Dead Is Just a Rumor Read Online Free PDF

sous-chef, prep workers, bustling around, preparing for the dinner rush.
    I heard raised voices and I followed the sound to a small office tucked away at the rear of the kitchen.
    "I insist you stop this now," Bianca hissed.
    "And I am telling you, I will not," Circe replied. "It seems as though we are at an impasse."
    "If Mrs. Wilder finds out—" But whatever else Bianca was going to say stopped when she caught sight of me.
    "Daisy," she said. "What are you doing here?" Not exactly the warm welcome I'd hoped for.
    "The letter," I explained. I was sure I wasn't imagining it; a strange look passed between Circe and Bianca.
    "What letter?" Circe said sharply.
    "The contest," I clarified. "Cooking lessons."
    "Oh, yes, that," Circe said. She didn't sound exactly enthused. In fact, she sounded relieved.
    "I was dying to tell you that you had won the cooking lessons last time you were here," Bianca said.
    I glanced at Circe's desk, curious to see if she had already started working on the cookbook she'd mentioned. I would have loved to see a new recipe, but all I saw was one of those heavy-looking expensive pens. This one was black with silver initials, engraved B and M, along the widest part.
    Circe caught me looking at it. "Nice, isn't it?" she said. "I handwrite the menus every day. This is my favorite pen."
    "You handwrite the menus?" I said, imagining all the work that that must entail.
    "Just the specialty list," she said. "I think it adds an elegant touch."
    I surveyed the rest of her office, awed in spite of myself. There were photos hanging of her with the mayor of New York, the governor of California, and even Bono. I also saw a heavily embossed envelope with a red wax seal. It looked just like the one Wolfgang had. Why would Wolfgang and Circe get the same letter?
    "Now, about your cooking lessons..." Circe's voice interrupted my train of thought.
    Before we could start, however, a cold nose pressed into the back of my leg. A strange snuffling noise came from that general direction.
    I looked down. There was a pig in the kitchen. A large potbellied pig, with a cold snout and wiry hair sprouting on its head. It looked almost like it had a head of hair.
    "Bad baby," Circe cooed. "You scared our guest."
    The pig snorted. Big brown eyes looked up at me pleadingly.
    Circe's tone turned to ice. "How many times have I told you that you will behave in my kitchen? If you don't behave, I'm going to have to punish you."
    The words sent a shiver through the pig and then it turned and trotted off.
    "She seems to be well trained," I finally said.
    "He," Circe corrected me. "His name is Balthazar. Truffle-hunting pigs are usually female, but I have one of the few males."
    Circe stared after her pig for a long moment before she finally remembered I was still standing there.
    "Now then," she said. "Lets get started."
    We went over my experience and she seemed impressed that I'd been doing some of the cooking at Slim's. "Excellent," she said. "When would you like to start?"
    We worked out a schedule, and then she said, "You're sure your employer won't mind?"
    Without thinking, I replied, "Oh, no, it's been slow there."
    I didn't imagine Circe's look of satisfaction.
    Bianca frowned at her. I did, too. If Circe thought she'd get one more bit of information about Slim's from me, she was dead wrong.
    "I've got to go," I said. "But I'll be here on Saturday."
    The lessons were going to be twice a week, and I was wondering how I was going to be able to fit it into my already busy schedule.
    "I don't know how you do it," I said to Sam, once I'd rejoined her and the rest of the volunteers in the storage room.
    "What do you mean?" she asked.
    "I mean, you manage to do it all," I said. "Cheerleading, student council, working at the boutique, heading this committee..."
    She leaned in. "I'll tell you my secret," she said, pausing dramatically.
    "I'm listening."
    "There are really two of me," she said.
    "Not even funny," I said. And it wasn't.