Fatal Reservations Read Online Free PDF

remains one of the safest places to live in the United States.”
    A white-haired woman in the front row waved her hand frantically and the mayor allowed her question. “What about the body pulled from the water today near Palm Avenue? That does not make us feel the least bit safe.”
    Another man yelled out, “Is it true that the victim was Bart Frontgate?” The crowd buzzed.
    Torrence’s face reddened and he ran a finger around his collar, replicating the motion Lorenzo had made while on the hot seat. “I can assure you, ma’am,” he repeated, “that the police are very close to an arrest. I’m not able to say anything further due to the sensitive nature of the investigation.”
    *   *   *
    Miss Gloria, who tended to be an early bird rather than a night owl, was still up when I got home to our boat.
    “I found a couple of your double-chocolate brownies in the freezer,” she explained. “I’m so jazzed up from the caffeine, I may not sleep until Friday. Tell me about the meeting.”
    I had just begun to describe the antics of the varioustown folk when my phone rang. Lorenzo. I accepted the call.
    “Hayley, I need your help,” he whispered before even his customary polite greeting. “The police think I murdered Bart Frontgate.”

3
Julia Child, goddess of fat, is beaming somewhere. Butter is back.
— Mark Bittman, “Butter Is Back,”
The New York Times
    The next morning I forced myself to postpone reading the paper until after I’d walked the two miles prescribed by my daily exercise program. Then I skimmed my e-mail and scanned the newspaper headlines online while I waited for the second pot of coffee to percolate.
    Both the Key West Citizen and the Konk Life e-blasts were buzzing with reports of the city commission meeting the evening before. I was not the only one who had found the tension uncomfortable. The police chief had refused to comment on his own absence or on the attack on Lorenzo to the Citizen ’s most dogged ace reporter, but he assured her that he had full confidence in the lieutenants reporting to him, including Torrence. They were in the process of organizing a community meeting to discuss the state of the cemetery burglarinvestigation. And they were vigorously pursuing leads on the latest tragic death on the island. I got the feeling that under the headlines there lay a serious crisis of confidence in our law enforcement.
    A photo of the crime scene—the deceased covered in a blue tarp—took up most of the space below the fold in Miss Gloria’s paper copy of the Citizen . A quote from the mayor expressed sorrow at the loss of a member of the Key West family. At the bottom of the article a passage read:
The murdered man, Bartholomew Frontgate, was recently involved in the controversy over the lease renewal at Mallory Square for the Artistic Performance Preservation Society. He has been a staple at the nightly Sunset Celebration for almost fifteen years, performing his trademark juggling act with oversized kitchen utensils studded with flaming chunks of meat. Mr. Frontgate had recently drawn the ire of the SPCA when he announced his plan to add kittens to his act, which he planned to juggle along with the forks. Responding to pressure from the local police and a tirade of comments in the Citizens’ Voice, he backed away from the animal component, while assuring the public that he had no intention of setting the animals on fire.
    Miss Gloria came out of the bathroom, toweling her white curls dry. “You were up and at ’em early today. Are you off somewhere important?” she asked.
    “I’m having brunch with Eric and Lorenzo in a little bit,” I said, “for the lunch roundup. I invited Lorenzo to join us because he’s a total basket case.” I tapped the paper spread out on the counter.
    Miss Gloria had heard my end of the conversationlast night, so I wouldn’t be breaking any confidences by telling her what was happening—that Lorenzo believed he was a lead suspect in