A Beeline to Murder by Meera Lester Read Free Book Online Page A

crystal bowl or an eggbeater with a jewel-studded handle or something like that,” said Kat. “But for all his creative genius, fabulous recipes, and hard work, they gave him an ugly little plaque with his name and the title ‘Best Pastry Chef.’ ”
    “It’s the honor, not the plaque,” said Abby.
    “I know, but, Abby, in that box I got a look at some of his amazing handwritten recipes. Well, technically, the handwriting appears to be his, but we are taking a closer look.”
    Abby sipped a spoonful of broth before posing another question. “Anything else in that box?”
    “Family pictures and a letter of agreement between the chef and a guy named Etienne. The contract had a secrecy clause that forbade Etienne from revealing or exploiting the recipes the chef created, and threatened legal action if he did.”
    “No kidding. So only Etienne? Were there similar contracts with others?” asked Abby.
    “Nope.”
    “So why had the chef singled out Etienne?”
    “Apparently, Chef Jean-Louis was mentoring him,” explained Kat. “That is, until he fired him two weeks ago. According to Otto, who questioned him, Etienne went from liking his boss to thinking he was a master manipulator who exploited people and circumstances to get what he wanted in life.”
    “Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say. Let me guess. Etienne has felt the brunt of the chef’s hot temper?”
    “Pretty much. Etienne said he quit, but Talullah says Etienne was fired.”
    “Could be a motive.”
    “Yes, but Etienne has an alibi.”
    A frown creased Abby’s forehead. “Okay, let’s back up. The chef was working. His kitchen light was on. No signs of forced entry. Someone walked in.”
    Kat rubbed her temple. “Whoever went into the kitchen area must have entered through the back door, somehow subdued the chef, and killed him.”
    Abby voiced her thoughts. “I found him on the floor without his apron and with twine on the pantry door. The ovens were on, and cakes were burning. It was daylight, for goodness’ sake, and the back door stood ajar, yet no one, apparently, knew he was lying there in his kitchen, dead.” She inhaled deeply. What she needed was more oxygen to her own brain. She was beginning to feel incapable of clear and logical thinking. “Okay, that means we have to put together a timeline, find someone who saw the chef come to work, locate folks who might recall seeing the chef during the last twenty-four hours.”
    Kat nodded. “And we’ve already started working on that.” She polished off the last of her soup. Wiping her mouth with the edge of her napkin, she said, “There was an opportunity for a robbery. The killer could have grabbed the money out of the cash register but didn’t. We did a walk-through with Tallulah, who makes the bank deposits on Wednesdays and Fridays, and she said that although they didn’t keep much money in the cash drawer, it didn’t appear as though any had been taken.”
    Abby bit into another chicken salad sandwich square. “So if robbery wasn’t the motive, was it a crime of opportunity? One in which the killer used as a murder weapon anything close at hand, maybe the strings of the apron? But then why take the apron? Doesn’t make a lot of sense, unless that is really what happened and the killer was concerned about his or her epithelials still on the apron ties.”
    Kat ran a finger through the film of moisture that had formed at the top of her tea glass.
    Straightening in her chair, Abby closed her eyes for a moment to collect her thoughts. Then, looking straight at Kat, she said, “Okay, so what if the killer wanted something else . . . something they could steal and sell for drugs or whatever? Maybe it was a burglary.”
    Kat looked at her. “What if the scene was just made to look like a burglary, but the motive was personal vengeance?”
    “That works, too,” said Abby. “Although,” she added, “when murder is payback, it’s usually for something really