Murder On The Menu: A Romantic Comedy Culinary Cozy Mystery (A Celebrity Mystery) by Zanna Mackenzie Page A
Authors: Zanna Mackenzie
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been together what seems like ages but, in reality, is probably just over eighteen months. They’re well suited. He works at the same bank and is a decent guy who adores Stella. Much as I’m looking forward to seeing them again, I know that there’s a good chance we’ll end up reminiscing about the past and why I left London and that’s something I’m definitely not looking forward to.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A decent night’s sleep is difficult to get when the weather continues to bombard the old farmhouse for hours on end. As the wind swirls and batters Eskdale, pulling at the slate roof tiles and rustling through the barns, I try to forget every scary film I’ve ever seen and instead force my mind to think happy thoughts. Eventually I fall asleep downstairs on the sofa, a soft fleecy throw wrapped around me for warmth and comfort.
The stormy weather has moved on by morning and now bright sunshine is illuminating the beautiful landscape that surrounds the farm. This is more like it. With the sun shining things don’t seem quite so bad. I wonder if those guys who turned up at the Veggies last night have discovered Jack’s false ID yet. If so, they’re probably on the lookout for us. Great. Something else to worry about. Today is the day of the meeting at the village hall about the store campaign. Preparing for that should hopefully help distract me a little.
At breakfast I draw up a list of things I want to get done, inside and out, ready for Stella’s visit at the weekend. After washing up a plate (for the toast I’d nibbled at and then threw away) I set to on the cleaning. I know I have a heap of jobs to get done out on the farm but, despite the lovely weather, this morning I feel like some therapeutic cleaning.
The dirt and dust in the previously unused spare room is getting up my nose, making me sneeze and scratching at my throat, so for some relief I make myself a mug of coffee and head out into the garden to enjoy the sunshine – well, this is Cumbria after all, you have to make the most of it when the sun does put in an appearance. Pushing back some of the foliage, which is still steadily engulfing the garden seat, I sit down and sip my drink as I take in the view spread before me. There’s no escaping the fact that when the sun shines on this little corner of Cumbria it is truly stunning. In the field across the way, I spot a red quadbike zipping around. It must be Frazer or Jack. I squint in the bright sunlight. Yes, definitely Frazer, and now I can see Frazer’s dog Cinnamon sitting on the back of the bike, its ears flapping in the breeze. I wave, but he doesn’t see me and a feeling of loneliness engulfs me. Time to get busy and occupy my mind.
Today should have been my day off from the Veggies anyway so nobody has been in touch about whether the place is open for business again or not. I wonder if I should ring them, see if anyone answers, so I know whether or not to turn up for work tomorrow. In the meantime, there’s not much food in the house, so I finish my cleaning, grab the revamped campaign materials and take them, along with my hastily scribbled shopping list, down to the village store.
Amswick consists of one lane which is home to the store, two pubs, the village hall and clusters of houses of various descriptions, from stone terraces to whitewashed grander detached abodes, each one sporting a locally-quarried slate roof. There’s a scattering of hanging baskets on some of the lampposts, the current colour scheme reflecting the autumnal yellows and golds of the trees dotted about the village. The Cumbrian fells tower over the whole scene, there sheer sides more grey and rocky here than the ones back at Eskdale. The Veggies is on the other side of the village. Well, technically, it’s just outside the village boundary, but as there’s nothing else outside the village for a good way, everyone just says the restaurant is in Amswick. It’s easier. Usually there’s a distinct sense of
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A decent night’s sleep is difficult to get when the weather continues to bombard the old farmhouse for hours on end. As the wind swirls and batters Eskdale, pulling at the slate roof tiles and rustling through the barns, I try to forget every scary film I’ve ever seen and instead force my mind to think happy thoughts. Eventually I fall asleep downstairs on the sofa, a soft fleecy throw wrapped around me for warmth and comfort.
The stormy weather has moved on by morning and now bright sunshine is illuminating the beautiful landscape that surrounds the farm. This is more like it. With the sun shining things don’t seem quite so bad. I wonder if those guys who turned up at the Veggies last night have discovered Jack’s false ID yet. If so, they’re probably on the lookout for us. Great. Something else to worry about. Today is the day of the meeting at the village hall about the store campaign. Preparing for that should hopefully help distract me a little.
At breakfast I draw up a list of things I want to get done, inside and out, ready for Stella’s visit at the weekend. After washing up a plate (for the toast I’d nibbled at and then threw away) I set to on the cleaning. I know I have a heap of jobs to get done out on the farm but, despite the lovely weather, this morning I feel like some therapeutic cleaning.
The dirt and dust in the previously unused spare room is getting up my nose, making me sneeze and scratching at my throat, so for some relief I make myself a mug of coffee and head out into the garden to enjoy the sunshine – well, this is Cumbria after all, you have to make the most of it when the sun does put in an appearance. Pushing back some of the foliage, which is still steadily engulfing the garden seat, I sit down and sip my drink as I take in the view spread before me. There’s no escaping the fact that when the sun shines on this little corner of Cumbria it is truly stunning. In the field across the way, I spot a red quadbike zipping around. It must be Frazer or Jack. I squint in the bright sunlight. Yes, definitely Frazer, and now I can see Frazer’s dog Cinnamon sitting on the back of the bike, its ears flapping in the breeze. I wave, but he doesn’t see me and a feeling of loneliness engulfs me. Time to get busy and occupy my mind.
Today should have been my day off from the Veggies anyway so nobody has been in touch about whether the place is open for business again or not. I wonder if I should ring them, see if anyone answers, so I know whether or not to turn up for work tomorrow. In the meantime, there’s not much food in the house, so I finish my cleaning, grab the revamped campaign materials and take them, along with my hastily scribbled shopping list, down to the village store.
Amswick consists of one lane which is home to the store, two pubs, the village hall and clusters of houses of various descriptions, from stone terraces to whitewashed grander detached abodes, each one sporting a locally-quarried slate roof. There’s a scattering of hanging baskets on some of the lampposts, the current colour scheme reflecting the autumnal yellows and golds of the trees dotted about the village. The Cumbrian fells tower over the whole scene, there sheer sides more grey and rocky here than the ones back at Eskdale. The Veggies is on the other side of the village. Well, technically, it’s just outside the village boundary, but as there’s nothing else outside the village for a good way, everyone just says the restaurant is in Amswick. It’s easier. Usually there’s a distinct sense of
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