Killer in the Kitchen by Donald Bain Page A

kitchen. “Jake, where are you going?”
    â€œI’m outta here.”
    â€œOh, hi, Mrs. Fletcher,” Brad said, breathing hard in an attempt to calm down.
    â€œHello, Brad. I’m sorry if I’m disturbing anything, but Marcie thought it would be a good idea for me to stop by to see you.”
    â€œMrs. Fletcher has some good advice for us,” Marcie put in.
    I tried to remember the advice I was supposed to impart.
    â€œReally? The only advice I need is how to get rid of that shark Leboeuf. I’d like to tear his heart out.”
    â€œYou don’t know for certain that he’s behind Mr. Greene’s findings during the inspection,” Marcie said. “And why were you arguing with Jake again?”
    â€œHe’s in Leboeuf’s pocket. I’m sure of it! Who else? Mouse droppings? Either he or the inspector put them there. There are no mice in this kitchen, Marcie, and you know it.”
    â€œBrad, please calm down.”
    â€œCalm down? Leboeuf is opening his place in a couple of days. Do you know what’s he’s doing, Marcie? He sent Jed Richardson to Boston in his plane to bring a couple of celebrities to Cabot Cove for his opening.”
    â€œSo he has more connections than we have. So what? The celebrities aren’t going to stay around to keep eating at his restaurant.”
    â€œHe and his gang have been bad-mouthing our food all over town.”
    I tried to smooth things over. “The people in Cabot Cove are more likely to place their faith in someone they’ve known all his life than in newcomers to town,” I said. “You have to trust in people’s good judgment, Brad.”
    â€œThat’s only the start of it, Mrs. Fletcher. He’s scheduled full-page ads for almost a month in the
Gazette
. And look at this.” He handed Marcie a receipt from a vendor. “Joey, who delivers our bread, says that he can’t supply us anymore, because Leboeuf has put in a big order for his place here in Cabot Cove and for all his restaurants around the country.”
    â€œWhy would he buy his bread for his other restaurants from a baker here in Maine?” I asked.
    â€œTo cut off our supplies.”
    â€œCan he do that?” Marcie asked.
    â€œHe can keep us from getting it at a decent price,” Brad said, shaking his head sadly. “And what about Winston down at the dock?”
    My quizzical expression prompted Brad to say, “Tell her, Marcie.”
    â€œCaleb Winston called to tell us that he wouldn’t be able to provide us with fresh clams any longer.”
    â€œYou don’t have to ask why, Mrs. Fletcher. I’ll tell you. Because Leboeuf bought him out. He put in such a large standing order that Caleb said he can’t ignore it.”
    â€œHe was all apologetic, of course,” Marcie said. “Brad and he went to high school together. But Caleb said that Leboeuf’s order commits him to all the clams he can dig.”
    â€œThere’s no way that Leboeuf can use as many clams as he’s ordered,” Brad said, his voice rising. “He just wants to corner the market on them and keep us from another source.”
    â€œThere must be other clam diggers in Cabot Cove,” I said.
    â€œBut it’s like starting all over again,” Marcie said, “researching the quality of supplies and making deals with new vendors. We thought we already had those arrangements covered. That kind of planning takes time, and we’d already moved on to the next phase, until Leboeuf—”
    â€œSee?” Brad said. “It’s Leboeuf, always Leboeuf.” He slammed a spatula on the stainless steel countertop, causing the other three workers in the kitchen to jump and to look at one another.
    Marcie tried to calm him down by saying, “Brad, you have to get ahold of yourself. I’m worried you’re going to get sick. Mrs. Fletcher told me that these sorts of