Murder à la Carte by Susan Kiernan-Lewis

Author:Susan Kiernan-Lewis [Kiernan-Lewis, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Cozy, Culinary, Women Sleuths, Teen & Young Adult
Amazon: B005FA429K
Publisher: San Marco Press
Published: 2011-07-28T16:00:00+00:00

3

Roger Bentley gave the lapels of his Saville Row jacket a brisk tug and stepped out onto the street in front of the George V Hotel. He’d slept later than he’d anticipated, but there was no hurry, his train reservations weren’t for another hour. Nodding pleasantly at the doorman, and then again as he handed over a twenty franc note to the bellhop who piled his hand-tooled Louis Vuitton luggage into the trunk of the waiting cab, Roger settled into the back of the taxi. It was a beautiful morning, the kind of morning he always thought of when he thought of Paris. The streets, damp from last night’s rain, were alive with people. Jewelry shop owners were arranging their treasures in display windows, beautiful women were walking French poodles. The air smelled like a mixture of fresh baked sweet-cakes and a sewer. The job this time had taken less time than he’d anticipated. The pigeon had been willing, if not as tender as she once must have been, and Roger had been able to pluck her, bank the proceeds, and still leave her cooing―with plenty of time to make his escape. Not that the Paris gendarmes were a problem, he mused, smiling. They were too cynical, too busy, to listen to one more tourist’s bitter complaints about getting fleeced.

As the cab sped off to Gare de Lyon, Roger removed an International Herald Tribune from his leather valise, and checked his watch to calculate his time of arrival in Lyons. If the train was on schedule―and, bien sûr, the remarkable TGV was always on time―he would arrive with time for a late lunch and perhaps, he hoped, be fortunate enough to meet someone like the mademoiselle he’d discovered the last time he was in Lyons. Flapping out his newspaper to straighten it, Roger smiled to himself. Out the window, he caught the wolf-eye of a young, homely prostitute standing at the base of an ancient fountain.

Oh,now won’t Dernier be surprised to see me?

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