Murder at the Races by Carmen Radtke

Author:Carmen Radtke [Radtke, Carmen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781916241039
Publisher: Adamantine Books
Published: 2020-05-31T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Marie appeared as Jack and Uncle Sal nailed the last boards for the dais into place. All they needed now was three steps leading up to it. It made it easier for the musicians to climb up, and it allowed Dolores a dramatic moment when she would shimmy up to the microphone and down again.

The swing chair would be tested at the Top Note and brought over at a later date. Pauline had volunteered to try it out, in case something went wrong. If Dolores so much as twisted an ankle, they’d be in trouble.

Marie brought cold pies and salads, which she dished up before she sought out the kitchen to make tea, a cloth-covered basket in her hand. Frances went along, to help. She hoped for a quiet moment to chat. She practiced Miss Whitford’s voice, and her walk as well, and using it on Marie would be as good as a dress rehearsal.

One rosy-cheeked cook and her elderly helper, a former jockey judging by his diminutive stature and slight whiff of stable, prepared food in the kitchen. The cook stirred a stew, and the man peeled potatoes.

Frances knocked on the open door, to announce them.

‘Hello?’ Marie beamed at the kitchen staff. ‘That smells bonzer.’

The cook inhaled the stew fragrance. ‘Not bad, if I say so myself. You with the fancy outfit?’

‘I promise we’ll do out best not to get in the way,’ Frances said. ‘We were hoping to boil the kettle, that’s all.’

‘And to introduce ourselves.’ Marie lifted the cloth off the basket. ‘I’ve brought sponge cake and a fruit loaf.’

The helper’s gaze fell greedily upon the offerings.

The cook caught his interest and guffawed. ‘Look at that poor toad. Twenty years of hardly a morsel, and he’s still making up for it.’

‘As long as he can appreciate his food now.’ Marie twinkled at them both as she and Frances set their offerings on the work bench. She filled a kettle and put it on a small stove away from the big range the cook was using. ‘It must be hard to serve up a stew like this, and no-one allowed to enjoy it the way he would.’

‘Too right it is. But at least there’s some having more than one bite.’ The cook wiped her hands on her apron and took a knife out of a drawer. With deft movements, she sliced the fruit loaf into even pieces of about an inch.

‘I hope I’ve made enough for everyone,’ Marie said.

Frances forgot to breathe while she waited for the answer.

‘That’ll do us for sure,’ the cook said. ‘Like I said, the jockeys don’t eat much, for fear they’ll get too heavy, and then there’s only a dozen stable lads and trainers, the doctor, and the office staff who eat cake.’ She patted her stomach. ‘It’ll go down a treat if it’s half as good as it looks.’

‘I’ve met Mr Dunne and Mr Lucca,’ Frances said. ‘Do they have lots of assistants?’

‘One typist, and an accountant,’ the cook said. ‘And

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