Pouncing on Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

eBay, saying that it was used by the producer of Trock’s Troubles .”
    Scruffy was Kristen’s current love interest. He was indeed the producer of Trock’s Troubles , a long-running cooking television show hosted by Trock Farrand that was occasionally filmed in Chilson because Trock owned a house in town. Scruffy was also Trock’s son and the tidiest person I’d ever met. This was a man who ironed creases into his jeans. Who always carried a handkerchief. Who never had a hair out of place and always knew the right thing to say.
    Kristen adjusted the burner’s heat and glared at the pan. “No, but it could be arranged. He’s flying in next week.”
    “That will be nice.” I took a linen napkin off the topof a huge pile and tried to fold it into a pirate hat. “Have they scheduled you?”
    The Three Seasons had been short-listed to appear on the show last year and had eventually risen to the top. Kristen had tried to pull out, saying it wouldn’t look right to other area restaurateurs since she was dating the producer, but the avuncular Trock had blustered at her for being an idiot and had ignored her request.
    “Yes,” she said morosely.
    “Hey, that’s great!” I waved the napkin over my head the way I’d heard people did towels at sporting events. “Awesome, even. Why aren’t you more excited?”
    With a whisk, she poked at the contents of the pan. “Because it’s set for a July filming. And an October airing.”
    Her moroseness suddenly made sense. “Oh.” From the Fourth of July to mid-August, tourists and summer residents flooded the region in numbers so large that many locals didn’t venture downtown at all. Having a TV crew in the restaurant during peak season would make things worse in ways I couldn’t comprehend. And timing the show to be aired in October, right before the restaurant closed, was about as stupid as timing could get.
    “Scruffy can’t rearrange something?” I asked.
    Kristen shook her head, causing her long blond ponytail to flip back and forth. “Prior and future commitments, blah, blah, blah.”
    The television world was a mystery to me, and the more I learned about it, the more I was glad I’d become a librarian. “Well, I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
    Kristen made a hmmph ing noise, reached for a spoon,dipped it into the pan, and tasted whatever was in there. “God, that’s awful,” she said, squinching her facial features into something a five-year-old would have been proud of. “Want to try?”
    “After that advertisement, how could I not?” I accepted the spoonful she held out. “What is it?” I sniffed the whitish sauce. Dark flecks that I assumed were intentional floated around.
    “Bechamel.”
    “What’s that?”
    “White sauce.”
    I rolled my eyes and tasted. It was a glorious burst of rich buttery flavor, heightened by the flavors of whatever herbs she’d tossed in. “This is awful?”
    “You are the worst taster ever.” She turned off the burner and poured the sauce down a sink. “Couldn’t you tell that there were too many competing flavors?”
    “Tasted fine.”
    “Why do I even try to educate you?”
    I grinned. “Because while you enjoy pain, the recovery time from this is far shorter than if you banged your head against the wall.”
    “And involves exactly the same amount of reward.” She filled the pan with warm water and went to the refrigerator. “However, you are to be rewarded for being the person who can keep me sane even after I’ve failed at that stupid sauce ten times in a row.” She thumped two small white dishes on the counter. “Here. Eat.”
    “I get to eat both of them?” The thought made me start to salivate. Eating Kristen’s crème brûlée was the closest I might ever get to heaven.
    “Do you want to help me perfect the summer’s signature dish, which will be topped by the new Three Seasons bechamel sauce?”
    “Not really.”
    “Then you only get one.” She took out two spoons. “Eat and be