Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 05 - Mother Hubbard Has a Corpse in the Cupboard Read Online Free PDF

the dishes onto our plates and engaged me in polite conversation.
    “Are you from here?” he asked.
    “Born less than twenty miles from where we sit. I grew up here but went to school in Columbia.”
    “Colombia? Why so far away?”
    That led to a discussion of my education in Columbia, South Carolina, only three hours’ drive from St. Mary. Before I knew it, I was telling him about my divorce and changing professions from teaching kindergarten to working in a mortuary. “I was tired of dealing with five-year-olds who wouldn’t take their naps or be quiet. Now I work on people who lie still, never make noise, and don’t have to tee tee every minute.” Oops! I realized his culture was different from mine and he might not approve of a female talking about “tee tee” to a man she’d just met.
    He laughed. “I grew tired of running a restaurant where all the customers thought everything should be curry. A lot of Indian food does have curry seasoning, but we eat many dishes that do not. I also had a bit of wanderlust, wanted to travel. The circus always fascinated me, but it was easier to get into food services at carnivals and fairs, so here I am.”
    “Where are you from?” I’d wanted to ask that question earlier, but I’d hesitated for some silly reason.  
    “Born in Nepal, but I was brought here as an infant. I grew up in Florida, which is where I live during the off season. I still have an Indian restaurant there, specializing in the food my mother learned to cook before coming to America. Nepal is not part of India, but much of the diet is the same. My brother takes care of it when I’m on the circuit. ”
    The server cleared our places and brought in the entrees. Once more, Patel allowed me to choose for myself instead of ordering for me. I liked that. A different waiter came in with a wheeled cart full of different kinds of breads. Patel asked which I would prefer, but I left that up to him. He selected crusty rolls baked with rosemary in them.  
    Several times he told me I could call him J. T. or Jetendre, but he was set in my mind as Patel. He assured me that would be all right, too. It was nice to be treated so well, to be eating such first-class food in such an elaborate setting. I could almost forget how horrible the day had been.
    Then he said, “I noticed you when you and your friends came into Mother Hubbard’s. The red-haired one and the tall one are both attractive, but you stood out.”
    Uh-oh! I hadn’t known he was there. I’d understood the bushy-haired guy to say he’d called for Patel after I reported the body. Was Patel in that canvas cupboard, perhaps shooting a man?  
    “You were there when we sat down?” I questioned.
    “I was in the kitchen area, but I could see the three of you. I don’t miss three good-looking women when they come in. I had to go to another one of the tents on business or I would have simply stayed there and enjoyed the pleasure of watching you.”
    “You didn’t know the man who was killed?”
    “No, and that’s strange. He was wearing a Middleton’s Midway jacket, but I’d never seen him. I have several different food stands, so I circulate all over the fairgrounds, but when the authorities turned him over, they had me look at him to see if I could ID him. I didn’t recognize him. Of course, he could be a roustabout that I’d never noticed, but I try to be aware of the people around me.”
    My expression must have indicated that “roustabout” was not a familiar term to me.  
    “Do you know what I mean?” Patel asked, and I shook my head no.
    “A roustabout is a person who assembles the rides and games when the fair arrives and
    takes everything down when we leave. I explained that to your sheriff when he asked if I knew the victim. That’s when I spoke with him to ask who you were, but instead of him answering, the older man with the funeral home told me about you.”
    “That would have been one of my bosses. What did he say about