Free No Place to Hide by Susan Lewis Page A

I have to go. How far away are you, in case the van doesn’t get back in time?”
    “About half an hour, but there’s a load of stuff in the back of the car. We’ll have to clear it all out.”
    “Whatever it takes. I’ll see you when you get here. Love you, richer or poorer, but richer would be better.”
    As she put the phone down Justine was already dialing the deli on her mobile while heading back into the barn, where Cheryl had taken charge of the wedding tea, and Gina, who helped out on a part-time basis, was dealing with what they were going to serve after the infant school recitals later.
    Not every day was like this, thank goodness, or she’d probably end up in a funny farm, but they’d been happening far more frequently lately as more and more requests came in following recommendations from satisfied customers.
    She and Cheryl, who’d miraculously persuaded her stubborn, stick-in-the-mud husband to relocate to Chippingly only months after Justine and Matt had moved in, might have dreamt about enjoying a runaway success with their new business, but neither of them had really expected it to happen in quite the way it had. Their deli, Portovino, at the top end of the village high street, had first opened a little over three years ago following a joint family road trip round France and Italy gathering up ideas, wines, and so much produce they’d threatened to sell the kids to make more room in the cars. They’d returned just in time to sign a lease on the shop, and by the following year they’d knocked through into next door to make room for a palm court café with white wicker furniture and pale green accessories. It wasn’t long after, with the kitchens finally fully operational in the middle barn, that they’d taken the plunge into catered events.

    Part of the real joy of their business, they often liked to remind each other, was that neither of them had ever formally learned to cook. It was simply something they loved to do, and thanks to wall-to-wall TV programs on the subject, it had never been difficult to add to their skills. Indeed, they owed much to Nigella, Jamie, Delia, Gordon, and at least a dozen others for some of their best-selling dishes, though they were always quick to point out that they’d added—or even substituted—a little je ne sais quoi to make it their own.
    As for staff, they’d found themselves with a whole host of neighbors willing to help out, from either the village or the sprawling housing estate between Chippingly and the main town. There were now five women working on a full-time basis, alternating between the kitchen and deli, with eight regular part-timers backing them up, and still more they could call on for special events. They’d lately begun taking on graduates from various catering colleges, partly to learn from them, and partly to give them experience in the real world before they went on their merry way.

    Meantime, the children were developing their own plucky little personalities, with all sorts of passions and talents that enthralled and amazed their parents on a daily basis. By the time she’d started school Abby could already play just about every nursery rhyme she knew on the piano, paint a picture of their house that actually looked like their house, and sing like an angel in front of the entire village, or playgroup, or wherever she’d been invited to perform. Her favorite place in the world to be, aside from the stage, which made her nervous until she was actually on it, was the music room Matt had created in one of the barns, where she’d listen, rapt, to all his old albums and lately had even, with Matt’s help, started writing little songs of her own.
    As for Ben, even the health visitor had been dazzled by his hand-eye coordination when he was a baby, so it was no surprise that he was turning into a natural when it came to sports. And he was fast. Since starting school he’d won practically every race he’d entered: egg and spoon,