Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser by Kathleen Delaney

it.”
    “Why is she staying at Otto’s place?” I asked. “There sure didn’t seem to be any love lost between them.”
    “Don’t know, don’t care,” Sabrina said. “She’d just better give us a glowing review, that’s all.”
    “How’s she going to do that when she never touched the food?” I asked.
    “Judging from her performance last night, she’d better be pretty imaginative.” Aunt Mary pushed her chair back, stepped over the dog, who was once again stretched out in the middle of the kitchen, and headed for the sink. “Let’s get this kitchen cleaned up.”
    “I’ll do it. You got breakfast.” I started loading the dishwasher.
    “Do you put your pans in that thing?” Aunt Mary asked.
    “Absolutely. I’ve made a new rule. If something doesn’t go in the dishwasher or the washing machine, it doesn’t get to live in my house.” I added soap and closed the door.
    “I’m going to have to get one of those,” she said.
    Sabrina watched us without moving. Usually she was the one cleaning up, moving nervously around the kitchen, doing something, anything, incapable of relaxing. That had almost driven me crazy, but it was better than this inert Sabrina, immobile under a cloud of depression. She seemed to do better when she was talking, so—“Why did Frank get all frozen when Jolene appeared?” I asked.
    “I have no idea,” Sabrina replied.
    “So, Jolene came here to do an article on last night’s dinner and on the grand opening of Otto’s bed and breakfast and single seating restaurant, and she was staying with him? But they seemed to hate each other. What was that all about?” asked Aunt Mary. “And what does single seating mean, anyway?”
    She sat down across from Sabrina. Paris, who had wanted to help us rinse off the plates with his tongue, resumed his place in the middle of the kitchen floor. It was my turn to step over him.
    “There is one set menu each night and only one seating. The diners are often the people staying at the bed and breakfast, but if there are openings, sometimes others can get a reservation. Dinners usually are served only three or four nights a week and, in most places, are special.”
    “My,” said Aunt Mary. “Sounds wonderful. And expensive.”
    Sabrina nodded, but she didn’t seem to be thinking about Otto’s dinners. “I didn’t know Jolene was staying there. I wonder how she managed that.” She pulled her own bathrobe closed over her shoulders as if she were cold. “I only heard him mention her once. He seemed livid with her. But since Otto was livid most of the time and making threats was what he did best next to cooking, no one paid much attention.”
    “I wonder if Jolene did,” I said.
    “You can’t possibly think Jolene killed Otto,” protested Aunt Mary.
    “Why not? Someone did, and I would a whole lot rather have the police arrest her than Sabrina. How would I explain that to Catherine?”
    Sabrina actually laughed. “I’d love to hear that phone call. And I’d hate to be the Police Chief that has to face the wrath.”
    I had a mental picture of Dan facing down my older sister, when I realized that all that noise wasn’t Catherine yelling. It was raised voices outside my front door. Paris jumped up from the middle of the floor, banged into the table, and charged into the hallway, adding his voice to the din.
    “What on earth?” asked Aunt Mary.
    “My petunias!” I exclaimed and ran after Paris.
    Frank was giving a press conference on my front steps. Larry Whittaker was standing beside him, but Frank was doing all the talking.
    “What’s going on?” asked Aunt Mary. She was too short to look out the glass in the door and was trying to pull aside the lace curtains on the long entryway windows.
    “Your precious Frank is holding the press enthralled,” Sabrina said. “It looks like he’s coming in here. I think I’ll go take a shower.”
    “What about the dog?” asked Aunt Mary. I could hardly hear her above Paris’