Death on Bull Path by Carrie Doyle

Author:Carrie Doyle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dunemere Books
Published: 2018-11-06T16:00:00+00:00

15

Antonia made a big deal of letting Marty and Kendra know that she would be in the kitchen for the entire dinner prep and service. She thanked them for always picking up the slack, and informed them that there was nothing she wanted to do more than to cook for her restaurant guests that evening. They gave her expressionless nods and said very little, which resulted in Antonia practically delivering a soliloquy on how important cooking was to her, what it meant to her to provide food to the masses, and how all of her creative enjoyment came out of these efforts. There was nothing better to fortify people and no greater joy than feeding the hungry.

She felt like a fool an hour into prep when Larry Lipper arrived to pick her up and have her accompany him on a mission she couldn’t refuse. All of her apologies to the staff were futile. Marty waved her away and told her he cooked better without her there, and Kendra just gave her an arched eyebrow as if to imply that she knew all along that Antonia would be heading out the door on some hackneyed adventure. In these sorts of moments, Antonia took solace in the fact that she had such a competent staff.

“Where are we headed?” asked Antonia, after she had strapped herself into the passenger seat of Larry’s car.

“The Gig Shack,” he replied. “She said she was working tonight.”

“How did you find her?”

“Bingham, come on. I can’t reveal my sources.”

Antonia rolled her eyes. “Come on.”

“All right, ’cause it’s you. Just this once. And I actually have to pat myself on the back for this one,” said Larry, who literally took his hand off the steering wheel and patted himself on the back. “I figured, we know this type of guy, or these types of guys, right? They come out here to party and they go to all the places. We know they went to the Shore Lodge, and we know they were hanging out with waitresses and picking up easy lays. We’re still not sure who the Asian Cindy Boskin is . . .”

“Hey, be careful,” cautioned Antonia.

“What, I can’t call her Asian? That’s not politically correct? What am I supposed to say? She is Asian.”

“Well, you wouldn’t say we still don’t know who the white Cindy Boskin is.”

“Then how do you want to discern between the two?”

“Call the first one the fake one and the other the real one.”

“Whatever, Bingham. I would hate to live in your world of political correctness. But I will humor you. So the fake Cindy Boskin was an easy lay.”

“I hate that phrase also.”

“Listen, what do you want me to say? She was a ‘loose woman’? I picked her up at The Clam Bar and I’m in her bed in fifteen minutes. There is no way to sugarcoat this. And do you want to hear the story or not?”

“Okay, yes. Watch out for the crosswalk please. The light is blinking and there are people waiting to cross.

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