Murder Is My Dish Read Online Free Page A

until he wasn’t here, didn’t you?”
    â€œAll right, Frances. I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue with you. Somehow I’m always arguing with you. But we shouldn’t argue now. We’ve got to think of Rafael.”
    â€œYou dirty little phony, you never thought of anybody in your life except yourself.”
    â€œFrances, under the circumstances I wish—”
    â€œDon’t you ‘under the circumstances’ me. This is your chance, isn’t it? To hit me when I’m down. You’ve been waiting a long time for this, haven’t you?”
    â€œYou called me. You told me to come here.”
    â€œI was upset. I was so upset, I didn’t know what to do. You know when I get these migraines I can’t think straight.”
    â€œYour migraines. Can’t you forget your migraines? Can’t you forget yourself long enough to realize your husband’s life is in danger?”
    â€œDon’t you tell me what to do, you ungrateful little Spic.”
    The ungrateful little Spic slapped Mrs. Caballero’s face. Mrs. Caballero folded like a life-sized rag doll in a floppy heap on an overstuffed chair which I was sure she had used for the purpose before, many times before, and bawled like a baby.
    Mrs. Caballero had been a surprise all the way. She was a plump but pretty blonde half a dozen years older than Eulalia Mistral. She had admitted us with a great show of hand-wringing and wailing. She had done everything but tear her hair. She had a soft, round-cheeked, petulant-looking face with small full lips set in a pout of self-pity. Her body, in a quilted white housecoat, was not at all undernourished. She hadn’t been happy to see me, but when Eulalia had introduced me as Mr. Dineen’s associate, she had reluctantly stood aside and let us come in.
    The small apartment was furnished with the frills and lace antimacassars and cheap, overstuffed French Provincial furniture that a candy-eating blonde would go for. It was decorated with photographs of Mrs. Caballero in her younger days. Mrs. Caballero had been a looker, and the photographs were the typical chorus girl publicity snaps, showing more outthrust bosom, more artificially induced cleavage and more inside of thigh curves than is considered proper for a family TV audience. It was the sort of apartment, and had the sort of decorations, that Rafael Caballero or anyone would want to get away from. The candy-eating, self-pitying blonde who had been the luscious number on the publicity snaps made the picture quite complete.
    â€œI’m sorry, Frances,” Eulalia said. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”
    Frances snuffled and glared at her tormentor.
    â€œI’m sorry you had to see us air the wash like this, Mr. Drum,” Eulalia told me.
    â€œThe note,” I told her. “I was looking at the note.” But Eulalia blushed anyway.
    The note said:
    MR. CABALLERO IS ALL RITE. HE NOT BEEN HURT. HE GOING TO BE ALL RITE IF YOU KEEP QUITE MRS. C. LIKE SMART WIFE. TELL NO BODY YOUR HUSBAND HE IS MISSING. WE WANT TWENTY FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS CASH TWENTY FIFTY HUNDRED UNMARKED. WE CONTACK YOU AGAIN. BE SMART TO SEE HUSBAND ALIVE TELL NO BODY.
    YOUR BEST FRIEND
    â€œHe’s just about literate,” I said, showing the note to Eulalia. “And it looks as if he has trouble with English.”
    â€œSpanish?”
    â€œPretty likely. Parana Republic, I guess.”
    â€œAll they want is money,” Frances Caballero said with devout conviction. She was full of surprises. I thought the money would bother her most of all.
    â€œIf you don’t mind my asking,” I said, “where are you going to get that kind of money?”
    She smiled. “Oh, it won’t be our money,” she said.
    â€œNow wait a minute,” Eulalia said. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking—”
    â€œYou want them to kill Rafael? But what do you care. He