Grilled for Murder Read Online Free Page A

speech wasn’t slurred.
    She batted at the air. “Don’t worry about it. I have a designated driver, right, Paulie?”
    Paula pointed a finger gun. “At least pregnancy is good for something.”
    â€œAnd we’re going to have a sister slumber party at my house,” Erica added.
    Paula rolled her eyes, but smiled. “If you insist.”
    â€œI need to protect you from that husband of yours. Give him a night to cool off.”
    â€œCareful, it’s snowing out there.” I held the door open for them and made sure they both made it down the stairs and into a small red sporty-looking car before I went back in. Abe and the harmonica guy had started playing again, but Phil wasn’t singing. I walked up to where he stood with arms folded near the kitchen area, staring at the door.
    â€œWhat happened?” I asked.
    â€œErica’s a racist. She said . . . well, I’m not even going to repeat it.” His voice shook again. “Can you believe it, in this day and age?”
    I stroked his arm. “Unfortunately I can believe it, but I’m sorry it had to happen.” A yawn overtook me. “Oops. It’s been a really long day.”
    Phil looked at me. “Hey, go to bed. We’ll clean up and get the place set up for tomorrow. I have a key, remember. I’ll lock up.” He glanced at the remaining guests. “Right, guys? We’ll set this place right again and let Robbie get some sleep?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” Abe called over, and the harmonica guy raised his hand.
    â€œThanks, my friend.” I pulled Phil in for a hug. “What would I do without you?” His hair, cut in a kind of high flattop, brushed my forehead. It looked wiry, but it was extra soft.
    He laughed, the tension sliding off his face. “Well, don’t get too used to me. When I land my big opera role, I’ll be out of here faster than—” he watched me with a grin.
    â€œI know, than green grass through a goose.” I laughed, too, and made my way toward my apartment door at the back of the store. “’Night, everyone. Thanks so much for the help.” I unlocked the door, then locked it again behind me.
    My black-and-white foundling kitty, Birdy, watched from his perch on the back of the easy chair. I gave him a scritch on the head and listened to his chirping purr, the reason I’d named him Birdy.
    â€œBirdy, what do you think Erica said to Phil?” He didn’t answer. Most of the time I didn’t even think about Phil being African-American. He was just a talented, generous friend. Besides having an amazing voice that’d gotten him plush roles in the Indiana University music department, he baked all the brownies and cookies for the restaurant, he’d designed the logo for the store, and he helped out when his schedule permitted. Plus he was fun, and a good friend I was grateful to have. But I was sure he ran into racism on a regular basis. Our country hadn’t really made all that much progress in moving beyond prejudice, despite having elected a black president. That Erica would insult Phil to his face, though, surprised me. Then again, I didn’t really know her. And from what I’d seen tonight, including her attempts to honey up to Jim, her fight with Tiffany, and her run-in with Max, I wasn’t very eager to.

Chapter 3
    Yawning, I rolled out of bed and stretched. I’d known six o’clock was going to come way, way too early this morning. Overall the party had gone well, although it’d been a little tense at times. I was glad it was behind me. Even with all that, it was good publicity for my restaurant and I hoped it would snag me more catering opportunities in the future.
    Now I needed to prep for today’s breakfast: whole-wheat banana-walnut pancakes, apple muffins, omelets to order, and cheesy biscuits with my special gravy. Customers went nuts over biscuits drowning in gravy. One more