Chef Maurice and the Bunny-Boiler Bake Off (Chef Maurice Cotswold Mysteries Book 3) by J.A. Lang Read Free Book Online Page A

correct?”
    The Spring Fayre Committee ladies all nodded.
    “I last saw her in her dressing tent, right afterwards,” said Angie. “I popped my head in to see if she wanted anything to eat, but she said she wasn’t hungry.”
    “Can you recall what type of shoes Miranda was wearing when you saw her?”
    Angie looked puzzled. “I don’t remember. The same ones she was wearing earlier, I would have thought. Pink high heels.”
    “And did Miranda mention anything about going for a walk? Or meeting someone during lunchtime?”
    “She didn’t say anything to me.” Angie paused. “I mean, now that I think about it, she was a bit, well, distracted. And she was a bit short, like maybe she wanted to be left alone. But she gets like that sometimes, especially after a big event. It’s never anything personal,” she added generously.
    “What about you, Mr Gifford?” asked PC Lucy. “When did you last see Miranda Matthews?”
    “Eh? Can’t say I paid her much attention, cooking’s not really my thing, you know. Saw her signing some autographs earlier in the morning. Long before lunchtime, though. Can’t help you there, I’m afraid.”
    “Arthur? Maurice?” said PC Lucy, looking over at her two spectators, who had settled themselves into folding chairs not far away.
    Arthur shook his head. “I stayed for her demo, but didn’t see her after that.”
    “I left before, when Mademoiselle Miranda started her cake covered in the Smarties. C’est un sacrilège , to claim that such a cake is a—”
    “Yes, yes, thank you both for your input,” said PC Lucy quickly. She looked down at her notes. “So Miranda was last seen by Mrs Gifford, who spoke to her in her tent after the demo. We’ll put out a call for information, see if anyone saw her leaving her tent, or passed her walking down to the creek.”
    “You’ll be keeping my wife’s name out of this, I assume?” said Mayor Gifford, with a cross look at Angie.
    “We will. But I have to warn you, I’d be surprised if the local press don’t try contacting Mrs Gifford and Mrs Walters in the meantime. They were all in the Bake Off tent when . . . the incident was reported. Of course, there’s no obligation on your part to speak to them,” she added, looking towards Angie and Tricia.
    “I should bloody well think not!” snapped Mayor Gifford, while Angie nodded meekly.
    Questioning over, Miss Caruthers left to drive Tricia home, while the mayor led PC Lucy over to a corner of the tent for an angry discourse on the abuse of police power and the so-called freedoms of the press, which PC Lucy listened to with an expression of blank official politeness.
    Angie collected up the finished tea mugs and brought them over to the sink area.
    “You can put them down there,” said Arthur, pointing one pink-rubber-gloved elbow at the counter nearby. “Apparently”—he shot a look at Chef Maurice—“I’m the designated pot wash for the day.”
    “As the English say, if the glove fits . . .” Chef Maurice sipped happily at his own mug, held in one XL-sized fist.
    Angie twisted the end of her chiffon scarf around her fingers and threw a nervous look back at her husband, who was still busy berating the stone-faced PC Lucy.
    “I was wondering, Mr Maurice . . .”
    “ Oui , madame ?”
    “Well, I remember hearing about—”
    She got no further, though, as the sound of her own name was bellowed across the room. “I— Never mind, I better go. Rory’s calling for me. Thank you for the tea.”
    She hurried off.
    “I wonder what that was all about,” said Arthur.
    “Do not worry, mon ami . I am sure that we will discover more as we make an inspection of the matter.”
    “The matter? What matter?”
    Chef Maurice threw his hands in the air. “There has been the murder of a chef, and you ask me what matter? This is a most serious happening!”
    “So Miranda Matthews is now a chef?”
    “Bah, the public, they do not make a difference between