Death on a Platter Read Online Free PDF Page A

her.
    “Maybe Emma knows,” Josie called after her.
    Amelia didn’t answer. Most of her friends texted one another. Calls to home phones were for major announcements, the way Josie’s mom saved her engraved stationery for special occasions.
    “Hey, if you’re going to change your name, you could let your mother know,” Josie added.
    No answer.
    Josie scrubbed furiously at the kitchen countertop, as if she could wash away her feelings. She was hurt that her daughter had rejected the name Josie had given her. Amelia’s late father had been a dashing helicopter pilot. Josie was sure her daughter would only inherit his best qualities. She’d named her for Amelia Earhart, the woman explorer. Now her child didn’t like that name.
    No point in brooding, Josie decided, rinsing out the dishcloth and hanging it up to dry. She had to write a mystery-shopping report. Tillie’s Off the Hill deserved a rave, even if her mother was friends with the owner.
    Josie went to her office. That’s what she called the corner of her bedroom that had a computer and a fax machine. Josie gave the restaurant high marks for cleanliness, prompt service, and quality food. The sauce was tangy and the toasted ravioli freshly made.
    Atmosphere? “Casually comfortable,” Josie wrote in the “remarks” section. These travelers wanted to see the real St. Louis. They might enjoy relaxing in a booth polished by generations of diners instead of sitting in a stiff restaurant with white tablecloths and six forks.
    “Recommended for visitors who enjoy local color and the unexpected,” she added.
    She hoped Tillie could keep the too-colorful Clay out of her restaurant. She wanted to alert the tour company to a possible problem. Josie took mystery-shopping seriously. She didn’t lie or exaggerate. Those tourists had a right to an enjoyable meal without listening to an angry drunk. On the other hand, Clay might stay away after he spent a little time in the local lockup.
    Josie was finishing the report’s last section when her mother called. “Josie, did you give my friend’s restaurant a good rating?” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.
    “I gave the ravioli and the service the highest possible marks.” Josie didn’t mention her reservations about customers like Clay.
    “Good,” Jane said. “Is anything wrong? You sound a little off.”
    “Amelia wants me to call her Mel,” Josie said.
    Jane snickered.
    “What’s so funny?” Josie asked.
    “I love it when chickens come home to roost,” Jane said. “You’ve forgotten how many times you changed your name when you were her age. Remember when you wanted to be called Josephine?”
    “I did?” Josie asked.
    “And you were quite the little empress. I even made you an empire-waist gown for Halloween.”
    Josie had a vague memory of a long high-waisted yellow dress with puffed sleeves and a crown with plastic jewels.
    “Your Highness left the throne when you couldn’t learn French.”
    “I never was good at languages,” Josie said.
    The yellow empire dress was the good part of that memory. She hoped her mother wouldn’t recall Josie draping herself languidly on the living room couch like the real Josephine. She’d asked her mother to serve her dinner. Jane had had a few choice words about that stunt.
    “After Josephine, you tried on Jo for size,” her mother said. “That was your Little Women phase.”
    “I liked Louisa May Alcott,” Josie said. “Jo was the smart sister. Amy was pretty, but a simp.”
    Jane continued relentlessly. “That phase lasted a couple of months. Next you were Joey.”
    “I wanted to be called Joey?”
    “You said Josie was too girly.” Jane was enjoying this way too much.
    Josie thought she heard a chicken clucking. Yep, the bird was definitely roosting in her home. She felt embarrassed for her eleven-year-old self.
    “Then it was Jay-Jay.” Jane was really piling on the guilt.
    Josie remembered practicing two versions of that name on a lined