Read Online Murder Alfresco #3 by Nadia Gordon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nadia Gordon
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listened to the perfect sounds: short, concise notes on the piano, guitar warm and sweet, bass like an easy heartbeat, the swirl of the wire brush, and Pres on tenor sax.
“The sound of New York City,” said Monty.
“In a hot club on a cold night,” said Wade. “Upper West Side.”
“In a silk dress and fishnet stockings,” said Sunny.
“With a bad man in a good suit,” said Rivka.
The kettle whistled and Rivka got up. She came back with a pot of mint tea sweetened Moroccan style and poured it into the colorful, intricately painted glasses Sunny kept for that purpose. She added a few pine nuts to each and handed them around. On the coffee table, she opened an assortment of white containers from the restaurant. There was a slice of Mama McCoskey’s Rum Cake, two bread puddings with caramel sauce, and a box of assorted tea cookies.
“Dessert is a little on the heavy side,” said Sunny. “I didn’t have time to get any fruit. The customers mowed through all the Meyer lemon sorbet. There was one panna cotta with a Riesling-poached pear left, but I sent it home with Heather.”
“Damn her,” said Monty. “I love the panna cotta and I love the Riesling-poached pear.”
“It was pretty good,” said Sunny. “The pears came out perfect. They were the color of that Armagnac.”
“Stop, I’m in agony,” said Monty.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to eat a meal at the restaurant once in a while,” said Rivka. “Then you could order whatever you want.”
“You mean pay? My god.”
Wade quaffed the last of the brandy in his glass like it was so much bargain-bin schnapps and leaned back in the old leather armchair. He put his feet up on the wooden stool that served asan ottoman. “I don’t like it, McCoskey,” he said. “I don’t like you being here alone. I don’t think you should be alone at night until they nab this guy. In fact, it might be a good idea for you to come stay up at Skord Mountain until all this blows over.”
“That’s the problem,” said Sunny. “They may never nab him. I might know everything I’m ever going to know about that girl and whoever did that to her. I have to get used to that idea. I have to forget about the whole business and move on or I’ll lose my mind. It’s over, at least as far as I’m concerned. Now I just have to get back to normal.”
Rivka Chavez, who stayed the longest, had been gone for hours when Sunny heard the rumble of Andre Morales’s motorcycle pulling up outside the cottage. The first night they’d spent together started with a ride on that motorcycle, an old BMW with a cream-colored tank. The sound of it still gave her butterflies. He stomped up the front stairs in his boots, rapped his knuckles on the door, and came in without waiting for an answer. She put down the cookbook she’d been reading and watched him. He was wearing the biking leathers that smelled like pinesap and campfire smoke. He put his helmet and gloves on the table and held his hand out to her.
“Come with me, please.”
“Why did I have to find her?” said Sunny, tugging the tangles from strands of Andre’s hair. “I’m a magnet for death.”
“You’re not a magnet for death,” he said, turning over to face her. “You are just unusually observant. Anybody else would have noticed a truck went by and thought nothing of it. You noticed its lights were off, wondered what it was doing at the winery atthat hour, and spotted something different about the tree. I’m sure that that acute attention to detail leads you to many more good things than it does bad. It’s a positive trait that happened to get you into a bad place this time around.”
“Like chanterelles.”
“What do you mean?”
“I always spot chanterelles when nobody else sees them.”
“Exactly. Sometimes your eagle eye leads you to a mushroom, sometimes to a dead body. You have to take the good with the bad.” Andre stared at the ceiling. “Why don’t you take some time off? You
“The sound of New York City,” said Monty.
“In a hot club on a cold night,” said Wade. “Upper West Side.”
“In a silk dress and fishnet stockings,” said Sunny.
“With a bad man in a good suit,” said Rivka.
The kettle whistled and Rivka got up. She came back with a pot of mint tea sweetened Moroccan style and poured it into the colorful, intricately painted glasses Sunny kept for that purpose. She added a few pine nuts to each and handed them around. On the coffee table, she opened an assortment of white containers from the restaurant. There was a slice of Mama McCoskey’s Rum Cake, two bread puddings with caramel sauce, and a box of assorted tea cookies.
“Dessert is a little on the heavy side,” said Sunny. “I didn’t have time to get any fruit. The customers mowed through all the Meyer lemon sorbet. There was one panna cotta with a Riesling-poached pear left, but I sent it home with Heather.”
“Damn her,” said Monty. “I love the panna cotta and I love the Riesling-poached pear.”
“It was pretty good,” said Sunny. “The pears came out perfect. They were the color of that Armagnac.”
“Stop, I’m in agony,” said Monty.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to eat a meal at the restaurant once in a while,” said Rivka. “Then you could order whatever you want.”
“You mean pay? My god.”
Wade quaffed the last of the brandy in his glass like it was so much bargain-bin schnapps and leaned back in the old leather armchair. He put his feet up on the wooden stool that served asan ottoman. “I don’t like it, McCoskey,” he said. “I don’t like you being here alone. I don’t think you should be alone at night until they nab this guy. In fact, it might be a good idea for you to come stay up at Skord Mountain until all this blows over.”
“That’s the problem,” said Sunny. “They may never nab him. I might know everything I’m ever going to know about that girl and whoever did that to her. I have to get used to that idea. I have to forget about the whole business and move on or I’ll lose my mind. It’s over, at least as far as I’m concerned. Now I just have to get back to normal.”
Rivka Chavez, who stayed the longest, had been gone for hours when Sunny heard the rumble of Andre Morales’s motorcycle pulling up outside the cottage. The first night they’d spent together started with a ride on that motorcycle, an old BMW with a cream-colored tank. The sound of it still gave her butterflies. He stomped up the front stairs in his boots, rapped his knuckles on the door, and came in without waiting for an answer. She put down the cookbook she’d been reading and watched him. He was wearing the biking leathers that smelled like pinesap and campfire smoke. He put his helmet and gloves on the table and held his hand out to her.
“Come with me, please.”
“Why did I have to find her?” said Sunny, tugging the tangles from strands of Andre’s hair. “I’m a magnet for death.”
“You’re not a magnet for death,” he said, turning over to face her. “You are just unusually observant. Anybody else would have noticed a truck went by and thought nothing of it. You noticed its lights were off, wondered what it was doing at the winery atthat hour, and spotted something different about the tree. I’m sure that that acute attention to detail leads you to many more good things than it does bad. It’s a positive trait that happened to get you into a bad place this time around.”
“Like chanterelles.”
“What do you mean?”
“I always spot chanterelles when nobody else sees them.”
“Exactly. Sometimes your eagle eye leads you to a mushroom, sometimes to a dead body. You have to take the good with the bad.” Andre stared at the ceiling. “Why don’t you take some time off? You
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