Berried to the Hilt by Karen MacInerney

getting some bookings out of this fiasco.”
    “You’re a good woman, Natalie Barnes.”
    “And you’re a good man,” I said. He opened his arms, and for a moment, I let all of my worries fade away, allowing myself to be enveloped by the scent and feel of him. Then I remembered the potatoes.
    “Can’t Gwen handle it?” John said when I told him why I had to go.
    “Not if I don’t want to serve charcoal,” I said. “She’s great at cleaning rooms and serving, but she’s not what I’d call an intuitive cook. Unless I have every step outlined for her, she’s a mess,” I said.
    “Go save your potatoes, then,” he said with a last kiss.
    “There’s plenty, if you’re hungry.”
    “I’ll be up in a bit.” As I left, he picked up the phone; evidently he wasn’t done doing battle for Eli yet.
    Neither was I.
    _____
    Dinner was a surprisingly civil event, although the presence of the two investigators doubtless contributed to the ceasefire between the two camps. The folks from the university were at one end of the dining room, conferring quietly, and the Iliad employees camped out at the farthest table from them. Audrey still looked stricken, but Frank seemed distracted. How had his partner’s death affected the firm? I wondered. Was he now first in command?
    Between them sat the two investigators, who were set to head back to the mainland that evening, and Cherry Price, who was picking apart her cod cakes with interest. “These are delicious—I love the lemon, and the crisp crust is just right. Did you use shallots in these?”
    “No shallots,” I said, “but I substituted fresh chives for the dill.”
    “The lemon sauce is wonderful, too.”
    “Thank you,” I said, smiling. “You sound like you know your cooking.”
    “It’s my job,” she said.
    “You’re a chef?”
    “A food writer,” she said.
    I swallowed hard. “Now I know your name—you write for the New York Times !”
    She laughed. “You’ve discovered my secret.”
    “Are you here to do an article on the inn?” I asked with trepidation. With the number of policemen traipsing in and out, it hadn’t been a very relaxing day. “I had nothing to do with the pickled cranberries, by the way—or the gumdrops,” I said, pointing at the table with the islanders’ cranberry creations. “I’m supposed to judge a bake-off this weekend, and they’ve been plying me with their wares all week.”
    “Don’t worry,” she said, “I read the sign. But the streusel cake is quite good.”
    I’d pass that on to Emmeline; she’d be thrilled.
    “In answer to your question, I am thinking of including the inn in a round-up article of Maine hotspots,” she said. “So far, I’m very impressed—everything is top-notch. And it certainly has been exciting!”
    “I’m glad you think so—it’s been an unusual day.”
    “I noticed—something about a shipwreck, and somebody dying?”
    Glancing over my shoulder at the investigators, who didn’t seem to be paying attention anyway, I gave her a synopsis of events, glossing over the fact that the victim had been staying at the inn at the time of his demise.
    “Wow. I’ve heard of bed-and-breakfast murder mysteries, but never attended the real thing,” she said. “So we could have a murderer among us?”
    “They’ve already arrested someone,” I said, feeling disloyal to Eli for saying it. “But the investigation is ongoing.”
    “Well. This will make an interesting article!” Something in my face made her add, “Don’t worry—I won’t link the death with the inn. Although you’d be amazed—ghosts and grisly deaths do appeal to some folks.”
    “Well, we have a ghost too,” I said, thinking of the spectral cook who had once appeared in my kitchen.
    “Really?”
    “I’ve got to finish up with dinner, but if you’d like, I can tell you about her after dessert.”
    “That sounds wonderful,” she said. “What are we having for dessert, anyway?”
    Dessert! I realized that