Our Island Inn (Quirky Tales from the Caribbean) by Rebecca M. Hale Page A
Authors: Rebecca M. Hale
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met by appreciative sighs – from three of the women.
As far as Millicent was concerned, this was the least optimal table in the joint. She was far more interested in the goings on inside the restaurant’s kitchen than the natural light display about to begin out over the sea.
She lifted her cowboy hat from her head and hooked its chinstrap onto her chair’s back facing. Smoothing her ruffled gray hair, she glanced across the deck toward the bar. She would give anything for a chance to sneak past those swinging doors and into the cooking area.
T he other women had gussied up for the occasion, putting on dresses and flowery blouses. Maude had adorned herself with a necklace of coral pink stones and matching hair combs.
Millicent couldn’t be bothered with such nonsense. Instead, she had devoted her efforts to devising a series of back-stories. She had concocted multiple narratives to explain the sous-chef’s sudden disappearance, each variation concluding with “and then he was murdered.”
Her friends had soon tired of this game.
Mary had imposed a moratorium on any more grisly tales until she had finished eating, preferably for the rest of the evening. Kate had seconded the initiative. Maude had nodded her support, although when her appetizer plate arrived and she dug into the conch fritters, she felt certain that no description of blood and gore could distract her from the deliciousness of her meal.
Millicent ate her grilled shrimp salad in silence, carefully separating each component with her fork even as she kept a sharp eye on the various characters milling about the restaurant.
The rest of the tables were filled with an assortment of tourists, people who had been driven up to the inn from neighboring hotels. The crowd seemed generally happy with their meals, but there was a sense that the kitchen was having difficulty keeping up with the orders. Oliver’s repeated apologies for the time lag as he scampered about the dining area didn’t help matters.
Crunching on a slice of carrot, Millicent squinted across the deck toward the kitchen. A young woman swept through the swinging doors carrying several plates of food. The opening provided a glimpse of the interior, and Millicent spied Maya bent over the stove. Glenn hovered nearby, apparently attempting to help. From the little Millicent could see, he wasn’t accomplishing much other than getting in the way.
She couldn’t suppress the creepy grin that spread across her face.
T here was no sign of a male sous-chef.
The mystery was still on.
~ ~ ~
MILLICENT MANAGED TO refrain from commenting on her murder-related observations for almost forty-five minutes, through two meal courses and a dramatic sunset. But in the lull before the dessert course, she could keep quiet no longer.
She’d just spotted something that vindicated all of her wild suspicions.
“There! See, I told you!”
Kate tossed her napkin into the air. Mary grabbed her fork and waved it threateningly across the table. Maude chuckled in amusement.
Millicent paid them no heed.
She stared intently at a man who had entered the pavilion from the parking lot. His uniform was similar to those that had been worn by the customs agents the ladies had encountered while passing through immigration earlier that day. The officer’s demeanor indicated he was at the restaurant on business, not stopping by for a late night snack.
“Cover for me.”
Millicent pushed away from the table and jumped up from her seat. Two steps later, she stopped and returned to her chair. Deftly swooping up the cowboy hat, she crammed it onto her head.
As Inspector Pickeri ng approached the bar at the opposite end of the deck, she provided an unnecessary explanation for her actions.
“I’m on the case.”
Chapter 30
Odd Man Out
I NEARLY DROPPED a plate at the sight of Inspector Pickering standing by the bar.
I happened to be peeking out over the kitchen’s swinging doors when he arrived. His broad shoulders and
As far as Millicent was concerned, this was the least optimal table in the joint. She was far more interested in the goings on inside the restaurant’s kitchen than the natural light display about to begin out over the sea.
She lifted her cowboy hat from her head and hooked its chinstrap onto her chair’s back facing. Smoothing her ruffled gray hair, she glanced across the deck toward the bar. She would give anything for a chance to sneak past those swinging doors and into the cooking area.
T he other women had gussied up for the occasion, putting on dresses and flowery blouses. Maude had adorned herself with a necklace of coral pink stones and matching hair combs.
Millicent couldn’t be bothered with such nonsense. Instead, she had devoted her efforts to devising a series of back-stories. She had concocted multiple narratives to explain the sous-chef’s sudden disappearance, each variation concluding with “and then he was murdered.”
Her friends had soon tired of this game.
Mary had imposed a moratorium on any more grisly tales until she had finished eating, preferably for the rest of the evening. Kate had seconded the initiative. Maude had nodded her support, although when her appetizer plate arrived and she dug into the conch fritters, she felt certain that no description of blood and gore could distract her from the deliciousness of her meal.
Millicent ate her grilled shrimp salad in silence, carefully separating each component with her fork even as she kept a sharp eye on the various characters milling about the restaurant.
The rest of the tables were filled with an assortment of tourists, people who had been driven up to the inn from neighboring hotels. The crowd seemed generally happy with their meals, but there was a sense that the kitchen was having difficulty keeping up with the orders. Oliver’s repeated apologies for the time lag as he scampered about the dining area didn’t help matters.
Crunching on a slice of carrot, Millicent squinted across the deck toward the kitchen. A young woman swept through the swinging doors carrying several plates of food. The opening provided a glimpse of the interior, and Millicent spied Maya bent over the stove. Glenn hovered nearby, apparently attempting to help. From the little Millicent could see, he wasn’t accomplishing much other than getting in the way.
She couldn’t suppress the creepy grin that spread across her face.
T here was no sign of a male sous-chef.
The mystery was still on.
~ ~ ~
MILLICENT MANAGED TO refrain from commenting on her murder-related observations for almost forty-five minutes, through two meal courses and a dramatic sunset. But in the lull before the dessert course, she could keep quiet no longer.
She’d just spotted something that vindicated all of her wild suspicions.
“There! See, I told you!”
Kate tossed her napkin into the air. Mary grabbed her fork and waved it threateningly across the table. Maude chuckled in amusement.
Millicent paid them no heed.
She stared intently at a man who had entered the pavilion from the parking lot. His uniform was similar to those that had been worn by the customs agents the ladies had encountered while passing through immigration earlier that day. The officer’s demeanor indicated he was at the restaurant on business, not stopping by for a late night snack.
“Cover for me.”
Millicent pushed away from the table and jumped up from her seat. Two steps later, she stopped and returned to her chair. Deftly swooping up the cowboy hat, she crammed it onto her head.
As Inspector Pickeri ng approached the bar at the opposite end of the deck, she provided an unnecessary explanation for her actions.
“I’m on the case.”
Chapter 30
Odd Man Out
I NEARLY DROPPED a plate at the sight of Inspector Pickering standing by the bar.
I happened to be peeking out over the kitchen’s swinging doors when he arrived. His broad shoulders and
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