Legs Benedict Read Online Free PDF Page B

Lake Winnebago so Mal here could fish.”
    â€œDidn’t catch much, either,” Mal said, more to himself than to Judith or his wife.
    â€œYou sure didn’t,” Bea responded with a trace of acrimony.
    Judith decided it was time, perhaps past time, to take her leave. “I’ll see you downstairs,” she said, nipping through the door.
    The Smiths were just coming out of their room. Judith gave them a cheery smile. “I’ll have the hors d’oeuvres out in five minutes,” she promised.
    â€œDon’t worry about us,” John said, the roving hazel eyes checking out the second-floor hallway, the stairs, and the partial view of the entry hall. “We’re going downtown for dinner. You got any recommendations?”
    Judith did, not only personal favorites, but a collection of reviews she’d clipped and copied from newspapers and magazines. “My husband and I prefer the Manhattan Grill in the financial district,” Judith informed the Smiths as they reached the first floor. “Since you’re from New York, you might enjoy one of the seafood establishments with a view. We like Andrew’s by the ferry dock or the Bayshore, which is at the foot of the bluff and overlooks the harbor.”
    â€œThey sound swell,” John responded, now eyeballing what he could see of the dining room and living room. None of the other guests were visible from that angle, but Judith could hear the piano. The children’s songs had somehow evolved into classic jazz.
    â€œDo you need directions?” Judith asked as the Smiths started out through the front door.
    â€œNaw,” John replied, a hand on Darlene’s shoulder. “We’ll manage.” The couple left.
    Judith rushed to the kitchen, retrieved the hors d’oeuvres from the refrigerator, and punched in numbers on the microwave. While the crab puffs and miniature lamb kabobs heated, she got out an oval platter for cheese and crackers. Five minutes later, she was balancing the serving dishes in both hands, and announcing that the food had arrived.
    So had Barney and Min Schwartz, who were engaged in conversation with Pam Perl by the bay window that overlooked the harbor. Sandi Williams was standing by the piano, while Roland du Turque continued to play a jazz medley.
    â€œThelonious Monk,” Judith said in a worshipful tone as she approached the piano at the far end of the long living room. “‘Round Midnight.’ ‘Criss Cross.’ And…” She cocked her ear, then smiled broadly. “‘Epistrophy.’”
    His hands still plying the keys, Roland smiled back. “You’re a buff.”
    Judith pointed to the built-in stereo system and storage space on the other side of the bay window. “I have several of Thelonious Monk’s recordings, mostly old LPs. I think I discovered him before the rest of the world did, back in the early fifties.” Judith laughed aloud. “I remember telling my Auntie Vance I wanted one of his records for my birthday. When I didn’t get it, Auntie Vance said that nobody at any of the music stores had records put out by the Loneliest Monk.”
    Roland chuckled, a deep, rich sound that somehow was in harmony with the notes he was playing. “They found out soon enough who that fine musician was.”
    Judith nodded in agreement, and was about to add more of her jazz memories when Mal and Bea Malone entered the living room. Reluctantly moving away from the piano, she approached the couple from Chicago.
    â€œI thought you were going out,” Judith said, wearing her innkeeper’s smile.
    â€œWe are,” Bea answered, reaching for the appetizers. “But we thought we’d grab some snacks first. We’re paying for ’em, aren’t we?”
    The Malones weren’t the first rude guests to stay at Hillside Manor, which, if she had to be candid, was why Judith preferred not joining in during the