Chef Maurice and a Spot of Truffle (Chef Maurice Mysteries Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

do have—”
    “But I am not looking for a pet.”
    “No?”
    “I look for a collègue . For the hunting of truffles.” Chef Maurice slapped his forehead. “Forget that I said that, too.”
    “O- kay .” The youth picked up his bucket and started to back away. “I think you’d better speak to my manager . . . ” He hurried back the way he came.
    Arthur and Chef Maurice sauntered down the row of kennel enclosures. A few ears pricked up, a few noses essayed tentative sniffs at the handkerchief, but none of the candidates seemed sufficiently interested to pass the preliminary interview stage.
    They turned left into the Cattery section.
    “I have always liked cats,” said Chef Maurice.
    “You have?”
    “They keep themselves clean. They value the beauty of sleep.” Chef Maurice ticked an imaginary list off his fingers. “They can climb high walls. And they are suspicious. This is a good thing. Les chiens , they are too trusting.”
    A long-haired Siamese opened her eyes and blinked at them haughtily.
    “Sadly,” said Chef Maurice, as he waved the handkerchief past the dozen or so lounging cats, “it appears they do not have the interest in truffles.”
    Down the end of the hallway, they found themselves passing the Miscellaneous Mammals enclosure.
    A pair of lop-eared rabbits wrinkled their noses at them curiously, and an extremely fat guinea pig waddled over for a closer look at the visitors.
    Arthur peered into the ferret house, which may have looked empty, but certainly didn’t smell it.
    “Egbert went off to his forever home last week,” said a female voice behind him. It belonged to a middle-aged lady in a green jumper, corduroys and sensible brown wellingtons. A plastic name badge introduced her as Tara.
    “I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Arthur, taking off his hat.
    She gave him a strange look. “I meant, he was adopted.”
    “Oh. Well, er, good for Egbert, then.”
    “For us too, frankly. He’d been with us for over four months, and I’m afraid it’s true what they say. Ferrets really do smell. Can’t help it, the poor things.”
    Arthur nodded. He recalled a distant aunt who’d developed a ferret habit later in life. Relatives would visit with their pockets stuffed with potpourri and take frequent breaks to go outside and admire ‘what you’ve done with the garden’.
    “So how can I help today? Looking to bring a ray of sunshine into your happy home?” She smiled at Chef Maurice, who was hunkered down next to what appeared to be an empty pen.
    “We— I mean, my friend down there is looking for a dog,” said Arthur.
    Tara clapped her hands together. “Splendid. Well, if you’d just like to follow me . . . ” She bounced away down the hallway.
    “Come on then, Maurice.”
    There was no answer.
    Arthur looked back. Chef Maurice was in the process of poking his handkerchief through the wire fencing.
    “What are you doing?”
    The chef seemed to be engaged in a staring contest with the pen’s current resident, who was sitting in the far corner.
    “Ah, that’s our little Hamilton,” said Tara, coming up behind them. “He gets a lot of interest, bless him, but so far no one’s quite taken the next step. They need quite a bit of outdoor space, you know.”
    “Is it me, or is he a bit on the small side?”
    “Oh, he’s a teacup variety. A micro breed, at least, that’s how they’re sold. Problem is, people think they’re adorable when they’re all cute and tiny, but then they get a bit older and some owners get a bit of a shock. They can grow to the size of an adult Labrador. Hamilton here is only a year old, we think. We don’t know too much about him, I’m afraid. Someone found him wandering around near the main ring road and brought him in. His collar said Hamilton, so we stuck with the name.”
    There was a squeaky grunt and Hamilton ran over and grabbed the handkerchief from Chef Maurice’s fingers. He trotted around in little circles, snorting happily,