A Beeline to Murder by Meera Lester Read Free Book Online

dropped into the chair that Abby had pushed out for her. “You know that surveillance video from the pastry shop?” Kat asked. “Didn’t have anything on it.”
    “You mean it didn’t show the murder or the killer’s face?”
    “No, I mean there was nothing on it. It’s like Chef Jean-Louis hooked the camera up to test it and never turned it on again.”
    “Really?” Abby shook her head in disbelief. “With the heated arguments going on in that kitchen, you’d think he would have wanted to capture them. You know, in case he ever needed to prove a point. But why even buy a camera if you are not going to use it?”
    “Who knows? Las Flores might be a stone’s throw from Silicon Valley, but it might surprise you to learn that not everyone is into technology,” Kat said. “Anyway, if you are in a state to end your life, you probably aren’t thinking about turning on a camera.”
    “So you think it was suicide?” Abby lifted a sandwich from the platter and placed it on her plate.
    “Not necessarily. You know we have to rule out the possibility it was murder.”
    Abby nodded, pinched off a portion of her chicken sandwich, and placed it in her mouth. Slowly chewing, she pondered what she really knew about the pastry chef. She soon realized it wasn’t much. “You think you know people,” she murmured.
    Kat nodded and sipped the broth on her soup spoon. Looking up, she said, “I don’t get it. Hanging yourself isn’t exactly easy. And if someone else took his life, wouldn’t it be even more difficult? I mean, he would fight back. Why not just shoot him?”
    Abby swallowed a mouthful of iced tea and wiped the bottom of the sweating glass with a napkin before setting it back on the tablecloth. “Well, hanging tells us two things. It’s so hands on, it’s personal, and it’s unlikely to have been done by a woman, unless she had a lot of strength. I could see a woman using a gun, a knife, or a blunt object—”
    “Let’s not forget poison,” said Kat.
    “Or poison. And statistics bear that out. So I’m betting that if Jean-Louis did not do this to himself, our killer is a guy.” Dabbing her lips with the napkin, Abby added, “Makes you wonder who has a motive for murder besides those loan sharks and the landlord.”
    “We’ve cleared the loan sharks. They were attending a convention in Sacramento.”
    “Really? Since when do loan sharks attend conventions?”
    “When they are investment counselors, too. They have hotel receipts and time-stamped tickets from the parking garage,” Kat said. “We’re taking a close look at his lovers, family members, disgruntled employees, the usual suspects,” she added after a moment.
    Abby finished eating her sandwich in silence, staring absentmindedly past Kat at a poster on the wall depicting various breads and pastries. She pictured in her mind Chef Jean-Louis standing in his pastry shop kitchen, dusting mini Bundt cakes with powdered sugar, and singing along with a CD of Maria Callas belting out Puccini’s “O mio babbino caro.” That image seemed so incongruous with the image of the chef with a rope around his neck.
    Kat’s voice intruded. “Apparently, he took that video camera out of the box and stuck it up there on the shelf, behind the ivy, but never used it.”
    “What about the decorative box that was up there, too? Find anything in that?”
    “Just personal items. Mainly recipes that looked like they’d been copied . . . some on napkins and paper towels. The paperwork for that award he won last year . . . You remember that televised bake-off in Las Vegas, don’t you?”
    Abby nodded. “Watched it on TV, like everyone else. Quite an honor for Jean-Louis and Las Flores . . . but he clearly had created a spectacular dessert, and that sugar embellishment was the crowning touch. That plaque hangs on the wall in his shop.”
    “You’d think with all the hoopla, and it being Las Vegas and all, the award could have been a little nicer, maybe a