Murder Is My Dish Read Online Free

listening.”
    â€œI’ve known Rafael Caballero for a long time. My father was in the Parana Republic underground.” She went on sotto voce: “He went to jail. He died there. Rafael took me to this country with him. He has been like a second father to me, but his personal affairs—are no concern of mine.”
    â€œHis personal affairs are why you didn’t call the cops?”
    â€œHis wife,” Eulalia said. “They don’t always get along. Sometimes he doesn’t go home. Sometimes he goes away for a while.”
    â€œBut you were worried.”
    â€œHe never took the manuscript before. Besides, Mrs. Caballero called a few minutes before you got here.”
    â€œIs that why you were so mad at the boy in the toggle-topper?”
    â€œWe should have called the cops. But we can’t call them now.” Her eyes filled, glistening with tears. “Help us, Mr. Drum. Please help us. Rafael was kidnaped. Mrs. Caballero received a note in this morning’s mail. A ransom note.”
    I wanted to tell her that was crazy. Who would want to kidnap a teacher of Catalonian Literature who earned maybe seven thousand bucks a year? They wouldn’t, even get pocket money for their trouble.
    I didn’t tell her anything of the sort. I watched her shrug into a girl-sized trench coat and heard her say, “This is the kind of business you understand. Isn’t it? I’m going over there now, to Mrs. Caballero. Come with me, please. Say you’ll help us. Please. Oh, please!”
    She took my hand in both of hers and looked up into my face. She began to tug me toward the door. I went with her without reluctance. But I was thinking of Andy Dineen.

Chapter Three
    T HE RANSOM NOTE was the sort you would expect, possibly because it maintains the anonymity of the sender and possibly because it had been immortalized on the screen, in the mystery magazines, and in the tabloids. The words were pasted on a sheet of brown wrapping paper. The letters had been cut individually, some from the slick paper of a magazine and some from the pulp of a newspaper, and had been pasted on the wrapping paper to form words and sentences.
    â€œWell, there it is,” Mrs. Caballero said. “But I still don’t know why you insisted on bringing this man—”
    â€œOh, what’s the matter with you, Frances?” Eulalia said. “Mr. Drum came here to help us.”
    â€œRead the note,” Mrs. Caballero persisted. “Go on, read it. It says to tell nobody. It says if we want to see Rafael alive. But that doesn’t matter to you, does it? Oh no, you wouldn’t care about that. All you’re interested in is that precious book. All you care about is the book. Why should you care about Rafael? All he did was save your life.”
    â€œI don’t think that’s quite fair, Frances.”
    â€œYou don’t think it’s fair. Who’s asking you if it’s fair? You took advantage of me. You’re always taking advantage of me—all of you, all his friends. I was numb with despair. You saw me, you knew it, so you brought this man in here even though I told you on the telephone—”
    â€œI did what I thought best.”
    â€œWhat you thought was best. Best for whom? You didn’t think of me at all, did you? I’m only his wife.”
    â€œIf you stopped thinking of yourself and thought of Rafael for a minute, maybe you’d talk some sense.”
    â€œDon’t you dare speak to me like that. In my house. You don’t care about me. You don’t care about Rafael even. Only the book.”
    â€œWhy don’t you make up your mind? Last week you accused me of making a play for him.”
    â€œThat’s a dirty lie.”
    â€œYou didn’t only accuse me. You accused your husband.”
    â€œIt’s so easy for you to say, isn’t it? When he isn’t here to deny it. You waited to throw that in my face