Runaway Murder (Carson Stables Cozy Mystery 4) by Leigh Hearon by Leigh Hearon

Author:Leigh Hearon [Hearon, Leigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cozy Mystery
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-04-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 14

Annie awakened to the sound of a long, persistent buzz from her phone. She grabbed it, thinking someone must be calling her. But it was simply the alarm. She’d set it two days ago but had never needed the reminder. Today she did. The time on the screen showed seven thirty, hours later than when she usually arose. What could have kept her in bed this long? The uncomfortable scene between Brianna and the judge flooded back into her consciousness, and she groaned. It had taken forever to drift off to sleep last night, and when it finally came, troubling dreams kept jarring her awake.

She showered and dressed in record time and would have raced down the stairs if she hadn’t worried about encountering one of her hosts. The dining room was nearly deserted. There were signs that many other people had breakfasted before her, but the only person who now remained at the table was the one Annie least wanted to see—Nicole.

Apparently, Annie’s rank on Nicole’s social register was similarly low. The diva swiftly rose and swept out of the room without a glance at where Annie was standing by the buffet.

“Best of luck today,” Annie lamely called after her.

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” was the reply, then Annie heard the front door slam.

She quickly ate her solitary breakfast and took her dishes out to the kitchen. Chef Gustav seemed to be six places at once, observing a rolled pastry crust here, tasting the sauce on the gas stovetop there, and all the while issuing orders to his waitstaff who were patiently lined up, waiting to do his bidding. Annie saw a row of thermoses on the counter, each with a Darby Farms logo on it. She wondered if they were filled with coffee and, if so, she could snag one for herself.

As if he’d read her mind, the chef gestured with his arm as he bustled by. “Take! Take!” he said genially, then shouted to the other end of the kitchen, “Non! That is not the knife to filet the fish! Give it to me before you butcher it!” Annie watched him snatch the offending cutlery out of the hand of an astonished young man, who then meekly looked over the chef’s shoulder as the small Frenchman deftly separated fish from bone with the correct blade.

Chef Gustav next raced back to the stove, grabbed a mitt, and peered inside the oven.

“Who is supposed to be watching the tarts?” he bellowed to no one and everyone at once. “One more second, and they would have been ruined!” He carefully removed a sheet of perfectly bronzed tart shells and placed them on the counter. Then he turned to her and spoke in his normal, pleasant voice.

“Mademoiselle Annie, are you well? You are late for the petit déjeuner. Everyone else has eaten and gone many hours before.”

“I’m fine,” Annie stammered back. “I just overslept. And I can see you’re busy. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Non, mon amie.

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