Read Online Killer Gourmet by G.A. McKevett - Free Book Online

anything in her personal appearance that might give clues to her character.
    She wasn’t sure what the tattoos meant, other than that she was fiercely passionate about being a chef.
    It was a bit tough reading the clothing of a person who was dressed in a uniform. The generic garb of the sous-chef—a white jacket with a red collar and cuffs and black pants—told her nothing.
    Francia’s skin had an olive tone, and her eyes were deep brown, nearly black. Now that she had calmed down, they were virtually expressionless. Her hair was a dark brunette, and she had dyed several bright blue streaks in the strands near her nape.
    Okay , Savannah thought, so she isn’t afraid of needles or a little unconventional hair color. Hardly indicators of whether she’s capable of hacking a guy to death .
    â€œThen you weren’t in the kitchen when he was killed?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhere were you?”
    â€œOut back in the alley with Manuel and Carlos.”
    Savannah nodded toward the two men in the opposite corner, who were draining their beer glasses with gusto. “Those guys over there?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhat are their jobs?”
    â€œThe tall, skinny guy is Manuel. He’s a kitchen steward. The shorter, heavier guy is Carlos, the prep cook.”
    â€œAnd all three of you were out in the alley? Together?”
    Francia nodded, toying with her glass.
    Savannah’s spirits sank a bit further. She had started with three possible murder witnesses, and after asking only a few questions, she was down to zero. Not only were all three absent from the murder scene, but they appeared to have alibis. One another.
    â€œWhat were you three doing out there in the alley?” Savannah asked.
    â€œHaving a smoke. It was a tough service. We needed a break before we started the cleanup.”
    Savannah thought for a moment, took a drink of water, and said, “Before you went outside to have your smoke . . . where was the chef?”
    â€œIn the kitchen.”
    â€œWho else was in there with him?”
    â€œNobody. Just the three of us. The waiters and busboys were out here, cleaning up.”
    â€œYes, I know. I saw them. When you last saw Chef Norwood, what was he doing?”
    â€œPigging out on the leftover desserts. He always does . . . I mean . . . did that. How do you think he got so big?”
    Savannah couldn’t help noticing a twinge of sarcasm in Francia’s voice. Maybe a touch of bitterness, too.
    â€œHe did that all the time,” Francia continued. “At the end of a service, if it wasn’t nailed down, it went into his mouth. The guy definitely had some food issues.”
    Yes, there it was. Definitely more than a touch.
    Francia Fortun had not liked her boss. No doubt about it.
    But then, Savannah had spent only a couple of minutes in Norwood’s presence and something told her that there weren’t too many people on earth who had enjoyed his company.
    She also suspected that, although there might be a lot of people at Norwood’s funeral—him being a celebrity and all—there wouldn’t be many genuine mourners.
    Cynical and cold as the thought might be, Savannah had decided that, although most people improved the world while they lived in it, there were a few who actually improved the sad ol’ earth by leaving it.
    Chef Norwood struck her as maybe being one of those. So if there was no love lost between Francia and her boss, no big surprise there.
    Savannah tried to remember all that Ryan and John had told her about Francia Fortune. They said she was a gifted chef in her own right, and originally, they had considered hiring her instead of her boss.
    Savannah searched her memory, trying to recall why they had changed their minds and gone with Chef Norwood. She’d heard something about Norwood giving Francia a poor reference. Didn’t he say she lacked the initiative necessary to run a kitchen? Maybe she was a