Free Final Fondue (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) by Maya Corrigan Page A

lined up later. Whenever no one was lined up for lunch, Bethany took a break to eat baby food. She scraped every bit from twelve of her fourteen jars, but barely touched the spinach-apple-rutabaga combo and the macaroni and lentils with Bolognese sauce.
    At one thirty Val took stock of the remaining food at her booth. The Waldorf salad with a vinaigrette dressing was almost gone. She still had plenty of the pasta-and-vegetable salad and of the chopped Greek salad. She also had enough bread to make more sandwiches though she doubted she’d use all of it, with the lunch rush over. The smoked turkey and cheese on rye and the hummus with roasted vegetables on whole wheat had sold equally well. The peanut butter and banana sandwiches had been a hit with youngsters.
    “The iceman cometh.” Gunnar adopted a voice of doom for his announcement. His dazzling smile undermined its effect. He was far from handsome, but that smile transformed his face. “I hope I’m not too late with the ice. Where do you want it?”
    “In the two blue coolers.” Val pointed to them. Judging by the whitish dust in his dark hair and on his sturdy workman’s boots, he must have come straight from working on theater sets. “Are those new or old paint splatters on your jeans?”
    “Old. We haven’t started painting the sets yet. How are you doing, Bethany?”
    “Fine. Good to see you again.” She turned to Val. “I’d love to go home and make sure the neighbor’s daughter took Muffin for a walk. Can you manage the booth alone for half an hour?”
    Val nodded. “Sure. Gunnar can assist if things get busy, but I don’t expect that.”
    Bethany picked up the plastic bag holding the remains of her lunch. “Thanks for covering for me, Gunnar. I’ll be back soon.” The baby food jars rattled in the bag as she left.
    When Gunnar finished dumping the ice, Val asked, “Did you eat lunch yet? I can make you a sandwich. Or would you prefer a salad?”
    “I stopped to eat at the burger booth at the end of this row.”
    “Ah. You’d rather not eat my lower-cal healthy food.”
    “I’ll eat anything, but it’s hard to pass up charcoal-broiled meat. I’ll go get you a burger, if you like.”
    “No, thanks. I’ve been sampling the food here. Take a seat at the card table and I’ll bring you cider and dessert.” She poured ciders for both of them and brought over oatmeal cookies on a napkin. “This isn’t just a food booth, it’s an isolation booth. I’ve heard nothing about the strangling. Have you?”
    “Rumors about a psychopathic tourist.” He grabbed a cookie.
    “Well, that’s better than rumors about Granddad and his house of carnage.” She sipped the cider.
    “Fill me in on what happened.”
    Between interruptions to serve customers, Val described the wedding group. She was finishing her cider when she got to the part about finding Fawn in the yard.
    Gunnar reached for her hand. “I’m sorry for calling you a murder magnet. I wouldn’t have joked if I’d known you found her. Are you okay?”
    “I’m good now.” She could have used that hand enveloping hers last night.
    “Did the murdered woman’s friends cut short their weekend?” When Val shook her head, he tightened his grip on her hand. “You shouldn’t sleep in the house with them. Why don’t you stay at my place until they leave?”
    “Thank you, but Granddad arranged for Monique to put me up at her house this weekend. You think it’s dangerous to sleep in the house with the wedding group?” Or was Gunnar using the murder to nudge her toward moving in with him?
    “Despite the rumors flying around, someone who knew the victim is a more likely killer than a psycho stranger. Do any of your grandfather’s guests strike you as a possible murderer?”
    “Hard to say who the murderer is without knowing who the victim was supposed to be.” Judging by his raised eyebrows, she’d surprised him.
    “I want to hear more about that, but right now,” Gunnar pointed