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

then sat down and tried to make a bed out of it.
    Chef Maurice looked up, as if noticing Arthur for the first time. “I think,” he said, beaming, “that I have found my truffle dog.”
    “It’s a pig, Maurice. A micro-pig.”
    “Then, I have found my truffle pig!”
    In his pen, Hamilton stuck his nose into the handkerchief and took a deep breath.
    This was what heaven smelt like.

Chapter 6
    With the pig-adoption paperwork duly filed, and Tara reassured that Chef Maurice, despite his professional tendencies, had no intention whatsoever of eating Hamilton, they departed the Helping Paws Pet Sanctuary with the little pig perched on Arthur’s lap, along with a new dog bed, a large bag of sow nuts—‘Pigs Go Nuts For It!’ claimed the cheery slogan—and a stack of leaflets on the care and feeding of teacup pigs.
    “Washbasin pig, more like it,” said Arthur, shifting Hamilton to his other knee. “You’re a heavy little fellow, you know that?”
    Hamilton, still holding Chef Maurice’s handkerchief in his snout, gave Arthur a hurt look that said he was merely big-boned, thank you very much.
    That afternoon, Chef Maurice sent Alf out into Le Cochon Rouge’s rather overgrown vegetable garden to set up fences and clear the ground for Hamilton’s new home.
    He prepared himself a late lunch of fresh pasta with grated truffle and parmesan, then picked up a knife and carefully cut several small chunks off the remaining truffle. These he buried all around Hamilton’s enclosure, while Dorothy, long-time head waitress and self-declared mother hen of Le Cochon Rouge, took Hamilton off for a much-needed bath.
    All pink and scrubbed, Hamilton passed the truffle-detection test with flying colours, sniffing out every single piece Chef Maurice had hidden, as well as unearthing a few onions left over from last winter, an empty bottle of cognac (“How did this get here?” asked Chef Maurice, puzzled) and the spare keys to the shed.
    Then it was early dinner—sow nuts for Hamilton, ox cheek stew for the kitchen crew—dinner service, then early to bed for all.
    Arthur had donated Horace’s old kennel to serve as Hamilton’s new outdoor bedroom. Chef Maurice left his newly acquired truffle partner dozing happily next to a bowl of water and a small pile of sow nuts.
    Time to get some rest, as tomorrow was going to be a busy day. Quite how busy, though, Chef Maurice had yet to find out.
    * * *
    A low fire crackled in the hearth, the only light source in the shadow-filled room. Two high-backed chairs faced the fireplace, at an angle suggesting that their occupants were rather more interested in the flames than each other’s faces.
    A heated discussion was well underway.
    “—said I’m sorry, how was I meant to know someone else would be—”
    “You were meant to use your brain. What little of it there is left.”
    “I’d never have had to be there in the first place if you hadn’t gone and sh—”
    “You think this is my fault? After all your nasty habits and greedy little friends—”
    “Fine. Fine! Look, we got what we wanted—”
    “And then lost it!” The second voice was older, sourer.
    “I’ll get it back. I know where to go—”
    “After all the rain last night? No.” The second voice slammed down like a heavy trapdoor in a gale. “Leave it. You’ve caused enough trouble as it is.”
    “Fine. Have it your way.” The first voice sounded petulant. And a little relieved. “When do you reckon they’ll find . . . it?”
    “How would I know? All I know is”—there was a grim smile—“we’ll be sure to hear about it when they do.”
    * * *
    The next morning dawned, clear and brisk. Chef Maurice noted with satisfaction that Hamilton had finished off his midnight sow nut snack. There was no greater sin in his mind than an inadequate appetite.
    Hamilton, who’d been running the perimeter, checking the fence in case the cows next door had invaded overnight, trotted over and nudged his empty