Killer Critique by Alexander Campion

Author:Alexander Campion
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781410451675
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2012-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

Cécile looked longingly at the little domed plastic dish of sushi as it traveled down on the little conveyor belt. It was an asatsuki shake—salmon tartare. Just as she reached out to grab it, she caught sight of a tal shiso—sea bream dotted with salmon eggs. She hesitated indecisively, reached out for the bream, pulled away, extended an arm toward the salmon, pulled back, and then it was too late. Both had gone by.

“Merde, merde, merde!” she said, almost shouting. “I can never make up my mind in this place. Capucine, I don’t know why on earth I suggested we eat here. I don’t know why you let us come. It’s like being trapped in an evil video game.”

In Japan, kaiten-style sushi restaurants were distinctly at the bottom end of the spectrum, but somehow a Paris restaurateur had succeeded in elevating the technique to the ne plus ultra of chic. Little dishes of single sushis snaked slowly down a counter on a miniature conveyor belt. Customers chose what they liked and stacked the color-coded saucers for a waiter to tot up when they were ready to go. At the head of the conveyor five chefs cut fish and wrapped rice balls feverishly, making sushis, popping them into little black bowls, topping them with clear plastic domes, depositing them on colored dishes, and placing them on the belt, where they sallied forth bravely like railroad cars of an endless electric train.

Cécile focused on another little plastic dome, uni—sea urchin eggs. She raised her hand, lowered it, raised it again. Her lower lip began to quiver, and tears formed in her eyes. As the sushi passed in front of Capucine, she snatched it up with the vigor of a bear clawing a salmon out of an Alaskan rapid and, with her other hand, grabbed a negi maguro—chopped tuna topped with finely julienned leeks—tooting along bravely behind. She placed the tuna in front of Cécile.

“I’ve never really been all that fond of leeks,” Cécile said, her plaintive voice stammering through a quivering smile.

“Cécile, just taste it. You’ll love it.”

“You can’t just taste sushi. You have to put the whole thing in your mouth. And then it’s too late,” Cécile said. “Can we swap?”

Capucine exchanged the little plastic bowls and scowled at her friend, whose lower lip began to tremble again.

“I’m coming apart,” Cécile almost wailed. “I really am. If this keeps up, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.”

“You’re dating yourself. Nowadays they’re called ‘depressive syndromes,’ ” Capucine said, smiling because she had just caught sight of another asatsuki shake finally coming down the conveyor. She had no intention of letting this one escape.

“Aren’t you the little psychiatric expert all of a sudden ?”

“This is about your paramour with the granny glasses and the problem skin?” Capucine asked.

“That was unkind. Very. Anyway, it’s over. At least to all intents and purposes.”

“Which means it’s still on, but you’re bored with it.”

“Not exactly, but close enough. She’s sweet. She’s sensual. She’s too awed to even think of judging me.

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