Read Rosemary and Crime for Free Online Page A

said, borrowing the same put-upon tone Lindsey often used. Too bad it was wasted on his broad back.
    *   *   *
    The show must go on. Mario might be dead, but Spice It Up! was still alive and set to open in less than two hours’ time. I tried to tamp down the burst of panic. Tried being the verb of choice. People would arrive, expecting to learn Mario’s secret for roasting lamb.
    I could do the cooking demo, I reminded myself. I could bring home the bacon—in this instance the leg of lamb—and roast it up in a pan. I was woman, hear me roar. I’d do the darn demo myself. What I didn’t know, I’d improvise.
    Piece of cake, right? In a rare fit of generosity, and confident his recipe would soon be published in a popular cooking magazine, Mario had granted me permission to have copies made. The ingredients were easily obtainable—especially since I owned a spice shop. But lamb was key.
    Turning on my heel, I headed toward Main Street.
    Pete Barker looked up from behind the counter of Meat on Main and greeted me with a smile. “Hey, Piper. All set for your big day?”
    “Hey, yourself.” I’d known Pete since I arrived in Brandywine Creek years ago, pregnant with my son and optimistic about the future. I guessed Pete to be somewhere in his sixties. He’d lost most of his hair, gained some pounds, but remained as good-natured as ever. “Don’t suppose you could come to the aid of a damsel in distress?”
    “Not sure these old bones of mine are up to slaying any dragons, but if it’s a prime cut of meat you want, I’m your guy.”
    “By any chance, do you happen to have a leg of lamb in that meat locker of yours?”
    “Sure thing.” He gave the tray of boneless pork chops he’d just placed in the meat case a final glance. “Got a couple extra in case that cooking demo of Barrone’s sparked a run. Didn’t want to pass up the opportunity.”
    “Great. Could you butterfly it for me, too?” I asked, shifting into Plan B.
    “No problem.” Pete lumbered into the back and returned with the prettiest piece of meat I’d ever laid eyes on. Squinting through a pair of bifocals, he announced, “Three pounds right on the nose. Will this do?”
    “Perfect.”
    Pete produced a blade suitable for a samurai and proceeded to dissect the lamb with the precision of a neurosurgeon. “Lord knows I’ve had plenty of practice lately thanks to a certain hotheaded chef who will remain nameless. Listenin’ to him, a person would think I’ve never butterflied a piece of meat in my entire life instead of bein’ a third-generation butcher.”
    “Well, you’ll never hear me complain,” I said, salving his injured pride. “Everyone for miles around knows your meat’s the best.”
    Even to my own ears, I sounded like an enabler, but Pete appeared mollified. A little praise can go a long way sometimes. Or as the eternal optimist, Mary Poppins, might say, “A spoonful of sugar…”
    “Heard a bunch of sirens earlier,” Pete commented as he neatly wrapped the lamb in heavy brown paper. “Next thing I knew, a bunch of police cars flew past, hell-bent for leather.”
    “Umm … they were headed for the Tratory.”
    “Barrone, eh? Always told folks the man’s temper was going to land him in a heap of trouble. What’s the guy gone and done this time?” He didn’t wait for my reply, but continued. “Heard once he got so mad he threw a knife at his sous chef.”
    “Well, his temper won’t be getting him into any more trouble.”
    Pete moved to the register to ring up my purchase. “How’s that?”
    “Because he’s dead,” I muttered. It was then I realized I’d gone off this morning without my purse.
    “Dead, eh?” Pete scratched his bald head. “Ain’t that something.”
    “Sorry, Pete, it seems like I left my money at home. Okay if I pay you later?”
    “Sure, I trust you.”
    Trust. That’s one of the reasons I loved Brandywine Creek. People trusted each other to keep their word and, most of the