Killer in the Kitchen by Donald Bain Page B

problems are only natural when opening a new restaurant.” She looked at me imploringly. “Isn’t that right?”
    Brad sighed. “What do you know about opening a restaurant?”
    â€œNothing, I’m afraid,” I said, taken aback by his question. “I’m only trying to give you my support. I’m sorry that you had a problem with the inspector, but I’m sure it will work out all right.” I made a show of looking at my watch. “I wish I could offer you something more concrete, but right now I have to leave.”
    â€œThanks for trying to help, Mrs. Fletcher,” Marcie said as we walked from the kitchen into the dining room. “Can I offer you some dessert? On the house. We have a new strawberry pie on the menu today.”
    â€œAnother time,” I said.
    Across the way, at Leboeuf’s restaurant, trucks were delivering produce, meat, and fish for the opening-night festivities. The thought of attending his opening wasn’t especially appealing at that moment. While Gérard Leboeuf had every right to live in Cabot Cove and to open his French bistro, he was spreading rancor and bad feelings throughout the town I loved. I wished that he’d found another idyllic seaside spot in which to build a summer home and expand his restaurant empire.
    Brad Fowler was justified in being upset. Leboeuf was up to his old tricks, putting pressure on his competitor by closing off his suppliers—pressure that the smaller business was not prepared to counter. There was nothing I could do to help. It wastrue that I didn’t know anything about opening a restaurant. My fear was that Brad and Marcie didn’t either. But they were learning, and learning fast, that all was not fair in love and war—and the restaurant business.

Chapter Ten
    D espite my misgivings about attending the launch of Leboeuf’s restaurant, it was only natural to be swept up in the anticipation of the opening. Although Seth was loath to exhibit his excitement—well, maybe “excitement” is too strong a word where Seth is concerned—he’d dressed for the occasion, just as I had. After he admired my outfit, we drove to the town dock, where uniformed valets parked his car.
    The weather had cooperated, and it was a beautiful night. When we arrived, there was a vivid red carpet at the entranceway, and two video crews trained their cameras on arriving guests. It felt as though we were attending the Oscars. I spotted Evelyn Phillips, who was gussied up for the occasion after an afternoon at Loretta’s Beauty Shop, where I’d also had my hair done. She was interviewing one of the celebrities who’d been flown from Boston for the occasion, a tall, striking redhead who regularly appeared on a TV reality show—which I’d never seen and didn’t intend to, but knew about from Evelyn’s write-up in the
Gazette
. The other celebrity attending tonight was a news anchor from a Boston television station, a familiar handsome man with a deep voice who delivered the day’s grim news each night.
    I knew that Seth was eager to try the food at Leboeuf’s“authentic” French bistro. He loved steak frites and onion soup and was a real fan of crème brûlée, especially the vanilla variety, which he’d pointed out was on the menu and had been featured in an ad that Leboeuf had placed in the
Gazette
.
    Across the street, the parking lot of the Fin & Claw was half-empty. That wasn’t necessarily a bad sign for Brad and Marcie Fowler. It’s hard to compete with a grand opening of any sort, and particularly one in which the dinner was being given away free. But it was only one night; their competitor would be charging for his dishes the next day.
    The bistro was crowded with familiar faces from town and many that I didn’t recognize. I glanced across the lobby and saw another cadre of friends. Spirits were high. The sound of a string