Fiona Silk Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Mary Jane Maffini
I wilted under the steady stare from her round blue eyes. If Josey started spouting business aphorisms on a regular basis, I was doomed.
“Well, Miz Silk?”
“Fine. I’ll hear your proposition.”
“Oh, boy, that’s great. You won’t regret it. We have a unique opportunity here—”
I flinched at the sound of unique opportunity.
“—to talk to these chefs, Naughty Marietta and Rafaël.”
“What?”
“It’s simple. They could each contribute a recipe to your book.”
“But why would they?”
“Because it’s good advertising for them. They have cookbooks too. You would mention that when you credit them for the recipes. Anyway, I think they love to talk about themselves.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Leave it to me. Oh, and by the way? CeeCeeCuisine will allow you to use their stuff in return for a credit in the book. I’ll talk to Boutique Rejeane about a wardrobe thing. And you should really get your nails done.”
“Wardrobe? No,” I said, firmly. “Please don’t go around town trying to get me free stuff. It’s bad enough everyone knows my business. I don’t want to be looking for charity.”
“I’ve already told you, Miz Silk. Not charity, product placement.”
“Absolutely, unequivocally no.”
Josey stared at me wide-eyed. “Hey, not a problem.” Now why did I think there would be? “I’ll start getting those recipes lined up,” she added.
I walked a very reluctant Tolstoy briefly on the shady side of the road and got ready to head for Hull and the hospital. I came back to find that Liz had returned and was lazily eying the Spode while muttering about how busy she was and how she needed to get to her new place and settle in.
“Don’t you have patients today?”
“Nope. Moving day. We shuffled all the appointments. But I need to get everything settled. I could use some help.”
“Sure. I’ll give you a hand after I visit Marc-André.”
“What’s your big rush? It’s not like he’s going to remember that you came.”
“In case that’s what you were trying for,” I said, “congratulations, you’ll be pleased to know you’ve hit a new low in empathy.”
“Just being practical,” she said. “We can’t all be woolly-headed romantics like you.”
“Since you’re being practical, there’s an empty cardboard box in my office,” I said. “Help yourself.”
I was damp and distressed by the time I found free on-street parking two blocks away from the rehab centre and raced into the building to Marc-André’s room.
I stopped and stared. The bed was empty. Thoughts raced through my brain: blood clot, hemorrhage, fall from bed. My heart was thundering. Where was he?
I whirled and smacked into the burly aide, Paulette. She was wearing blue scrubs today. Blue was definitely not her colour. Of course, purple hadn’t been either.
“What happened?” I said.
Smirking was obviously her hobby. “You’re late.”
“What? Late? I don’t have a schedule. I come here during visiting hours.” I stopped talking. Why did I feel the need to explain myself to this woman? I hardly knew her, and what I did know, I didn’t like.
“Patients like regularity. It calms them.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone for physio. And I believe he had to have some scans done.”
“Oh. Well, when will he be back?”
“They’re really backed up today. Not for hours, I’d say.”
She was enjoying this. A smile flickered on her upper lip. I thought she could have done with a bit of a wax job, but I told myself not to be mean. It’s not like I’m a beauty queen.
“Hours?”
“You snooze, you lose.”
“Can I join him? Keep him company?”
She just loved telling me no.
The Skylark behaved well on this trip. I got onto the highway easily. I took my time and pulled over whenever anyone swooped up behind me. I was one hundred per cent certain I had seen the woman in the Escalade yesterday, just before I’d turned off at Exit 13. The Escalade had shot past the exit. That was the last one before the accident. I kept an eye out on the side of the road for a place she could have gotten out. But I’d been right the first time. There were no houses, no exits, no access roads, nothing but rock face and gravelly, sloping shoulders.
It wasn’t really safe to stand on the side of the road and wait for a lift. There was simply nowhere she could have gone between Exit 13 and the ravine where the Escalade had crashed and burned. I had come by again less than a half-hour later, and there had definitely been no pedestrians or hitchhikers on the highway.
Just to be on the safe side, I made the loop back to Hull a second time and drove the route again.
But as Liz had pointed out, it had nothing to do with me. Why couldn’t I let myself believe that?
Strawberries and Cream
Recipe contributed by Marc-André Paradis (more or less)
2 cups fresh strawberries in season
2 cups whipping cream
½ cup sugar
A generous splash of Cointreau or Grand Marnier
Wash and hull strawberries. Place in a clear glass bowl. Whip the cream and, when it begins to thicken, add the sugar, then the Cointreau or Grand Marnier. Whip until quite thick. Serve with the strawberries.
Seven
It seemed strange having a conversation with an appliance, but I gave it my best shot. Of course, since I couldn’t get into the kitchen, I spoke from the door. “Please stop fussing about the living room chairs, Josey. Liz will bring them back eventually.”
Josey’s disembodied voice drifted up from behind the stove, which had been pulled slightly away from the wall. “Did you know she was going to take all that other stuff? That china cabinet sure looks weird without anything in it, Miz Silk. And what are you going to drink out of?”
“Everyday glasses will be fine.”
“You mean the blue plastic ones you got from Le Roi du dollar?”
“They have a certain cheerful charm, and the price was right. Don’t worry. Liz will take care of the crystal snifters. But to return to the matter at hand. What exactly is wrong with the stove?”
Josey popped up from behind the appliance, a spider web dangling from her front cowlick. “I think maybe something chewed on the wires, Miz Silk. It’s a real good thing you never turned this stove on. You could have been fried like a piece of bacon.”
Tolstoy’s tail thumped. He loves bacon, although he has to go to Woody to get any.
I said, “Oh.”
“And it’s extra bad, because now you’ll be spending more time in the kitchen, because you don’t have any furniture in your living room. I don’t know why you let Dr. Prentiss treat you like a—”
“I