Free Killer in the Kitchen by Donald Bain Page B

“If she’d survived . . . well, our stroke team said it was so severe, it wouldn’t have left her with much of a life.”
    *   *   *
    The rain of the previous night offered a surprise the next morning. It had turned into a wet snow, and there was lots of it. Maine is infamous for April snowstorms. Everyone in town hunkered down, as people in the snowbelt always do, this Maine resident included. I called the man who usually shovels me out but was informed by his wife that he’d taken a job at Gérard Leboeuf’s restaurant and wouldn’t be available any longer for shoveling duties. Fortunately, a young fellow who lived up the roadknocked on the door to see if I needed help, and I was grateful to pay him to create a pathway from my front door to the road. A food store truck managed to traverse the slippery roads and delivered some groceries that I was running low on. With my cupboard full, I resigned myself to a long day at home.
    News of Isabel Fowler’s death spread quickly, and I received a number of calls from mutual friends. Mostly they wanted to express their shock at Isabel’s untimely demise and to ask if I had any information about funeral arrangements—which I didn’t. But some callers who hadn’t attended the opening had also heard about what happened at the Fin & Claw and knew that I’d been present. I tried to make light of the event, pass it off as a simple misunderstanding. They seemed to accept that, although others, like Tim Purdy, Richard Koser, and Tobé Wilson, who’d also witnessed it, pressed me on whether I knew anything further about the dustup between Brad Fowler and Gérard Leboeuf. I downplayed it, and they were easily satisfied—or at least said that they were—but Evelyn Phillips of the
Cabot Cove
Gazette
didn’t even pretend to be content with my offhand dismissal of the confrontation.
    â€œI was surprised you weren’t there,” I told her.
    â€œMarcie Fowler invited me, but I had another engagement. Just my luck to have missed a doozy of a brawl.”
    â€œOh, Evelyn, it was anything but a brawl, just a few words exchanged between Brad and Gérard Leboeuf.”
    She ignored my characterization and said, “On top of that, poor Isabel Fowler fell ill and had to be carried out on a stretcher. You heard, of course, that she died at the hospital.”
    â€œYes, I did. I’m finding it hard to believe. I’ve known Isabel for so many years. Cabot Cove won’t be the same without her.”
    â€œI didn’t realize you knew her so well. I’m sorry for your loss, Jessica.”
    â€œThank you. I do feel like I’ve lost a good friend. We were together over Thanksgiving when she shared the news that Brad and Marcie were opening a restaurant. And last night she was in such good spirits and proud of what they had accomplished.”
    â€œWhat do you think will happen to the restaurant?” Evelyn asked.
    â€œHappen to it? What do you mean?”
    â€œYou saw the menu, Jessica. Isabel’s photo is there and a list of all her recipes. Now that she’s gone, I—”
    â€œI assume that Brad and Marcie will forge ahead, Evelyn. They have a lot invested in this business. Not only because it’s the right thing to do, but because it’s a way to honor Isabel’s memory.”
    â€œThat’s what Brad says.”
    I paused. “You’ve spoken to Brad?”
    â€œNo. I called the house to issue my condolences and got Marcie. Strong lady, that one, even in the face of a family calamity. Naturally she was very upset.”
    â€œNaturally.”
    â€œBrad wasn’t there. He was at the funeral home, making arrangements for his mother’s wake. I asked Marcie about plans for the restaurant.”
    â€œAnd what did she say?”
    â€œShe wanted to close it down tonight as a tribute to Isabel, but Brad wouldn’t hear of