Read Online Prime Cut by Diane Mott Davidson - Free Book Online
Authors: Diane Mott Davidson
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous stories, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery Fiction, Women Detectives, Cooking, Murder, Colorado, Caterers and Catering, Cookery, Bear; Goldy (Fictitious Character), Women in the Food Industry
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Homestead?"
Tom nodded. Before he could elaborate, the phone rang and he answered it. He murmured a couple of questions, took notes in his spiral pad, then hung up. "Interesting update. I'm going to heat muffins. Sound good?"
"Sounds great."
"Okay, early yesterday morning the call came from Sylvia Bevans about a break-in at the museum. My team covered the call, by the way. I just hadn't told you about it; it seemed so routine. Sylvia was beside herself, babbling about a missing cookbook."
"Cookbook?"
He smiled and spread frozen cinnamon-raisin muffins on a cookie sheet. "Yeah, I thought you'd take some professional interest in the theft. Sylvia Bevans, of course, reamed us out, but good."
"Oh, brother." Now this was a scenario I could imagine. The much-feared, seventy-year-old curator of the Homestead Museum would have ushered the cops into the sacred precinct of her cluttered historical society office and puckered her already thin-lipped mouth in fierce and undisguised disapproval. One of her seemingly endless wardrobe of pastel linen dresses-lilac, lime, or pink-would have strained at mother-of-pearl buttons over her ample body as she indignantly demanded the authorities find the culprit immediately!
Tom cleared his throat. "Two of the glass-fronted display cases were smashed. Sylvia told us one cookbook was missing. Today, she's screaming about four cookbooks being stolen. They were part of an exhibit. She didn't realize they were missing at first, she was in such a state." Tom chuckled. "Only one book was in her initial report, so now Fuller's accusing her of insurance scam. " She chewed him out, said the Homestead's not insured `cuz the county's too cheap to pay the premiums."
I thought of the book in the evidence bag found at Cameron Burr's home. "So have they found all four cookbooks?"
"They found one in Cam's trash and a second one underneath drywall in the sun room. Sylvia's up in arms about their historic value, but as far as we can determine, each is only worth a couple hundred dollars." He peered into the oven. "They'll keep looking, don't worry."
Thinking of poor Cameron in the backseat of the police vehicle, I rinsed out our cups and the doser, then ground more espresso beans. I asked, "What's Fuller's big push to nab Burr?"
Tom flipped off the oven light and straightened with a sigh. "He's caught a lot of heat for the plea bargains, and he sees this one as easy. Plus the rumors about him trying for state attorney general have been getting stronger lately. This could be a high-profile case. He'd get a lot of press for being a crime fighter, that kind of thing."
I measured coffee into the doser, pressed the button, and waited for the espresso to spurt out. "Would they have to find all four cookbooks up at Cameron's house for him actually to be prosecuted?"
Tom shrugged. "Fuller's got a half-dozen investigators sniffing around the museum and Burr's place. Our guys usually find everything. If they don't, and Burr's defense claims shoddy investigation, Fuller can argue that anything not found is excess evidence and unnecessary in prosecuting Burr."
It was my turn to sigh. "So what exactly were these cookbooks?"
He peered at his notes. "The first one we found is American Cookery by Amelia Simmons. Famous for its johnnycake recipe, according to Sylvia. This one wasn't the original 1796 edition - apparently the museum's was a nineteenth-century copy - but someone donated it to the historical society, and they put it on display."
Of course the Homestead would put a cookbook on display that contained the seminal recipe for Western Cooking 101. Johnnycake or Johnnie cake, also known as journey cake, had been slapped together and cooked over fires by thousands of folks coming out in covered wagons to Colorado and points west. When I'd served as a docent at the museum, I'd ushered many a class of
Tom nodded. Before he could elaborate, the phone rang and he answered it. He murmured a couple of questions, took notes in his spiral pad, then hung up. "Interesting update. I'm going to heat muffins. Sound good?"
"Sounds great."
"Okay, early yesterday morning the call came from Sylvia Bevans about a break-in at the museum. My team covered the call, by the way. I just hadn't told you about it; it seemed so routine. Sylvia was beside herself, babbling about a missing cookbook."
"Cookbook?"
He smiled and spread frozen cinnamon-raisin muffins on a cookie sheet. "Yeah, I thought you'd take some professional interest in the theft. Sylvia Bevans, of course, reamed us out, but good."
"Oh, brother." Now this was a scenario I could imagine. The much-feared, seventy-year-old curator of the Homestead Museum would have ushered the cops into the sacred precinct of her cluttered historical society office and puckered her already thin-lipped mouth in fierce and undisguised disapproval. One of her seemingly endless wardrobe of pastel linen dresses-lilac, lime, or pink-would have strained at mother-of-pearl buttons over her ample body as she indignantly demanded the authorities find the culprit immediately!
Tom cleared his throat. "Two of the glass-fronted display cases were smashed. Sylvia told us one cookbook was missing. Today, she's screaming about four cookbooks being stolen. They were part of an exhibit. She didn't realize they were missing at first, she was in such a state." Tom chuckled. "Only one book was in her initial report, so now Fuller's accusing her of insurance scam. " She chewed him out, said the Homestead's not insured `cuz the county's too cheap to pay the premiums."
I thought of the book in the evidence bag found at Cameron Burr's home. "So have they found all four cookbooks?"
"They found one in Cam's trash and a second one underneath drywall in the sun room. Sylvia's up in arms about their historic value, but as far as we can determine, each is only worth a couple hundred dollars." He peered into the oven. "They'll keep looking, don't worry."
Thinking of poor Cameron in the backseat of the police vehicle, I rinsed out our cups and the doser, then ground more espresso beans. I asked, "What's Fuller's big push to nab Burr?"
Tom flipped off the oven light and straightened with a sigh. "He's caught a lot of heat for the plea bargains, and he sees this one as easy. Plus the rumors about him trying for state attorney general have been getting stronger lately. This could be a high-profile case. He'd get a lot of press for being a crime fighter, that kind of thing."
I measured coffee into the doser, pressed the button, and waited for the espresso to spurt out. "Would they have to find all four cookbooks up at Cameron's house for him actually to be prosecuted?"
Tom shrugged. "Fuller's got a half-dozen investigators sniffing around the museum and Burr's place. Our guys usually find everything. If they don't, and Burr's defense claims shoddy investigation, Fuller can argue that anything not found is excess evidence and unnecessary in prosecuting Burr."
It was my turn to sigh. "So what exactly were these cookbooks?"
He peered at his notes. "The first one we found is American Cookery by Amelia Simmons. Famous for its johnnycake recipe, according to Sylvia. This one wasn't the original 1796 edition - apparently the museum's was a nineteenth-century copy - but someone donated it to the historical society, and they put it on display."
Of course the Homestead would put a cookbook on display that contained the seminal recipe for Western Cooking 101. Johnnycake or Johnnie cake, also known as journey cake, had been slapped together and cooked over fires by thousands of folks coming out in covered wagons to Colorado and points west. When I'd served as a docent at the museum, I'd ushered many a class of