Free Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser by Kathleen Delaney Page B

sure,” Sabrina told him. “Very sure.”
    “All right.” He started to leave, stopped, and turned back. “What are you doing out here? Ellen, I really want you to try this dessert. Aren’t you going back to your table?”
    “Oh, yes. It’s just that Dan had to make a phone call. I’m waiting for him.”
    “Oh. Well, all right.” He finally left, and we could hear muffled voices and clinking plate noises from the room next to the kitchen. Almost immediately, the first waiter appeared with a loaded tray.
    Dan appeared at the same time, almost knocking the waiter down.
    “What are they doing?”
    “Serving the dessert. You aren’t going to let any of those people go until your minions arrive and you’ve had a chance to question them. They might as well be happy until then.”
    He scowled and started to say something, thought better of it, and nodded. “Not a bad idea. People have a tendency to leave if they think they’re going to get mixed up in something unpleasant.”
    “And you think this is going to be unpleasant?”
    “It already is. Come on. Let’s go revisit the folks at our table.”
    ***
     
    Full dessert plates, dessert wine, coffee, and Larry were waiting for us.
    “I couldn’t wait to see how you like this. It’s my own creation.”
    I had no choice but to take a mouthful of rich, yummy, unwanted dessert. Mousse, made of both light and dark chocolate, rested on a bed of raspberry sauce, topped with fresh raspberries surrounded by tiny green leaves. Any other time I would have been in ecstasy. Now, I could hardly swallow it.
    “It’s wonderful. Best I’ve ever eaten.” I hoped he’d go away, or at least stop leaning over the back of my chair. Sabrina was directing the waiters, helping to pour coffee, and smiling at guests who kept stopping her. I didn’t know how she did it. Maybe reality hadn’t set in yet. It had for me. My hand was shaking as I picked up my coffee cup.
    “What’s the matter with you?” asked Aunt Mary.
    “Nothing,” I said, switching to Muscat Canelli. “Nothing at all.”
    “Oh, yes, there is, and you’d better tell me. Dan, what’s going on? What are those sirens?”
    “We have a little problem.” Dan now had the attention of everyone at our table. “It seems that Otto has met with a mishap. The sirens are the ambulance and my police.”
    “Mishap?” asked Ian Applby. “What kind of mishap?”
    “Ambulance? He’s hurt?” Mark asked.
    “Apoplexy. I knew it would happen some day,” said Frank, holding up the wine to the light.
    “Counn.” Jolene paused, refocused on her wineglass, and managed to connect with it, then tried again. “Couldn’t happen to a better guy. Appa, appoploxy. Appaplexy?”
    Mr. Applby pulled away from Jolene a little; his face a careful blank. Carlton waited to move in.
    “Now, we don’t know yet what happened,” he told Jolene, in one of those condescending “let’s not upset the little woman” tones. He turned to Dan, fake concern in his voice. “I hope he’s going to be all right?”
    “Actually, no,” Dan said. “He’s bobbing around out in the fermenting tank, dead. You’re all going to have to stay here while we try and find out who helped him into it.”
    “The fermenting tank? My fermenting tank? No. He can’t; he wouldn’t,” Mark said. He looked horrified. He started to push his chair back, but Dan, who was already on his feet, put his hand gently on Mark’s shoulder, forcing him back down.
    “I doubt if it was Otto’s idea,” he said, shedding the last of his party demeanor and putting on his official deadpan expression. “It’s time for me to go to work.”
    The sirens, which had gotten very loud, stopped. The room filled up with uniforms. The other guests started to get up, panic and excitement in their voices. Dan walked to the end of the room, in front of the French doors, and in a commanding voice explained to the crowd that there had been an accident, and, if they would all be