Read Online Final Fondue (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) by Maya Corrigan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maya Corrigan
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Bethany, already at work. Val went into the café. Bethany had set out vegetables, fruits, and hummus on the food prep counter—ingredients for healthy alternatives to the burgers, hot dogs, and fries that other booths at the festival would offer. “Good morning.”
“Hey, Val.”
Val was used to seeing Bethany in primary colors that would appeal to the first-graders she taught. Today she’d gone for a younger look in pastels—a short lavender skirt with a lace trim at the hem and a pink top with puffy sleeves. The clothes would make a toddler look cute, but didn’t flatter a sturdy ginger-haired woman in her twenties. “New outfit?”
“I bought it yesterday. Did you hear the news?”
Val could guess what news she meant, but hedged in case Bethany meant something else. “News, as in gossip?”
“No, I heard it on the radio as I was driving here. A woman was strangled last night. The police issued a bulletin asking for help. They described her and asked anyone who saw her at the festival to contact them. They also want to hear from people in your neighborhood who saw anything out of the ordinary last night between six and ten.”
“The police better have operators standing by. They’re going to hear from a lot of people. Bayport’s never had a festival like this, so everything was out of the ordinary last night.” At least the police hadn’t announced exactly where the woman was killed, but in a small town everyone would know that before long. No reason to keep it from Bethany. “She was strangled in our backyard.”
Bethany’s eyes and mouth turned into O’s. “Your poor grandfather. The radio said she was a tourist not a local. Was she one of the people staying at his house?”
“She was.” While making the salads to sell at the booth, Val gave her assistant a rundown on Granddad’s guests.
Bethany chopped celery for the Waldorf salad. “Those poor people. They come here to arrange a wedding and one of them is murdered. How are they dealing with that?”
“Better than you’d expect. The murdered woman wasn’t a family member or very close friend. None of them knew her except the bride, who hadn’t seen her for ten years.”
“Don’t most brides visit wedding locales with their mothers or sisters?”
“That’s what my friends all did when they planned weddings.” If Val hadn’t broken off her engagement to Tony before they’d even set a date for the wedding, her mother would have gone with her to find a place for the reception. “I don’t know if Jennifer’s mother is dead, sick, or too busy to bother. The maid of honor is the mother substitute. The best man probably wouldn’t have come except for the festival. He’s more interested in boats than wedding plans.”
Val’s phone chimed. She pulled it out of her bag. Gunnar was calling.
“Glad I reached you, Val. I was worried when I heard a woman was strangled near your grandfather’s house. The police said the poor woman didn’t live around here, but first reports aren’t always reliable.”
“That one was accurate.” She switched the phone to her left ear so she could stir the cucumbers, olives, and tomatoes in the chopped Greek salad. “The woman was staying at our house. Keep that to yourself because I don’t want any media attention.” Though Granddad, the publicity hound, probably felt differently. If the police chief hadn’t warned him to avoid the media, Granddad would be standing in front of a camera in his Codger Cook apron, cogitating aloud about the crime and brandishing a Sherlockian pipe.
“You’re a magnet for murder, Val. I’ll bet the New York homicide rate has gone down since you left.”
“My magnetic power kicked in when I moved to Bayport.” She gave the salad one last stir.
“I’m just grateful you’ll be too busy at the festival to go sleuthing again.”
“I can delegate what needs to be done at the booth, if necessary,” she said, only half in jest.
“Delegate detecting to
“Hey, Val.”
Val was used to seeing Bethany in primary colors that would appeal to the first-graders she taught. Today she’d gone for a younger look in pastels—a short lavender skirt with a lace trim at the hem and a pink top with puffy sleeves. The clothes would make a toddler look cute, but didn’t flatter a sturdy ginger-haired woman in her twenties. “New outfit?”
“I bought it yesterday. Did you hear the news?”
Val could guess what news she meant, but hedged in case Bethany meant something else. “News, as in gossip?”
“No, I heard it on the radio as I was driving here. A woman was strangled last night. The police issued a bulletin asking for help. They described her and asked anyone who saw her at the festival to contact them. They also want to hear from people in your neighborhood who saw anything out of the ordinary last night between six and ten.”
“The police better have operators standing by. They’re going to hear from a lot of people. Bayport’s never had a festival like this, so everything was out of the ordinary last night.” At least the police hadn’t announced exactly where the woman was killed, but in a small town everyone would know that before long. No reason to keep it from Bethany. “She was strangled in our backyard.”
Bethany’s eyes and mouth turned into O’s. “Your poor grandfather. The radio said she was a tourist not a local. Was she one of the people staying at his house?”
“She was.” While making the salads to sell at the booth, Val gave her assistant a rundown on Granddad’s guests.
Bethany chopped celery for the Waldorf salad. “Those poor people. They come here to arrange a wedding and one of them is murdered. How are they dealing with that?”
“Better than you’d expect. The murdered woman wasn’t a family member or very close friend. None of them knew her except the bride, who hadn’t seen her for ten years.”
“Don’t most brides visit wedding locales with their mothers or sisters?”
“That’s what my friends all did when they planned weddings.” If Val hadn’t broken off her engagement to Tony before they’d even set a date for the wedding, her mother would have gone with her to find a place for the reception. “I don’t know if Jennifer’s mother is dead, sick, or too busy to bother. The maid of honor is the mother substitute. The best man probably wouldn’t have come except for the festival. He’s more interested in boats than wedding plans.”
Val’s phone chimed. She pulled it out of her bag. Gunnar was calling.
“Glad I reached you, Val. I was worried when I heard a woman was strangled near your grandfather’s house. The police said the poor woman didn’t live around here, but first reports aren’t always reliable.”
“That one was accurate.” She switched the phone to her left ear so she could stir the cucumbers, olives, and tomatoes in the chopped Greek salad. “The woman was staying at our house. Keep that to yourself because I don’t want any media attention.” Though Granddad, the publicity hound, probably felt differently. If the police chief hadn’t warned him to avoid the media, Granddad would be standing in front of a camera in his Codger Cook apron, cogitating aloud about the crime and brandishing a Sherlockian pipe.
“You’re a magnet for murder, Val. I’ll bet the New York homicide rate has gone down since you left.”
“My magnetic power kicked in when I moved to Bayport.” She gave the salad one last stir.
“I’m just grateful you’ll be too busy at the festival to go sleuthing again.”
“I can delegate what needs to be done at the booth, if necessary,” she said, only half in jest.
“Delegate detecting to
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