The Corpse With the Golden Nose Read Online Free PDF Page A

textbooks, and reports I have to read and grade—I like to use the ‘strata method’ of filing, where the oldest things are at the bottom of the pile. It doesn’t matter so much for me, because I can recall when I put something onto a pile, so I can usually find it right away. But Ellen? I suspect her sock drawer has those little divider things in it, and she probably fills her kitchen cupboards with items in height order. You know the type. Right?”
    â€œYou mean she’s very tidy?” asked Bud.
    â€œMore than tidy,” I replied thoughtfully. “Highly ordered, I’d say. Who knows, maybe she’s bordering on OCD , or maybe not. The process she’s undertaken here is, after all, one that requires order. Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt, eh?”
    Bud nodded, which I took as a sign to continue.
    â€œMoving on, let’s consider the cast of characters she’s detailed. Well, they’re an international bunch, with a variety of origins and some interesting stories behind them. I think the best way to help you understand is to explain the context in which we’re going to meet them first.”
    Bud bobbed his head again. He was beginning to look like one of those nodding dogs!
    â€œSo . . . the Moveable Feast takes place every Easter and is attended only by those who are hosting meals and their invited guests—of which they are allowed two, maximum. Which is where we come in. Each host is responsible for providing food and drink, as appropriate to the meal they’re hosting, for all the guests. Everything is up to the host to arrange and supply. There are no budget limits. No sponsors are allowed but otherwise, there are no rules. There is a timetable. This evening we’ll attend a ‘cocktails and canapés’ reception, which differs from most of the rest of the weekend in that every host will have contributed something to tonight’s soiree, and it’ll take place at a venue they’ve hired. No one person is responsible for tonight.”
    â€œTomorrow and Sunday we have a breakfast, lunch, and dinner each day, and there’s a final breakfast, again un-hosted but contributed to by everyone, on Monday morning. After that, if we can still move at all, we’re free to leave.”
    â€œOh good grief,” said Bud, looking a bit taken aback. “I don’t even eat three times a day, let alone three special, probably very rich, heavy meals. At least I packed the Gaviscon,” he added, smiling.
    â€œI packed Tums,” I chuckled, reflecting happily on how, for all our differences, we’re really very similar in some respects.
    â€œOther than lining our arteries and broadening our beams this weekend, it seems that the other thing we’ll be doing is mixing with some pretty well-heeled folks.” As I spoke, I began to worry that my wardrobe wouldn’t stand up to the scrutiny of the people with whom we’d be mixing.
    â€œGo on then, I can take it,” urged Bud. “Tell me all about them. But bear in mind I’m going to need the potted version.”
    â€œFirst, then, let’s talk about where we’re staying. The Anen House Bed & Breakfast is the old Newman homestead. The late Annette lived there after the death of the Newman parents, but, since her death, Ellen has set it up as a B&B with two double rooms and a restaurant that, obviously, supplies breakfasts, but not just for residents. Apparently it’s the place to go for breakfast in the whole area. You even have to book! The chef there, Pat Corrigan, makes award-winning sausages. It seems that while Annette Newman might have had a lock on all the gold medals when it came to wines, your Ellen has found herself a chef with the same sort of stranglehold on the world sausage-making circuit. I didn’t even know there was such a thing. I must say, though, that I like the sound of it. I suppose that’s why