Free Death in Four Courses: A Key West Food Critic Mystery by Lucy Burdette Page B

sandals to my heels and then into the darkness of the Petronia Street approach.
    “I told you we should have asked him,” said Mom, reaching for his hand. “Oh my, he’s just as handsome as you said he was.”
    He grinned foolishly and I felt myself turn the color of a roasted beet. “Detective Bransford, this is my mother, Janet Snow. Mom, Detective Bransford.”
    “Nate, please.” He smiled again, flashing the killer cheek dimples that matched the cleft in his chin. “It’s an honor to meet you. And you’re just as lovely and youthful as Hayley described. You two could be sisters.”
    I rolled my eyes, but Mom beamed, and he ushered us past the narrow porch with its handful of tables,inside to the hostess station, a hand on each of our backs. The warmth of his touch sizzled like a blazing brand on mutton, as Fritz the meat poet might say. To keep my knees from buckling, I forced myself to focus on the restaurant decor—simple wooden chairs, white tablecloths, sponge-painted walls with a few big paintings for accents, and an orange ceiling for color.
    “Where would you like to sit?” asked a tall woman in a tight dress.
    “Inside, please,” I said, just as Nate said, “Outside.”
    “Whatever the lady wants is fine with me,” said the detective to the hostess. He grinned at me. “Inside.”
    She gathered a stack of menus and led us to the corner of the back room, which had a lively bar and marginal acoustics. I minced along after her and took the seat at the table against the wall so I could make mental notes about the restaurant’s ambience and clientele. I shucked off the offending high heels and rubbed one aching foot and then the other. Our drink orders—white wine sangria for me and Mom and a Key West Sunset Ale for Nate—were finally taken by a waiter so goofy and smiley I wondered if he’d been tippling something out in the back alley.
    I glanced at the menu. “And could you put in orders for the trio of hummus, a spinach salad with strawberries, and the
bocconcini di
mozzarella while we’re waiting?” I asked. As soon as the waiter left, I listed off a few more of the tapas that I wanted to be sure we tried—including asparagus, spanakopita, seviche, saganaki, and grouper.
    Nate looked down at his menu and then back up at me.His eyes were the color of moss, only nothing soft and fuzzy about them right now. “I’m going to have the Roman meatballs, the potato croquettes, and the lamb patties,” he said. “Seems like you’ve already got the vegetable department covered.”
    “Those are wonderful choices—I tried them the last time I was here,” I said, lowering my voice and smiling sweetly. “If it’s possible, I really do need you to branch out.” I’d warned both my mother and the detective ahead of time that I had a review agenda for this meal—apparently I should have been more clear because he didn’t look happy. Note to Hayley: Don’t expect a police detective to be the kind of man who enjoys ceding the lead. On anything. When the waiter returned, I made a big show of ordering the three dishes he’d mentioned and then added my choices.
    “Oh, wow, man, you guys must really be hungry!” the waiter said.
    “That we are.” I closed my menu and passed it to him. If Wally had a fit about the bill, I’d cover the excess. Somehow. Considering the unexpected lunches and the double pedicab bills I’d piled up earlier, I was already way over budget. How much madder could he get?
    Soon after, the trio of hummus, the spinach pie, and the spinach salad with strawberries arrived. Mom served us each some salad and then picked up a triangle of pita bread that came with the hummus and sniffed it.
    “Remember what Ruth Reichl said this afternoon? She can tell right away about a restaurant from tryingtheir bread.” She spread her corner of pita with a teaspoon of black olive tapenade, and nibbled. “Oh, Hayley, you have to taste this. It’s heaven,” she said, spearing another