

The main overhead lights were instantly blazing in the kitchen. Someone was there and they didn’t care who knew about it. I tried to see out the crack in the door and felt, suddenly, foolish. What if Wes was stopping by? What if…

I caught a glimpse of a dark figure, and then he moved out of range.

My stomach flopped. Arlo was upstairs, asleep. Arlo could sleep through a train wreck. There was no chance he’d be awakened by any sounds from downstairs.

I had to do something fast. How long would it take before the pantry door was ripped open and I was exposed?

My house has been equipped with an old-fashioned dumbwaiter. It’s a miniature elevator that goes from the kitchen pantry up to the converted dining room above. Food and dishes go up, dirty trays and leftovers come down. As quietly as I could, I pulled open the hatch, stepped up onto the counter and climbed into an opening that was only about thirty inches square. From the inside I slid the hatch shut.

Almost immediately, the door to the pantry swung open from the other side.

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