Murder is a Piece of Cake by Valerie Burns

Author:Valerie Burns [Burns, Valerie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2023-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

Our waiter brought our food, and all conversation about murder ceased. The food looked fantastic, and I managed to stop Michael from digging in long enough for me to snap a photo. #GoodFood #GoodCompany #ItsWhatsForDinner #NewBisonWineryCooks

Both entrées were delicious. The braised short ribs were tender and flavorful, but my favorite was the pan-seared rainbow trout. It was topped with crab, capers, and a lemon beurre blanc that was creamy, light, and refreshing. I didn’t have room for dessert, but Michael ordered cheesecake and two forks. Another reason why I loved him.

“Did you talk to the mayor about Baby?”

“He wasn’t at all helpful, but I decided to just swallow my objections and let Baby . . . service Daisy.” I still hadn’t come to terms with my dog’s life as a stud dog, although his fees were quite substantial.

I shared the weird conversation I’d had with Daisy’s owner. “Is that common? I mean, the other breeders that contract for Baby’s services are all very knowledgeable and at least know when their dog is going to be in heat.”

“Maybe she’s one of those wealthy dog owners who own the dogs and pay for everything, but they pay a professional handler to take care of the dog.”

“Is that a thing?” I asked as I took my fork and sliced a generous portion of cheesecake.

“It is, but generally the handler is the one who makes arrangements for the stud services.”

The cheesecake was light and melted on my tongue. I must have moaned. When I opened my eyes, Michael was smiling. “Do you need a moment alone with that?”

I licked my fork and put it down. When I glanced at the cheesecake, I saw that I’d eaten about two-thirds of it. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled. “I don’t need more than this. I’ve got that half-Ironman coming up.”

“Don’t you need to put on weight for that?”

“Not all calories are created equal. I need the right type of calories.”

I listened while he talked about the competition and his training. Michael was in good physical condition but wanted to test his limits.

I sipped my coffee and my mind wandered.

“Earth to Maddy.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. What were you—”

He waved away my protest. “When I went home to change, my grandmother was making sweet potato tarts for Marjorie Rivers. I just wondered if you’d figured out what you wanted to make for the Spring Festival.”

“Not yet. I was leaning toward entering Aunt Octavia’s Chocolate Soul Cake, but Clayton Davenport got the rules changed.” I told him what I’d overheard while at the mayor’s office.

“Well, Clayton Davenport’s dead. That should take some of the pressure off. You don’t have to enter the baking competition at all, if you don’t want to.”

I sighed. “I know, but . . . I want to. I mean, I want to prove that I can do it.”

He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, but if that’s what you want to do, then let me know what I can do to help.

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