Read Online The Body in the Bouillon by Katherine Hall Page - Free Book Online Page A

This is the one and only time he’s coming. Bad enough to have the incubus bothering you all week without having him disturb your Sunday dinner too.”
    Tom looked gratefully at her. “Now, how can I help?”
    â€œBen went down for his nap nicely. They must run around a lot in Sunday school, so he’s taken care of for the moment. All you have to do is pour some sherry for the others when they arrive and pass these.” She’d made some tiny choux pastry puffs filled with Roquefort cheese and walnuts. “But don’t let Cyle start eating them yet or there won’t be any for the rest of us.” She left in a huff to lay another place at the table before returning to the kitchen to finish the strong mustardy vinaigrette she would pour over the steamed Brussels sprouts moments before serving. She checked on the crown roast of lamb and gratin Dauphinoise—cheesy potatoes, Tom and Ben called them—and put the butternut squash soufflé in to bake. Every fall she felt a brief regret for all the summer food that wouldn’t appear for another year except in some colorized form; then fall food started and there was nothing wrong with squash, apples, sprouts, and the rest of the things one took over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house. The apples were appearing as pie, but with a mille-feuille crust instead of the more traditional one. If anyone asked for cheese, she’d give him a squeeze.
    Just as Tom started to carve, the phone rang. This was such an ordinary occurrence in their lives that Faith didn’t even get annoyed anymore. It was like ants at a picnic. You lived with it.
    â€œI’ll get that, honey. Please start.”
    It was Dr. Hubbard. Faith wasn’t sure what to say or
ask, but he solved the problem for her by dominating the entire conversation.
    â€œSorry to bother you, but your husband was anxious for the results of the autopsy. Had to do it because of the soup, you know.” He gave a brief laugh, although Faith failed to find anything funny about it. Perhaps if it hadn’t been her particular bouillon …
    â€œAnyway, tell Reverend Fairchild it was cardiac failure—Parley’s ticker—just as we thought, and we wouldn’t have had any bother if he’d fallen backward, but Farley always did like to do things his way.” Another laugh.
    â€œYou can have the funeral anytime you want now. Well, I’ll let you go. Drop by and introduce yourself when you come tomorrow. We’re enormously grateful for your help, and I hope we’ll see both you and your husband at our little shindig on Wednesday.”
    Faith thanked him and walked back to the table filled with relief and intense curiosity to meet the man behind the voice.
    They were all tucking into their lamb and listening to Cyle expound on transubstantiation with varying degrees of lack of interest. Faith hastened to interrupt him with the news. Cyle took a bite of potato, carefully finished chewing, then commented, “It’s so sad to see that generation going. We’ll not see their like again, I fear.”
    What did this boy read? Faith wondered. Frances Hodgson Burnett?
    â€œI was especially fond of old Farley. He seemed to be in perfect health last week when I saw him.” Cyle fixed Faith with a mildly accusatory eye. Had he heard about the bouillon?
    â€œI didn’t know you were acquainted with Mr. Bowditch,” Tom said, his back up at “old Farley.”
    â€œI wasn’t until he went to Hubbard House. The mater is one of their Pink Ladies—that’s what they call the volunteers—and I’ve always made it a point to visit and help in any way I can.”

    Tom had trouble hiding a grin. Faith had neglected to tell him about the Pink Ladies, and she knew he couldn’t wait to tease her about her new moniker.
    Cyle continued to address the air. “Yes, men like Farley are a vanishing