Read The Body in the Boudoir for Free Online

more coffee, but Josie put her arm out and stopped her.
    â€œShe wanted me to use the house to open Josie’s.”
    Faith sat back down. Richmond, Virginia, was not within commuting distance of Have Faith’s kitchens, and in any case, Josie would be fully occupied. Faith had known this day would come, just not so soon. This was the “bad news” part, but it wasn’t. She’d miss Josie like crazy, but it was a dream come true.
    â€œI’ll be there for the opening. We have to start thinking of the menu right away. You should be able to open by the summer and serve on both porches. Dig out those photos and let’s start making lists.”
    It was Josie’s turn to hug Faith. “I love you, boss,” she said.
    â€œI love you, too, but it’s time to drop ‘boss.’ You’re on your own now, missy.”
    â€œThe estate won’t be settled for a while. I’ll be back after the funeral, and if you agree, I can train Francesca to take my place. She grew up cooking—she told me the women in her family are famous in her village for their culinary skills—and I know she’d be happy to quit her job at the health club. She’s at the reception desk and gets all the complaints—so-and-so left sweat on the stationary bike seat, or is hogging the elliptical, or is, well, fill in the blank.” Josie was beaming now.
    â€œShe does seem to know her way around a kitchen, and maybe we can add some of her family’s Tuscan specialties. Let me think about it.”
    â€œAnd, boss, pardon me, Faith—you can figure out what she’s hiding, our bella donna .”
    â€œHiding? What do you mean?”
    â€œNothing sinister. Just a little puzzling. Last week I came back to the apartment unexpectedly—I’d forgotten an umbrella and I’ve bought so many from those guys selling them on the street when it rains that I can set up my own business next downpour. Anyway, Francesca was sitting at the kitchen table writing a postcard. She had a stack of them next to her. When I came in, she quickly tucked the one she’d been writing into a manila envelope and when she did, she knocked the other cards to the floor. Of course I started to help her pick them up, but she told me it was no problem and not to bother. But, Faith, the odd thing was that before she scooped them up, I saw that they weren’t postcards of New York City, but of London. No Empire State Building, World Trade Center, Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, Statue of Liberty. Nada. Instead I spied the Tower of London and Trafalgar Square. And there were no stamps on the cards even though they were all addressed.”
    â€œDid you see any of the addresses?”
    â€œThe ones I saw were all addressed to Signora Rossi, presumably Francesca’s mother, or maybe grandmother. And the big envelope she was stuffing them into was addressed to someone in London. The only thing I can come up with is that Francesca wants her family to think she is in England, not the United States. The question is, why?”
    Always a silver lining, Faith thought happily. Nothing cheered her up like solving a mystery.
    I t was close to five o’clock on Valentine’s Day when Faith turned the key of her apartment door. Both of today’s luncheons had gone off well, but she could wait a year before seeing any heart-shaped food again after this week. All her clients had insisted on a traditional theme, not simply everything red, white, or pink, but hearts, flowers, and Cupid. Today the menu she’d suggested for the day itself had met with both women’s approval—these were ladies’ luncheons. It started with Kir Royale, and moved on to borscht with a piped sour cream heart, heart-shaped patty shells with lobster Newburg, endive spears with a pomegranate-seed-studded vinaigrette, finishing with coeur de crème in a raspberry coulis. Mädderlake supplied the centerpieces,