Read Online Murder Under the Tree by Susan Bernhardt - Free Book Online Page B

drive,” Martin said, standing up. “I haven't started my car in a week.”
    We took the elevator down. After parking my car in the lot, I headed over to the garage. Martin beeped the car horn to get my attention. I slipped into the back seat of his Lincoln Town Car next to Sarah. Anne sat up front. I ran my hand across the soft, cream colored leather seat.
    Martin headed out of the garage and turned onto the icy street, taking the corner a little too fast for my comfort.
    “With the autopsy showing that Les died of anaphylactic shock,” Anne said, “how can we prove it was murder?”
    “Proving murder is difficult, Anne,” I said.
    “Don't I know,” she quipped.
    “Nancy said they are very careful about peanut products in the kitchen. I know Marissa at the patisserie would never let anything like that slip by.” I told them about going to the police department and finding out they hadn't saved the food.
    “That's not kosher in a police investigation,” Anne said.
    Martin turned around and looked at me. “Remember we said some of the people at the tea were allergic to peanuts. A friend of mine sat at the table next to Les'. He was allergic.”
    “Martin, the road!” Anne said in a hurried voice. He turned his attention back to the street, spinning the wheel wildly and overcompensating his course correction. The car went over the median with a violent bump. I let out a yelp before I could stop myself.
    My right eye started to twitch. I put my fingers up to it to try and make it stop.
    “The police called it accidental. Case closed. They aren't thinking about the others who didn't have a reaction and were also allergic,” Sarah said.
    Phil had also said “case closed” yesterday at Christmas dinner when he was trying to quiet Elizabeth. Lots of people would be saying that. “So you've continued to ask around about people's allergies?”
    “We call it 'semi-official interviews',” Anne said, smiling.
    “That could be proof someone targeted Les' table,” I said, “or that different tables had different food.”
    “Did Sarah tell you Les had a girlfriend in the kitchen?” Martin asked, looking at me in his rear view mirror. “A real looker.”
    I opened my eyes wide. “I didn't know that.” I should talk to her.
    “Hope that wasn't her way of breaking up with him,” Martin said. Sarah nudged me on my arm. All was quiet for a minute. I couldn't tell if that was Martin's sense of humor or he meant it.
    “Les liked to flirt with the ladies.” Anne put her hand on Martin's shoulder. “Just like Martin here.” She smiled at Martin, hesitated, then continued, “Maybe some lonely woman took Les seriously and later became upset with him.”
    “Oh there's a spot.” Martin went through a stop sign, then slammed his foot on the breaks, sliding into a parking space in front of the patisserie, inches from the car in front of him. I let out a long-held breath when the car finally came to a stop. I escaped from Martin's car with a sigh of relief.
    We walked into the patisserie. “We should find out when Marissa's food was delivered. See if there would have been time for someone to tamper with it,” Anne said, dropping her voice to a whisper as Marissa swept past us with a ladened tray of pastries. Marissa fired a quick greeting at us over her shoulder and told us to sit wherever we liked.
    Sarah nodded her head in agreement with Anne. We chose a table in a corner and settled in.
    “We have the means. Now we need a motive and the opportunity,” I said. “Who hated Les enough to kill him?”
    We looked over the menu for a moment. When Marissa came over with complimentary tea and to take our orders, I asked her, “Marissa, when did the patisserie deliver the pastries to the Christmas tea at Hawthorne Hills?”
    “Someone from the retirement home came to pick them up around ten o'clock that morning.”
    “Do you remember who it was?”
    “I was in the back when they came. Erica gave them the boxes. So