Christmas is Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

where and who did and said what. “Where’s Anthony?” he asked.
    “Napping. He’d kill me if he found me smoking. Miriam can’t abide it either, so she’s working on her precious manuscript in the library at the far side of the house. Don’t get me wrong, not all Yanks are bad. Some of our American clients at Smart Design are very cultured and have impeccable taste. Most are from New York. Miriam just rubs me up the wrong way.”
    “Aye, I know what you mean. How do you get on with Wanda?”
    “Wanda?” Patrick blew out a puff of smoke in a disdainful manner. “She’d be all right if she stopped harping on about her bloody divorce. Why d’you ask?”
    “A curious thing, really. I could swear I saw her come out of Lawdry’s room just now. I wonder who gave her the key …”
    “I wouldn’t go in there if you paid me.”
    “Perhaps she had a special affection for the old man.”
    With an immaculately kept hand, Patrick stubbed out his cigarette in the bronze ashtray. “I don’t think so, not really. Helen spent more time with him, and so did Yvette. Old Lawdry was quite the ladies’ man! Ah, well, may God rest his soul and all that.”
    “Amen. Anyhow, I’ll leave you to your solitude, see what’s brewing in the kitchen.” Hands in his pockets, Rex sauntered down the hall to the spacious scrubbed kitchen where a robust older woman in an apron was sautéing diced celery, carrots, onions, and chili pepper in an industrial-size wok. “Mm, is that curry I smell?” he asked.
    “It is,” the woman said, pouring in stock and adding lentils and shredded chicken. She wore her hair close-cropped and sported multiple piercings in her left ear. “I’m making Mulligatawny Soup for tonight. Mrs. Smithings brought the recipe back from India in 1949 when her husband was serving over there.”
    “I think I may have had it one time when I stayed here as a lad. You must be Sandy Bellows, the cook. Mrs. Smithings has been singing your praises to my mother.”
    “Has she now?” The cook’s face flushed with pleasure.
    Rex introduced himself and assumed a casual pose leaning against the counter. “Mrs. Smithings said you’ve been working here six years.”
    “Sounds about right.” While she chopped apples, Sandy Bellows chatted on about how fortunate it was she’d prepared much of the food in advance with Louise’s help—before the snow terminated all access and egress from the hotel.
    “I understand the almond tarts went down a treat. It’s a pity I wasn’t here yesterday to try one.”
    “The almond tarts are my own recipe. I like nut desserts at Christmas as they’re so festive.” The cook threw handfuls of basmati rice into a saucepan. “I don’t see how that poor old man could have choked on one of them tarts, like they first said. More likely it was a heart attack. And I was just saying to Mrs. Smithings yesterday what a shame it was, him being alone this time of year.”
    “Do any of the guests ever come into the kitchen?”
    The cook proceeded to mince parsley. “Not usually, though that Mr. Smart did come in yesterday before tea. He wanted to know if we used organic products in the cooking. Said he was into health. And then that American woman is in and out, very fond of food she is, but has to watch her weight.”
    “Don’t we all.” Rex patted his belly.
    “Oh, come now. You’re a fine figure of a man.”
    “Why, thank you for that, Mrs. Bellows. Still, it’s a lot of work for you, cooking for all these people …”
    “We have been short-handed the last two days. Rosie’s run off her feet but she helps when she can, and Clifford … Well, I have to watch what I say as he’s probably earwigging in the scullery. He’s not as deaf as he makes out. Oh, he’s a cunning one, is that old bodger.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, that’s everything simmering nicely. I think I’ll go upstairs and put my feet up before I have to see to the main course.”
    When she