Free The Old Wine Shades by Martha Grimes

Wu’s case needs sorting.’
    Jury considered. ‘The thing is, I didn’t know it had worked into a ‘case.’’
    ‘Of course it’s a case. What are you talking about? You’ve been on to him for years!’
    ‘I’ve visited his restaurant for years, true.’
    Racer let his pen drop on the desk. ‘For God’s sake, Jury, you know half the murders in Docklands lead back to him. He’s with that gang that clinches knives in their teeth.’
    ‘No, he isn’t.’
    ‘What? Of course he is!’
    Jury shook his head,.solemnly. ‘Danny Wu isn’t a joiner.’
    ‘Joiner? For God’s salve, we’re not talking about the Boy Scouts or the Girl Guides! We’re talking about the Triad. Worse than the Mafia.’
    ‘Whatever Danny does, he operates alone. Trust me on that.’
    ‘And this dead man on his doorstep?’
    Jury shrugged. ‘Maybe forensics will turn up some DNA. Or maybe not.’ Jury flashed Racer a smile.
    ‘I want you to stay on top of it. Go on.’ Here Racer gave him a backhanded wave.
    Jury left, wondering why he’d come.

11
    That would be Young Higgins, sir,’ said the porter at reception, ‘who took the call.’
    Melrose read the message again, which he couldn’t make head nor tail of and which was apparently from Agatha. That would account for the confusion he might, given any other caller, have blamed on Young Higgins (and his spidery scrawl).
    And he hadn’t been ‘out,’ either, an hour ago. He had been in the Members’ Room, nearly asleep in a wing chair before a stout fire, a pre-luncheon whiskey in hand, reading Polly’s book, which he had gone to Hatchards to purchase, he felt as if his eyelids were propped open. He had decided to actually read the book rather than chance comments at dinner as he had done the night before. Comments that could have applied to anything from Beano to The Golden Bowl about the unread last book was probably not a technique he’d want to try again, or at least not so soon.
    This newest one was titled The Gourmandise Way, which wouldn’t have irked him so much had it actually been a satire or a spoof of Proust. Only it wasn’t. He would tell her that she simply couldn’t keep making plays on Marcel’s titles, that it wasn’t very smart to call up a comparison, nor to lead the reader down the garden path–or The Guermantes Way–whereby the unsuspecting reader would think he’d got hold of a spoof. Yes, and most people would be delighted to read a send-up of Proust, since they’d always felt guilty, stupid and uneducated for never getting past that madeleine passage, which came around page thirty. Leaving only a few thousand pages to go.
    Which was about where he was in her new book, on page thirty-six, leaving three hundred pages to read, worse luck.
    Melrose did not like mysteries. With maybe two or three exceptions, today’s mysteries were just too dumb to hold one’s attention.
    In this one, the ‘gourmands’ of the title ran an out-of-London, out-of-the-way restaurant that’ Melrose bet was modeled on Le Quatre Saisons, where he knew she’d eaten once. This chef in her book had devised an incredible meal for ten of his valued customers. They were gourmands one and all.
    Gee, thought Melrose, I wonder what will happen? As if everybody didn’t know, except the characters in the book, all of whom were thick as two planks, except for the chef himself, who Melrose rather liked because he liked all that food he was fixing and, by the bye, giving out intricate instructions for making. That took up a lot of the thirty pages at the beginning, and Melrose meant to mark two dishes which he would ask his cook Martha to make.
    He dozed or half dozed before the fire, with the flames shooting about as if seeking out their next victim, and that book looked damned tasty...
    Melrose fluttered awake when a gentleman gave him a hearty ‘Hello’ and his companion echoed the greeting.
    ‘My word,’ said Melrose, sitting up smartly, ‘Colonel Neame and Major Champs!