Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser by Kathleen Delaney Page B

go back. Frank has chosen two others of yours. Could you get someone to deliver them?” The “Frank” was emphasized a little, and the look he directed at him was not one of fondness. Why, I wondered. Frank seemed like fun. Opinionated, vain, but fun. He couldn’t be worse to work with than Otto. Could he? I hoped not. Poor Larry. Working with chefs, at least these two, seemed to leave him a nervous wreck.
    Sabrina glared at Frank but softened it for Larry. “I’ll do it. The tasting room is closed, but the storage area’s open. I can still get to the case goods. I can’t do anything else, so I might as well. This afternoon? Get me a list of what you want and how much.”
    “I’ll call you as soon as we get back.” Larry took another deep breath, and transferred his worried attention to me. That proprietary smile was back, the one that said we’d known each other before, and it was time to take up where we’d left off.
    “Ellen, why don’t you come with Sabrina? I could show you what we’re doing.” He smiled that smile again. This was the first time I’d seen him without his chef’s hat, and I examined him more closely. His blond hair was a little thin on top; he was a little thin everywhere. A nice tan on his naturally pale face, light blue eyes framed by surprisingly dark lashes, a great improvement on the skinny, sunburned, awkward boy I barely remembered. He must remember me as a scared, flat-chested, awkward girl who had just graduated from braces to a retainer. So why did he keep looking at me like, like, he made me nervous. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but I didn’t want to go with Sabrina. He’d called me several times, left messages that seemed to say we were old friends, maybe more. We weren’t. We’d shared a geometry class for several weeks, one movie, and a postcard, all when we were fifteen. That was it, and there wasn’t going to be any more now. I needed to say something to make that clear. I didn’t get the chance.
    “What a nice idea,” piped up Aunt Mary. I could have kicked her. “Ellen can keep Sabrina company and see that beautiful old house at the same time. I’ve always loved that house.”
    “It’s settled then,” Frank boomed. “We’ll see you girls later, and, Mary, don’t forget about tonight.”
    With that little comment, Frank pushed Larry out the door, beamed at the cameras that still remained on my sidewalk, and headed for his car. Sabrina and I stood in the hallway, facing Aunt Mary.
    “Tonight?” I asked. “What about tonight?”
    “Watch out for him,” Sabrina warned. “He’s a, a, snake in wolf’s clothing.”
    “You are mixing your metaphors,” Aunt Mary said serenely. “We’re having dinner. That’s all.”
    “Where?” I asked.
    “Why, my house, where else?”
    “Your house,” Sabrina repeated. “And what time does Mr. Frank Tortelli plan on leaving?”
    “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Aunt Mary blushed.

Chapter Nine
     
    In its day, the old Adams mansion had been beautiful. It sat high above the street, sweeping lawns like green velvet skirts spread round it. A brick pathway gradually climbed toward the pillared front porch that ran the length of the house. The front door still held its original glass, as did the French doors that opened from rooms on either side of it, but the doors, and the shutters that flanked them, needed paint. White wicker rockers and low tables were scattered along the porch, waiting for cushions. Empty ceramic flowerpots sat beside them. Tree trimmers had cleaned out the dead branches from the ancient oak that guarded one side of the house, but a pile of leaves and twigs remained.
    “If they’re going to be ready for guests by their grand opening dinner, they’d better hustle,” Sabrina said, juggling a full wine carton while she reached toward the crank doorbell.
    “Uhmhp,” was all I managed. I had a wine carton also, and it was heavy.
    The door flew open, revealing