Free The Ties That Bind (Sarah Woods Mystery Book 11) by Jennifer L. Jennings Page A

doesn’t really mean much to a child who is forced to eat liver and onions. I would have gladly sent my dinner to Africa for all those starving kids. “Chef Glenn must have help in the kitchen. One man could not build this wall of food in a day.”
    Carter chuckled as he piled on more hash browns. “It’s a bit over the top, isn’t it? But I have to admit, I’m in heaven.”
    When we sat down at the table, the Garcia family graciously introduced themselves in turn.
    Chef Glenn stood up to shake my hand graciously, his smile like a movie star. His stare and handshake lingered a moment longer than it should have and I guess I was flattered. Weren’t chefs supposed to be fat? Not Glenn, he had the body of a runner. Long and lean.
    Next was their son Graham the accountant. He was cute, but in a nerdy sort of way with his button down shirt and wire rimmed glasses.
    Graham’s wife Zoe we had already met the first night of our arrival as our hostess and waitress. She quickly got to her feet and offered to fetch us a fresh pot of coffee.
    “I’d love some coffee,” I replied. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
    “It would be my pleasure.” She made her way toward the kitchen. “Be right back.”
    Just as Zoe disappeared, Perry shuffled into the dining room looking like a zombie. His head was bent forward and his clothes were wrinkled. His hair was uncombed, a cowlick shot out from the back of his head.
    Mary Garcia gave her son a disdainful glare. “Nice of you to join us, dear.”
    Perry did not respond, instead he went straight to the buffet table and prepared himself a plate.
    Mary fumbled with the cloth napkin in her hands, offering Carter and me a shrug. “My son has had a difficult year. Please forgive him.”
    Chef Glenn cleared his throat, ready to break the awkward silence. He turned his attention to me and Carter. “So where are you folks from?”
    “Bridgeport, New Hampshire,” I said. “It’s about a four hour drive north.”
    “Did someone recommend us to you?” he asked. “Or did you find us over the internet?”
    I looked at Carter to let him answer.
    “I did a search online for the most romantic retreats within New England. This one was at the top of the list.”
    “We make that list every year,” Mary said boastfully. “Did you read the article that Conde-Nast Traveler did on us? Oh, you must read it. They did such a fabulous piece.”
    “I believe I did read it,” Carter said. “Is it true this place has been in the family since 1935?”
    “Quite true.” Mary’s posture straightened and she seemed a few inches taller than her husband sitting down. “My grandmother and grandfather purchased the property for a thousand dollars. The structure was dilapidated, so my grandfather fixed the place up with his own hands. He was a carpenter by trade and my grandmother was a gardener. It took them almost a decade to open the Inn for guests. Then my mom and dad took over along with my two aunts. They kept it going and made a promise to my grandparents that it would always stay in the family. It’s our legacy and we are so proud that our children will carry on the tradition.”
    Graham’s eyes were glazed over as if he’d heard his mother’s speech one too many times. He turned his head, looking toward the kitchen, probably wondering when his wife would be back with the coffee.
    Carter and I continued to eat our breakfast while Mary went on to explain how the Inn had changed over the years. Eventually, Zoe returned from the kitchen with a tray. She filled two mugs of coffee for me and Carter and refilled her husband’s. “Sorry it took me so long. I wanted to brew a fresh pot.”
    “Appreciate that,” Carter said holding his coffee mug up to her before taking a sip. “It’s delicious.”
    When Zoe sat back down next to her husband, she didn’t seem to relax. Almost like she knew she’d have to get up again soon to do something. I got the impression that she didn’t get the chance