Murder at the Dinner Party (CLEOPATRA FOX MYSTERIES #8) by C.J. Archer EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: C.J. Archer
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Fiction
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LONDON, JULY 1900
Miss Hessing and Mr. Liddicoat were blissfully unaware of the
disaster that threatened to derail their engagement dinner party.
They sat side by side at the main table in the Mayfair Hotel’s restaurant,
stealing glances at one another when they thought no one was looking. To
most, it appeared to be a romantic scene. A couple clearly in love,
candlelight flickering in the soft breeze coming through the open windows,
the array of silverware glinting like stars against the black tablecloths, and
dozens of white chrysanthemums filling the vases. If anyone thought the
traditional flower used for funerals was an odd choice, they were polite
enough not to say so, or perhaps they thought the flower had a different
meaning in the bride-to-be’s home country of the United States.
One person who did notice every altered detail was her mother. Mrs.
Hessing asked Mr. Chapman, the hotel steward, why the pink roses she’d
requested weren’t on display.
He apologized profusely. “I’m afraid my order wasn’t given due
attention, and it failed to reach the florist on time.”
Whether that was true, or an excuse to cover his own tardiness in
submitting the order, I didn’t know, but I doubted Mr. Hobart, the hotel
manager, would have failed to sign off on the order on time if he’d known
what it was for. On the other hand, he had been somewhat absent of late. He
wasn’t even attending the engagement dinner this evening.
Mrs. Hessing accepted Mr. Chapman’s excuse with a purse of her lips
and further scrutiny of the flowers. “At least they can’t really be seen with
the poor lighting in here. Is that so we won’t be able to see what we’re
eating?”
Mr. Chapman laughed off the suggestion. “You will be delighted by the
menu, Mrs. Hessing. Our chef is a marvel.”
His assurance did nothing to wipe away her scowl, but at least she left
him alone. She marched off, the end of her walking stick stabbing the
floorboards with military precision. Mr. Chapman glared at her back with a
sneer on his usually smooth features.
“Cheer up,” I quipped. “You’re right. Mrs. Poole and her team will
make tonight’s dishes taste like they came directly from a restaurant in the
heart of Paris, despite everything.”
Everything being another word for disaster. The lack of light Mrs.
Hessing referred to was caused by a kitchen fire that had burned through the
electrical wiring. Candles had to be sourced from the hotel’s storeroom
moments before the diners arrived. Fortunately, candles gave the occasion
the romanticism it deserved. Unfortunately, the lingering scent of smoke did
not. As to the last-minute change of menu, as insisted upon by Mr.
Chapman, it remained to be seen if the cooks would live up to the praise I
heaped on them.
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