The Butler Didn't Do It (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

from Mason to Miss Crawley. “Sorry?”
    She gave my inattention a disapproving tut , but didn’t comment further. “Your rule on permitting lies until called out on it. It adds an extra depth of sleuthing that sounds quite appealing. Usually, in my experience that is, one may only evade when asked directly if they’re the murderer, which renders the question obsolete.”
    My eyes rounded on her. “You’ve attended one of these parties before?”
    “Not to blow my own horn, dear, but I was something of a legend on the circuit back in the eighties.” She lowered her head, peering at me over the top of her rimless bifocals. “They used to call me The Beagle.”
    My lips twitched. “But not anymore?”
    “Goodness, no, my old bones don’t travel well anymore.” She sighed and broke off a tiny piece of roll. “When you presented the opportunity right here in my back yard, however, I couldn’t resist.”
    “Well, I cannot wait to see The Beagle in action,” I said, chuckling softly. Miss Crawley was human after all. Without thinking, I buttered my roll and took a bite.
    Miss Crawley’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “My dearest child, did your poor mother never teach you how to eat? The roll stays on the plate, always. A lady only ever tears off a small portion at a time.”
    I nodded with an apologetic grimace, too busy choking on my mouthful of bread to defend my poor mother .
    Despite my faux pas, the rest of the meal proceeded smoothly. Although I couldn’t help feeling like a spoilt princess while Mom slaved over a five course menu in the kitchen and Burns served and cleared.
    We’d decided beforehand that, as hostess, I should take all meals with the guests. Be available for chatter and questions. And it would be too awkward if I stood up in between courses to help clear the table.
    Still, we were understaffed and guilt pushed me to my feet when Burns brought in chocolate custard dumplings.
    I excused myself from the table, reminding everyone that coffee would be served in the lounge once they’d finished their dessert, and fled to the kitchen.
    As I’d suspected, Mom was elbow-deep in dishwater by the sink.
    “I’ll do the dishes,” I said as I walked up.
    She shook her head. “You should be out there, honey, entertaining your guests.”
    “They seem to be doing an excellent job of entertaining themselves,” I assured her, taking her firmly by the shoulders and guiding her to a chair at the oak table. “Have you eaten?”
    “Yes, and I made sure Burns ate something as well. The man’s been run off his feet.”
    “I’m looking into temp agencies first thing Monday morning,” I said as I went to put the kettle on the stove for tea. “We’ll be more organized next time we have such a big party. You definitely need an extra hand here in the kitchen.”
    “I was thinking of an apprentice,” Mom said. “Someone I could train as assistant chef.”
    “Um…” I scratched my neck. My mom had a recent history of leap-frogging career ladders. In the space of about five minutes, she’d gone from housewife to our resident chef and I was still trying to cool her off the idea of opening her own Bistro with Dad’s pension money. “We may have to wait a while for that, see how consistent business is.”
    Mom would never sit still while I worked, so I drank a cup of tea with her and packed her off home to Dad before I rolled up my sleeves to tackle the teetering stacks of pots and dishes.
    Just when I thought I was done, Burns arrived with an overladen tray of dirty mugs and glasses. He was a portly man on the wrong side of middle-age, shiny bald and I’d never seen him wear anything but that funeral suit. He was also receptionist, housekeeper, butler, maid, cook, waiter, bartender…well, you name it, but I imagined he’d draw the line at scullery slave.
    “Those are going into the dishwasher,” I told him.
    He lifted a piece of fine-stemmed crystal up to the light. “If you insist, Ms